by Cara Wylde
GRIM REAPER ACADEMY
COMPLETE COLLECTION
- reverse harem romance -
Copyright © 2019 by Cara Wylde
Cover by Otilia Jakab
All rights are reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher, except for the use of brief quotations in book reviews.
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are fictitious or have been used fictitiously, and are not to be construed as real in any way. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales, or organizations is entirely coincidental.
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TABLE OF CONTENTS
Surviving Year One
Exclusive Story: Prom Night
Slaying Year Two
Saving Year Three
Exclusive Story: First Time a Harem
Seizing Year Four
Exclusive Second Epilogue: Yolanda
About the Author
Book One
Surviving Year One
CHAPTER ONE
It was one of those days. I dumped more sanitizer in the toilet and scrubbed harder than necessary. It was already clean; I had been scrubbing and cleaning for the past half hour, but I couldn’t stop. Not now. Not yet. Because it was one of those days, when I believed them. I believed that I was worthless, lazy, stupid, and that was why I was cleaning toilets. It wasn’t that my parents hadn’t hired a cleaning lady to clean the diner every evening. Of course they had. But she was in charge of the tables, the chairs, the bar, and the front windows. The kitchen and the toilets were my job because, apparently, I was supposed to learn responsibility. To get somewhere in life, you had to start from the bottom. The low, rock bottom.
Yeah, it was one of those days, but at least I wasn’t at home, in my own bathroom, where the temptation would’ve been too much. Here, I was safe. It stunk, it was disgusting, I’d had to clean someone’s vomit off the toilet bowl, but there were no sharp objects in sight, and that made it easier for me to focus on the task at hand. To keep my thoughts at bay. Easier.
I told Mom the mayonnaise is expired. I’m cleaning off puke, but she’ll have to deal with the health inspectors. That was, if anyone actually reported us. Lena’s Diner was a rundown place in an old building on the wrong side of the tracks. Family business. And it was such a great, flourishing business that my dad didn’t even want to put his name on it. That was why it was called Lena’s. And if you ate at Lena’s, you ate at your own risk. Or mine. After all, I was the one who was going to clean the shit and the vomit. Mom and Dad respected their cleaning lady too much to let her deal with the awful things one could only find in Lena’s kitchen or toilet. That, or they were afraid Mrs. Flores would ask for more money.
I flushed the toilet, pulled myself to my feet, and pushed the bucket out of the stall. This had been the last one. I threw the gloves into the trash, washed my hands quickly, then stuffed the cleaning supplies in the small, dark room across the hall. I’d cleaned the kitchen earlier, and now all I had to do was lock up and head home. Mrs. Flores was cleaning the last window as I walked out of the back, jiggling the keys. I was always the last one here, and even though I kind of liked her, I didn’t appreciate that she always seemed to take forever with the most menial tasks, and make me wait even more. It wasn’t like it was almost 2 AM and I was dead tired.
One month. One more month, and I’ll go back to school. That had been my mantra the whole summer. Three months. Two months. One month. Almost mid-August. And even though school wasn’t much better than home, at least I wouldn’t have to scrub toilets and then listen to my dad’s lectures about how I should be grateful that I got to pay them back for food, a room under their roof, clothes, and all they’d invested so I could get an education. One month, then one more year, and I can go to college. Maybe. If not college, then somewhere. Anywhere.
“Pues ya esta, mija,” Mrs. Flores smiled at me as she put away her supplies.
I nodded and waited for her to change. Ten minutes later, I was finally out in the chilly night air. I closed my eyes and stayed like that for a minute, in the middle of the sidewalk. It was oddly peaceful tonight. The full moon was high in the sky, its majestic glow turning the streetlights obsolete. It was a miracle we had them in this part of town. When the night chill crept under my old, battered hoodie and made me shiver, I rubbed my arms to warm them and hopped on my bike. Home was a 10-minute bike ride away. I couldn’t wait to take a hot shower and catch four hours of sleep before I had to be at the diner again.
