Bluestone Academy (A Bully Paranormal Academy Romance)

by Klarissa King

  Will you please consider this?

  In efforts to increase my grades, I have joined two after-school clubs (Astrology and Brews). I hope this satisfies you.

  Eagerly awaiting your response,

  Love, O.

  I stuff the letter into an envelope then use our wax seal to close it.

  I know the mail won’t be collected until the next morning from the mailbox near the bulletin board in the main foyer, but I can’t wait. The letter nips at me, gnaws at my brain.

  I kick out of bed and snatch the letter up, headed for the foyer. Yet another party in the common room is raging on and, as I pass, I hear the clinks of glass and the shouts of boys saying the kind of things that tip me off that they’re talking to girls.

  But my mind isn’t on the party. It’s on the letter. I injected enough manipulation with my extra-curricular clubs in hopes of securing my father’s attention. And right now, that’s the best I can hope for. His attention. Because then, he’ll listen. And when he listens, I win.

  I reach the tall red letterbox and carefully slip my envelope through the slot. While I’m here, I look up at the bulletin board—there are some new leaflets and notices tacked to the board.

  Now, there appears to be a second book club that focuses on literature from the krum world only and a history club that centres around the witch hunts all those centuries ago. A lot of our people died then, but a lot of krums died, too. Accusations were thrown around like sweets at Halloween.

  Speaking of Halloween, there it is. The biggest notice on the board, a shiny faced poster advertising the Halloween party coming up.

  Since we start school in late July, Halloween has crept up on me faster than I can blink. Now, it’s just weeks away and it’s a party just for the seniors. I forgot they have those—and now that I am one, I chide myself. I should have put in the letter for mother to send me a costume.

  Mind, I can always make my own costume. I’m pretty handy at alterations, since most of the skirts mother buys me for school have to be brought up a bit more when I get here. I’m never at Bluestone Academy without my trusty pack of needles and threads, enough to fund a workhouse.

  What can I say? I like my fashion. If only that was a witch talent and my life would be set. But I’m a deadblood, a witch without power who studies at a witch school in the Swiss Alps. To stop my suffering, I need to secure an engagement and Eric is handsome, kind, and is as good as anyone, really.

  With a look back up at the Halloween Party poster, I’m stunned by the theme. ‘Krum Tales. Come as your favourite character from a krum story.’

  The elites definitely didn’t have a say in this year’s theme. It must have been the Masters or the Krum Society after-hours club.

  I went back to bed with krums on the mind. I’d have to do some research in the library. My family are very strict when it comes to krums and their world. Not even Courtney is allowed to visit me over the holidays. My father says they’re all a bad influence and the half-breeds aren’t all that different to the krums—they cling onto a world they should let go of.

  So, I haven’t read much from their world, outside of the curriculum of Krum Studies. At least Courtney, with her half-blood, can help me.

  When I return to the dorm, Courtney is still asleep and I take the opportunity to sneak some of her personal books onto my side of the narrow room. I spend most of the night reading under a witchglobe, a small ball of light that’s fixed above me on the canopies.

  I find my favourite quickly. The girl likes shoes and dresses as much as I do, and not to mention, we’re both shunned and have horrid families in common.

  Cinderella.

  Chapter 13

  Two days since I wrote to father and I still haven’t heard from him—not even a phone call, though those are limited and a little fuzzy with all the magic buzzing around Bluestone Academy.

  Still, I can’t shake the reply from my mind. It distracts me in all my classes, even now, as I stand like a statue beside Courtney in Brews.

  We’re working on some broth that I’ve already forgotten about and I stare ahead at the chalkboard. Doesn’t matter. Courtney is nothing if not a perfectionist, and since James is homesick in the infirmary, she’s my partner for the day—and she does enough work for the both of us.

  I turn my gaze to her frizzing brown hair, that looks more like straw in desperate need of smoothing out. The fumes from the broth don’t help her mane much. I know better—I come prepared to this class by combing my blond hair back into a braid to fight the humidity.

