by Everly Frost
“You will have them. Soon. I promise.”
Footsteps approach the door. I step back into the darkness as Lady Tirelli emerges dressed in black leather pants and a low-cut top that reveals more of her curves than it hides. Masses of dark brown hair sweep down her back, wisps resting next to her pale cheeks. Her hazel eyes glow in the moonlight streaming from the high windows.
She pauses, her head raised, twisting a little to peer into the shadowy corner where I hide. She won’t see me. My beast has already taken control and hidden me from sight. I’m nothing more than a shadow right now.
Lady Tirelli gives herself a shake. Her quick steps take her to the wide doors, her hips swaying as she pushes on them and descends the staircase, disappearing into the dark. She leaves behind a cloying scent of roses that fades into an odd scent of decay.
There’s a whoosh of rapid movement, and then she’s gone, leaving me with a sense of dread.
I’ve been a student at Bloodwing for three years now. In that time, I’ve been ripped apart body and soul and somehow pieced myself back together again. But what I put back together… I’m not sure what I am. Not human. Not even supernatural.
I’m a monster.
My beast growls. Don’t fear for your safety. I can kill them all.
I know it can. I know I can.
I’ve lain awake night after night wondering what would happen if I tried to escape. Whether I’d make it out alive. I’ve fantasized about pulling apart those fence bars with my beast hands and walking out of here. But the other students would get caught in the crossfire.
I’ve closed off my heart, killed nearly every emotion, but there must be some last small shred of decency left in me because I refuse to let any more of them die. I don’t care about them. If we ever get out of here, I won’t think about them again. But as long as we’re here, whatever it takes, I’ll keep them alive.
My beast is accusing: You do care.
No, I tell it. It’s about power. If I can stop anyone else dying, it means I’m in control.
It’s a lie I’m willing to believe.
11. Peyton Price
The next morning, I wake up feeling like I’ve chugged several cans of energy drink. I’m surprisingly alert despite the crick in my neck from sleeping at an awkward angle. A quick check of the clock tells me it’s only half past five. I’m not sure whether breakfast is as strictly regimented as dinner, but I’m not taking any chances. Striker said they poison the food for the first day. I can’t be sure they won’t still try, but I’m starving despite the energy tingling through my body.
A search through my closet reveals the elusive gym clothes I missed yesterday, tucked in behind multiple skirts. Not taking any chances, I pull on the workout shorts and tight tank top beneath my uniform and quickly visit the bathroom to wash my face. Once there, I pry open the front patch on my shoulder, relieved to see the wounds have started to heal over, before I press it back into place.
I’m determined not to run into Striker and manage to sail past his room just as he steps out from it with a towel slung over his shoulder. The dark circles under his eyes are a surprise. He either didn’t sleep well or giving me blood didn’t agree with him.
I miss a step. I was too out of it last night to consider that giving blood can be dangerous for the giver. I shouldn’t care but I swing back to him, attempting to see if he’s okay. He’s already striding away down the hall. The bathroom door clicks closed behind him.
I chew on my lip for a moment before Collin’s snide voice cuts into my thoughts.
“Morning, Price. Still alive, I see.”
I spin to him and Colby. “No thanks to you.”
“Aww, she’s all cut up about it.” Collin smirks, his pale eyes glistening.
I wait for them to move out of my way, worried for a moment when they stay where they are.
Colby taps his wand against his palm. Even though Collin is the one who makes the snide comments and grabs me more often, Colby seems to call the magical shots. His shirt sleeves are rolled up, revealing tattooed scales up his arms. After another beat, he inclines his head and Collin moves out of my way.
I skirt them as wide as I can before hurrying away, knowing they will never be far behind.
Entering the dining room to find half of the students there already, I’m completely prepared for another frosty welcome. Compliance officers line the room and I’m beginning to recognize some of them, although I haven’t linked them with the specific students they guard yet.
