Root Rot Academy: Term 1

by Rhea Watson

  You fucking pervert.

  Alecto broke the spell first, pushing off the doorframe with her head ducked and eyes everywhere but me.

  “Maybe, I, uhm, should go get my trunks—”

  “Let me show you the bedroom first,” I offered, fully aware of what I was doing with that silky purr. It was such a cheat, listening to a woman’s heart, using it to shape the rhythm of our dance, but her blushes were just so satisfying. Motioning for her to follow with a toss of my head, I ambled across the common area, by the television I spent many, many, many lonely nights in front of while my colleagues slept. “I’ve been using yours as an office for the last six years…” When her footsteps stopped abruptly, I did too. Over my shoulder, Alecto frowned, brows knit like I had offended her. “No one wants to share a flat with a vampire.”

  “What? Why?”

  I shrugged. “You know… reasons.”

  “Oh.” She looked down at the old key clutched in her right hand as if only now considering that she would be sleeping next to a monster. Ice slashed through my veins; was I about to lose another? Only when she straightened, she did so fearlessly. “That’s stupid.”

  The ice thawed in an instant, and once again my traitorous body responded without my consent: it relaxed. Shoulders. Fists. Every little muscle in my face—all gave way to relief.

  Not that I let her see. With a nod, I crossed to her bedroom door and opened it, but her footsteps didn’t start up again during its creaky swing. Instead, she stayed right where she was, tapping the rounded end of her key against her palm, cheeks sunken like she was biting at them—or fighting back a smile. I faced her head-on, hands still buried in my pockets, and lifted my brows, prompting an explanation that had her smirking.

  “I mean, maybe you’re just an asshole,” Alecto offered. “Ever considered that?”

  My big, booming laughter had her flushing again. Yes, I rather liked her.

  Rather liked her a lot.

  Hopefully she stayed.

  She will—if you don’t fuck this up.

  “Possibly,” I said, flashing a hint of fang with my smile—again she didn’t bolt for the door. “Do let me know if that’s the case.”

  Her shy grin was back as she fussed with her curls. “Oh, you bet I will.”

  Finally, she joined me at the doorway, and when I gestured for her to claim it, she breezed into the bedroom I had spent the last six years grading assignments and scribbling lesson plans in. Last night, I had cleared all my shit out and made it palatable—as homey as academy-issued furniture could be, anyway. All our rooms had the same bare bones: a double bed, a dark wooden desk with shelves mounted above it, a small but deep closet, and a dresser.

  “I’m not big on interior décor,” I remarked as Alecto explored the room with her amber gaze. “Feel free to make the space your own—even out here, if you like.”

  She nodded, back to me as she ran a finger along one of the shelves, the tip coming up clean. “Got that Scandinavian sparseness aesthetic, huh?”

  “How did you know?” I had stormed the beaches of this island centuries ago, very human at the time, very Viking in all that I stood for as I pillaged the monastery at Lindisfarne. Since the late-seventh century, much had changed about me, humanity forsaken to become the monster who haunted the countryside—who had taken from this land, from its people, far more than I deserved. In time, the bloodlust gave way to guilt and gut-churning remorse. Today, with my looks, most assumed I simply had Norse lineage, but with my mastery of regional English accents, Scottish brogues, Irish lilts, I could pass as a native.

  That and I’d lived here far longer than any of the modern-day human residents.

  “I worked with a witch from Norway at my last academy,” Alecto said absently as she poked at her stripped bed. Hopefully she had brought her own linens, but I had some to spare if not. From the slight crinkle of her nose again, the mattress firmness wasn’t up to par—too hard, too soft, this brunette Goldilocks wasn’t pleased. “You have a really subtle lift in the way you speak… Kind of singsongy, like her. It’s…” She snapped her lips shut, red again when she looked up at me, as if suddenly aware of what what had been spilling out. “It’s nice.”

  “You have a good ear.”

  “Sometimes.” Alecto crossed to the closet next to the door, up on her toes to examine the top shelf—offering me her profile in turn. And what a magnificent profile at that: extra hippy with a narrowed waist, smallish breasts beneath the rigid fabric of her blazer. Pear-shaped. Toned legs.