* * *
The shrill sound of the alarm made me jump and throw my phone on the floor. When it didn’t stop, I groaned and pulled myself out of the bed to look for the stupid thing. 6 AM. Shit. Fuck. I went into the bathroom and came out fifteen minutes later, fully dressed. Yesterday’s clothes would have to do, and I didn’t care my faded blue hair was in dire need of a wash. The blond roots were showing. I’d have to take care of that before the first day of school.
Yawning, I stumbled down the stairs and into the kitchen. My father was drinking his coffee – which he liked black, as black as his soul, – feet perched on the kitchen table as he browsed on his tablet.
“Morning,” I said, stifling another yawn.
Dad ignored me. I rolled my eyes and stepped next to my mother, who was just breaking eggs for an omelet.
“How did you sleep, sweetheart?”
“Good, good.” I cut the fresh white bread and put two slices into the toaster. “I’m just going to eat real quick and head to the diner, make sure everything is alright.”
“Oh, don’t worry about that, sweety. You don’t have to go today.”
I cocked an eyebrow. “I don’t?” Well, that was a first. I’d worked at Lena’s all summer, no breaks. Not even a weekend.
My mom turned to me, her beautiful blue eyes smiling as her face glowed. In her forties, and she was still a beauty. Sure, her skin was a bit saggy here and there, and there were deep wrinkles around her eyes and lips, but her long blond hair was as shiny as ever, and her eyes spoke of a much younger soul. If she’d only had the time and education to take care of herself, poor thing… But she would’ve had to leave my dad first.
She put the pan on the stove, wiped her hands on an old kitchen towel, and reached out to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear.
“It’s your birthday, sweety. Maybe you want to go out, celebrate with your friends.”
I blinked. It was. It was my birthday. God! My life was so fucked up that I’d completely forgotten about my own birthday! Wake up at 5 or 6 in the morning, work, scrub toilets, back home at 2 AM, sleep, repeat.
“My darling Mila is eighteen,” Mom whispered. “Tell you what. I’ll give you some money so you can dye your hair back, okay?”
I pulled away. “Mom, no! My hair is blue. It stays blue.”
I heard my dad huff behind us.
“You’re not giving her any money, woman.”
“But, Stepan, it’s her birthday,” she said in a small voice that had no fight in it.
“So what?” He looked up from his tablet, bushy eyebrows furrowed, pure hate flickering in his brown eyes. “Oh joy, it’s the day she came along, ruined our lives, and emptied our pockets. Hooray! Let’s fucking celebrate!” His voice became highly accented. “Dolna kuchka,” he mumbled.
I bit the inside of my cheek. My mom made herself small and turned back to the stove, motioning for me
to pass her the salt. I dragged in a deep breath and complied. When my father was angry, he started cursing in Bulgarian. Right now, either me or my mom was a fucking bitch. I curled my fingers around the knife handle, grabbed a tomato, and imagined it was his head as I stabbed it in the middle. The blade hit the wooden board underneath so hard that seedy tomato guts spilled all over the table. And a bit on the floor. The chair behind me creaked, and I knew my dad was just straightening his back, getting ready to yell at me. Call me kurva this time, probably. I squeezed the knife harder.
“Dear, why don’t you go get the mail?” Mom’s thin, trembling fingers wrapped around my wrist, and I let go of the knife. “I got this. Two minutes, and we can all eat.” As if I could swallow anything right now… I looked up at her, did my best to mirror the feeble smile on her tired face, then turned on my heels and headed to the front door. I kept my head low, not daring to look Dad in the eyes. If I dared, then I would’ve risked losing control.
Once outside, the crisp morning air filled my lungs, and my head cleared. I took longer than necessary to get the mail, knowing full well that my parents were probably waiting for me, my dad annoyed that his food was getting cold. But he would wait. Oh, he would wait. It was tradition for him to say a short prayer every time the family ate together. There was no way of getting out of this one, not even on my eighteenth birthday. I sighed and went back inside, looking through the stack of envelopes and wondering what elaborate curses were waiting for me once Dad was done blessing our breakfast and the hands that made it.
