by Lucy Auburn
“Very good.” Shimmer gives me a pointed look. “Dani, did you know all of us?”
“Uh.” I can hear Sebastian snicker, and Lynx sigh in frustration. “Not really?”
“Then it’s time to learn. Siren song and pixie song can kill a phoenix like you. Thankfully,” she smiles, and it’s frightening more than anything, “I’m in service of the Phoenix Academy for the next three years, giving you plenty of time to learn. And resisting siren song, just like resisting pixie song, is possible—with time.”
A student to the right of me mutters, “Yeah right. Sirens are impossible to beat.”
“What was that?” Shimmer’s ears swivel, and I get the distinctive feeling that I’m not in Kansas at all anymore. “Speak up, Jack.”
Looking perturbed, the kid says, “No phoenix can resist siren song for long. Only Grims can. That’s why they use them. If a Grim ever invaded this place—”
“Which is quite impossible, I can assure you, given the wards around here.”
“Well.” His mouth thins, and I notice a long white scar on his face, from his left temple to his jaw. “That doesn’t change the fact that there’s nothing we can do to stand up to Grims. Nothing.”
His words are chilling, and they send a pallor through the room. But Shimmer doesn’t seem to be affected by it; she looks just as fierce and mighty as before.
“Always have faith. Anything is possible—just look at the academy around you. One day, a siren demon might even be able to teach students like you how to resist their song.”
“Sure,” he mutters, “if a Grim ever crossed over to our side.”
“Stranger things have happened, young man.” She almost sounds like she believes what she’s saying. “Now, let’s begin our lesson. We’ll start with the basics today, as a refresher for all of you and an introduction for our new student. First, I’ll play a recording of my most simple song, which will have less power than my actual voice. As I do so, I want you to distract yourself with something else, and concentrate on that instead of the lull of the music.”
Shimmer presses a button on a music player hooked up to a speaker system throughout the room, and the quietest, barest hint of a song begins to play.
Thankfully, I don’t have any issue distracting myself from the music.
Between Lynx taking his shirt off, Sebastian brooding at me from the corner, Mateo “accidentally” walking through me, and Ezra scowling at all of their antics, I have more than enough distractions to spare. The pixie song doesn’t have a chance of taking dominance. For the first time since I started my classes here at the academy, I actually impress one of my teachers.
Maybe there is hope for me after all.
One thing I’m hopeless at, though: hand-to-hand combat. Especially when surprisingly ruthless Laura McKinley is the teacher, her eyes sharp and voice sharper.
“Widen your stance!” She uses the thin reed-like stick in her hand to whip the insides of my calves until I’m standing with them further apart. “Better. Don’t put your weight that far forward—settle back, into your center of gravity. Keep your left hand up. Right hand, ready to attack.”
I feel clumsy, second-guessing every millimeter of positioning. It’s like my body isn’t even my own anymore, just some stiff thing for McKinley to poke and prod at with a frown on her face.
Staring at me, she apparently decided that I’m hopeless, and points to my opponent on the other side of the mat: Kayla, the only other short girl in class. “Square off. On my mark. Three! Two! One!”
We go at each other—or at least, I try. Before I know what’s even happening, Kayla is sweeping my legs out from under me, twisting my arm behind my back, and holding me down on the ground.
“Out!”
I can feel the disapproval radiating from the teacher’s face. Even worse, the stress of getting temporarily pummeled has summoned the demons, and none of them look impressed.
Sebastian sneers. “How did you survive on the streets?”
“Seriously.” Mateo shakes his head. “You’d be dead by now if we hadn’t saved your ass the other night. I thought you had more spunk in you than this.”
I can’t help biting back, “When I lived on the street, we didn’t fight with rules. Hair pulling, eye gouging, it was all within bounds.” And I have the white, two-inch long scar near my scalp to prove it.
