Elysium Academy: Book One

by Abbie Lyons

I was only half listening at this point, keeping an alert eye all around me. I was starting to feel wired in the way that I used to before going out and doing something fun, and now only did when I felt like I had to be hypervigilant. My skin was prickling with the same crawling sensation I remembered when I dove into the burning apartment.

  Then it occurred to me: I'd left my little Meladryne figurine back in the pocket of my shorts in the dorm room. Which I knew was a ridiculous thing to care about, but I also felt a genuine sense of panic. You don't risk your life over saving something only to just cast it aside in a totally unsafe location. Come to think of it, the dorm room doors didn't even lock.

  Instead, I trained my focus on where we were going. We diverted from the main quad a while ago, and were following a winding path through some tall cypress trees and around a bunch of other classroom buildings, something that might have been a gym, a few spire-like towers, and a sloping hill that led down to a grove of trees with some kind of burbling water just beyond.

  “Where are we going?” I said, realizing too late that I had interrupted Lucy in the middle of her chattering. She didn't seem to mind, though, and instead just pivoted.

  “Yeah, good question!” she chirped.

  Violet looked at both of us. “It's an upperclassmen dorm,” she said, and that was it.

  “Okay, cool,” Lucy said after a few seconds of awkward silence, nothing but the sound of the grass brushing against our feet as we diverged from the path. “Sounds like the best place to go to a party.”

  She wasn't wrong, but the prickling sensation didn't leave my skin.

  Ahead of us rose an impressive-looking building that honestly made me do a double take. Lucy must have noticed, because she gave me an urgent poke.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Fine,” I said. “Does that place look like the White House to you?”

  Lucy looked ahead of us, looked back at me, and nodded. “It is definitely a white house, yup.”

  “That’s what they call it,” Violet put in. It was the first time I’d noticed her speaking to us without direct prompting. Our footsteps loudened as we went from grass to a polished, moonstone looking pathway.

  “The White House?” I eyed it skeptically. It was a house that was white, and it did have those distinctive Romanesque columns out front, not to mention the sweeping lawn and the unearthly glow of lights that seemed to drift in and out of the air rather than stay put in an actual streetlamp arrangement, but just because there was a similarity didn’t mean they could just steal the name of something human like that It felt like cultural appropriation.

  “Not exactly,” Violet said. “Casablanca. Get it?” Her mouth twisted in a small smile, and Lucy, grateful for the break in tension, burst out in laughter.

  “Cute,” I said. Knowing the house had a name didn’t make me feel any more excited about going in; in fact, it just raised my hackles more. Come to think of it...

  “Who’s they?” I asked Violet. “You said ‘they’ call it—”

  But she was too far ahead of me to hear now. As we drew closer to the actual entrance, the faint strains of music started to pulse out across the chill night air, sending an immediate sensation of thrill into my stomach. The entrance to the house was a stately white door beneath a wrought-iron lantern that dangled from the second-story balcony, which was weirdly empty of partygoers as we took the three steps up to knock. I darted more quick glances around, taking in a mental map as fast as I could. Box hedges sealed in the perimeter of the place, and all the windows were warm with light but also somehow fuzzy, so that we couldn’t see inside. Convenient. More of the glimmering not-street-lamp lights bobbed and winked in the air around us, just above head-height, and the murmur of interior voices added to the hum of the music, which was very heavy on the harps and strings. Weird choice for a college party, but what did I know.

  I folded my arms and snuck a look at Lucy, who was already shaking her hips to the beat. “Do you have traditional guardian music where you come from?” she said. “It’s so danceable.”

  So this was the music of their people? Hard pass. I’d never been a dancer anyway. Then again, I didn’t want to crush Lucy’s feelings, let alone insult Violet and her friends before I even got a chance to go inside and investigate. “I’ve never heard it before,” I hedged. “It’s catchy.”

  Violet paid us no mind as she pressed a finger to a pearly button to the right of the door. Over the top of the door was a massive marble carving: two crossed swords, engulfed in flames. And I swear to God, the flames were flickering. Despite being solid marble. Underneath the swords was some lettering, but seeing as I couldn’t read it, I had to assume it was more Greek.

