by A. K. Koonce
She makes it to the door but doesn’t stop. “If you’re thinking of escaping, you won’t get very far with that new collar anchoring you down.” Those are her parting words as she walks away.
And I hate that I know she’s right.
Rachel Ray looks distinctly unimpressed by me as I meet him at the front of the Academy. I got lost in the halls at least five fucking times and regret not getting a tour when I had the chance, if only to give me the opportunity to learn escape routes from the inside. If my lack of punctuality has anything to do with his disdainful expression, he can suck a big one, because I don’t care.
“Your weapons.” He holds out a bundle of pathetic looking items. Bow and arrow, steel daggers and holsters, and a gun.
A fucking gun.
My arms cross against my chest, pushing up my breasts for his viewing. He doesn’t even glance down. “Where’s my sword?” I demand.
“The headmistress has confiscated it.” He thrusts out the weapons again, but I don’t take them.
“I want my sword.”
His eyes roll upward as if to say “Heaven help me.” I fight back a snicker. He will find no heaven here in Krist’s academy.
Only hell.
“You cannot have it.”
I arch a brow, unspoken words fluttering between us. I can do this all day, little Baker. Wouldn’t even fucking flinch.
Marcen sighs. “Give me a moment.” Then he disappears.
When he comes back later, it’s without those travesties he called weapons and with my own sword. Damios hums in my presence, and I can’t get to it fast enough. Fastening it to my waist, I breathe a sigh of relief from the tension in my body. Without my blade, I feel an integral part of me missing, and now that it’s back in its rightful place, my whole body sings in a way where I can almost ignore that they have me collared like a fucking mutt.
I crack my fingers. “Right, so now what?”
Marcel gestures to the front doors of the Academy. “You have your list. Find them and kill them, then come back.”
My eyes narrow on him. I can’t trust anything here, though. This is just one more thing to set me on edge.
“Yeah, I like to know who I’m killing before I do the actual killing.” He doesn’t know how this works, obviously. All my kills are assholes. Those deserving of death. Whatever light I have left in my soul is because of that reason alone. I don’t fuck with the innocent. So, unless those five names on the list that’s burning a hole in my ass pocket are murdered, robbed, raped, or are the scum of the earth, then I won’t be sticking my blade in anyone tonight.
“The men and women on that list are threats to this Academy, and that is all you need to know.”
He is so pretentious.
My eyes roll so far back to my head that it looks like I’m having a seizure. “Fine,” I grit out from my clenched teeth. “Whatever. Let’s go murdering.”
I was not going to get to murdering.
Fucking dumb fucks.
I can’t believe they let me loose. The ironic part of this whole situation is that I would have stayed. I would have done whatever the fuck they asked, but they had to go and fucking drug me and shackle me like a damn animal. Like a fucking prisoner.
It’s a mistake they’ll live to regret.
I prowl the streets and the shadows like I’m one of their spectral forms myself. I’m used to the darkness, to hunting in the shadows. I can easily find my targets. All I have to do is mutter the names on that list and a quick finders spell would guide me straight to them. I could have their heads hand-delivered on a platter to Krist’s office if I want.
Too fucking bad I don’t.
I’m making a run for it, and this fucking collar isn’t going to stop me.
I find a pane of glass in a shop window and study the collar encircling my skin. It’s a complicated-looking device, but they’re fucking idiots if they think I can’t break out of it. I’ve been breaking into locks since I was a child, and this is no different.
I finger around the cold metal until I find the lock at the back of my neck. My nail digs into the hole where a key should fit and measure the size, chewing the inside of my cheek. This is the easiest fucking lock I’d ever had to pick in my life. I’ve broken into seven-year-old’s diaries with better security than this crap.
“Forgive me,” I whisper as I unsheathe Damios and bring the tip of it to the back of my neck. It slides in, and with a couple of twists, I can hear the lock disengage and the collar separate. Breathing a sigh of relief, I sheathe my sword and peel the collar off. I wince in pain as I pull the needles from my skin. Belladonna drips down my flesh as it makes its last attempt to inject me with it. I promptly throw it across the street.
