by Riley Archer
Damian groaned and rolled the chair back. The enchanted cuffs clattered to the ground. I sighed relief and scooped them up as I climbed out.
I shook out my bones. “What’s the point of me having these if I can’t unlock them?”
“You didn’t exactly get me in them.” Damian leaned back into the chair and folded his hands behind his head. “But go ahead. Next time, lock yourself to something other than me.” He looked off to the side and grinned. That grin was pure evil. “Something … immobile.”
I pouted. “My lovers are going to be far less willing to play.”
“Then it’s a good thing your lovers only exist in your head. Especially since you sent your last one to the Abyss.”
Heat crept up my neck. He must’ve heard a little too much while undercover as Atlas’s go-to Grim.
I clucked my tongue. I’d set myself up for that one. Even so, I contemplated securing Damian to his rolling chair, stealing that whole journal with the spell, and sending cotton candy Maven back in here to sink her claws into him.
On second thought, that was a bad idea. I hadn’t gotten a look at her, and if she had actual claws—or, hell, even goat hooves or wings—I’d simply be laying the foundation for what was probably one of Damian’s deepest fantasies.
My revenge daydream settled on the next best thing. “I’d like to send you to the Abyss.”
Damian smiled. “If that’s the one place you won’t follow me, go for it.”
I pressed my tongue into the sharp edges of my teeth. “Hold on a sec. You followed me to the Wildenhoff slaughter mansion and the Academy. You’re a lot closer to a restraining order than I am, bub.”
Damian scowled. “I went to the manor because I felt bad for getting you cursed by the Necromancer Queen, and because your annoying reaper friends somehow found me and pestered me into it. And you being at the Academy is the unfortunate consequence of a much bigger problem. Ash was right. You’re vain.”
A pricking twirl wound through my heart. I kind of missed that ducking blond. I tried not to let it show. “Yeah, yeah. Just admit you have a crush on me already.”
Before I could say anything else, Damian closed the space between us until his face hovered above mine. I disliked his height at that precise moment.
“If I had a crush on you”—his mouth dipped near my ear, sending shivers down my neck—“you would know it.”
My mouth went dry. “Because you’d shower?”
I was pretty sure he’d been showering regularly as part of his David persona, but my brain was too fried to form a better comeback.
“The Illusionists might be the link we need.” He gripped my shoulders and twirled me around like a broken ballerina. “Be obnoxious and talented and you’ll get the Illusionists’ attention. That should be easy enough for you. You’re halfway there.”
I turned to face him when I crossed the door’s threshold. I held my hand to my heart. “You think I’m talented?”
Then, he slammed the door in my face.
9
The Duel
Waterboarding to start, followed by a slow and painful death in an iron maiden. This was a medieval castle with more hidden places than I could count—there was probably a torture device lying around somewhere.
And just before death swallowed him whole, I would steal his scythe, look him in his mossy eyes, and laugh with the menace of an evil sorceress.
That’d show him to slam a door in my face and leave me to navigate a maze of a castle for hours on end.
My dark fantasy kept me awake in class, which was a feat considering I hadn’t gotten a wink of sleep last night. Once I’d finally found my way back to my room, I spent the remaining dark hour tearing my room apart, looking for any hidden entrance or peephole that RC could use to spy on me. Or sneak in and kill me. Or kidnap me. Whatever insidious thing was on their agenda.
I found none, which didn’t quite appease me. Fantasizing about Damian’s death at my hands did though. It appeased me enough to follow his advice to be obnoxious.
I actually joined in on the humming in Intro to Evolved Clairvoyance and was the first to shout the name of each released energy. In Telesthesia Tactics, I slipped into every spiritual layer but fae.
Because one does not interfere with fae, I answered when the professor asked me why.
In Customs of Interagency Collection, I recited the five commandments of the Alpha Coalition and the proper handling of omega, subordinate, beta, and alpha werewolf souls, because hierarchy was their lifeblood and alpha souls required the treatment of a god. Only reigning alphas didn’t return to their human form when they died, and their pelt got passed on to whichever furry had the longest fangs and fiercest growl … basically, their successor.