  “Someone’s coming,” Lucy said unnecessarily, stopping her grooving and wobbling a bit on her heels. She stood at attention as the door pulled open and golden light poured out onto the threshold around us.

  “Yes?” A male silhouette appeared, his features taking shape as my eyes adjusted to the light. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and had white-blonde hair that gave him a distinctly Swedish air.

  “Violet Dumarque,” Violet said. The guy nodded and stepped aside for her to enter. Violet gave us a quick glance—though whether it was a “sorry” or a “good luck” or a “see you later” kind of glance I couldn’t tell—and disappeared within.

  The bouncer turned his focus to us. “And you are?”

  Lucy looked at me nervously, so I guessed it was up to me to take the lead.

  “Uh...”

  And then I realized that if this was a party hosted at least in part by Violet’s boyfriend, aka Marius, then my name was not necessarily going to be Quinn. I could tell this guy my real name, and then maybe I could start fresh and not have to worry about any baggage that Meladryne had accumulated, or I could try out my fake name and see if, for whatever dumb reason, Marius had put “my” name on the guest list. Maybe he’d taken pity on Violet’s roommate and figured she’d want in on a party?

  I doubted it. Nothing about me screamed “eager to socialize,” and Marius had made it pretty clear I should stay away from him.

  Oops.

  “Names?” The guy folded his arms. Despite his muscled exterior, he didn’t look like the type to beat up two girls for trying to get into a party. I didn’t trust anyone at Elysium—maybe Lucy—but if I were going to, then this dude with his peaches-and-cream complexion and dimples might be one I would.

  “Quinn,” I said, almost choking it out.

  He frowned. “I don’t think we know any Quinns coming tonight.”

  “Do you have a list?” I asked. Lucy’s eyes bugged out, but she stayed silent.

  He shifted around a little. Inside, there was a swell of music, and I tried to subtly peer around him to look within and glimpse the party, but he quickly sidestepped and blocked my view with a thick shoulder. Not that it mattered, anyway; the entire interior beyond him was blurred out and wavy, like trying to see through a campfire. Magic, I had to think.

  I stared up at him, my eyes hard. “List?”

  “Oh. Yeah.” He fished around and unrolled an actual scroll of a gossamer color. The writing on it gleamed in silvery ink that was, to my dismay, still Greek. He shook his head. “No Quinn.”

  I wasn’t about to argue, seeing as it was a long shot to begin with and I couldn’t read the damn list anyway. Suddenly the entire evening was beginning to feel foolish. I’d come out in this ridiculous getup to...what? Maybe see if this mysterious Funeral Guy maybe had some involvement with this mysterious cult-slash-frat I’d literally just heard of? And I’d dragged out my sort-of friend out here by effectively promising her that we’d get in, which seemed unfair for someone as sweet as Lucy.

  I shifted my weight, set my jaw, and tried again. “What about Meladryne?”

  Lucy’s eyes bugged out further somehow. The guy referred back to his list.

  “Meladryne Dawnbringer,” I added, because what the hell. I’d come this far and I was shivering in a sequin
ed jumpsuit.

  The guy furrowed his brow and looked down at the list. My breath sped up involuntarily as his blue eyes scanned down name after name, hoping against hope that he’d see—

  “Nope.” He looked back up. “No Meladryne either.” He rolled up the scroll. “Listen, ladies, if you’re not on the list, I’m going to have to ask you to leave.” He looked genuinely uncomfortable at the prospect.

  “Wait,” I said, a sudden desperation clawing at my chest. “Just—”

  “Lucinda Halloran,” Lucy said, her voice firm and clear. “Um, that’s my name,” she added, a bit more meekly.

  Now it was the bouncer’s turn to bug out his eyes. “Halloran? Like, the Halloran sisters?”

  Lucy nodded.

  “Oh man, I...I don’t even know what to say.” The guy scratched the back of his head, looking a bit put on the spot. “I guess...” He glanced over his shoulder. “They said I had some discretion, so...” He chewed his lip. “Halloran. Dang.” Then he came back to reality. “So...I guess you could be my discretion.”

  Lucy, who had been fidgeting a bit, relaxed slightly. “Really?” Her relief quickly turned businesslike. “You mean both of us, right?”