My neck is scattered with needle marks that are already swelling in hives. Great. Just what I needed.
Ignoring it, I walk away, feeling my magic regenerate from a tiny flicker higher into the force it should be. In a few hours, I’ll be myself again, and Sialen be damned. Fucker. If he wants to waste his potential as a Sekar groveling to the metallic hybrid bitch, then he can be my guest. I have better things to do with my time.
I take a step towards my freedom, but freedom doesn’t last very long. My whole body is sent sprawling due to an impact from behind. My knees slam against the pavement, and I groan at the surprise of it. I can feel something above me, I just don’t know what the fuck it is. It’s a heavy weight, but I can’t make out the shape or contours of a body. I can only make out the cold, heavy stench of metal pressing down against the back of my spine. I struggle against whatever has me pinned down, but it’s useless. It’s too heavy, whatever it is. I buck like a wild animal now, panic getting the better of me when I hear the back of my shirt rip down the middle. Cold air and metal pierce my skin, and I barely have time to cry out before I feel the painful press of needles shoot into my skin.
I arch and scream, feeling how the needles slide slowly into my back and latch on. I can feel the thin, jagged strip of metal down the length of my entire spine clinging onto me. I scream again as belladonna shoots through my bloodstream. It attacks me from the inside, and I can do nothing but curse as the pain consumes me. It’s like nothing I’ve ever felt before. It’s like rivers of fire through the blood, like tiny, painful electrifying shocks killing my nervous system slowly.
Copper taste fills my mouth and dribbles down my chin and onto the pavement. I can feel the brush of the needles on my insides every time I move, and a weak whimper escapes my throat that I soon regret when polished shoes fill my vision on the ground. My eyes flick up to Marcen, who stares down at me with an expression that’s equal parts bored and amused.
“Miss Lucero . . .” he sighs. “I was hoping you would know better.”
“Fuck.” Blood and spit fly against his shoes, and I fucking hope it stains.
He makes a tsk-tsking sound and bends low; I can see his collar gleaming in the moonlight beneath the white material of his shirt. He’s as much of a prisoner as I am.
He’s just better at submission than I am.
“The headmistress expected this of you. She just never imagined you would break free. We’ve had to put a new device on you.” His finger taps against my spine, along the hard metal that’s now embedded there. “It’s a new invention. Just for you. The needles latch onto your vertebrae. That way, if you try to take it off, you’ll just end up breaking your own spine, so I wouldn’t recommend even trying. There are some things even you can’t come back from.”
Fuck! I wish I could move right now, if only to punch that smug expression right off his face.
“What does she want from me?” I demand. I’m almost afraid to hear the answer when Marcen looks at me with sorrowful eyes.
“The list, Miss Lucero. The list.”
“I don’t kill innocents.” I gasp, hating how weak that breath sounds against my lips.
“Perhaps not, but in my experience, it’s either them or you. This is the moment you have to ask yourself, how badl
y will you fight to stay alive?”
We both know what that answer will be.
Marcen stands up and dusts off his pleated black slacks. “The device has neurosensors on it that can detect your type of magic and spells. It sends transmissions back to its control at the Academy. At any sign of foul play or if you try to escape, belladonna will be fueled into your whole system at the press of a button. You can use magic, but it is limited to your task. Do you understand?”
I do. They put fucking training wheels on my magic, and I don’t like it one bit. But what choice do I have?
I don’t have one, and he knows it. They all know it. She said their research was thorough. They know me. They know I will do whatever it takes to survive.
My palms press against the rough pavement, and I push myself up. A twinge of discomfort races down my body. When I’m standing, I feel a slight weight on my back that’s almost unnoticeable. It feels like whatever is embedded there is a part of me, and I think that’s the point, really.
