Last Chance Reform

by Alex Lidell

  Either way, Fryer had a paranoid streak that would help them figure it out quickly enough.

  “Well?” Bryant asked by way of welcome, motioning for his chief of security to remain behind the monitoring terminals. A short, thick-limbed man who shifted into a wolf the exact color of his wiry copper hair, Fryer was married to his work. He appeared to be in his zone now, and so Bryant let him stay that way—destroying people’s productivity for the sake of vanity was a vampire tradition not a fae one. “Did you pick up anything?”

  Fryer nodded, punching some keys on the computer. “The transmitter you placed picked up audio as soon you left the room. Here.”

  Bryant pulled up a chair and accepted the set of headphones. A moment later, Ellis’s voice—distant but clear enough—filled his ears.

  “Asher. We need Devinee confined to campus through the weekend. Something seemingly unexpected that comes up at the last moment is best. I’ll fill you in in person.”

  Bryant’s jaw tightened, and he met Fryer’s unsurprised look. Fryer was suspicious of everyone and everything, and this time, his gloomy outlook had proved true. Not letting his simmering anger show on his face, Bryant put the headphones down, taking care with Fryer’s equipment. As much as Bryant wanted to go right back to Talonswood and wring his wayward offspring’s neck, discipline would have to wait. “It’s worse than I thought. The pup is directly flouting my orders.”

  “What would you like me to do, Your Highness?” Fryer’s eyes—one blue, one moss-green—were eerily riveted on him, making Bryant want to look away. A strange male, Fryer, but he got the job done.

  Bryant considered. He was taking the witch to Talon, whether his bastard son helped him or not. The bloodsucker count had had too many weeks to sink his claws into her already.

  Of course, Victor couldn’t know Bryant had taken her by force—it could incite a second immortal world war—which meant he would need total plausible deniability.

  “What’s Flood’s status?” he asked suddenly, an idea taking shape.

  A corner of Fryer’s mouth twitched in pleasure. Flood was Fryer’s pet project, one that only someone as obsessed with conspiracy theories and paranoia as Fryer was would think up. In short, it was a group of shifter fae mercenaries who thought themselves employed by wealthy human creature hunters and had no idea that Fryer signed their paychecks.

  The genius came in the backstories Fryer had created for them—backstories with enough layers to ensure Flood could never be traced back to Talon. The result was a group of freedom fighters at Bryant’s beck and call. If the thing was done right, using them would leave Bryant untarnished—especially since Bryant himself would be there in harm’s way.

  On the flip side, this all meant that Flood’s membership was made of glorified thugs too stupid to think through what they were doing.

  Fryer had been itching for a chance to test Flood in a live mission for years now, and Bryant had thought the tool ludicrously blunt for just as long a time. Ultimately, however, a tool’s value was based on how well it was suited for a particular job. And just now, blunt and stupid was a good thing.

  “At ready simmer, sir. Thirty-hour window for full deployment.”

  Bryant nodded approvingly. That was better than expected. “And their backstory?”

  “See for yourself, sir.” Fryer punched something on his laptop, and one of the screens on the wall changed obediently from security footage to internet search results. News articles spanning decades populated the screen. Most of the stories in the mainstream human papers spoke about wolf attacks, though a dark web discussion thread made clear allusions to an unholy alliance between a rogue pack of shifter fae and a sect of human Hunters hell-bent on collecting shifter pelts.

  “None of these events actually happened?” Bryant clarified.

  Fryer made a vague motion with his hand. “The Hunter attacks happened for the most part. But I injected our people’s involvement after the fact—completely without a trace.”

  “I see.” Bryant tapped his finger on the table. “In that case, it’s time to test out your freedom fighters, Fryer. Tell them… Tell them they get a bonus for body count, but the witch is to be brought out alive.”

  Fryer tried and failed to hide his pleasure. But for all his brainpower and conspiracy theories, the male never saw what was right in front of him—that Bryant couldn’t care less whether he returned Fryer’s toys in one piece.

