Traces of Sulfur: A Young Adult Urban Fantasy Academy Series (Blade Keeper Academy Book 1)

by Madeline Freeman

  Traces of Sulfur

  Blade Keeper Academy #1

  Madeline Freeman

  Contents

  Introduction

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Flickers of Flame

  Also by Madeline Freeman

  About the Author

  Copyright © 2020 Madeline Freeman

  Cover Art © 2020 EmCat Designs

  All rights reserved.

  First Edition: August 2020

  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The Author holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited.

  For information:

  http://www.madelinefreeman.net

  I’m not who they think I am. If they learn the truth, I’ll pay with my life.

  Blakethorne Academy is the premier training ground for warriors. Every person here will one day be a member of the angelic Guard.

  As a demon, it’s the last place I should ever step foot. But I couldn’t exactly say no when they handed me an engraved invitation to attend. Access like this doesn’t come around every day.

  My people are in peril, and walking among these angels could give me what I need to save them. I just need to keep my true identity a secret.

  But that gets harder by the day when the lead Keeper, Nate Kouri, sets my heart galloping every time he draws near. Getting close to him is dangerous, but I’ve never been one to turn down playing with fire.

  They think I’m a Blade Keeper—one of five elite warriors destined to defeat whatever evil rises. If they learn I’m a demon, I’ll suffer a fate worse than death.

  My name is Eden Everdell. Saving my people has always been my mission, but ensuring the survival of my brethren might destroy me.

  Chapter One

  I bit back a curse as the second person in less than a minute bumped into me with such force that I almost lost my footing. The crisp autumnal air that had been circulating its calming influence through the city for the last week had completely disappeared this morning, replaced by a scorching heat reminiscent of mid-summer. I lifted my hand to tap the comm device in my ear, doing my best to pass the motion off like a casual scratch. “Are you sure there’s not a better route for me to take? One less… people-y?”

  “Suck it up, Eden,” chided the steely voice of the woman who’d raised me since I was eight years old. While my aunt Liza had never fully developed a maternal instinct, she’d come a long way over the last nine years. “The easiest way to disappear…”

  “Is to melt into a crowd.” I finished the line automatically. I’d heard it so many times it was as familiar to me as my own name. It seemed as if half the city had turned out to watch the motorcade procession—with supporters and protesters in equal measure. Guard presence had increased tenfold in anticipation of violence. If I took a less crowded path to my destination, I risked the abundant security officers taking note of me. And I definitely didn’t want to appear on their radar—not with what I was carrying.

  “So stop complaining and melt,” Liza continued. “You’ve only got a few blocks to go before it’s safe to turn off the parade route. Don’t contact me again unless you run into trouble. People tend to notice when someone’s talking to herself—even in this part of town.”

  She was right. Despite the number of people clogging the streets, I couldn’t shake the feeling that the Guards were watching me. My skin tingled as if I bore a physical mark that announced I didn’t belong here. The last thing I wanted was to draw undue attention to myself.

  I edged my way forward, doing my best to avoid errant elbows and shoulders as I went. On this side of the street, the air buzzed with a current of excitement, although I couldn’t understand why. So what? The chancellor and his entourage would be driving by. How was this any more interesting than staring at a normal day’s traffic? It wasn’t as if Chancellor Kingston would stop to shake hands and connect with the people of West Cameron, or talk to them about their struggles and triumphs. And he most certainly wouldn’t be interacting with the people on the other side of Haynes Avenue. This street divided West Cameron from Cameron Heights, and the energy across the road couldn’t be more different.

  I should be over there. I lived in Cameron Heights, after all, and the people of West Cameron paid good money to private security firms to ensure my kind stayed as far away from their city as possible.

  And while I’d be more comfortable with my people, the crowd was rowdier on that side, with people with visible horns or gloved hands to cover red, scaly skin holding signs with homemade lettering spelling out messages like “We Exist” and “Can You See Us Now?” and “Not My Chancellor.” Besides, eventually I’d have to be on this side of Haynes to make my turn, and crossing further up the road would be impossible.

  A half dozen patrons spilled out of the coffee shop up ahead, merging with the mass of people lining the sidewalks and forming an impenetrable wall of bodies between me and my destination. If something like this happened across the street, I would’ve stuck out my elbows and pushed my way through. But over here, the direct approach could get me in trouble. I stopped, adjusting the strap on my shoulder as I waited for the crowd to part. The urge to glance at the purse surged inside me, but I ignored it. I didn’t want to draw attention to the beat-up black bag. Although the false bottom had stood up to guard searches before, I didn’t want to test it today. As far as it concerned the people on the street, this was a normal purse stuffed with as many random things as I could find around the bunker—grocery receipts, a few pens, a blank notepad, and a handful of ration bars.