My words, of course, don’t just reach the demons’ ears. The teacher hears them too, and she looks disapproving. “It’s true that these things are useful in a fight for your life. But you won’t get very far if you don’t learn how to act first.” Pacing around me, she grabs my thin arms, soft stomach, and long, loose hair, shaking her head at each. “You need muscle tone to survive. And you might want to think about pulling this up.”
“Why? I thought hair pulling was off limits.”
She raises her brows, a smirk on her face. “You asked for no rules. So I’ll give you no rules. Kayla, consider yourself unrestrained. We wouldn’t want to hold our new student back, after all.”
The hard-eyed fighter, who has clearly trained more than me, looks pleased at this news. I have the feeling she won’t be holding back.
I also have the feeling that she won’t let me get close enough to gouge her eyes or pull the tight bun of her hair.
Watching us, Ezra shakes his head. “She’ll never get the book at this rate.”
I’d like to contradict him, but moments later I’m on my back, fending off a thumb to the eye and crying out, “Uncle! I surrender! You win!”
By the time the class is done, I can count my muscles by the number of aches radiating throughout my body. About the only thing I have to soothe myself with is the knowledge that as soon as I find the demon-conjuring book Richard was using the other night and get rid of the demons, I can leave this place far behind me.
That is, if I have the courage to risk Headmaster Towers turning me into ash or another crazed Grim trying to steal my heart.
Thursday
The wide, expansive bed, which was so unfamiliar to me the first night, has started to feel less strange. It turns out a sewer rat can be tamed—at least, if the thread count is high enough.
I’ve only had a few days’ worth of classes, but already I can feel new muscles forming where there previously weren’t any. Between the all-you-can-eat buffet in the dining hall and daily combat training, I’m starting to feel less like a starved, shrunken noodle.
There’s just one thing I don’t look forward to: tomorrow’s Group Combat lesson, my first. From what I’ve gathered, Taryn Fisk, the teacher, drives his students hard. And the Friday classes are supposed to be extra brutal; apparently the goal is to send the students back to their dorms with bruises to nurse over the weekend.
The part I dread the most, though, is the teamwork aspect. I’ve never been good at group projects, group activities, or, well, groups. I’d rather be the leader of my own private ragtag army than fall in among the many and get lost in collective stupidity.
So needless to say, I’m not focusing on Fisk as the teacher who will choose me as his apprentice. I think if I try hard enough I might be able to get Shimmer to pick me, or maybe even Kade.
Definitely not McKinley, though. Three Hand-to-Hand Combat classes have proven that I’ve got no talent for it, at least not compared to every other student here, who seem to have started out doing jiu jitsu in the womb. And while I try to keep my eyes open in my history classes, I can tell the studious, soft-spoken Ocean Johnson isn’t impressed with me—when he looks up from his notes long enough to notice I exist.
Turning over in bed, I try to dismiss all my worries and thoughts, which really amount to three simple goals in the end: impress a teacher enough to get into the library, get rid of these four pesky demons following me around, and go back to my original plan, buying Sara’s house. If there are Grims on my tail, well, I’ll deal with it—maybe by taking one of Kade’s firearms on my way out the door. But I can hardly be expected to spend four years disa
ppointing everyone around me by failing to live up to the example all the legacies here set.
I’ll fight my way through and make my way on my own. Just like I always have. Needing people isn’t my style—group combat or otherwise.
With my future firmly in mind, I finally drop off into sleep, thoughts of Sara’s kind, calm house drifting through my head.
I’m in Yohan’s Phoenix Fire class, trying and failing to meditate my way to phoenix wings, when something inside me shifts. I stay in the dream, but somehow suddenly I know I’m dreaming. It’s like I’m awake and sleeping at the same time.
You’re not supposed to be awake during your dreams. Staring down at my hands, I clench them together and wonder if I’m sleepwalking. But I’m not; the world around me is still fuzzy and soft, the feeling of my fingertips pressing to my palms a distant sensations.