Lucinda sits at the front table like yesterday, but this time she’s facing in my direction. Her head is down and she grips a handkerchief in her fist, which rests on the table. The girls on either side of her sit with their arms around her, leaning in.
I catch the end of her conversation.
“You can’t know that,” the girl hugging Lucinda says. She has long, straight blonde hair, luminous green eyes, and I think her name is Ashley.
“Her body was gone.” Lucinda sobs. “They took it away.”
The guys on the other side of the room notice me, call out to Lucinda, and the room falls silent.
Lucinda’s head snaps up. Her mouth drops open. A dark bruise covers her left cheekbone. Her bottom lip is split. Her eyes are red and her cheeks blotchy. She’s not a pretty crier, but then, neither am I. Ignoring the compliance twins who take up position against the wall, never taking their eyes off me, I head in Lucinda’s direction, eyeing her wounds as I get closer.
I stop at the table as the other students continue to stare at me.
“What happened to your face?” I didn’t mean to sound so blunt but she wasn’t beaten up yesterday and I want to know why.
They all blink at me, a heavy silence settling around us. I eye the compliance officers. One of them steps farther forward than the others, making me suspect that he’s Lucinda’s guard.
Lucinda stammers. “You… It wasn’t… I don’t…” She takes a deep breath and speaks on an exhale. “You’re alive. We thought…”
They thought I died.
I can’t seriously believe she’s crying about it.
I find myself switching gears. They didn’t know I survived the night until I walked into this room. The looks on their faces tell me they didn’t think I would.
I don’t tell them it’s only because of Striker. “I guess I got lucky.”
She meets my eyes. “We didn’t help you.”
It’s probably the closest to an apology I’ll get, but all it does is make me angry. Mostly at myself. For a second there, I was worried about Lucinda. I forgot they all left me out in the rain to die.
I take a step back, unable to push away my anger fast enough. The last thing I want is to cause a scene that might jeopardize my now-critical need for food. “Okay, you know what, if you’re not going to tell me what happened, I’m just going to get my breakfast and eat it… uh… over there.”
I point at the empty table on the guy’s side of the room. Ms. Sparrow hasn’t arrived yet, so nobody’s eating. I’ll just have to sit and wait.
I’m halfway across the room before Ashley stands up so suddenly that her chair falls over. The bang makes me whirl in her direction.
I pause, my eyes narrowed, not trusting a single move she makes. She twitches as the falling chair’s echo rings out in the silence. She brushes the hair out of her eyes, revealing a cut across her forehead.
A second compliance officer steps forward, his wand pointed in her direction, a dangerous scowl on his face. This guy must be Ashley’s guard.
I quickly scan the faces of the other students. Many of them are cut up, bruised in ways they weren’t yesterday, which makes the hairs on the back of my neck prickle. Something’s going on here and I… can’t put my finger on what exactly it is.
Ashley gulps as I cast a wary glance her way. She hesitates too long. Just as I’m about to turn away, she speaks in a rush. “Lucinda tried to bring you in.”
I only half turn back. I’m not sure I he
ard her correctly. “What?”
“Lucinda’s hurt because she tried to bring you in yesterday.”
Ashley’s gaze flicks to the compliance officers. Several of them have now peeled themselves off the wall and the others have all removed their wands from their belts, gripping them tightly.
There’s suddenly an unexpected charge in the air. The compliance officers are tense and alert, the students are sitting taller than before. The girls at the back table slowly push back their chairs and the guys on the other side of the room cast sideways glances at each other, the kind that indicates silent communication.
I inhale a slow breath. My understanding of what happened yesterday afternoon is suddenly set on fire, exploded into shattered pieces.
I picture myself lying in the rain, oblivious to the chaos around me… Lucinda trying to grab me, Ashley trying to pull her clear, the compliance officers lashing out, their magic knocking Lucinda in the face, cutting across Ashley, slicing into Joseph’s arm, piercing the darkness around me, electricity splitting the air, cutting the students down before they can pick me up…
Then darkness as they scatter…
What the hell?