  Courtney fusses over the steaming cauldron. The bitter, metallic smell seeps up our nostrils, like claws reaching out to devour us. It’s downright disgusting. But it’s a good sign that she’s following the instructions exactly.

  I’m jolted out of my daze as Courtney clicks her fingers in front of my face. I blink, startled, and look at her.

  “Add the linchworm,” she says, and her tone suggests it’s not the first time she said it. “Three juicy halves.”

  Almost robotically, I unscrew the mason jar and, with a pair of tongs and a twisted face, pick out three, fat, grubby linchworms, whose green insides release a potent stink. So gross.

  My face is still twisted with disgust as I keep my hand at arm’s length and drop the linchworms into the broth.

  Now I remember—it’s a manus broth, to boost energy for at least a whole day and night. It’s said that the Master Medics drink it before they do long operations.

  I watch the brew with bated breath, waiting for something terrible to happen. But it only changes colour, from a murky brown to green, the kind that grows on boulders near lakes. Mossy.

  Courtney picks up the workbook and heads off to the supply closet, leaving me to watch the brew with disinterest. Master Welham bobs through the double-tables, and whenever he stops to inspect a brew, he clasps his hands on his round belly and rolls on the balls of his feet.

  I watch him as he slowly makes his way closer. I hope Courtney returns before he reaches us—I can’t answer any of the question’s he’ll slide my way and I don’t want to lose us points.

  I’m counting on good grades to escape my hell.

  An engagement makes me an untouchable. Well, the marriage does. Once I’m married, only small slights can be sliced my way—nothing like what Dray tortures me with. I can’t be touched, and besides, I can live away from the rest of the elites and see my family outside of the social season. I can make do with a modest life. It’s better than a life of torment, isn’t it?

  As my mind spirals, I scratch the back of my head and wonder if I tied my braids too tightly. The itch is starting to tickle. I snatch a nearby pencil and use the eraser-end to scrub at my scalp. Shudders start to run down my spine and prickle my shoulders.

  Just as Master Welham reaches my table and Courtney rushes back over, I drop the pencil and attack my head with my bare hands—and I touch something that’s not my hair or skin. Something gooey, fat, and moist. Something that someone has put in my hair while I was lost in thought.

  Wearing a twisted face, I peel out the slimy strand from my hair and bring it to my face. I pale instantly and dread is quick to pool like ice-water in my belly.

  Linchworms.

  I erupt in a scream and start scraping at the back of my head. Linchworm after linchworm comes away with each grab. The laughter in the class bounces off the wood walls, mocking me in their echoes.

  More and more come away with every grab I scrape along my scalp, slimy, fat linchworms whose green juices have dampened my hair. Tears prickle my eyes as I jump on the spot, shrieking, clawing at the grubs stuck to my braids.

  Courtney drops the tray of ingredients on the table and hurries to my side. She tries to calm me, steady my flailing arms, and pick them out one by one, but she’s not quick enough. I’m already starting to retch.

  “Get them—out of…meeeeee.” I choke out between heaves. “Courtney—get them offff.”

  Within moments, she’s steadying me
, hands on my shoulders, and forcing me to look at her. “They’re gone,” she promises, “I got them out. It’s all right.”

  A violent shudder runs through me and I twist around to the table behind ours. Brad is howling along with the rest of the class, his face red from laughter.

  Beside him, Dray stands like a marble statue, his eyes dead and cold as he watches me.

  He mouths one word at me and my heart is ripped out. ‘Waif.’

  My nerve snaps. I throw out the rulebook and advance on him until it’s only the table between us.

  “Fuck you,” I hiss at him then, before I can even think about it or stop myself, my hand shoots out in a blur and strikes him, hard, across the face.

  All the laughter dies. Not even a chuckle breaks the tense silence that sweeps over us. Everyone knows—even the half-breeds—that I’ve gone against the rules. A direct, public attack, not a prank, not a sneaky quiet slap. Something public, loud, and violent.

