Avalon Academy: Book One: a Paranormal Academy Romance

by Bailey Dark

  I remember the chancellor and emperor’s words about wanting more competition in the trials and Thomas not being the right one. Could he have messed up and the council not know it? They said there were to be other champions added to the mix, and we were supposed to find out who they were, but we haven’t. Why hasn’t that happened, and who are they? Could Chancellor Andrews have kept his error from the council?

  I sit up quickly, an idea taking shape. This would be a perfect opportunity with a semi-valid excuse to poke around Chancellor Andrews’ office. If I’m caught before entering, I can simply say I’m coming to ask him about the other competitors. With the council here, he’s preoccupied. Now is the best time to do it.

  I leap to my feet, quickly changing into clean clothes. Slamming the door behind me, I take off jogging down the hallway, not caring about all the eyes that are currently on me. I run down the wide sweeping lobby steps and halt as the Chancellor, followed by numerous council members approached, heads towards the front door.

  I want to scream at my horrific timing. The setup has been perfect, but I’ve lost my opportunity, as clearly, he is escorting the members out.

  “Hello, Gwen,” my father says, stepping toward me.

  He’s smiling at me for the first time in what seems like ages. Has he heard about the trial? Or is he actually happy to see me?

  “I heard you were first to complete your trial. I’m very proud of you.”

  As I thought. He doesn’t miss me, he just appreciates that I haven’t embarrassed him by being last—or not completing it, period.

  I start to reply, but my words are quickly overpowered with a commotion at the top of the stairs. Two male students are in a fist fight. I roll my eyes as this is nothing new. Hot heads with quick tempers throw fists daily at Avalon.

  “Knock it off,” Chancellor Andrews bellows to the top.

  His face turns scarlet, no doubt from the embarrassment of his students behaving in such a way in front of the council.

  “I said stop!” he yells once more, but neither seems to pay attention.

  He takes off, stomping up the stairs to break it up. The boys are locked in a wrestling grip, each pushing back and forth. They are getting a little too close to the edge of the bannister.

  Way too close.

  I watch in horror as the larger of the two pushes the other one over the railing. Numerous screams sound, and I stand in stunned silence as he plummets to the marble ground. A sickening thud has my eyes squeezing shut and my stomach rolling. I can’t look. I know what I’ll find.

  A wail coming from behind me draws my attention. Martha Craft, a member of the council, weeps as she runs past me toward the crumpled heap before me. Shocked, I realize it’s her son, Marcus, that lays sprawled out. She practically falls at her son’s side, checking his pulse frantically. She looks up, with tears streaming down her face, at the council.

  “He’s…he’s dead,” she moans, throwing herself over her son’s lifeless body. Her screams of grief bounce off the walls and marble floors, somehow making the situation even more horrible. I sit in total shock. How could this have happened?

  There have been near misses before, but in a magical institute they’re always prevented.

  We are currently in a room full of magical sorcerers. Not a single one of them could’ve broken up that fight and prevented this from happening? It all happened so suddenly, but surely, someone could’ve done something. His own mother couldn’t have prevented this?

  The council is made up of the most powerful sorcerers, and yet one of their own is lying in a puddle of his own blood.

  Dead.

  Marcus Craft is dead.

  It doesn’t make sense, but maybe that is just my brain’s way of trying to make sense of a senseless act.

  “Why didn’t you do something?” she screams at Chancellor Andrews.

  “I- I tried,” he answers back. “I was the only one who ran up the stairs.”

  “Why didn’t you use your magic?” she bellows.

  Chancer Andrews steps back as though she’d smacked him. She is lashing out because of her anguish. It’ normal, but I can’t help feeling sorry for the chancellor. He has been the only one that has tried to help. Martha turns her anger towards the other members of the council.

  “This is all your fault. If you would’ve just told everyone what was going on, he would’ve known we needed him.”

  “Martha, you’re grieving. Let’s not talk nonsense.”

  The look Martha throws at her colleague is glacial, and he deserves it. To scold her when she just witnessed the death of her son is heartless. I watch the council members as their eyes dart around to each other, bodies rigid and on edge. Something isn’t right, and it doesn’t seem that I am the only one who notices. Chancellor Andrews’ eyes are near slits as he takes in the behavior of the council.

  They react more to her words than to the death of a boy. Whatever they are all fearing, chancellor Andrews isn’t aware of it. Then again, they do have me spying on him, so I guess whatever their secrets, he won’t be privy to them. The council has always had secrets. We have always been told it’s to avoid panic and for our protection, but I wonder. If you have to keep secrets at all, who are you really trying to protect?

  “Please, let yourselves out,” Chancellor Andrews directs to the council. “I have grave things to attend to.”

  I wince at his choice of phrasing while Mrs. Craft howls. Two of my classmates go to her side to help her stand, while another group of guys covers Marcus and removes his body from the foyer.

  A hand at my elbow pulls my attention away from the macabre scene.

  “Father,” is all I say.

  “Gwen, I just wanted to reiterate how proud I am of you.”

  My eyes narrow. “That’s a first, isn’t it?”