  Do. Not. Hit. On. Her.

  I forced myself to look back into the common area as she opened and closed each of the drawers in the tall dresser, bending at the waist to reach the bottom two. We might have sized each other up outside the bathroom, but there was nothing more predatory to a woman than to feel some strange male’s eyes roving her body—especially in a secluded setting. Alecto had a body made for roving, but she was my new flatmate, maybe even my only flatmate, and if I acted like a hound dog, like some teenage boy who had never seen a pair of breasts before, she would leave.

  And not because I was a vampire, but because I was a fucking creep.

  “Why don’t I fetch your trunks for you?”

  “Oh, no, no, that’s not necessary,” she insisted, jogging to catch up with me as I strolled to the front door, my stride double hers, little heels clicking across the hardwood.

  “Nonsense.” Outside, six massive traveling trunks stacked high to the left of our door, old and worn, the corners frayed. How had she handled all this by herself on human transportation? Had she teleported? Very few witches and warlocks could hop from place to place through the ether, and seldom with anything in tow. Which meant she had hauled this lot on trains, through airports, possibly even on a bus to get all the way out here, surrounded by humans at every turn. I reached for the stack, giving it a little rustle. Solid. Heavy. “I can carry all six of these at once if I—”

  “So can I.” Alecto shouldered around me with a grin, then reached into her sleeve and retrieved her wand from its hidden holster. Thin, perhaps nine inches or so, her magic’s conduit was made of cherrywood, the russet tints of the shaft reflected in her hair. I’d met witches and warlocks in the past who didn’t match with their wand, like they had gone for something flashier and girthier than necessary—overcompensation wasn’t a trait exclusive to humans, after all—but somehow this suited her.

  “Supernatet,” the witch murmured, and a jet of copper light spilled from her wand, which she handled with a graceful flourish. As soon as the light struck her trunks, the six levitated in place. “Sequitor.”

  I shuffled out of the way, allowing her space to work. Like a conductor leading a symphony, Alecto steered the lot with her wand, and each eventually floated into her bedroom without a hitch, landing inside with a soft thunk.

  “Alecto Clarke, I see you’re a strong, independent witch who don’t need no man,” I teased. She flashed a grin over her shoulder as she tucked her wand back up her sleeve.

  “I still appreciate the offer, Bjorn Asulf.”

  A very unwelcome shiver skittered down my spine at the way she said my name, how it sounded on the tip of her tongue. “Anytime.” Space. Needed space. “Let me know if you need anything… I’ll just be in my room.”

  “Thanks.”

  “No problem,” I muttered, starving again, hopelessly tuned in to the whump-whump of her heartbeat. While she meandered into her room, I all but ran for mine, half closing the door behind me and plopping down on the edge of the bed I only slept in an hour or two at a time. Head in my hands, elbows driving into my thighs, I tugged at my hair and took a deep, unnecessary breath.

  I liked her spirit.

  I liked that she wanted to do things for herself.

  I liked that she thought it stupid others wouldn’t room with a vampire.

  I very much liked the curve of her ass and the hollow of her throat.

  But as I listened to her rustling about through t
he wall, trunks flopping open and heels clicking about, I made a vow to myself.

  I would not hit on her.

  I would cultivate a friendship with a woman, even one I envisioned bending over my desk.

  I would cherish this friendship in whatever form it took.

  I would not end up alone again.

  I would not sully this by letting things devolve into sex like I always did.

  Right. I rolled my eyes, teeth gritted, bloodlust simmering. Sure. Should be a breeze.

  A breeze like a fucking hurricane.

  3

  Alecto

  Eyes like coal.

  Nose like a Roman emperor.

  Small mouth, pale pink lips, thin.

  Cheekbones for days.

  Stubble—neat and coarse.

  Bronzed brown hair, thick, greying at the roots and in his sideburns.

  Benedict Hammond.

  My thumbprint stamped the photograph, fingers curling the corners the longer I death-gripped it. Professor Ash Cedar—liar. My eyes narrowed. Murderer.