Somehow, the dream has shifted and changed. Dream-Yohan doesn’t seem to have noticed; he’s still blissfully meditating away, great curling feathers of red-orange phoenix fire forming at his back. My throat aches to look at him. For all that I’ve resisted truly settling into the school and thinking of it as my new home, when I look at those wings I yearn.
Some part of me wants them. Even deeper than that, a big part of me believes I’m meant to have them. It makes no sense; no matter what I do the wings don’t come, and yet I feel them between my shoulder blades, itching to burst from my skin.
It’s probably just a delusion.
Eventually, they’re going to realize I’m defective, just like everyone else. And even patient, meditating Yohan will give up on me.
“You’re a real ball of anxiety, you know that?”
Whirling, I look up into Sebastian’s piercing blue eyes and blink. “You’re not supposed to be here. I wouldn’t dream about you.” I close my eyes, scrunch up my nose, and wish him away. “Go. Leave. Scram.”
“That doesn’t work in here.” Lynx this time, somehow shirtless already. The man has his priorities, apparently. “In here, we’re the ones in charge.”
His words itch at a part of me. “In charge? I’m not in charge out there.”
“He just means the way you summon us.” Ezra cuts his eyes at Lynx, and I wonder if he’s as irritated at the shirtless thing as I am. “You’re not in charge, your emotions are.”
Mateo quips, “You’ve got a ticking time bomb inside your chest.”
Surging to my feet, I glare at all of them. “Shut up and get out of my dream!”
Lynx prowls towards me, his accent a smooth, inviting honey. “You just need to relax.”
Sebastian adds, “You need to unwind.”
“Maybe if you were a little calmer you’d be able to manifest your wings,” Ezra says, scanning me from head to toe, his eyes sending prickling sensations across my skin. “It’s like you’ve never unwound in your entire life.”
“What they’re saying is that you need to get fucked.” Trust Mateo to be blunt with it. “And you want to get fucked. We can feel it.”
“No I don’t!” I object.
“Oh really?” Sebastian motions towards my body. “Then why did you decide to wear that the instant we showed up in your dream?”
I look down and see that I’m wearing an impossible outfit. It’s one I saw a dozen times while I was living on the street, behind the window of a lingerie store, sexy and far too expensive for a street rat like me. I thought of pinching it more than once, but there were security cameras in every corner of the store. Besides, I don’t even know my bra size.
Somehow, though, in the dream it doesn’t matter. I look just like that slinky mannequin in the window: red and black lace, a perfect smooth body, my breasts cupped up as high on my chest as a couple of pieces of wire can manage.
An incredulous laugh escapes my lips. “What am I going to do with something like this on?”
Ezra gestures behind me. “Lay down on that.”
I whirl around to see that somehow there’s a four poster bed in the classroom, one big enough to fit an entire group.
Like, say, five people.
Stalking towards me with a smirk on his face, Sebastian pushes on my shoulder until my legs collapse and I fall down onto the mattress, bouncing lightly. I look up at him—past his suddenly shirtless chest.
And he’s not the only one who’s shirtless. Somehow all four of them have gotten half their clothes off in the blink of an eye. My eyes widen at the sight of it, giddiness pulsing through me, and I sputter, “Put your clothes back on!”
Mateo grins. “No chance, sweetheart. You’re the one who made us like this.”
“Now,” Ezra says, crossing his arms across his expansive chest, a commanding tone to his voice, “tell us what you what sucked first: your nipples, or your clit?”
“Or both,” Lynx offers helpfully. “I also do toes, if you’re that kinda girl.”
I can’t take it anymore. The confusion, the emotions—and, I have to admit to myself, the arousal—are just too overwhelming. It all feels so real, so possible.
Like I wished it into place.
Like it’s what I’ve wanted this entire time, without even really knowing how to admit it to myself.
Like seeing them kill those jackasses with their impossible strength, watching them casually protect me in Sticky’s attic, has awakened a part of me I didn’t think could exist.
So I run from the dream and wake up, sweating and alone in my bed, the sheets uncomfortably drenched and warm. Sitting up, I look wildly around the room and heave a sigh of relief when I see that I’m still alone.
