Bluestone Academy (A Bully Paranormal Academy Romance)

by Klarissa King

  ‘Brad has informed me of your lack of extra circular activities. As I understand it, while your brother heads the Sparring Club, acts as an Academy Captain, and runs the Snowboarding Club, you have yet to commit yourself to an out-of-school activity, let alone, endeavour to head one.

  With your handicap, I understand your limitations in this area, however, magic is not required to pursue interests that will benefit you, your grades, and your accomplishments.

  I hope to hear from you shortly regarding which after-school courses you are applying to.’

  I toss the letter on to the floor and fall back on my bed. Still-wet hair sticks to my face. I peel them off and let my hands flop down.

  Bloody Brad and his rattling mouth. I’ll be sure to repay the favour in my response to father. I’ll tell him all about how he broke a half-breed’s leg on the slopes. I can’t say much more than that. The rift between me and Dray, whether or not my brother gets involved sometimes, is just that—between me and Dray. It’s the bloody rules, the ‘deal-with-it-yourself-or-not-at-all’ expectation we all live by. Besides, his family is a strong ally to ours and any wedge driven between us could be disastrous.

  This is one of the do-it-yourself times. Only, without magic and much interest in sport, there’s not a whole lot I can do around Bluestone’s after-school scene. I don’t play chess. I’m not a big reader, so book club is out, and I definitely do not hit the slopes. I only ski when I’m forced to at elite society gatherings and my nose gets all runny. Hate it.

  I can always join the Brew Club. I don’t need power to practice mild potions, especially salves. It’s the more complex of the brews that require magic, and the club shies away from those. But, then, the club is headed by Dray, so that’s an all-round bad idea.

  I wonder if Eric runs any clubs.

  Another bad idea to add to my list.

  As I lay sprawled out on the bed, the door swings open and Courtney swepts into the room. “There’s a party tonight,” she says, breathless, as if she just ran here to tell me that.

  I stare at her blankly. “So?”

  There’s a party every other night at Bluestone.

  “It’s in the gardens,” she says with a smile. “We get the common rooms to ourselves tonight.”

  “Oh.” I’m not in the mood for pool or card games, and less so for leaving the dorm again to spend my night with a bunch of other shunned students (mostly half-breeds). “You should go.”

  I wouldn’t mind the peace.

  But Courtney has other ideas. After a near twenty minutes straight of badgering and begging, she tips me over the edge and I finally agree to go. I shove on flannel pyjamas to match her pink, bunny-pint set and, with a bottle of honeywine, we head to the main common room.

  As I park myself on the rug by the fireplace, a blonde-haired girl from the year below us rushes over. Lolly runs in my circles, though, so I know her well. She’s another shunned one, like me, despite her ancient blood. But that’s mainly because she’s as stupid as one can get without actually having something a tad wrong with her.

  Lolly spills an armful of treats onto the rug and makes herself comfortable. “Can I join you?” Her eyes on my bottle of honeywine.

  “Sure.” I unscrew the lid and take a swig before I pass it off to her. The thick sweetness soothes my throat instantly and I feel a little warm.

  “What are we playing?” asks Lolly as she wipes off my saliva from the bottle, then pours some honeywine into her mouth without her lips actually touching the bottle. “Spin the bottle?”

  I make a face at her while she’s not looking. She’s not my favourite elite to be around and I’m stuck with her often at social events.

  “I was thinking truth or dare,” says Courtney with an odd look Lolly’s way. “Let’s start with you, O.”

  “Truth.” The answer is instant. Dares lose their fun when you’re tormented every other day. You learn to seek out safety, not risks.

  “You always pick truth,” Courtney complains. She hands me the bottle.

  “Fine.” I pull a nearby magazine onto my lap and shoot a smarmy smile Courtney’s way. “Dare.”

  She blinks, silent. It takes her too long to even try and come up with something fun to do.

  “See? You’re terrible at dares. No point in picking them.” I flick the page. Dresses, dresses, dresses, all from the krum world, nothing I would ever be allowed to buy.