Thanks to some Partner Transition Treaty, if an unlucky reaper was the only one present at the time of an Alpha’s death, they received the honor of flaying the beast.
I imagined it went something like, There, there, noble puppy spirit. Please remain calm while I make a bloody rug out of your corpse.
“Excellent, Ellis!” The Customs professor, who insisted we called him Brian, snapped my attention to him. Other than his circular spectacles, he looked nothing like my idea of a college professor. Dark, unwashed waves of red hair fell past his ears, and he had scruff to match. More hair poked out of his simple V-neck shirt, which he’d paired with a brown leather jacket. “Now, we don’t want to look foolish in front of our partner organizations. Practice on a small scale will be necessary for completion of this lesson.”
I peeked through the heads of my fellow students and saw Eliza stroll in with a silver cart. A lifeless bunny laid in the center, surrounded by an array of sharp stainless-steel objects. It looked like the small animal was either about to be feasted upon or put through open heart surgery.
The professor’s eyes landed on me. “Ellis, you’ve been especially helpful today. If you could please come to the front of the class and demonstrate for your peers.”
As I somewhat unwillingly walked to the front of the classroom, I glanced at the tools and kept one eye on Bugs, almost expecting it to zombie-out and attack me.
It was a teensy bit possible I had a minor case of PTSD when it came to dead animals.
As for cutting the poor bunny open … I had no flipping idea what I was doing.
Anatomy-obsessed Aiden, on the other hand, couldn’t help but make slicing movements as I tinkered with the tray of sharp objects. With that and a few suggestions from Brian, I picked up a scalpel and got to work.
As tissue ripped and blood marred the soft white pelt, remorse knocked against my skull. Grime, fat, and blood caked beneath my nails, making my murderous thoughts go limp and sour.
I wasn’t in much of an ass-kicking mood when I walked into Apparitic Defenses, even though on the way over, my classmates whispered we were supposed to start hand-to-hand combat today. Some of them guessed we’d be battling it out with moving punching bags.
But the room was totally empty, save for Damian, who stood there like he was proud of the disappearing act he’d done with our desks.
“What’s up, Houdini?” I said to no reply.
When we were all assembled, he walked to the back of the classroom and opened the wall like sliding doors. An arsenal of weapons and entrapments had been hidden behind it.
Some of the weapons were so wicked I thought they might curse me just by looking at them. They were glorious. I couldn’t tear my eyes away.
Damian projected his voice. “As you should be learning in your Customs class, you can’t always use a scythe, so you’ll need to be proficient in other ways to defend yourself. You all have experience with the standard nets and bombs at a Collector’s disposal, but such items will not be sufficient during an Advanced Collection gone awry. Pick a weapon and we’ll head to the field.”
Excitement fizzled across the room as everyone lined up.
“If supernatural spirits want to pass on with our help, why do we need to be prepared
to fight them?” I asked Damian as I made my way toward the end of the line.
“Be obnoxious and talented enough, and you’ll find out.”
I rolled my eyes. Why does everyone have to be so damn cryptic all the time?
But if he wanted obnoxious, he’d get it. I marched to the front of the line and browsed the weapons close-up. Complaints of varying volumes rose behind my back.
I ignored them, which was easy when a few pointy things captured my attention.
Like an ax with a shiny oak handle and hooks on either ends of the blade. And two matching daggers long enough stab right through the thickest of biceps. And, attached to the very corner of the wall of lethal goodies, was a black device that looked a lot like Mr. Sparky. It was somehow both the ugliest and most beautiful thing up there.
But wait … there was a scuff mark on the corner I was sure had been reaped when I went head to head with a Glitch in Central Park. I recognized a few other telling scratches as well.
It didn’t just look like my favorite torture device. It was Mr. Sparky.