What is this? I took the envelope out of the pile and turned it over. It had my name on it. Mila Lazarov. But it didn’t make any sense. I never received any mail. Every day, our mailbox spat out a stack of overdue bills and credit cards, but never something addressed to me. This is so weird. It wasn’t just a normal, plain envelope, either. Bright red with golden decorations that looked like runes, my name and address written in black ink. Instead of a return address, just three words: Grim Reaper Academy. I wonder who’s got time for these pranks… Because it had to be a prank. I closed the front door behind me and went into the kitchen to find something to open the pretty envelope. Joke or not, I liked the artsy design.
“What have you got there, dear?” Mom threw a quick glance at the mail I’d left on the table but didn’t touch it. As usual, she wasn’t going to open the bills. She was going to get rid of them later, and pretend she’d never gotten them in the first place. Innocent and clueless. Like a saint.
“I don’t know. Looks like a lame joke.” I pulled out an equally red letter and unfolded it. It was decorated with golden runes, too.
“Can we eat already?” Dad growled.
I cocked an eyebrow as I scanned the letter quickly.
“Is it from your friends?”
“She doesn’t have any friends, woman.”
“No, it’s from…” It felt stupid to say it out loud. “It says…” I shook my head. “I’m not even sure it’s addressed to me.” But it was. It had my name under Recipient. “Maiden of the Sun, born under a Mercury Moon, rising toward Mars, on this day you enter womanhood, and on this day, we are honored to invite you to apply to the prestigious Grim Reaper Academy.” I snickered. “Yeah. It’s a practical joke. It even says… Oh my God, that in the history of their institution, this is the only special exception they’ve ever made… by inviting a mere human. Well, gee… thanks! Thanks for letting me know, for my birthday, that I’m just a plain, boring human.” I laughed out loud, or at least tried to.
I wasn’t special. I knew I wasn’t. But that didn’t stop me from wishing and dreaming that one day my life would change, that one day someone would pop out of nowhere and tell me: “You, Mila Lazarov, you were made for great things”. Also: “Sorry it took us so long, our bad”. As a kid who was crazy about Disney and Japanese anime, I’d made many stories and scenarios in my head. I wasn’t from around here. No, I couldn’t be. And I wasn’t thinking about my nationality. Bulgarian-American. Coming from a family of immigrants who’d put their hopes into the American Dream and left their poor village in the north of Bulgaria for the promise of a more decent future. No, I was thinking about… how I didn’t belong here, on Earth. How the world confused me, how I couldn’t understand people, relate to them, how their routines, motivations, little joys, and overcomplicated sorrows didn’t make any sense to me. There was only one reasonable conclusion: I must’ve come from somewhere else, somewhere far away, a different planet or a parallel dimension. I must’ve landed here by mistake. A terrible mistake and misunderstanding. And one day, someone from my home world would show up, apologize to my adoptive family, take me back, and tell me that it would all be fine from now on, because I belonged. I belonged.
As a kid, I’d stay up in bed at night, unable to sleep, and focused with all my might on my own body. There had to be some clue that I wasn’t human. Maybe, wings would sprout out of my shoulder blades if I concentrated hard enough. I couldn’t tell how many hours I’d spent staring at random objects around my room, trying to make them move with the power of my mind. Once, when I was five, the curtains shuffled and rustled after I’d been focusing on them for an hour. The windows were closed, and back then, I didn’t understand how the drought sneaking underneath my door worked. I was a happy kiddo for a week.
But I never grew wings. If I wanted something, I had to move my ass and get it, because my mind wasn’t willing to make the effort for me. No one ever came to take me back home or tell me that it was time to embrace my true nature and fight evil to save the world. Now, looking at the red letter in my hand, I had to laugh out loud. I had to. I wasn’t five anymore. I was eighteen, and I’d stopped believing in such nonsense years ago. Except… Something wasn’t right.
“Give me that!”
I jumped in surprise when my father snatched the letter and the envelope from my hands, looked at them for a split second, then proceeded to tear them to tiny pieces.
Something wasn’t right with my dad. Why would he react like that to a stupid joke?
“What did you do that for? I wanted to keep it! Find out who’s the asshole who sent it!”