  Shouts rose up across the street, and someone behind me let out a heavy sigh. “Do you think we should send over some backup?”

  I snuck a glance over my shoulder. A shock of ice shot through my system when I recognized the navy blue shade of a guard’s uniform. Why hadn’t I noticed them when I stopped? Two guards stood in front of the cafe’s window, surveying the area.

  “I tell you one thing,” said the female guard, “you won’t see me volunteering to go. Barely a step up from animals, are they?”

  The male guard snorted his agreement. “Glad I didn’t get picked for that detail. If we do get asked for help, though, we should figure out who to send.”

  Anger flickered to life in the pit of my stomach and it took every ounce of willpower I had not to ball my fist as they spoke. Guards were supposed to maintain peace and protect all residents of the kis, but here these two were, comparing some of those residents to animals and complaining about the possibility of having to draw closer to them. I kept my eyes trained resolutely forward, wishing I could somehow make the people clogging my path move faster.

  The woman chuckled. “I say we send Kouri. Make him prove he�
��s worth all the accolades.” As her companion chortled, she lifted her arm and called, “How’s it going over there, Kouri?”

  Despite my desire to make it seem like I wasn’t paying attention to their conversation, I followed the woman’s gaze. At the end, I found a guard whose all black uniform covered his lithe form. His nearly black hair was long for a guard, but he wore it smoothed back—although the length at his neck curled in rebellion. His deep brown eyes widened momentarily. “I, um. Everything looks good here, lieutenant.”

  My lip twitched at his attempt at bravado. The guard was young. He couldn’t have been much older than me. Part of me wondered if this was his first assignment.

  You and me both.

  That wasn’t entirely true. Over the years, I’d assisted on countless operations. But each time, I was an unseen hand—someone behind the scenes helping to make things flow smoothly. For years, I contented myself fiddling with communication devices or upgrading the wiring on the bunker’s security. This was the first time I pushed to move the package myself. The work my aunt and her boyfriend Marco did was important, and I’d always assisted because I was expected to. But in the last few weeks, a fire had kindled within me. For the first time, I considered that while I was good with technical tinkering, I might not belong on the sidelines. I wanted—needed—to do something more. The same could probably be said for the young guard.

  The flicker of camaraderie took me by surprise. I shook off the feeling. Even if there was a fleeting similarity between our current situations, it didn’t change the fact that the two of us were nothing alike. He was a guard, sworn to uphold the law I was actively breaking. He probably lived a life of comfort while I always just scraped by.

  He was an angel, and I was a demon.

  Despite the moment of connection, that difference might as well place us in different universes.

  The mass of bodies before me separated and I surged forward, my skin suddenly itchy with the desire to put as much distance between myself and the reveling angels as possible. I kept my gaze focused forward as I passed the spot where Officer Kouri stood, afraid something about me might draw his attention. But as I continued down the street, I didn’t sense the weight of a gaze on my shoulders or the prickle of eyes against my skin. As far as anyone was concerned, I was just a regular citizen walking down the street.

  For the first time, that I could move unnoticed in plain sight didn’t fill me with a sense of pride. Instead, icy sadness curled in my stomach. I traveled freely only because I didn’t bear any physical marks associated with my kind. Because I looked like them, the angels assumed I wasn’t a threat.

  A few yards from my turn, I shook off the vain emotions. It was better to be unseen. My ability to fly under the radar was the whole reason Liza had agreed to let me take this run. Usually she or Marco—who was basically my uncle—would do a drop like this. But due to this client’s locale and his urgent need for the medicine in my bag, neither Liza nor Marco could chance making their way into West Cameron in time. And although Derek—the fourth member of our team and my kind-of ex-boyfriend—had done missions on his own before, his pigheadedness had gotten him into a scrape with some guards a few weeks back. And although he’d gotten away without the officers learning his lineage, the guards around here had long memories and would almost certainly stop Derek and check him for contraband if they saw him.

  That left me as the only one to complete this task. If I failed, a young boy would die.

  As I turned off Haynes onto West Charter Avenue, the persistent thrum of need that had pounded in my veins for weeks on end relaxed to a gentle pulse. Soon, I would complete my mission. In a very tangible way, I would have a hand in saving someone’s life. Sweet satisfaction swept through me as I strode closer and closer to my destination.

  I didn’t recognize the heavy scrape of footsteps until it was too late.