This isn’t possible. It has to be a lie. I hate lies more than I hate loneliness. “Why the hell would you help me?”
Ashley recoils. “Because you’re…”
I raise an eyebrow, waiting for her to go on, filling in the blank when she doesn’t. “Because I’m like you? Really?”
Another quick glance at the compliance officers tells me how this is going to go down right now. Ashley’s guard will grab her first. The girls at the back table are ready to lurch forward, but the guards will hurt them too. The guys at the back probably have a small chance of fighting, but it will be seconds before they’re subdued.
If I light the spark, a fight will break out. How I respond next will determine whether this morning goes to hell or not.
I relax my shoulders, then lift them in a shrug. I paste a bored expression on my face. “I’m not like you and never will be.”
She looks confused. “But… we…”
I see the entire room with an awful clarity right now. Every student in this place is hurt, has been knocked around, and they’re angry. They want a reason to fight back. I can’t be that reason. The fact that I was left out to die can’t be that reason.
“Get over it, Ashley.” I give her my best uncaring, deliberately fake smile. “Sorry about Lucinda’s face, but she really shouldn’t have bothered.”
I stride over to the empty table and sit down, fixing my gaze on the spot where Ms. Sparrow stood the day before, pretending that she’s going to materialize any second. As soon as my butt touches the seat, the compliance officers relax, slowly putting away their wands one by one.
I just gave up my chance at friendship, but if I’d taken it…
That road doesn’t end in roses and rainbows.
When Striker’s hand grips my shoulder a few moments later, I’m already so emotionally numb, I hardly feel it.
I know he heard everything when his deep voice murmurs in my ear. “Now you’re learning, Price.”
His fiery eyes meet mine for a second and I suddenly hear him the night before louder and clearer than I’ve ever heard anything before.
We are not friends. We will never be friends.
Friends get hurt.
“Okay, Draven,” I whisper, fixated on the table while he hovers close to me. “I’ll play your game. Just know that I’ll play it well.”
A slow smile breaks across his face. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”
12. Peyton Price
The first class of the day is Magical Instruments. Ms. Sparrow places a wand on the desk in front of each of us and leaves it there.
She tucks her fake red hair behind her ear as she pauses in front of my desk, placing a long, thin wand in front of me. She positions a white crystal ornament beside it and throws me a challenging look. I glance at the other students to see what they’re doing, hesitating to touch either of the objects.
When I look up at her, she says, “These wands are restricted to basic, harmless magic—your task is to simply change the color of the crystal.” She leans down with a patronizing gleam in her eye. “We wouldn’t give you a weapon now, would we?”
What a shame.
As it is in every class, the only spare seat is beside Striker. I’m not sure if it’s deliberate, but it hasn’t escaped my notice that there are exactly an even number of girls and guys at the Academy—fifteen of each. Somehow, two desks are always placed at the back of the class, side-by-side for Striker and me, so I have no choice but to sit next to him.
“Pick up your wands!” Ms. Sparrow’s voice could not be more shrill. I press a hand to my ear, still studying the wand.
She orders, “Repeat the words of the color-change spell: Pretty pink perfection.”
Once the students obey her, lifting their wands and murmuring the spell, Ms. Sparrow shrieks, “Lucinda! I expect more from you today. As the only repressed witch, you should be far more progressed with wand magic.”
Lucinda’s shoulders slump.
Now that the teacher’s back is turned, Striker’s glare is burning me again. I’m not sure how he manages to so effectively make me feel like I’ve dived into a molten pit of lava every time he glowers at me.
I ignore him as I hover my hand over the wand.
Nobody’s ever given me one to use before. I’m not sure what will happen—or whether I want to find out.
When Ms. Sparrow casts a commanding scowl around the room, I decide there’s only one move I can make: pick up the wand.
I lower a single fingertip to prod it.