  Heat plumed in my cheeks, slicing through the mounting anxiety, the dread that turned my stomach and made my knees weak. Crouched on the floor next to my new bed, dressed and ready for the first staff meeting of the year, I’d needed a moment to familiarize myself with him—like I hadn’t glared daggers into this very photograph ever since the djinn handed it to me. I knew his face. I’d recognize it anywhere. But as the hour drew nearer, on the verge of facing the man who had altered the course of my existence in a single night, apparently I needed the reminder.

  I needed the rage… or I might succumb to the fear.

  As badass as it sounded to manipulate the cosmos through a djinn so I could take a job at the same academy as my archnemesis—a warlock who thought I had died in a house fire twenty-six years ago—I wasn’t a killer. Fantasies were one thing. Reality was complicated.

  Messy human emotions still plagued witches, even if we liked to think ourselves above them.

  I glanced at the little clock ticking away on my desk: fifteen minutes until the start of the meeting. After another flash of fear and frustration, I stuffed Benedict Hammond’s photo into my battered shoebox of shame and shoved that under my bed. I then went for my shoes, slipping my feet into a pair of ballet flats that were immediately hidden beneath my floor-length maroon skirt. A quick sweep of the room showed most of my things sorted; having spent the better part of the afternoon unpacking, designating the work area from the relaxation spots around the small space, I was just about settled in to Root Rot Academy.

  For how long was anyone’s guess. Sure, I had revenge on the brain, but I had a life beyond Benedict Hammond, a career that I loved and worked hard at. If I had it my way, this room would be mine until at least the end of the year, but the fact that it was so up in the air right now only made the anxiety churn worse.

  As if sensing I needed breathing room from his handsomeness, my vampire roommate had spent the day behind his closed door, quiet as the grave, and I’d wandered down to the kitchens alone about two hours ago to grab something to eat. The place was huge and chaotic, a legion of cooks prepping for tomorrow’s onslaught of students, but I had managed to sneak off with a plate of shrimp linguine and a hunk of garlic bread.

  Only now, as I hurried out of my room, stuffing my wand into my massive, barely contained low bun, curls incensed at being caged, I feared all that delicious Italian grub might return for an encore the first time I saw him.

  “Someone’s fancy.”

  I flinched at Bjorn’s deep, honeyed voice rumbling to my immediate right. Loitering in his bedroom doorway, the vampire reached back and swiped at the light switch, bathing his room in darkness. Dressed in the exact same outfit I’d met him in, he sauntered after me, massive yet graceful, and did a quick sweep of my figure—not in a leering sort of way, but still assessing enough that it brought some heat to my cheeks.

  Again.

  As if I hadn’t blushed enough in front of this smoke-show already.

  “I’m meeting my new boss for the first time,” I said with a halfhearted wave at my outfit, which, to be fair, was a far cry from my usual teaching attire. A fitted crop top clung to my figure, the neckline high and the sleeves to my elbows. While I showed off about an inch of skin around my midsection, the long, flowy skirt sat high on my waist, the fabric belt thick and dotted with little gold pearls.

  Draped in maroon from top to bottom, I had chosen the outfit to reflect the school emblem, Root Rot’s colors maroon, gold, and white. For a hint of professionalism, I even managed to wrangle my curls back, then kept my makeup simple, but from the way Bjorn was still looking me over, it suddenly felt like too much. Clearing my throat, I fidgeted with my wand again, angling it to help keep my hair in place. “I… I want to look like I belong.”

  He let out a silky chuckle and drifted toward the door. “No one really belongs at Root Rot… not even the students.”

  Ominous. “Yet you’ve made it six years—sure sounds like you belong.”

  “Don’t mistake time served for acceptance.”

  Just as I started to worry I’d stumbled into a minefield, Bjorn lobbed a grin over his shoulder, then held the door open and bowed for me to exit first. Right. My roommate was gorgeous, worthy of gracing Vogue’s covers and beyond, but it would probably take me a while to get a proper read on him. At least he had a sense of humor—a rare find in academia, honestly.

  After he ushered me out the door and locked it, I motioned for him to lead the way to the staff room.