  Courtney’s smile turns dark. “I dare you to buy the ugliest thing in that magazine and wear it next weekend to the village.”

  Colour drains from my face as I turn my stare on her. “You are joking.”

  “What is it you always say? I never joke about fashion.”

  It’s as though she’s slapped me silent. I just stare at her, the horror of the dare sinking in. “No, I can’t do that.”

  Courtney rolls her eyes. “Well, it’s no fun if you don’t do the dare.”

  “It’s no fun for me if those are the kinds of dares you choose,” I throw back at her before I circle a pair of shoes on the magazine page that take my fancy.

  Lolly drapes herself over the rug, laying on her side. She eyes the side of the page. “How many shoes do you have?”

  I resist the urge to sigh at her. “I don’t know. A lot.”

  Courtney snorts. “A lot? She has a whole storeroom just for her shoes.”

  “Oh, that’s lovely.” Lolly smiles. “I have a cupboard full.”

  Courtney shakes her head then snatches the bottle from me. After she takes a long swig, she flinches as I shove the magazine under her nose. She looks down at the orange velvet waistcoat I’ve circled.

  “I’ll buy it, but I won’t wear it,” I say darkly.

  Her smile is satisfied. She’s chuffed with herself.

  I snatch the magazine back. “Your turn.”

  “Truth.”

  I scoff. “You made me pick dare. Whatever, fine. Snog, marry, or push off a cliff.”

  “Ooh, that’s fun.” Lolly pushes up from the rug. “Landon, Bradford,” she adds with a look at me, as if I am my brother, “and Dray.”

  “Push Dray off a cliff,” her answer is instant, and it makes me smile. “Marry Landon, because he’s the least worst of the bunch, and kiss Brad. Sorry,” she adds with a look at me.

  I shrug. But my brother’s voice freezes me still, and we all go wide-eyed like dead fish.

  “And here I thought we got along so well,” Brad drawls form the doorway. “Be fixed, my broken heart.”

  Dray steps out from behind him, his shirt ruffled and the stink of scotch whiskey coming from him. In fact, they all reeked.

  “Shouldn’t you be at a party?” I ask, my heart seizing up in my chest. I’m a prime target, sitting out in the open, no shelter to turn to, and my enemies are drunk. Horrible moth-flutters climb up my chest.

  Carrying a bottle of honeywine, Dray advances on us, his lashes low and eyes bloodshot. “Came back for more drinks,” he tells me, then drops down beside me on the rug as Landon and Brad join us.

  I’m stiffer than an old man’s back in the morning.

  “What are we playing, then?” starts Landon as he uncorks his own bottle of liquor, something black and thick like tar. Definitely a brew of some sort.

  Lolly, who’s never had an outright issue with the elite boys, says in her annoying cheery voice, “Marry, kiss or push off a cliff. Are you joining us—”

  “No. They’re going back to their party,” I say with a steady, meaningful stare at Brad. If he ever wants to act the part of brother, maybe now he’ll start.

  I’m unlucky. He just makes a face at me, mimicking my heavy stare, then takes the bottle from Landon.

  After a long gulp, he passes it along to Lolly. “Who are my options?”

  “We were actually playing truth or dare,” says Lolly.

  “All right,” says Landon. “Lolly, truth or dare.”

  She doesn’t hesitate. “Truth.”

  So, she’s smarter than she acts. Only
a total fool would choose dare around these monsters.

  “Kiss, marry, or cliff.” Landon smirks, thinking himself clever. He’s not, at all. “Master Welham—” My face pinches. “—myself, or that Eric bloke who fancies himself a teacher.”

  “Kiss Eric, marry Master Welham, push you off a cliff.”

  Landon pales. “You would marry Welham, that bald round thing, and push me off a cliff?”

  She thinks on it a beat, then nods. “Yes. He’s so smart, isn’t he? He would make for interesting afternoon conversations. And,” she adds with a long look at him, “he’s not cruel.”

  That shuts everyone up. Truth hurts, hey.

  Well, it doesn’t shut Dray up. “Truth or dare, Olivia?”

  I sigh. “Truth.”