I barely contained my excitement as I pulled it from its straps.
“Is she serious?” Ethan said from his spot in the line.
I looked him dead in the eye, holding hands with my taser like the long-lost friend it was. I let it crackle a bit. “Serious as electrocution.”
Once everyone had a lethal toy in their possession, I discovered that even medieval schoolhouses had football fields. They just didn’t have bleachers and were used for supernatural combat practice.
While cold wind wrapped around us like a frigid scarf, Damian separated us into partners. Of course, he paired me with the biggest guy in class. My battle buddy’s name was Travis, and he’d chosen a giant sword with a green line down the middle.
His wide shoulders broadened as he settled beside me, the gleam across his face a little too cocky for my liking. My finger caressed Mr. Sparky’s trigger.
Once we were all paired up, Damian stood before us. “To win your match, your opponent must hit the ground. Winners will line up on this side of the field,” Damian pointed behind him. “And everyone else will head to the health unit for a wellness check. Then, we’ll repeat the process. Although AA has assigned a healing mage to us for these events, do your best not to disfigure your partner. If you intentionally cause an excessive injury to another student, you will be disqualified. Just like if you cause unfounded, excessive injury to a soul, there will be repercussions.”
Sierra’s hand launched into the air like the rocket of inquiry it was. “Is there an incentive for being the last one standing?”
“Yes.” Damian folded his hands behind his back. “You’ll be better suited for survival while on assignment.” Then, after a beat, he added, “And since the winner will have shown adequate defensive skills, they will be excused from the final.”
I sniffled. It was cold out here.
But the energy of the rest of the group cranked up on high. Bloodlust swirled around us more viciously than the wind.
They hadn’t had much chance to show it, what with all the humming and lectures and everything, but my classmates were predators. Blood-thirsty, finals-avoiding predators. My beefy partner was no exception.
A sneer cut into Travis’s thick cheek. He didn’t think much of me or Mr. Sparky, and he had no intention of hiding it. That was fine. Cockiness like that meant he was complacent.
Complacency is a killer, I heard in Otto’s rich voice.
I watched with mild amusement as the first pairing took to the center of the field.
The girl who’d chosen the pretty matching daggers—named Anna, I believed—twirled them around her hands like pokey batons. Her opponent was Aiden, who’d picked a pint-sized staff with a blue crystal at the tip. While Anna crouched like a cougar, Aiden stood with perfect posture, his stick-for-a-weapon hanging limply at his side.
Rather than preparing for an attack, he looked like he was waiting for a bus. One that would pick him up rather than run him over.
Anna definitely wanted to run him over. With a determined fold between her brows, she launched. As she neared him, she crossed the daggers and prepared to slash outwards. I almost thought Aiden was going to let her slice him into flesh noodles.
Maybe his tactic is to let his opponents disqualify themselves? Or, judging his misplaced smile, maybe he had a second-death wish.
But when the daggers’ tips were almost close enough to tear into Aiden’s Attack on Titan t-shirt, Anna slid backward and smacked her head on a runway of ice.
A perfectly formed block of ice surrounded by slightly crunchy snow.
I’d been so focused on Anna that I hadn’t noticed the snow before Aiden’s feet melt and solidify. It was humbling. Missing a detail like that could be deadly.
The tip of Aiden’s staff released a breath of cold fog. He offered Anna a helping hand and she accepted, though the twist in her face made it look like she was resisting the urge to knee him in the groin.
“Nice use of the Arcane Staff, Mr. Langley,” Damian praised.
Aiden grinned. “I instantly recognized it from Arcana in Artifacts, Volume V. There’s enough frigid moisture out here to easily turn this field into an ice rink.”
Damian propped his chin between his fingers. “Yet you only formed a thin walkway. Why?”
“I wouldn’t want to tip off my opponent or overextend the staff. Artifacts hold a limited amount of magic, so it’s best to use them efficiently.”
Like my new slow-to-release cuffs. That I have no way to unlock.