  I can’t keep the contempt from my voice. He has hurt me so many times over the year with his mix of indifference and disappointment. Both equally hard on me.

  He pulls me in so that his lips are to my ear. “Take care to keep certain truths about yourself secret,” he says. “You never know who will exploit them.”

  “You mean people like you?” I hiss.

  He sighs. “Sometimes it’s better to put on false airs to protect yourself and those you love. The truth can make even the innocent a target for monsters. Remember that. Always.”

  With that he walks away, leaving me to ponder his words.

  “Gwen, are you okay?” Lance says, grabbing me toward him.

  I stiffen in his arms, but only for a moment. So much has happened since I saw him with Holly, that it doesn’t even seen to matter anymore. I need his comfort now more than ever.

  “I can’t believe you saw that,” He whispers into my hair while running a soothing hand down my back. “It’s awful.”

  Words won’t come. The events of the past twenty-four hours are finally catching up to me and throwing me into a state of shock.

  “I saw your dad. What the fuck did he want?”

  I shrug, because I truly don’t know how to even answer that. My father’s words replay in my head.

  Sometimes it’s better to put on false airs to protect yourself and those you love.

  Is that his way of telling me that he’s been putting on a show to protect me all of these years? If so, why? What could he possibly have to protect me from?

  The truth can make even the innocent a target for monsters.

  Monsters like him?

  “I’ll take it from here,” Tristan’s harsh voice nearly spit at Lance.

  “Locke. I should’ve known you’d be creeping around her.”

  I turn out of Lance’s grasp to see both of them leveling the other with glares that could cut air.

  “I came to check on you,” Tristan finally says. “I was worried when I didn’t see you around.”

  “As you can see, she’s fine. I’ve got her.”

  “Like you had Holly?” Tristan shoots back.

  Lance straightens,
face a mask. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

  “Are you really going to sit here and deny that you were fucking around with Holly?” he spits. “Give it up man, Gwen saw you.”

  Lance’s head snaps to mine. I purse my lips, not loving that Tristan’s put me on the spot or aired our laundry. I wanted to be the one to speak to Lance, but this isn’t the time. I’m too tired. Too emotional.

  “Gwen, I can explain,” Lance starts, but stops when I shake my head.

  “We’ll talk about this another time. I can’t do it right now, Lance.”

  He nods, albeit reluctantly.

  He pulls me back into his chest, and I let him. I want him to know that regardless of what happened, we are okay. Things might be different moving forward, but he’s still my friend.

  “Just remember things aren’t always what they seem,” he says.

  I look up at him and say, “You seemed to not hate it.”

  He winces.

  “It’s okay, Lance. We’re friends.”

  His posture stiffens at the mention of friendship. That night not be what he wants, but that’s all I can offer him.

  “Just know that nothing I have done has been my choice. We will talk about this,” he says, shooting daggers in Tristan’s direction.

  My lips purse at his statement. The idea that his tongue being down Holly’s throat isn’t his choice is absurd, but I’m not going to go there. He grabs my hands, squeezing them before he turns and stalks off. On his way past Tristan, he roughly bumps his shoulder.

  Tristan laughs. “He’s lucky that fighting already led to one death today.”

  I sigh, hating his choice of phrasing given the recent events, but understanding his veiled threat. Lance deserves his hostility, given his childish shoulder bump.

  “I wish you wouldn’t have brought Lance and Holly up,” I say. “That was my fight to have with him.”

  Looking chagrined, he replies, “I know. I’m sorry. I just got so angry when I saw you in his arms,” he grits the last part through his teeth.

  I can’t help but smirk. “Jealous?”

  “Only ever when it involves you, babe,” he grins. “Want to get out of here?”

  “I thought you’d never ask.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  “Let’s go to your room,” Tristin suggests. “A quick shower and some new clothes might help you feel better.”

  I look up at him and smile. A warm shower and clean clothes can do wonders.

  He takes my hand in his and we walk side by side. People stare at our joined hands, but I don’t care. I’m too tired and too eager to be alone with him to give a shit what anyone of them think. Let them talk. The faculty is too busy taking care of the mess in the foyer and trying to do damage control to pay any attention to who’s coming in and out.

  When we finally make it to the safety of my room, my shoulder sag. Not even worrying about modesty, I slip my ripped jeans down my legs and step out, tossing them to the side. I pull my T-shirt and jacket up over my head together, standing in front of Tristan wearing only my bra and panties. Despite the awfulness of the afternoon, the way Tristan is looking at me makes me feel bold.

  “Shower with me?” I ask, raising my brow.

  When he doesn’t answer, my hands go to my back and unclasp my bra. As seductively as I can manage, I remove one strap from my shoulder, then slowly remove the entire thing off, flinging it toward him.

  “Okay, I guess that’s a no. Your loss,” I say, turning my back and walking towards the bathroom.

  I don’t get inside before he’s at my back. He swings me around, pushing me against the door, prompting a squeal from me. His lips go to my neck and make a trail upwards.

  He groans, “this isn’t taking it slow.”

  “I’m tired of going slow.”

  “I want you, baby, but not like this. Not after what you’ve been through today. Shower and I’ll be here when you’re done.”