  He hands me the honeywine, like it’s a kind of reward for cooperating with my torture or something. “How many people have you kissed?”

  Kissed.

  I almost laugh at how inexperienced he thinks I am. I know better than most how much Dray gets around, but me? I’m just a bit more discreet about it. I have to be—I’m still waiting on a decent proposal, and don’t want to stuff up my options with brazenly sleeping around.

  So, I discreetly sleep around. James was my first after one-too-many honeywines one night, a few years back. Courtney still doesn’t know. See? Discretion is everything.

  “I don’t know how many people I’ve kissed,” I answer honestly with a slight shrug. “Do you remember things like that?”

  He considers me with narrowed eyes. But he relents, “I suppose not.”

  “This game is boring me now.” I fold my arms over my chest. “I think I’m going to call it a night.”

  “Did you fix your dress?” Dray acts like I haven’t spoken or declared my leave. “It was nice.”

  “Oh, that’s why you ruined it,” I murmur sarcastically.

  “I’m sorry.” His apology startles me and I stare, wide-eyed at him. “I’ll buy you a new one.”

  I run my gaze over him, like he’s a wet rat. “I want nothing from you.”

  With that, I get to my feet and storm out of the common room. I almost make it back to my dorm without injury, but I carry the memory of his (for once) soft blue eyes with me.

  Dray catches up with me. He pulls me to him by the arm and I’m stunned stiff.

  He kisses me.

  His warm, soft mouth is on mine, his fingers thread through my loose hair, and I almost, almost melt to him.

  Old flames flare up inside of me, but I stomp them down. He can remind me of his old self without stirring old feelings in me. He’s just toying with me, trying to hurt me all over again.

  Like hell I’ll ever let that happen.

  I shove him away from me. My hand shoots out in a blur and I smack him across the face once, twice, until my palm is stinging angrily.

  His cheek is turned, bright red. I shove into my room and slam the door on him.

  Chapter 7

  I don’t know what he was thinking that night, but ever since Dray tried to kiss me, he’s left me alone.

  That’s not reassuring. There’s bound to be consequences for slapping the nonsense out of him. It’s just a matter of when, where, and how. Until he seeks revenge, I can’t relax.

  Even now, as I push chocolate porridge around my tray, I feel his piercing stare on my cheek. I sit alone today. Courtney is meeting James, since he gets out of the infirmary this morning, and Lolly—our new shadow—is chasing snowflakes or whatever nonsense she gets up to. I’m left all alone, and though being with people hasn’t saved me from Dray before, being alone definitely makes me feel a lot more vulnerable, exposed.

  I’m out in the open, a sitting toad.

  But mostly, he just watches me.

  I look up as Brad comes into the mess hall and finds me with his stare. He approaches. Instantly, my spine stiffens and my muscles seize up.

  My gaze is wary. “What do you want?”

  He tosses an envelope onto the table, then stalks off to the bain-marie and smorgasbord to get his fill of breakfast. Pinching toast triangles between my teeth, I wipe my fingers on a napkin, then pry apart my family seal on the envelope.

  Dearest Olivia,

  I am pleased to learn you will be expanding your extra-curricular activities this final year at Bluestone Academy. If ever there was a time to apply more effort, it is now. I hope you are considering the Brews Club and perhaps a reading group of sorts. It shouldn’t be too late in the year to join.

  On a troubling note, I have received word from your brother that, not only were publicly intoxicated at the Academy, spurred on by your intoxication, you deemed it appropriate to strike Dray Sinclair not once, but twice. I can only hope that what your brother has claimed is little more than a vicious rumour, for it would hurt me greatly to learn of such disrespect and improper behaviour toward the son of our family’s closest allies.

  I eagerly await your response regarding this most troubling accusation.

  Upon your return over the holidays, I imagine some lessons to brush up on your manners will be in need. Madame Boucher will be available to assist you in the polishing of your behaviour prior to the upcoming debutante season.

  With love,

  Father

  The letter crinkles in my hand.