A broad smile filled Damian’s face. “I’m impressed. Next?”
Ethan, the goth pony-tail guy, was paired up with a quiet boy named Blake who had a permanent slouch. Ethan had chosen a ghastly whip and his adversary held a bow-and-arrow with an ethereal glow.
I didn’t know how Blake planned to get Ethan down without disfiguring him. But that bow was a beautiful specimen, all delicate curves with runes that pulsed on the sides. I rubbed my palm—I had my own experience with a magical rune, and it wasn’t a good one. I wondered what kind of havoc would be unleashed if and when an arrow struck.
It went about as expected. Before Blake could send one flying, Ethan’s whip curled around the arrow and snapped it. Then, the whip wound around Blake’s ankle. One yank and that was the end of it.
The matches continued.
Some turned into all-out brawls, resulting in bloody noses and more than a few bruises. There were magical brass knuckles and lassos and boomerangs.
The worst injury so far had come from a tricky bottle filled with some gas or liquid that formed various wicked shapes when it flowed from the top, like a moldable weapon; at the end of the match, it’d formed a hook that sliced into someone’s thigh.
The victim was rushed inside, fatty tissue hanging out of his jeans and blood pooling down the back of his leg. Captain Hook was disqualified.
The constellation of blood spatter in the snow put stars in Travis’s eyes. Right on time, because we were next.
I wasn’t sure how he intended to knock me down with his giant sword when it seemed to be made for cutting trees in half. Trees or giants, of which I was neither.
As we faced each other across the field, he rolled his massive shoulders and lifted the sword with one hand. I was surprised he hadn’t been nabbed for training as an Enforcer already.
I tightened my grip on Mr. Sparky, sweet adrenaline churning through my system.
We ran at each other like bulls.
Travis swung hard enough to decapitate me.
Asshole! I ducked and dodged. Springing back to my feet, I kept circling. “No matter how you feel about my mug, I think lopping off my head counts as disfigurement.”
Travis chuckled. “Will you choose your head or a loss? Cause I bet you’ll drop to the ground and choose your head.” I shrugged and continued to circle him. Impatience twitched in the corners of his eyes. “Running away?”
“Don’t you want to dan
ce with me?” I picked up the pace.
“No!” He grunted out another swing.
I was behind him before he was steady again. I contemplated kicking the back of his knee to take him down, but to get that close, I was risking him striking my side.
I almost did it anyway, but an old memory took over my mind space.
“Be patient.” Tanaka’s voice rushed through my head for the second time today; my chest had ached from a full morning of him striking me down. “A thoughtful opponent is a dangerous one. A rushed opponent stabs themselves in the foot.”
“Being patient sounds a lot like being a fish in a barrel,” I’d spat back, pushing myself off the training mat.
His dark eyes had shimmered, lethal and beautiful, like a predator in the shadows. “Patience is not submission. It is active. Restraint takes focus. Can you focus, Ellis, or do you not like your feet?”
I shook Tanaka’s silky timbre from my head and took a breath. I liked my feet just fine.
New motivation filled my lungs. I wasn’t here to play games with this meathead. I was here because Tanaka had taken the fall for crimes with me at the center. I had shit to do, like get sworn into a secret society, find out who got me placed here, and dismantle their evil plan. And from there, I needed to pull off three supernatural jailbreaks: Mine, Tanaka’s, and my mother’s.
Winning this match was a step in the right direction.
It seemed like Travis couldn’t help but swing that heavy sword around, so an idea took root.
I darted around him with a skip in my step. “Hey, Trav, can you catch me?”
“What are you, five?” he grumbled as he spun.
I shrugged and ran in a zigzag circle, pretending I was being chased by an alligator.
“This is dumb,” he said as he stomped toward me, swinging every which way.
After less than a minute, his movements slowed. His jaw clenched, his irritation at an all-time high. His eyes fluttered closed as he took a breath, and that was my cue. I went in, using Aiden’s icy runway as a slide.