  In fact, Count Victor would be grateful when Bryant rushed in to warn him of an imminent attack against his academy. Bryant swallowed a chuckle. And who could say? Maybe this would even be a step in the right direction for diplomacy.

  32

  Sam

  I examine the complicated combination lock, carefully tracing the new closing rune from another of Victor’s precious pages. Around me, the deserted windowless chem lab is as cold and sterile as always, with its high metal stools and cold black countertops, each cut perfectly to accommodate a small sink for every workstation.

  The lock in my hand finally snaps into place on my fiftieth time drawing the rune, and I smell a hint of burned magnesium touch the air, as if I just lit a sparkler. The thought of my magic having a smell is a bit disconcerting, but at least it’s better than the scents of bleach and Lysol that the vamps use to wash down the lab daily.

  Turning the now-engaged lock over in my hands, I sigh in pleasant relief at my success, though I have a bit of a headache from concentrating. Admittedly, entering the lock’s code would have been a far faster way of closing the damn thing, but Victor insists doing this will help hone my precision. To his credit, I am seeing progress. A week ago, I could barely close a crude padlock.

  Whatever else can be said about Victor, the male has kept his word about giving me the space and tools to start developing my skills.

  A familiar ping of guilt crunches my belly over keeping Ellis and Reese in the dark, but I can’t have another argument over using my magic with the males right now. If Reese got his way, I wouldn’t be touching magic for a few centuries—which might work if I was fucking immortal. I stretch my back. I mean I’m not totally secret squirrel. Mika knows. And Cassis. Once the vamp comes through with a text to replace Victor’s, I’ll at least have someone on my side when I ease the other males into my routine.

  Plus, if I’m going to be practicing magic on school grounds, I shouldn’t be feeling guilty about the headmaster himself signing off on the project. Right?

  Putting the lock back in the cabinet where I keep my supplies, I draw a basic closing rune on it and smile as the little latch clicks into place. The clock on the wall reads 6:30 p.m., though it feels later. I should get a good night’s sleep before tomorrow, when my shift at Dusk keeps me up half the night.

  Turning off the lights, I head into the empty hallway, my phone vibrating in my pocket as soon as I enter the hallway. The chem lab has zero reception, and at least five missed calls from Ellis are flashing on the screen. “You better work outside,” I tell the phone, which may have condescended to show a missed call screen, but has no intention of actually connecting to a network in here.

  “Talking to inanimate objects, are we?”

  I jump at the sound, my heart racing as I realize I’m not—as I’d thought—alone in an empty hallway.

  Their steps light, Wayne the Wolverine and a pair of his cronies prowl toward me, a fourth—in wolf form—bringing up the rear. Wolves aren’t the only animal that fae shift into, but it seems the most common around here, possibly something to do with the royal line that Ellis and Asher come from.

  “A witch walks into a chemistry lab,” Wayne says to Bea, the gorgeous blonde at his side. “Does that sound like an opening to a joke from a horror movie?”

  “Bubble, bubble, toil and trouble.” Bea grins, showing sharp canines. “Looks like somebody desperately needed a cauldron.”

  Fuck.

  I look over my shoulder, and, sure enough, two more cadets are there. Wayne’s entire little pack. The same on
e which Asher whipped over the initial run-in with me and the vamps.

  The same one from which Victor let me walk away scot-free.

  Gripping my phone, I punch in Ellis’s number, cursing as the reception flickers out completely.

  Bea clicks her tongue. With the next motion, she sprints forward, snatching the phone from my hands. “See, witch, we believe in fairness,” she says, her British accent as clean and perfect as the rest of her. “Do you believe in that? You are from America, aren’t you? Something about justice for all?”

  “Your civics knowledge is unparalleled.” My heart pounds, my hands curling into fists, though I’m not stupid enough to think I can fight them off. Plan B, then. Walk with a purpose, worry about the phone later.

  I start toward the exit.

  Wayne takes a step in front of me, cutting off my path, his yellow-green eyes lit with a terrifying amusement in the fluorescent hallway light. “See, that part about justice,” he says. “It seems there isn’t very much of that when it comes to you, Sam-bitch. We thought that might bother you. Make you feel left out, you know?”