  Am I surprised that Brad ratted me out? No, not in the slightest. But I am surprised he knows anything about the slap. He must have followed us that night, or what if Dray told him about it? Unlikely. Dray doesn’t broadcast his weaknesses, and he wouldn’t run around the school telling anyone about how I bested him, rejected him, and hit him.

  Three strikes I’m waiting for the consequences for.

  Whatever way it happened, it happened and that was unchangeable. Madame Boucher—or Madame Butcher, we elite girls like to call her—is a wicked old witch with a cane bewitched to leave welts for days. I’ve had my fair share of strikes from her. Says I have an attitude problem, but really, the problem is the attitude she gives me.

  I ram the letter into my skirt pocket then leave for my dorm. Courtney is out already, as predictable as ever. She’s always early to class, I prefer to be fashionably late and avoid the tortures of class for as long as I can. Before I can stuff the letter in a drawer, I notice the silver-papered parcel on the foot of my bed. It must have been delivered with the rest of the mail that morning. But this one came straight to me, not Brad, so it can’t be from my parents. And if that wasn’t enough, the glossy purple ribbon that holds it all together is another tell of who it came from.

  Dray.

  All my presents from him—Christmas, birthdays—come wrapped the same way. Silvery paper, purple ribbons. My favourite colours.

  I toss the crumpled letter on the bed before I tear off the paper. The wrappings come away in scraps, revealing a familiar box with the cursive word ‘La Magie’ written over the top. My favourite French boutique—the same boutique I got the lilac dress from that Dray ruined.

  My mouth bunches to the side as I carefully peel back the lid, half-expecting some sort of rabid creature to come springing out at me. But inside, my lilac dress is folded neatly with golden tissue paper and dark, fragranced rose petals, the colour of ink, are sprinkled over the top of it. I check, but it comes without a card.

  I know who it’s from. It doesn’t need a card with ‘Dray’ written on it. And I know him well enough that this is an apology. One I’ll keep, but not accept.

  These moments of kindness from him never last. By tomorrow, he’ll be cutting off my braids or slipping worms down the back of my shirt. He’s as predictable as Courtney’s intense obsession about school

  I packed my leather satchel full of my school books.

  At the head of the dispersing class, Eric Digger was wiping chalk off the board with an old frayed duster. It wasn’t doing much good.

  The rest of the class was thinning, a lazy and tired and bored-out-of-their-damn-minds throng of students slumping out through the door. A double lesson on th
e myths of astrology in the krum world and we’re tuckered.

  I don’t think I absorbed a fraction of what he was babbling on about this class. But he’s damn nice to look at. And daydream about. I get the sudden feeling this class is going to be seriously harming my grades, but doing a whole lot of good for my imagination.

  I waited behind after noticing he didn’t return my assignment on Orion’s Belt when he handed out everyone else’s.

  He’s expecting me to stay behind, though.

  Without looking over his shoulder, he drops the duster onto its little tray, and says, “I had a look over your assignment last night—” A flash image of him laying in bed without a shirt on reading my paper suddenly erupts writhing snakes in my belly. “—It needs work. I’m willing to offer you an extension.”

  He turns to hand me the red-marked paper. My stomach drops at the sight of all those notes and it takes everything in me to not groan in despair.

  “Have you thought about a tutor?” he prompts.

  And it strikes a thought through me. Astrology Association. I’ll look into that at once. Should keep father off my back for a while.

  “I’ve been thinking about joining the club, actually.” Lie. I only just came up with it. Still, he looks impressed. “It might help me improve my grades. And knowledge, of course.”

  Digger’s smile is sweet. “Of course.”

  Like I give a damn about the stars. I give a damn about those smiles.

  I tuck the paper into my satchel, careful not to wrinkle it, then shoot him a wide smile. “Thanks for the extension. I’ll do better.”

  He only nods in answer before I practically skip out of there. Haven’t gotten an extension before and I’m damn well sure he wouldn’t have given one to anyone else.

  Teacher or not, he digs me.

  Chapter 8

  I never gave much thought to my death, but drowning in books wasn’t the way I planned on going. I’m sure Courtney means to kill me. She has us submerged in books in the corner of the library.