  “Oh, uh...” The guy looked at me again. “Sure? Just don’t...break anything, I guess.” Another glance over his shoulder, and he stepped aside to let us in.

  Open Sesame.

  I threw Lucy a look as we walked in, but her eyes were dead ahead. There was obviously something about her that she hadn’t told me, but maybe now was not the time I was going to get it out of her.

  “I’m Steve, by the way,” the guy said. He looked considerably more relaxed now that we were inside and dealt with.

  “Steve?” I said, not realizing until I’d said it how rude the question sounded. But an angel named Steve was just too much.

  “Well, my full name is Stephanos Aristides Papadopoulos,” Steve the angel said. “But you can call me Steve.”

  “Hey, Steve.” Lucy beamed up at him, which was a considerable distance for her petite frame. “You can call me Lucy.”

  “Hey.” Steve grinned. “Oh, and I’m, uh, sorry for your loss.”

  The phrase shot through me like a flaming arrow. I clenched a fist, trying not to relive Scott’s funeral. Then I remembered he wasn’t saying it to me, but to Lucy.

  Her soft brown eyes were downcast as she mumbled “thanks.”

  I in no way wanted to get involved in Lucy’s shit. Not because I was heartless, but because I’d spent the last chunk of my own life with way too many people inserting themselves into my own shit, and I knew how much it can do to a person. So I wasn’t going to pry. Because, as sweet as Lucy was, whatever tragedy was in her family’s past honestly had nothing to do with me or my own tragedy.

  Or finding Funeral Guy.

  Lucy squared her shoulders and turned back to me, game face on. Steve had gone back to attend to another arrival of guests at the door, which, now that I looked at it, had the same wavy, blurry look at the world beyond that it had had when I looked at it coming in.

  “We did it!” Lucy said, her cheerfulness coming back. At least I could fake a little happiness for her there, I supposed.

  “Yeah,” I said, and looked around intently. “Now what?”

  “We party, you...nerd!” The pause seemed to indicate that Lucy was searching around for a suitable human insult. I snorted a laugh.

  Ironically, most of my party experiences were relegated to the realm of the nerdy. Not that tech bros and gals couldn’t go hard, but the experience was...different. This place—Casablanca—had a different vibe. We stood in the middle of the foyer, which soared up to the second story above us, revealing a chandelier high over our heads, glowing softly in the shape of the actual moon. A huge split staircase curved down each side of the foyer, leading up to the second-floor balcony and unseen rooms beyond—living quarters, I’d have to think. Straight ahead of us was a kind of widened hallway with pillars that led to an open living space, all of it a pale, cold silver color accented with deep flashes of deep blue and dark red. And then there was that music—full of strings and harp and the occasional lilting flute, but still with a steady pulse and backbeat that made it feel party-appropriate. The juxtaposition of it all was jarring, but undeniably luxurious. Who or whatever the Order of Eden was, they definitely liked their shit fancy.

  That was the other thing—the voices were all coming from ahead of us. The party proper was still a ways away.

  “We should get something to drink,” Lucy said, as though making the decision out loud.

  There was no way in hell I was drinking anything provided at this party, but I wasn’t going to hang out in the foyer, either. “Sure.”

  Lucy looked at me expectantly. I folded my arms. Why did everyone keep expecting me to be the ringleader here? I’m not someone to follow. Trust me. Lucy seemed to get the message and charged ahead, and I followed slowly after.

  The central space was decidedly in keeping with the luxe exterior. Floor-to-ceiling, wall-to-wall polished white bookshelves housed a ton of thick, leatherbound volumes whose spines I (of course) couldn’t read. In the center of the room, on a silver and white oriental carpet, was a scattering of plush blue velvet furniture, from a large sectional to a series of poufs and armchairs, flanked by carved ivory tables and illuminated with the tasteful flicker of candlelight from tapers that didn’t seem to burn with actual flame, but some kind of soft magical illumination. To the right was a spread of various refreshments, and that’s where Lucy headed. To my surprise, the quote-unquote bar area was pretty rustic—some nice goblet-like cups, but basically just loose bottles of what must have been wine or liquor. Classy.