  Chapter Two

  Someone plowed into my shoulder with their full body weight, knocking me forward several steps. My arms shot out instinctively to protect me from smashing face-first into the cracked sidewalk.

  By the time I realized my mistake, the damage was done.

  The ever-present pressure of the purse strap on my shoulder disappeared in an instant. I grabbed for the bag, but the snatcher was too fast. Their back was fully out of reach by the time I trusted my balance enough to stretch out my hand.

  A string of curses tumbled from my mouth as I took off at a run. With each step, I tried to size the thief up the way Marco had drilled into me. The red hooded sweatshirt fit too close to afford much slack to grab onto, so I would have to aim for the hood itself, and that was pulled over the person’s head. Although they were probably an inch or two shorter than me, they were fast. Even running full-out, I was losing ground.

  “Stop! Help! Thief!”

  The snatcher cut a sharp right and disappeared around a corner. My breath came in pants as my feet pounded the ground, but I didn’t slow my pace. A knot of people clogged the sidewalk halfway up the block, standing under a sign for an upscale restaurant. Hope sprang up in me. Surely one of these people would do something.

  But they all sprang out of the way as the thief streaked through, doing nothing but shouting jeers and curses at him for his rudeness. Similar shouts echoed around me as I wove through the crowd moments later, except I didn’t make it through unscathed. A woman in a pencil skirt and kitten heels stumbled into my path, her long legs tangling with mine and forcing us both to smack into the ground. Her body cushioned my fall, but my luck ran out when the rough hands of her companions clamped around my upper arms to yank me off her.

  “Watch where you’re going!” someone shouted.

  I shook off the hands and put distance between myself and the crowd. “Oh, yeah. Like this is my fault! You couldn’t have knocked over the guy who stole my bag?”

  But even as the words passed my lips, I turned my attention from the group and scanned the street. These people were of no concern to me. I needed to focus on getting that bag back or someone would suffer for my mistake.

  Except no matter where I looked, I saw no sign of the mugger.

  My chest constricted, forcing the air from my lungs. No. They couldn’t have just disappeared. It was impossible. They couldn’t be gone.

  In the span of a few minutes, I had ruined my very first mission. Instead of sating my desire to help, I may have done just the opposite. If I didn’t get the bag to the drop point within the next hour, a little boy would die.

  My fingers itched with the instinct to radio Liza and tell her what happened. But even as my hand neared the comm in my ear, I kept the words bottled inside. No. I couldn’t ask for help. I needed to fix this myself. We always find a way. Liza and Marco drilled the mantra into my head for years. Today was the day I put the saying into practice.

  Leaving the miffed group of angels behind, I ran up the street in the direction the thief was going when the crowd knocked me down. Maybe they ducked into an entryway to lie low, hoping I would give up. Maybe they were already digging through the bag. With any luck, they would think there was nothing of value inside and ditch it.

  But I couldn’t rely on wishful thinking. If I wasn’t at the meeting spot at the appointed time, there was no guarantee how long the person there would stick around. With the increased Guard presence, hanging around in a back alley was an invitation for harassment. Liza had been explicit: the window for the meeting was brief, so I had to make it there on time.

  At the next cross street, I swiveled my head to the left and right. Movement caught my eye, and although I wasn’t positive it was the thief, my feet picked the direction for me before I could evaluate the smartest course of action.

  When I spotted the masses of people lining the street up ahead, something in my mind snapped into place. This thief was no idiot. Instead of running blindly through the streets and hoping to lose me, he would disappear among the hundreds of people gathered along the published motorcade route.

  I
gnoring the stabbing pain in my side, I pumped my legs even harder. I kept my eyes pinned to the red hood as the thief slipped into the crowd.

  I cursed as I tried to keep pace, but the purse snatcher wasn’t much taller than I was, and keeping them in my sights proved nearly impossible amid an onslaught of people who seemed to tower over me like giants.

  I couldn’t lose him. I needed to get that bag back. If I called out for help, there were enough guards here that one might deign to provide assistance. But what if that guard rummaged around in my purse to see what was inside? I couldn’t risk someone finding the medicine. While minor infractions like breaking curfew or loitering resulted in marks on a person’s record, transporting stolen medication would land me in societal rehabilitation.

  Ducking through the masses of people, I raced toward what brief glimpses of red I caught. A group of navy-suited guards stood at the end of the street, and part of me hoped the officers would prove useful and stop my quarry.

  But the thief must have seen the guards, too, because they cut up West Charter Avenue.

  After negotiating my way around a family pushing a stroller down the street, I turned the corner just in time to see the purse snatcher disappear into an alley. If they believed I didn’t see them, it would give me the upper hand.