  I’m disappointed. It’s obvious based on his hard dick pressing up against my thigh moments ago that he does in fact want me, but rejection of any sort aren’t something that feels good. However, if I’m honest with myself, I’m not in the right frame of mind. I appreciate his insistence that we slow down.

  I quickly shower, massaging my head with the floral shampoo I’ve used for years, before scrubbing the day’s worries away. I scrub so hard I’m surprised my skin didn’t come off. I need to be rid of the memories, and even if this doesn’t completely erase them, it helps for the moment.

  When I’m done, I dry off, wrap the towel around my midsection, and head toward Tristan. We may not be having sex, but I want to be close to him. I open the door and watch as he jumps, trying but failing to hide my trial letter behind him.

  “What are you doing?” I screech.

  “This was laying out. I didn’t know what it was,” he lies.

  I had hidden both letters under my mattress. He had to snoop to find it. Why is he searching my room?

  “I’m sorry. You’re right. I was curious. I couldn’t help it.” He has the good sense to appear sheepish. “And you’ve always hidden things under your mattress; it wasn’t hard to find.”

  It irritates me that he isn’t wrong. I obviously haven’t changed in all this time. My hiding place has always been under my mattress. Anyone who knows me well knows that.

  “Look at it this way, you haven’t broken your oath. I came across your note, and I read it. You didn’t tell me. So, there’s no reason why we can’t talk about it. Your letter even said you and I could.”

  “Yeah, about that…why?”

  He shrugs. “Maybe they thought I could help you?”

  “Help me spy on Chancellor Andrews?” I question.

  “I guess. Nothing else makes sense,” he says, looking past me in thought. “I really don’t know. This entire trial so far has been nothing like I thought it would be.”

  “You aren’t kidding. I thought we’d be duking it out with swords.”

  He laughs. “Baby, you wouldn’t have stood a chance. Every male competitor in this trial was born with a sword in their hand.”

  Up until recently, female sorcerers were forbidden from training with swords. It’s ludicrous, but some archaic ways took forever to be changed in our society.

  “I know,” I exhale. “I was prepared to lose.”

  He chuckles. “Come here. Let’s talk this through,” he says, gesturing to his side. “So, I already knew you stole the book of shadows from the library, but why would they want that?”

  “I’ve been trying to figure that out myself. Do you know anything about that coven?”

  “Only that they’re one of the most powerful covens to ever walk the earth,” he explains. “I once heard my mother and father discussing it years ago. A few members of the council had gone rogue and teamed up with the Souveign coven, trying to gain power and overthrow the council.”

  “I never heard that,” I say, astounded.

  With my father being part of the council, I’m sure that I would’ve heard that news before Tristan ever would. Although, that would definitely be something the council would guard with their lives. If others heard of a rebellion, more could’ve joined. It’s no secret that many sorcerers felt distain toward our self-appointed governing body.

  The positions are mostly handed down by birthright. The only way a change is made is when another shows greater abilities. In some cases, legacy families have been overthrown for that very reason. There is no democracy in magic.

  “The leader of the coven, Sarah Wagner, made a pact with the rest of the council,” he continues. “She would hand over their book of shadows and two of the other coven leaders in exchange for amnesty. She claimed it was the other two who had made the pact with the rogue councilmen.”

  I think on everything he’s said, but one question remains where the book was concerned.

  “If the council put the book in the library, why would they want it back? And furthermore, why would they
require me to retrieve it?”

  He shrugs. “For all we know, these trials are just mock trials to see what we’re capable of. If I had to guess, that book is probably already back in the Sacred Library, safe and sound.”

  “Do you really believe that?”

  “I truly don’t know.”

  My head is whirling with questions surrounding the trial, the book of shadows, my father’s strange warning, Lance’s words and everything else that’s happened. It seems so strange that right before the trials began, I started having dreams about the dead Knights. Then I’m asked to retrieve a book of shadows and soon after my dreams take a turn with the witch coven. Could those outside of St. Laurence be the Souveign coven? Could these trials be more than they seem? What am I missing?

  “What do you make of my dream?” I finally ask Tristan.

  “What do you mean?”

  “If my dreams are actually Sight, as you’re claiming, could I have actually saw the events that occurred when the Knights were killed?”

  “I believe that’s exactly what you dreamed,” he says with such conviction that even I am really beginning to believe it.

  “Witches were outside of Saint Laurence, waiting for whoever killed the knights and stole Excalibur. Do you think the Souveign coven could’ve been involved? Maybe they went back on their word?”

  “Are you suggesting that the person responsible for the knight’s deaths was a witch?”

  I shake my head. “I don’t know. From what I saw, the person was feminine, but I’m not one hundred percent.”

  “Did you see a face?”

  “No. The figure turned towards me, but I don’t remember actually seeing a face. I woke up before that,” I admit. “I really don’t think that these are games, Tristan. I think this entire trial is something more. Between my dreams and Marcus’s mom—”

  He cuts me off. “What about Marcus’s mom?” Tristan asks.

  “She said some strange things today. Things that made the council uneasy, and my dad said even stranger things.”

  “Like what?”