  “I fucking despise you,” I spit at him and, again, I strike out. His head is hit side-ways, his cheek turned to me, and an angry red mark starts to grow there like a rose coming to blossom.

  Brad stares at me with wide eyes, his mouth slightly agape. “Olivia—”

  Whatever he says, I don’t hear it. I grab the open jar of linchworms then throw the entire contents on Dray’s face.

  The whole classroom sucks in a sharp breath. The silence is delicate, like cracked glass threatening to shatter any moment. No one is laughing now.

  Green, murky water runs down Dray’s face. It trickles down the slight indents on his clenched jaw, as his eyes shut peacefully to stop it from getting in his eyes. But though his face looks calm, his entire body is seized up by tight muscles pushing against his uniform and I can taste the fury lashing all around him.

  “Detention.” Master Welham’s voice is weak, shaking a little, and he looks paler than anyone else. He knows the rulebooks, too, since he’s an elite. He looks between both Dray and me before he adds, “Both of you, tonight, detention.”

  I look back at Dray. His eyes are open now, sharp icicles stabbing into me, holding promises of retribution in their cutting gleams. Still, though I tremble at the hands, I hold his gaze and lift my chin in defiance. With a smarmy smirk shot his way, I turn my back on him, slam down the empty jar on the table, then slump down in my seat.

  It takes some time for the shock to dissipate from the class. But after it does, the steady and quiet murmurs rise up and everyone gets back to their brews.

  I doubt anyone has forgotten about what I did—and they’re all eagerly awaiting the consequences. Not detention, no. That’s nothing. The consequences Dray delivers is what they’re waiting for.

  And as I sit there, in a mood for the rest of the lesson, I can’t help but hate myself.

  What the fuck was I thinking?

  Chapter 14

  Dray stares at me with that smouldering fury.

  He hasn’t done anything, yet. He just watches me across the mess hall, as if he thinks he can kill me with his icy glare alone.

  Maybe he can. I don’t know that much about makut, but it might be possible.

  I eat in silence. Courtney is with James in his dorm, trying to bring her dull twin back to life. So, I’m left to face the enemy alone. Most of the elite snakes don’t bother looking my way, even my brother ignores me, but his face doesn’t carry as much malice as it normally does. If I am fool enough to believe it, I might think he’s worried for me. This, after what I’ve done, has crossed territory—unknown territory.

  I push my tray aside and pull my satchel onto my lap. When I went back to the dorms at lunch, I found my father’s response sitting on my pillow. I hadn’t the time to read it and it’s been nipping at me all day. But the anticipation was largely drowned out by the nerves I’ve brought upon myself.

  Still, I pull out the letter to distract myself and read it in favour of eating my dinner. I don’t seem to have much of an appetite.

  A trickle of dread uncoils down my spine as I peel apart the wax seal. It’s only made worse by Dray’s constant staring. I can feel his rage pulsing through the mess hall. And I think the other students can, too. It makes for a quiet dinner time.

  Nerves make my fingers shake as I smooth out the letter. It might be a rejection—father might tell me to lock my wishes away in a jar and forget all about Eric. It’s not completely unlikely, since he’s rejected Eric’s proposals before.

  With icy eyes burning a hole on the side of my face, I pluck up scraps of courage to face another obstacle of the day. Father’s letter.

  ‘Dearest Olivia,

  I’m delighted to read that you are taking an active interest in your education by associating with these extra-curricular clubs, and do not be fooled into thinking I have not noticed the spike in your grades this first term.

  You have done well and I hope this momentum keeps. It would be a horrible waste of time and efforts to see your grades slip in the second term.

  As you are so eager to discuss your marriage prospects, I will begin by confirming that Eric Digger has made six offers on your contract over the past three years. I have rejected all of them on the grounds of his poor finances and my suspicion that your generous dowry acts as his motivation, as does it with many other potential suitors.

  Due to your wealth, and the wealth of the family, I must ensure that you marry an equal to avoid loss of wealth or a poor, unhappy marriage built solely on what you can offer them.