The ripped remnants of my shirt slip down my shoulders, and I let them. I refuse to appear even weaker before Marcen, because I know he’ll run back to Krist and tell her what happened. I don’t need more ammunition against me. I need to play this fucking smart.
I’ll need to break my own rules.
I’ll need to kill the innocent to survive.
My blade is drenched in blood, and it hums its delight to the night. Slick and darkened, it glows like star dust in shimmering silver and gold, the runes prominent across the sharp blade. For each kill, a new rune is etched on the weapon and on my skin. I feel the sting of it as it brands me along my arms and legs.
Four new kills. Four new runes. Four new souls for my Lady to reap.
Finding them was relatively easy. Killing them, even more so. I ignored their ramblings, going in straight for the kill. Usually I relish the violence, but this time, I don’t. I don’t even know what they did to warrant Krist’s ire, but it’s either them or me.
I will save myself every fucking time.
Once their bodies are sent off in a stream of screaming light to the fixed plane of souls, I search for the fifth and final name on the list. I whisper the spell and the name, its mere syllables falling off my lips, which shows how little I care about the life I am going to take.
I feel the pull of my kill, and my feet and magic carry me miles within moments, until I appear in front of the man. I don’t give myself time to take in what he looks like. It will do no good for my sanity to humanize my target.
It’s just a job. And he’s just a target.
He screams and jumps back. His whole body is covered in blood, and he’s sweating, wearing an orange getup that looks like he just escaped from prison.
I lift my sword, and he dodges out of the way. “Wait! Please! I know Krist sent you. Please don’t kill me!”
His pleas fall on deaf ears. He should know that begging will get him nowhere. I know the instant he sees it in my eyes, because he falls to the ground and gives up. It’s so pathetic, I could laugh. I lift my sword, and it sings a chorus, egging me on.
“She wants to silence me,” he whispers between chattering teeth as I lift the blade to his neck. “She’ll silence you, too. She’ll silence all of us. No one will know what she’s doing at that place. With my death, all is lost.” He’s rambling, throwing out words one after the other into strings of sentences I don’t understand. Nothing seems coherent, and perhaps this is why I was sent to end them. The others did the same. They begged and pleaded and cursed a man named Dr. Hyde.
I slice the weapon across his throat. Blood spills. He chokes. Dies. I just watch with detached emotions until his soul is sucked into my sword, and I can send him away.
I’m done.
I’ve done Krist’s bidding. I’ve survived the night.
I just don’t understand why I feel so dead inside.
Chapter Five
I arrive at the Academy, and after Marcen takes away my sword but before I can flip him off properly, I walk away from him, pissed off and with five new runes hissing against the skin beneath my clothes. I stop when I come face-to-face with Sialen. His eyes flicker over my tattered state of dress and haggard appearance, but he doesn’t say a word about it. Instead, his head jerks, indicating that I should follow.
He’s such a rat cock.
And he’s lucky I’m too exhausted to do anything more than glare at his broad shoulders as I follow after him.
Blood mats my hair, framing my face, and neither of us speak as Sialen leads me into a dark wing of the Academy I haven’t yet seen. It’s quiet aside from a few whispers lighting up the night from behind closed doors. And there are just so many doors. It only takes me a few seconds to realize the long corridor is a housing unit.
He stops abruptly toward the end of the hall, just in front of a door with a golden number 119 on it.
“This one’s mine. 120 has an open bunk, and the girl knows you’re coming. Play nice,” is all he says before shoving open his door and swinging it shut on my face.
“He really is Prince Fucking Charming,” I whisper to myself.
A glorified babysitter. That’s what he is. Mentor my ass.
I’m still glaring at his closed door when I realize it’ll do me no good. Among the shadows, I see a small sitting area just past what is now my new room. A long couch and a few chairs face one another, but the space is vacant. No light. No noise. Nothing.
And I need a shower. Sialen’s little Prince Charming self might be spotless, but I’m fucking disgusting. There has to be a shower somewhere on this floor.