“It’s just a dream, it’s just a dream.”
That’s what I tell myself.
But then why did it feel so real?
Squirming, I fight to swallow down the arousal tingling between my thighs, the warmth soaking my sheets, and turn onto a dry part of the bed. Then I close my eyes tightly and think about the coldest shower that’s ever existed.
No way can I want to fuck the demons. Even if it were possible in their current forms, it’d be a terrible idea. For all I know I’d end the night like Richard or Leila, guts spilled, bleeding out all over the place.
I’m more likely to survive Group Combat class alone, or manifest phoenix wings twice the size of Yohan’s. Never.
Chapter 15
Friday, 9:00 AM: Phoenix Fire Casting 101 with Yohan Cheng
I try to stay calm, centered. I do my best not to feel nervous about my lack of wings as the fourth day of useless meditating begins. But despite my best efforts, I feel it when they enter the room.
Ezra. Lynx. Sebastian. Mateo. Each of them are a presence around me, silent for now but impossible to ignore.
I almost wish someone else could see the demons, because at least then I wouldn’t be their only form of entertainment besides each other.
Do they remember the dream? Was it really them, or just my overactive imagination? I’m sure if they remember it, Mateo will make a quip any moment now. That’s his specialty after all. My shoulders are already tense just imagining him talking about how I “need to get fucked,” like he knows, the ass.
When the comment never comes, I slide my eyes open and peer around just to make sure they’re here. And they are, leaning up against the far wall of the class, four sets of eyes staring at me intently, one smirk on Mateo’s face, and Lynx’s shirt somehow still on.
“Don’t worry,” Ezra says, all comfortable drawl, “I warned them not to distract you during this class. You’re so far behind, you’ll probably fail if Lynx takes his shirt off and parades around in front of you one more time.”
Warmth floods my neck and cheeks in embarrassment. “Thanks,” I mutter beneath my breath.
“Ms. Carpenter?” Yohan’s irritated voice brings my attention around to him; behind me, I hear Mateo try to stifle a chuckle and inwardly curse his very existence. “Dani, you won’t get very far in life if you don’t pay attention to this class. It’s vital for your survival.”
“I know.” But as I sa
y the words, I pause, suddenly realizing I’m not certain that I do know. “Why exactly do I need my wings so urgently? I’m here in the academy. It’s not like anything will attack me here.”
An expression crosses Yohan’s face, fleeting and gone almost before I see it, but there’s something dark in his eyes. Something mournful and impossibly sad.
Pursing his lips, he unfolds his legs and stands up, a troubled expression on his face. I watch him, having learned by now that when Yohan is thinking, it’s best to just wait and be patient.
This class is all about patience.
And not falling asleep during meditation, despite it being scheduled first thing in the morning.
Finally he speaks. “Did I tell you about my sister?”
I cast about in my memory. “You mentioned something about having to leave rural China because you turned into a phoenix.”
“Yes, I believe I did.” Turning towards the windows, his eyes assume a faraway look, and he clasps his hands behind his back. I feel as if he’s not really quite here in the classroom with me anymore. “My sister Victoria—that is the new name she chose for herself when we made it to Hong Kong—was a dreamer. An idealist. We were twins, born on the same day, but we were two very different halves of the same whole. Where I was cautious, she was bold; where I was a pessimist, she was an optimist.”
There’s a strange grief in his voice, one I’m reluctant to probe at, but in the silence I can’t help but ask a question. “What happened to her?”
“Ah.” A bitter twinge turns down his lips. “Yes, that is the heart of the story, is it not? No doubt you already sense the bad ending.
“When we moved to America, we were both searching for work. My sister, bold that she was, took up acrobatics in a Chinese troupe of traveling performers. I joined her only because I knew no other way to travel but in her shadow. She ran across the high wire, while I stayed on the ground, breathing fire and juggling burning palls of pitch for awestruck audience members—who never suspected my true nature.