On contact, a jolt passes through me, like a shot of electricity. I quickly withdraw, assessing the prickly sensation echoing through my arm. It circles around my forearm, back down through my wrist, and into my palm. I wasn’t expecting any reaction. Certainly not such an instant one.
Maybe this means I’m a witch.
It would be a relief to finally know what I am. But what I felt wasn’t magic. It didn’t feel like power or even pain, more a sense of… revulsion. Dislike.
I shake my head because that doesn’t make any sense. It’s not possible to dislike a wand. I mean, really?
A few rows in front of me, Lucinda’s wand changes color, not the crystal. The wand is now a hot pink. Ms. Sparrow slaps her over the head. “Useless!”
I tense, telling myself not to get involved, channeling my anger into the task at hand. Pick up the damn wand, Peyton.
My hand closes around it, fingers curled tightly, pulling it firmly upward. A flash of electricity passes up my arm, shoots across my shoulder, and passes straight into my heart.
My heartbeat slows, every thud like a deep drum driving a shock of electricity through my body.
Emotions stab me. Deceitful, cold, calculating thoughts flow with them—thoughts that aren’t my own. My blood runs cold as they pass through my mind. I’ll make him hurt. I’ll keep pretending. He doesn’t suspect a thing. He’ll do anything for me…
Images whoosh through my mind like a visual flicker fit that makes me want to hurl. Pinpricks of blood, a shimmer of magic, a vase of sickly sweet-smelling red roses, the fighting ring, blood splattering across its surface, a shout of agony echoing up the dark stairway to the pit—someone else’s cry of pain.
My stomach turns. It’s like I’m inside the head of the person who last held this wand, like I’m seeing what she saw, tapping into her memories. But I don’t want to, because she’s so full of lies it makes me sick.
I’ll make him love me. I’ll make him trust me. Then I’ll hurt him.
The rush of images slows, dragging me into a single moment. Striker’s bedroom—I recognize the chair and the blanket I stole—and a warm, male body pressed against mine on the bed. A kiss presses to the back of my neck and an arm encircles my waist, sliding beneath my shirt to graze across my bare stomach, the gentlest touc
h, the sort of touch I’ve never experienced—
He loves me. He doesn’t suspect a thing.
I drop the wand with a gasp, dragging fresh air into my lungs, my chest heaving. I cough, clutch my stomach, and try not to dry retch across the floor as the deceitful thoughts finally… finally… leave my mind.
The wand clatters across the table, coming to rest against the crystal, stopping the wand from rolling off the table altogether.
My voice grates in my throat, a revolted growl. “This wand belonged to a liar.”
Releasing my stomach, I curl my fingers around the edge of my desk, trying to get rid of the crawling sensation beneath my skin.
Ms. Sparrow enters my field of view. “What did you say?”
I grit my teeth, anger burning inside me as my voice rises. “I said that the last person who used this wand was a liar.”
There’s a sharp snap nearby, but I don’t have time to see what it was before the entire class suddenly becomes silent and still. The other students stop waving their wands around, stop repeating the useless chant, to stare at me. Lucinda casts a glance from me to the wand. Her eyes widen when she sees it in a way that tells me she recognizes it.
I’m too focused on Ms. Sparrow to look across to Striker, but I sense his stillness.
Ms. Sparrow’s eyes widen. “How did you know…?” She blinks rapidly, rallying quickly. “Pick it up.”
“I’m not touching it again. It disgusts me. Whoever it belonged to… she disgusts me.”
Ms. Sparrow’s eyes turn into wide pools. She takes a step toward me, screaming, “You will not disobey me. Pick it up, Price!”
Her voice is so shrill, I’m surprised she’s not a banshee. I stand and raise myself to my full height, my fists sliding from the table, balling at my sides. “No.”
Magic sizzles through her wand. “Curse cut clean!”
The breath stops in my lungs. Pain slices across my arms and cheeks. Neat cuts blossom along my skin as if invisible blades sliced across me. I swallow a cry and bury a sob as blood slides down my arms.
