Nightworld Academy: Term Three

by LJ Swallow

  NIGHTWORLD ACADEMY: TERM THREE

  L J Swallow

  Copyright © 2019 by L J Swallow

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  v.2

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Other Books By LJ Swallow

  Books by Lisa Swallow

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  ASH

  I never imagined I’d spend Christmas with my brother again.

  We sit at the table on mismatched chairs in the middle of the small kitchen, beneath the tinsel strung across the ceiling, listening to Mum's favourite Christmas songs filling the room.

  Snow covers the ground outside, but in here I'm cosy, thanks to the heat from the oven that fills the house with the smell of roast dinner.

  The turkey on the table would feed a large family, but Mum knows mine and Vince's appetites. A decades-old tablecloth decorated with Santas and snowflakes decorates the table. The same table, in the same place I’ve spent Christmas every one of my eighteen years.

  Three of those years were hollow, as the hole left by Vincent’s death swallowed up the family. Christmas without him was wrong—the day could never be complete.

  Vincent sits opposite me with Mum fussing over him as she piles his plate with enough food for the Christmas dinners Vincent missed. A hearty meal to give him energy to recover from his wounds.

  A shifter should be healed after two weeks' rest and intensive treatment by our best doctors. He's healed physically, but he’s not the Vince I remember. Not yet. He limps and has deep scars on his face, but that's not all. Vincent is quiet, with something distant in his eyes, as if he’s still in the place they kept him.

  But who are ‘they’?

  My brother’s memories are hazy, and the spirit witches who worked on his mind barely dragged anything from inside. Whispered suspicions follow Vincent around: how could he disappear for years and nobody find him?

  Admittedly, I was suspicious too, but the guy dumped outside the academy gates is the brother I grew up with.

  I’m positive.

  Vincent remembers the little things about his life. He has memories of our time together as kids—our secrets. We built a den deep in the woods outside the town, where we hid when life in a stressful household became too much. Mum and Dad argued about money a lot, so we took our comic books to the den and lost ourselves in other worlds.

  He remembers my favourites. How I preferred Batman to Superman. He never laughed when he discovered the Hulk scared me—the monstrous character felt too close to home, and I had nightmares until I was twelve. I worried how dumb this made me, and I begged Vincent not to tell people.

  He never did. And he still has the memory of those times.

  Vincent also remembers that I always wear the red paper Christmas hat, and he wears the blue. "Here you go, bro." He hands the hat to me, and it crinkles as I push the paper onto my head.

  He pushes the blue one down over his curly brown hair. The cut at the edge of his mouth pulls as he smiles.

  "Eat up!" Mum spoons another helping of roast potatoes onto his plate, then forks more turkey from the platter.

  The blanketing sadness lifted from Mum as soon as she overcame the shock and disbelief at Vincent’s return. She’s over the moon to have her two sons home for Christmas once more, and for our life to move on.

  Dad was as curious as me, but forced away suspicion and accepted Vince’s memory blanks. Dad’s remaining doubt, which I think he doesn’t mention, is whether his son can still shift. To Dad, and many of us, this would be the ultimate proof Vincent is his son, the dragon shifter who came of age shortly before he disappeared.

  Marching a traumatised shifter into a quiet forest and demanding he take on his dragon form wouldn’t be fair, but Vincent will need to transform soon in order for the shifter council to truly believe him.

  How long will the council wait?

  I sneakily check my phone beneath the table, waiting for a reply from Maeve. I called to wish her ‘Merry Christmas’ and to check if she received the gift I sent, but she hasn't replied yet. If her family are anything like mine, she won't have much time to herself on Christmas Day.

  I spent several confused hours wandering the shops looking for a Christmas gift. I hope she likes the necklace with the gem as blue as her eyes. Okay, so I’m not imaginative, but it's the thought that counts, right?

  I worry about Maeve every day we’re away from the academy, but she’s watched from a distance by Confederacy militia. Is this to protect her, or in case she chooses to disappear? She's a precious commodity to the magic world. Maeve accepted her new life recently, but will she now she’s back in the human world and reminded of normality?

  I’ve not heard from Jamie—he’s away somewhere secret with his family, and we’re unable to contact him. There was an argument between Theodora and his parents over allowing him to leave the academy, which they won.

  I’m still amused people believe the mild-mannered Jamie beat up the vamp. We begrudgingly thanked Andrei for his help in wiping the other vamp's mind.

  Andrei. I remember him in the background shortly after I found Vincent. I freaked out and lost touch with everything happening around me, including Maeve. She ran to fetch somebody and Andrei came with the guards. He took over, comforting a distressed Maeve when I wasn’t capable. Part of me resents this, but another part is grateful. Andrei looked out for Maeve—he always does.