  Which was up.

  Way up.

  To the tippy top of all twelve stories, ours the tallest of the four towers. Gripping the railing and trying not to lose myself in the dizzying stairwell, I risked a glance up every so often at Bjorn—at the way his dark blue jeans clung to a perfectly sculpted ass, to tree trunk thighs and strong calves. It had been a little too long since my last quickie, and nothing snubbed out tension and messy human emotions like a fantastic climax.

  But he was my roommate.

  Falling into bed with him on the first night—or any night, really—would be stupidly inappropriate.

  Still. That ass though.

  Unfortunately, by the time we reached the tower’s top floor, the staircase opening to a small landing and a plain wooden door, I was pooped. Totally winded. Flushed. Tight coils of hair had already fallen out of my bun despite the million bobby pins, and I crashed on the very last step, hand planted on the wall, then folded over to catch my breath.

  “So, I take it cardio is your forte?”

  “It’s been a while since I’ve had time to jog,” I argued breathlessly, my running routine gone to shit under the intense workload at Glencrest. Tough as it was, I hoisted myself up, still panting and a little sweaty, then glared when I found Bjorn smirking down at me. “I see why no one wants to room with you, ass.”

  There it was again—that booming laughter I felt in my bones. The corners of my mouth quirked, powerless against his smile, against the pride unfurling inside me that I’d been able to make this breathtaking man really laugh.

  Hopefully not at me, but time would tell.

  Just as his mirth tapered off, an uproar erupted behind the door, the sound of a dozen strangers laughing and chatting jumpstarting my panic all over again.

  “But your heart is really racing,” Bjorn said as I dragged myself onto the landing. “Jokes aside—you sure you’re all right?”

  “Fine, fine.” I waved him off, my attempt at breezy failing miserably when I stumbled over my skirt on the way to the door. As soon as I wrapped a shaky hand around the copper handle, I arched an eyebrow back at him. “Don’t you know it’s rude to listen to someone’s heartbeat?”

  His lips lifted and parted for something bound to be witty and charming, but I was already gone, barreling through the door into the staff room and staggering to a halt a few feet inside.

  The place was absolutely massive. Reminiscent of the library’s air
y and open aesthetic, the room where I would probably do most of my grading and lesson planning was shaped like an eight, two round spaces attached. Through the crowd of unfamiliar faces, I noted the smaller of the two circles had a plush seating area and a fireplace, lavender fae fire crackling in the hearth. The larger, meanwhile, had an enormous rectangular table in its center, at which a few had already taken their seats. A tiered crystal chandelier dangled from the steepled window that made up the ceiling—a window that, while beautiful, struck me as super inconsiderate for Bjorn.

  What if he wanted to mingle with his colleagues during the day? Sure, the weather in the highlands wasn’t exactly tropical, but it had its fair share of sunshine—which made the space off-limits to my new roommate until dusk.

  Tables and cupboards stretched the stony perimeter, empty and tidy, while large round windows offered a spectacular view of the school grounds.

  Nice.

  Not what I’d expected from a reform school, honestly, but given the nature of the work, it made sense that the staff had a tranquil escape when things got tough.

  And if the rumors were true, things would be tough.

  Teenagers were a roller coaster at regular academies; throw in a penchant for rule breaking and it was a fucking party.

  “It’s open all hours.” Bjorn’s towering figure materialized by my side, his lightly accented words cutting through the noise. “Usually not this rowdy though.”

  I nodded, barely processing anything that came out of his gorgeous mouth. Now that I had the lay of the land and knew where to find an exit—just the one, unless I wanted to swan dive out a window—Benedict Hammond was the next objective. Only as I took in faces and statures, noting the mix of mingling supernaturals and shifters, the air highly charged with clashing auras, I couldn’t find him anywhere. The face I had stared so long and hard at for the last four months just wasn’t here.

  No—not him. Not that one. Not the mage pantomiming something vaguely sexual for a crowd of awkward onlookers. Not the white-haired fogies cloistered in the sitting area, their noses upturned at the predominantly young crowd gathered around the table.