Yes, the asshole who knew all my secrets and had felt it was their duty to make fun of me. But I had only told Korina about my dreams and silly stories. She was my best friend in primary school, and when we were both bullied because we liked anime and fairy tales, we’d go to her place, watch our favorite shows, and act out new stories we came up with. Kind of like live fanfiction, if that was a thing. It couldn’t have been Korina, though. For one, she’d never do something like this to me. And two, I hadn’t seen her or spoken to her in ten years at least, since she and her family had moved to California. I hoped she was doing better than me.
“Dad, seriously! Stop!” I tried to save the last intact piece of envelope he was holding, but he pushed me away so hard that my hip hit the edge of the table. Pain shot up my side, and I bit the inside of my cheek. Thanks so much, moron. That will bruise. Although, it would be one of the less ugly bruises my dad had given me over the years.
“Go to your room right now and forget about it. You didn’t receive anything.”
“Stepan…” my mom begged in a small voice. “Let her eat something, at least.”
He ignored her and pointed a stubby, shaking finger at me.
“Your room. Now. You’re not going to the diner today. Fine, whatever. Take the day off. But I don’t want to see your souka face around the house, either.”
I pursed my lips. My hands curled into fists at my sides, but I relaxed the second I exchanged a look with my mom. If I did anything, said anything… If I stood up for myself, then she would be at the receiving end of the yelling and the bruising. Stepan fucking Lazarov loved to tell Ilena Lazarov that she’d raised a brat of a child and that it was all her fault I didn’t respect him. So, I dragged in a breath, centered myself, and walked past my dad, up the stairs, and into my room. I was careful not to stomp and not to slam
the door, either. He would have taken it as a sign of rebellion.
But why would he get so mad over a stupid letter that isn’t even real? Grim Reaper Academy. Yeah right! Something was off. Shady. Dad usually got worked up over stupid shit, but this was taking the cake. Unless… But no. I shook my head vigorously.
What if…? No. I couldn’t let my mind wander, come up with crazy, feel-good scenarios. Those days were gone. I wasn’t five anymore. Still…
With a deep sigh, I plopped onto my bed. I stared at the ceiling for a while, wondering what one would learn at a Grim Reaper Academy, anyway. How to collect souls when their time came? I snickered and turned on my side, sneaking my hand under my pillow to get ready for some extra sleep. My fingers met the sharp corner of something that seemed to be made of paper, and I jumped on my hands and knees. This can’t be! I pulled the object out, and the next thing I knew, I was staring at the exact envelope my father had just ripped to pieces and thrown in the trash. I could see the thin, slightly discolored lines where the massacre had damaged the red paper. As I took out the letter and read it again, with new eyes, my heart beat wildly in my chest.
This was some sort of fucked up sorcery. It had to be. And the even more fucked up part was that it appeared to be real.
CHAPTER TWO
Grim Reaper Academy.
There weren’t many details in the letter, but there was a website, so I fired up my beaten-up laptop and punched in the URL. A dark-themed page loaded, all vintagey, shabby looking, with the logo in red and gold, those runes I was already familiar with lining the upper side of the blade of a scythe that was the focal point of the logo. Grim indeed.
As I scrolled down the front page, then went deeper and clicked on each and every link I could find, I started getting chills down my back and arms. It was in the middle of August, hot as hell, yet here I was, pulling the blanket off the bed and wrapping myself in it. It seemed so real. No matter how hard I tried to divine some clue that it was all a joke and the website had been created by someone with too much time on their hands, nothing came up. I was at a loss. Maybe it was just my crazy desire for something supernatural to happen in my life. Maybe it was me. Maybe a sane person would have seen the hoax in an instant, but I’d already accepted a long time ago that I was anything but sane. Suddenly self-conscious, I pulled at the stretchy bands around my wrists, covering more of my skin. I needed to raise some money to buy myself longer ones. The old wristbands only covered a quarter of my forearms. Maybe I could find something that would reach my elbows and not look ridiculous or too goth in hot weather. Yeah. A sane person I was not. Because sane people didn’t do what I did.