  Before I can move, someone grabs me from behind, a sweaty hand clamping over my mouth. My heart pounds, my heels scraping against the floor as the lot drag me back toward the lab.

  “Get her key,” Wayne orders, making my stomach sink further.

  Whoever’s holding me from behind wrenches my arms back as Bea pats me down—then plunges her hand into my jeans’ back pocket. With my legs still free, I try to stomp down on the foot of whoever is holding me, but Wayne grabs my hair and pulls my head back at an angle.

  “Listen to me, Sam-witch,” he says, his gaze full of unfiltered menace, a noxious scent of bloody meat drifting into my face. His dark hair and sideburns are slicked with sweat. “Either quietly take your fair share of the punishment and we’ll call things even, or make enough of a kind of fuss that will get Asher’s attention. None of us are eager for another trip to his office, so if you create that problem, we’ll pay it back tenfold. So you understand me?”

  I draw a quick breath. Of course I understand him. I learned about snitches and stitches by age six. But not snitching and not fighting are two fucking different things.

  The door to the chem lab clicks open behind me, and as the asshole twists me around, I manage to get my arm free. Fingers curled into a fist, I swing right at Bea’s perfect nose. And shit, it seems Ellis and Reese knew what they were teaching, because the feel of crunching cartilage beneath my knuckles is a surprise to her and me both.

  “Bitch!” Bea hollers, blood streaming down her face. She pulls back her fist, but Wayne grabs her wrist.

  “Stand down and stay to the plan,” he orders her, a growl rumbling through his wide chest as I’m forced into the chem lab and tripped flat onto the floor. “What do we have here?”

  I have a moment to wonder what here refers to, before Wayne and Bea appear in my line of vision again, each holding a jug of bleach cleaner the chem lab keeps next to the mops. Opening the lids, the pair pours the bleach all over me, the caustic stench making me cough as I struggle against their hold.

  “You really should be careful with this stuff,” Wayne says, his image blurry behind my watering eyes. “Don’t want to get bleach spilled all over yourself.”

  I gasp, choking for air even as the asshole lets me go. As I crawl to my hands and knees, cough after cough tearing through my chest, I hear the bastards lock the door behind them as they leave.

  33

  Ellis

  Ellis cursed, rereading Asher’s text. Apparently, Bryant had given up his stealth-mode visits and was now meeting openly with Victor.

  It made no sense. As far as the king was concerned, all was going according to plan, with Sam being groomed to prance off to the Talon gateway the following day, just as he’d asked. The king should have been keeping himself as distant as possible from the Academy, not walking through the front gates.

  What does he want? Ellis tapped into his phone.

  A flip-off emoji flashed in reply. Well, it was a stupid question—if Asher knew why their father was here, he’d have told him.

  Ellis reached for the keys again. You tell anyone about confining Devinee to campus?

  Worried about tipping the hand too early and needing to ensure Sam had a genuine reaction to the news, they’d decided to let Asher make a last-minute disciplinary decree first and explain the reason right after. But if Asher had started socializing the issue…

  No.

  Right. Feeling his chest tighten uncomfortably, Ellis dialed Sam’s number, growling as the phone went to voice mail. Either the girl had it turned off like a good little cadet should, or she was in one of the too-many dead-reception zones. Despite knowing the result, Ellis tapped Sam’s number again and again as he walked over to her room, his heart speeding. Whatever reason Bryant had to be back on campus, and this time overtly, Ellis didn’t like it.

  “Devinee?” Ellis opened the door to Sam’s room without bothering to knock. The place was neat as usual, Sam’s sweet scent hanging enticingly in the air.

  “Not here.” Sitting at her laptop, Mika barely glanced up at Ellis’s intrusion, her attention firmly on her computer screen. “That’s strange. Did you just leave your room door open?”

  Ellis ignored the strange question and held out his screen of missed calls toward Mika. “Devinee isn’t answering her phone. Do you know where she is?”

  Mika’s gaze flicked over Ellis’s screen. “You called her five times? That’s called stalking. If she wants to answer you, she will.” Mika’s computer beeped, drawing the demi’s attention. “Did you leave your door open, Ellis?”