  As I stepped fully into the room, I caught sight of my reflection in the dark gleam of the picture window opposite me. Projected over the distant shapes of a patio and garden just beyond, I saw a girl with hard eyes, a mess of cornsilk hair, and a mission.

  Everyone else saw me too.

  It wasn’t like one of those needle-scratch moments in a movie where everyone turns to look at the new girl, but it was as close as real life could ever come. Conversations slowed audibly and heads turned—all, unfortunately, after Lucy had left my side, leaving it undeniable who everyone was surveying. The crowd was stylish—girls with long sleek ponytails and shimmering tops, guys with crisp tailoring and blazers that didn’t conceal too much of their chiseled physique. These were undeniably the elites of Elysium Academy.

  So at least I was in the right place.

  “Ambrosia?” Lucy reappeared at my elbow, offering me a goblet. I took it, but didn’t drink.

  “What now?”

  “Ambrosia,” Lucy said. “Oh, right. It’s alcohol,” she said simply. “I don’t know exactly what it’s made of. I think there’s some...honey in it?” She sipped and thought about it, then shrugged. “Does the trick, anyway. Traditional guardian stuff.” Any of the somberness she’d shown when Steve heard her name and let us in had evaporated, and I felt a tiny lightening of relief. I had enough grief shit to deal with on my own. “Who should we talk to first?”

  Steve must have been admitting people left and right, because no sooner had we stepped in than more students flooded in from the entrance, almost forcing me and Lucy to the side as they poured in. Suddenly, the room was thick with chatter and heat, and the goblet felt sweaty in my hand.

  “Oh, I...” I scanned the room. As far as I could tell, no sign of Funeral Guy. My heart sank a bit, but I refused to indulge myself. Stay on task, Quinn. He might still show up. At this point, I was pretty damn convinced that whatever he was about involved the Order of Eden, and I wasn’t leaving here until I knew about one or both of them.

  Before I could answer, a voice boomed out over the party.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, we have here”—a girl with flaming red hair heaved a bottle into the air—“genuine Hellwater! Who’s brave enough for a taste?”

  “Gross!” came back a voice.

 
“You’re such a freak, Pippa!”

  The girl stuck out her tongue and took a slug directly from the bottle.

  “Ooh!” Lucy threw back some of her ambrosia, her cheeks immediately flushing. “Me!” She turned around to me. “Quinn?”

  “I don’t know what that is,” I said matter-of-factly. “I’ll pass.”

  “Demon liquor,” Lucy said, her voice lowered a few notches. “My sister Aurelia tried some once and she said—” She cut herself off abruptly. “Anyway, I’ll catch up with you later?”

  I got the sense Lucy was not eager to babysit me, and I was perfectly happy to let her fly free. “Yeah.”

  As she pushed her way toward Pippa and the Hellwater, I lifted the goblet of ambrosia to my nose and inhaled. It smelled sweet, almost sickly so. I slowly edged around the room as the party swelled, a dance floor forming by the window and the chatter of voices rising. As I edged along the perimeter, my back to the wall of bookcases, my gaze fell on two familiar figures: Violet and Marius. They were a ways away, talking more toward the middle of the room. She had her back to the wall, arms folded, chin tipped up at him almost defiantly, and he stood over her, one arm pressed into the wall above her head, the other at his hip, pushing away the ultramarine suit jacket he wore like a second skin. His jaw was set, and whatever he was saying to her didn’t look like a sweet nothing. But she didn’t look angry or scared, either.

  I rotated the goblet in my fingers, one way and then the other, watching.

  Who was this powerful guy I’d interrupted at...something? And what did my roommate have to do with...whatever he was up to?

  Intellectually I knew that it was just some relationship drama and completely none of my business. But, I realized, with a pang of nervousness in my stomach, Marius still didn’t know my real name. And maybe that would just be a minor detail and he would laugh it off, or just forget it had even happened. But based on the veiled threat he’d issued me—or issued Meladryne—I had a feeling that he wasn’t the type who took being lied to in stride.

  As if on cue, his eyes darted to me. His glance was like an arrow in the chest—sharp, penetrating, took my breath away.