Without a sound to interrupt the quiet, I tread through the sitting space. I wander down beyond what appears to be a snack and drink station. I roam the isolation, and to be honest, it’s nice. It’s soothing to be alone and without a facade of caring about the other Sekar and what he might be thinking of me or why he is the way he is or . . .
Oh, my fuck.
A warm, romantic light shines down like the Holy Lady of Death herself has blessed this one particular toilet. I slowly step through the open door to get a better look at the many stalls of shining glittering shitters. Literally, they’re gold. Why? Who planned the budget when creating this asinine school? I wonder how much a single toilet seat will go for in the black market?
The white tiles beneath my dirty boots are flawless but damp. My messy reflection looks back at me with tired features and clinging crimson-black hair in the running expanse of mirrors. And just past that is a large open shower.
“Fuck, yes,” I murmur to myself. I want to wash the blood off myself, to get rid of deaths that felt undeserved. I won’t cry or reminisce over my shitty day, but I will say a quick prayer of thanks for their unsuspecting souls and ask my Lady to watch over them as they cross her river of sorrow.
Hot water streams down from all of the showerheads above, and I strip out of the dirty clothes without pausing to look for a towel, soap, or any other necessities. All I want is hot water for my aching muscles.
I’m already striding right into the large stall when my feet slide, stopping me instantly when I lock eyes with a stranger already taking my lovely shower space.
It’s alarming but makes me smile all at the same time.
Because it’s a dog.
A wolf, actually.
Stark black fur is slick against a big body. A bushy tail is curled in against him where he lies. Shining green eyes study me apprehensively, guardedly.
Until a low, heartbreaking whine slips from his lips, and blood stains the water pooling around him. Did someone dump him here to die?
Shit.
“You’re okay,” I whisper sweetly to him in a tone I’d never use with a human or a supernatural, for that matter. Especially the fucks who left this sweet puppy alone in his final hours. I slide down on my hands and knees and show the little creature my palms as I gradually come closer. “You’re okay, pretty puppy,” I tell him in the most soothing voice I possess. It’s a vo
ice I’ve never even heard before.
I don’t even know who that bitch is.
With leisure moves that tell him I’m not a threat, I lower my fingers oh-so-slowly into his thick, wet fur. And I find a deep gash along his stomach instantly.
“Fuck.”
I have no idea how the pup isn’t dead already. Not that he’s a pup. He’s a massive wolf who just so happens to seem like a little pup in this heartbreaking moment.
He just looks so vulnerable right now. I can’t stand it.
“You’re okay, little puppy,” I tell him, more for my sake than his. He is most definitely not okay.
My shaking fingers shove at the gold knobs along the wall and steam fills the space instantly. The hot water streaming over my back and hair mingles with the enormous amount of blood he himself is losing. My palm stays firmly over the pulsing wound on his stomach, and that soul-twisting cry of his shudders from his lips.
With my free hand. I pat his slick head, pushing the hair from his big eyes and watching as they slowly close. Peace shifts over his face, and he even settles his head against my slick thigh. He finds comfort just from my closeness, it seems. No one wants to be alone in the end.
Not mankind.
Not animals.
And I guess not even me.
If I listen hard enough, among the pounding droplets of water and the uneven breaths leaving his lungs, I can hear the gentle but delayed drum of his heart.
It isn’t a drum at all, though. It’s a lost, tapping echo of strength that once was.
He’s dying.
My head tilts low until my ebony hair slips into his. My temple meets his, and his emerald eyes open just slightly to meet my own. “Our Holy Lady of Death, find life. Give us life among the darkness. Give me strength. Give me strength to give to another. In My Lady’s name, I beg as your forever servant of darkness, bless this magic,” I breathe out a sigh of desperation as my body thrums, my tattoos illuminate, and power pulses from me that I’ve taken and kept and reserved for a time just like this.