  He’s as much a part of everything happening as the rest of our group—and I don't know how that makes me feel.

  Amelia? She’s back in Scotland and off the grid—literally, as there’s no internet or phone reception at her family home. Her family keeps their environment untouched by the modern world as much as they can. The elemental witches use solar electricity and water from rain tanks, living a self-sufficient life where they can encourage nature to supply what they need.

  Amelia hates her old life now and only returns home to see her sister. Genevieve’s health gradually improves as the damage from her magic accident slowly heals. Amelia insists her sister will be herself again one day, but Genevieve hasn’t spoken since the day she was attacked.

  Christmas lunch finishes, and I head to the lounge and slump in the lumpy sofa ready to enter a food coma and watch this year’s b
ad Christmas movie with Mum.

  "Ash, dude. Dishes." Vince’s voice carries from the kitchen.

  "Can we leave them until later?" I call back.

  "No, you can’t." Mum walks into the room, pink-cheeked from too many glasses of wine with her Christmas dinner. She flops beside me. "I want a break before tonight."

  The pub doesn’t often close, and Dad’s reopening this evening. I promised I’d help out along with Vincent, and hoped for a snooze before I do.

  Mum aged over the last few years—more than she should—and Vincent is the reason. I loved to see her eating more today and to see her eyes shine again. She lost more weight from her already slender figure, giving her a frailty I hated, something she tried to hide beneath baggy clothes.

  Today Mum’s dressed in her favourite red dress with her long brown hair plaited down her back. Her arms are still thinner than they should be, but there’s new life in her today.

  Grumbling, I head into the kitchen where Vince loads the dishwasher. He points to a sink filled with soapy water.

  "Wash the pans."

  Ugh. I'd argue that I want to load the dishwasher, but he's gruff and I'm worried how he'll react. I never fight the guy—he’s bigger and hardly lost any bulk while he was away. His hair is longer than mine now, and he reminds me of Jamie as his eyes hide behind the curls. But there's no mistaking we're brothers.

  I push the greasy baking tray beneath the bubbles and stare through the window at the snow settled on the stone walls outside. I’m stuck on what to say to my brother. Any conversation we have turns around to me and my life. He either doesn’t want to, or can’t, remember his recent months. All we can talk about is the past or my present.

  "Who’s the girl?" Vince asks.

  I glance over. "Which one?"

  Vincent chuckles. "Why? How many do you have? The one you’re always calling."

  "How do you know I'm calling a girl?"

  "Because you always have a gooey look on your face afterwards."

  I scowl at his teasing. "I do not. Besides, Maeve isn’t my girl. Not officially."

  "But you’re smitten, I can tell." He shoves wine glasses into the dishwasher. "I presume she’s from the academy. Are her family wolf shifters?" I shake my head. "Bear? That would be unusual for the UK."

  "And dragons aren’t?" I ask. My heart speeds because I know where this conversation is headed.

  "Good point. Well?" He pauses to watch me wash a pan. "What is she?"

  "Does it matter?" I ask.

  "I guess not." He pauses. "As long as she’s a shifter, everything is fine."

  I scrub the pot harder.

  "Ash?"

  What do I say?

  "She’d better not be a bloody witch." Vince’s tone changes, harsh, the way it is when he talks about his missing years.

  I shake my hands and grab a tea towel. "Like I said, she isn’t my girl. We just made out at the school dance."

  "Nothing more?"

  I wipe my hands and prepare to lie. If I upset Vincent and he loses his temper with me, I’d spoil Mum’s perfect day. "She’s just a girl."

  The words choke me because they’re far from the truth. Maeve isn’t ‘just a girl’ and never will be—to me or to the world. My heart hopes she’ll become a bigger part of my life, that she’ll kiss me a hundred times the way we joked, and when that happens, I won’t be able to hide anything from Vincent.

  But the thought frightens me. What if he hurts her? Rejects me?

  Falling for Maeve has more complications than I imagined.

  Vincent returns to his domestic duties, large hands stacking plates into the dishwasher. Livid red scars cover the faded ones from scrapes when he was a kid, and remind me of the pain he suffered.

  But what about the scars in his mind? What’s hidden deep inside Vincent that he won’t talk about? Those are the scars that worry me more.

  Chapter Two

  MAEVE

  Amelia unpacks her bag onto the bed in our dorm room, examining her new clothes with shining eyes. She carefully folds jeans and T-shirts with tags still attached beside her warm winter jumper decorated with flowers.

  Our trip together to the post-Christmas sales ended in crowded changing rooms and suffocating stores, as Amelia snapped up bargains.