  I would feel more at ease if your contract was purchased by a suitor from within our social circles, as you know, Olivia.

  As it happens, however, there has been recent discussions and negotiations on your contract by an attractive suitor from an exceedingly suitable family. This offer on your hand in marriage is as new as two weeks ago, so negotiations are still in early stages.

  At present, you might consider yourself engaged. However, I cannot betray the contract confidence until everything is secured.

  We will discuss this more in person when you return for the holidays. In the meantime, continue your commitment to your education.

  Your mother and I wish you well.

  Kindest regards,

  Father.

  I’ve been speared through the gut.

  I don’t notice anyone around me anymore. The mess hall slips away into a muffled, blurry background. Even Dray’s piercing stare doesn’t distract me.

  I’m engaged. And it’s not to Eric.

  My heart skips and not in a good way. My tummy writhes, as if a load of snakes were just dumped inside of me, and trickles of nausea creep up me.

  I’m engaged.

  No, no, this is not good, not good at all.

  I push from the table, almost tripping over the legs of the chair, and grab my things. I’m out of the mess hall faster than my wobbly legs can carry me.

  When I burst into the dorm, I couldn’t be happier to see Courtney isn’t there. I drop onto my bed and the tears roll through me instantly.

  Father’s secrecy only feeds my fears.

  I know of every engagement in our circles. Brad and Serena have been engaged since they were children, Landon is engaged to Lolly and has been for two years now. Almost everyone is engaged already in the elite world. All except three. Eric, me, and … Dray.

  But I know it isn’t Dray. My dowry is meaningless pocket-change to him and he despises me. He would never be interested in marrying a deadblood, and I sure as hell would never accept him.

  It can’t be Eric, since father subtly shoved him out of the picture. But that can only mean one thing…

  The suitor comes from outside of the British elites. Somewhere in Europe maybe.

  Months ago, this would have been music to my ears. Now, it’s like a vacuum, sucking the life out of me. Back before I had my heart set on Eric and his cosy, modest life, I would have jumped at the offer of getting out of the British circle of elites, maybe to Germany or France or Italy (I speak those languages fluently). B
ut now, with a marriage to Eric, I can have a place close to home with my family and stay out of the circle. I can have it all.

  Minus the wealth, once my dowry is run through.

  I understand my father’s letter all too well. He might as well have painted a giant ‘NO’ in red ink. He’s not considering Eric, even if this secret suitor turns his back on me. My father thinks he’s a gold-digger. Ha, Eric Digger.

  I won’t give up without a fight.

  Maybe it’s Courtney’s influence on me, her having all this unimaginable freedom over herself and her life, but I don’t want to marry a secret suitor. I want to marry Eric for the freedom I’ll get with the union—and isn’t that all I really want?

  So, father can relish in his little victory, he won a battle, but the war’s just getting started.

  But first, I have detention with Dray.

  It’s past curfew (10pm) when I leave the dorm for the main foyer. The bulletin board will tell me where my detention is, what it is. I just hope it’s two things; away from Dray and with a teacher. I’m dressed in an old t-shirt and pyjama bottoms, dressed for cleaning which is the usual detention around here, as I plod down the stairs to the main foyer.

  I arrive first.

  It’s as dead as a graveyard in the foyer.

  I tread over to the bulletin board.

  Notices are stacked on top of each other. It’s in need of a good cleanout. There are even posters from last years’ seniors party still up on the board. The theme, according to the faded gloss poster, was bluestone, not the school, the true stone.

  It’s what the school is named after. A bluestone dagger, embedded with diamonds and sapphires—anything that can hold magic within it. Stones of the earth, the colour of the sea.

  Deadbloods, like me, find bluestones handy every now and then. I’ve never needed to use that much magic before that it needs to come from a bluestone.

  Pushing aside the posters, I search for this night’s detention slip. Only my name and Dray’s are scribbled on the usually-long list. Guess everyone’s been good today. Or we’ve just been exceptionally bad.