  Ellis rubbed his hand over his face, reminding himself that shaking Mika until her neck snapped would be unlikely to help his cause. Especially since Mika had a point—after weeks of him avoiding Sam, the witch did not owe Ellis an explanation of her every step.

  “Earth to Ellis,” said Mika. “Door?”

  Ellis turned to walk out before he did something he regretted.

  “An odd signal just appeared on the network,” Mika said behind him, stopping him in his tracks. “I’ve seen it pop up briefly over the past two days, but I’m picking it up steadily now. I imagine there’s a line-of-sight issue. Which means if your door is open, then it’s coming from your room.”

  Ellis’s heart stuttered, blood draining from his face. “There’s something transmitting from my room?”

  Mike threw up her hands. “I know, I just said as much, for fuck’s sake. Can you turn it off or keep your door closed? It’s annoying.”

  Ellis cursed, his mind racing. Bryant had bugged his room, had heard everything Ellis said. Which meant he knew Ellis had no intention of delivering Sam to him tomorrow. And now the king was here, doing fuck knows what with Victor. Grabbing a pen and piece of paper from Mika’s desk, Ellis scribbled, Don’t say anything aloud.

  Mika’s eyes widened, her scent spiking with fear. Good. Ellis didn’t have time to cajole.

  Devinee is in danger, he wrote quickly. Where is she?

  Grabbing the pen from Ellis’s hand, Mika wrote two words. Chem lab.

  Not bothering to ask what in the bloody hell the witch was doing there, Ellis pulled out his phone to text Asher the update—only to find the phone already vibrating.

  Asher: Found out why Bryant came. He has intel—attack on Academy by rogue fae imminent. Just warned Victor. I’m sounding lockdown.

  Ten seconds later, just as Ellis dashed to his room for his sword and started slinging the scabbard over his back, an ear-piercing alarm wailed through Talonswood Reform.

  34

  Sam

  An ear-piercing lockdown alarm blares through the loudspeakers as I yank on the locked chem lab door over and over. My head swims, my throat closing from the bleach’s caustic fumes. A drip from my hair touches my eye, and I scream at the burn, but the demifae on the other side of the door do nothing.

  My heart races, my mind unable to think
. I’m locked in. I can’t breathe. I can’t leave. I can’t can’t can’t.

  “Let me out!” I scream to Wayne and the others as I throw my body against the door, the heavy wood rattling against the hinges but failing to give. “Let me—cahhh…” I choke on the words, unable to take in the breath to scream again.

  “Lockdown has been initiated. Shelter in place or get to fortified location,” a computerized voice announces over the intercom. “This is not a drill. I repeat, this is not a drill. A lockdown had been…”

  I try to hold my breath, afraid of pulling any more poisonous fumes into my lungs. My pulse pounds so quickly that it makes me dizzy, the realization that Wayne and his pack must have left with the alarm’s sounding sending a new wave of terror through me.

  I slide down to the floor, forcing my mind to work. To think. To concentrate. Whatever is happening out there, it can be no worse than the death waiting for me here. And if there’s one thing training with the damn males has taught me, it’s that being miserable—or halfway dead—is no excuse to stop thinking.

  Think, Sam, I command myself. Want to live? Then think. You are locked in. You need to get out. Open the damn door.

  Right. Dipping the tip of my finger into the liquid bleach soaking my clothes, I draw the opening rune Ellis once showed me, the wet streaks crude on the wooden door.

  Nothing happens. Not on my first attempt. Or the second. Or the tenth. I’m no longer feeling anything as I try again and again, all my focus and concentration zeroing on nothing but the painful details. On my thirteenth try, I feel it, the buzzing of bees inside my blood, the energy that tells me my magic is working.

  Then… Click.

  The sound of the lock opening makes me whimper with relief. Gasping, I grab for the door handle. My hand closes around it just as a drop of liquid from the top part of the rune snakes down the drawing. My heart stops as a I see a line now cutting through the whole damn picture, my magic still connected to the spell.