  I knew that would happen as soon as Amelia suggested the ‘day out’. At least this shopping trip didn’t involve visions of death.

  Amelia visited and stayed with me for the last days of the Christmas holidays. Mum was overwhelmed by her enthusiasm, which filled our already brightly lit house with more Christmas cheer than most of us could cope with. We spent time together talking about events at the academy or hanging out with Tessa and her new friends.

  That night almost ended in disaster when Amelia’s drunken spell casting drew attention. She joked this gave her a chance to practice her memory wiping skills. I forced a smile as my two worlds clashed.

  "Have you heard from Jamie and Ash?" she asks as she places a blue dress on a hanger.

  "Ash, yes. Jamie, not yet. You?"

  "Jamie called to say he’d arrive late today. I called Ash and his brother answered." Amelia wrinkles her nose. "Vincent said he’d pass a message on, but I’m not convinced he will."

  "Vincent probably thought you were me," I reply. "Ash told me he’s anti-witch."

  Amelia chews her lip. "I hope that won’t be a problem. Ash always hero-worshipped Vincent, and now he’s back, I’m worried he’ll only listen to his brother."

  "You mean Vincent will tell Ash to keep away from us?"

  Her lips pull into a knowing smile. "I doubt Ash will keep away from you, Maeve."

  I sit on the bed. The night the academy found Vincent, he was rushed inside and then taken to a private hospital. The hospital has human patients as cover, but most who are treated there are shifters.

  After that night, I heard little. The shifter community is tight and secretive. I doubt I would’ve heard anything at all if Ash hadn’t told me.

  Witnessing someone bleeding towards death sickened me, but Ash’s reaction broke my heart. Years of grief poured from him, as if he was losing his brother again. He wouldn’t listen when Professor O’Reilly dragged him away, as medical staff tended to Vincent’s wounds before the ambulance arrived. Ash wasn’t in any state to go with him to the hospital.

  I didn’t see Ash again—he went home the next day and the family locked down.

  I never saw Tobias again, either.

  In my hazy memories of the minutes that followed, Andrei stands out. For the second time that night, he stepped in and helped as I struggled. The unforgettable kiss with Ash lingers in my memories, but Andrei’s attention bordered on affection. He sat with me on the cold steps outside the main academy building until the shock faded. We barely spoke—I wasn’t capable—but he didn’t walk away until Amelia and Jamie arrived.

  "We can focus on moving forward. All of us," I say to Amelia.

  Amelia sits beside me and squeezes my hand. She’s shocked by the events with Tobias. We all are. I’ve told her everything, apart from our intense exchange that confused us both. I’m ashamed to admit I’m attracted to him, but that’s irrelevant now.

  Tobias has gone.

  I looked for him the next day, wanting more answers, determined Tobias would take me to Theodora and confirm his story.

  Instead, I found his study empty and bare. The room still smelled of him and I stood, with a mix of anger and disappointment, as I looked to where his books once lined the shelves and at the table that once held the glass he shattered.

  Did Tobias run before his crimes were discovered?

  So, we face a new term with new teachers—and new lessons.

  "Have the class lists been posted yet?" I ask.

  "They’re usually pinned to the house noticeboards in the main entrance hall. We can head down and look if you like? Then, coffee." She sighs. "I’ve missed coffee. Mum and Dad will only drink tea. I loved the coffee I had at the fancy cafe in
your town. Maybe I could ask the cafe staff here to make me one. What was that called?"

  "Caramel latte." I smile at her babbling. At how Amelia can wipe away my troubling thoughts as easily as if she cast a spell. That’s a talent, magical or not.

  I point at her clothes. "Finish putting your spoils away, and we’ll head out."

  I turn away to unpack mine too.

  I’m back at the Nightworld Academy and this time I’m happy to be here. I cringe as I remember the uptight girl whose shock became a barrier against the world she was thrust into. I’m happy to throw myself wholeheartedly into everything.

  To control my powers. To use them to stop the Dominion.

  I stand beneath the school crests lining the high wall in the entrance hall and study the pinned lists on the large noticeboard. Holding a notepad in one hand, I search through the Walcott class lists to note my new timetable.

  Amelia shuffles from foot to foot beside me. "Are you done yet?"

  I hold up my pen. "Has the school not heard of email? Online bulletin boards? Why do I need to copy this down?"

  "Because it’s harder for humans to hack pen and paper," says a scornful voice. "The academy’s advanced program is secret, or did you forget that?" Katherine stands beside me, one long finger on a pinned sheet. "This one," she says to the girl beside her. "Write it down."

  The young, curly-haired witch under instruction from Katherine pushes her glasses up her nose and writes on a pink notepad.