OBERON REFORMATORY BOOK TWO
Second Transgression
WENDI WILSON
This one is for my sister-in-law Lisa, whose strength may wain but never fails, no matter what adversity life throws at her.
CONTENTS
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
Epilogue
Afterword
About the Author
Also by Wendi Wilson
Chapter One
Though I try to suppress it, an impatient groan slips through my lips as our Discipline of Magic instructor, Mollie Ridell, tells us to once again group up and insult each other…just like she has every other day.
“Come on Rory,” Lark says as we slide our desks together. “You’ve only had to endure this for what—a few weeks? Talk to us when you’ve done it five days a week for nearly a year.”
She shoots me one of her signature dramatic eye rolls, making me chuckle.
Discipline of Magic is just one of three ridiculous classes we’re forced to take every day by our illustrious headmaster. Add in Etiquette and Discretion and Elemental Practice and Physical Maintenance, our mornings are filled with repetitive exercises meant to make the transition back out into the real world smoother.
As if anyone actually gets out of Oberon Reformatory.
“Don’t be such a Sylph crybaby.”
My head jerks toward the sound of that deep, irritable voice, and I fight to keep the smile off my lips. Forcing my mouth into a frown, I narrow my gaze at the beautiful boy sliding his desk in to form a circle with Lark and me.
“I will when you stop being such a broody hybrid,” I snap back.
His mouth twitches, but his eyes remain locked on the paper before him. Today he’s drawing a girl’s face, but there’s not enough detail yet to tell who it is. I secretly hope it’s me.
“You guys are just too cute,” Lark says, a big grin plastered on her face.
She flips her long, black hair over her shoulder before batting her dark eyes at me. Pursing her lips, she makes a kissy face, and my eyes dart from her to Asher. He’s still staring at his drawing, sketching long lines with a steady hand.
My foot swings out and kicks Lark’s as my face floods with heat. She bursts into giggles, and I close my eyes. I’m going to strangle her.
“Real mature, Lark,” Asher drawls, his eyes never leaving his artwork.
Oh, my God. He saw her. I’m really going to kill my best friend.
Ever since Asher and I kissed, then decided to backpedal and just be friends, Lark has been doing everything within her power to force me to own up to my true feelings. And no matter how many times I insist my true feelings are those of friendship, she won’t let it go.
Because she knows me well enough to know I’m a terrible liar. If I thought I could use my Glamour without getting caught, I’d make her believe I only want to be friends with her cousin.
I shake my head at the thought. No, I wouldn’t. Using Glamour on those close to me is part of what got me sent to this prison in the first place.
And I care about Lark too much to do that to her. But she doesn’t need to know that…
Peeling back the Glamour in the room, I see one hidden security camera, and it’s focused on a group by the door. My eyes dart to Mollie, who is standing over our friends Cedric and Acadia, listening to their attempts at riling each other up.
A grin curves my lips as I reach over and lay a hand on Lark to get her attention. When her black eyes meet mine, I let the tiniest bit of power seep out of me—just enough so she’ll feel it.
“You don’t want to tease me anymore,” I murmur in a low voice. With an afterthought, I add, “You also don’t like giving Asher a hard time.”
Her eyes widen as she feels the power rush between my skin and hers. Her mouth drops open in disbelief, then snaps shut into a deep frown. I move my hand away from her with a laugh. Asher chuckles, but I force my eyes to remain on Lark.
Looking at Asher York when he’s smiling is dangerous.
“That was a dirty trick,” she hisses.
I shoot her a wink, but she just huffs and crosses her arms over her chest. I didn’t actually use Glamour against her, but I let her believe that’s what I was doing. She deserved that little tendril of fear it struck into her.
“Come on, Lark. Don’t be mad. You know you deserved it,” I say, arching a blonde brow at her.
The frown on her face morphs into a lopsided smirk.
“That was pretty good,” she admits. “And I did deserve it.”
She laughs, making me chuckle along with her. Mollie calls our names, and a note of reprimand in her voice tells us to get back to the exercise.
“You know, sometimes you have to do the wrong thing for the right reasons,” Lark whispers as she leans toward me. “I forgive you.”
She blows me a kiss and I raise my hand, pretending to catch it and stick it in my pocket.
“I forgive you, too,” I whisper back.
“So, no strangulation?”
I smile. “No strangulation.”
She constantly harps on me about suppressing my tender feelings for Asher, and I constantly deny having any such feelings. I say we’re just friends, she laughs and tells me I’m a terrible liar. Then she does something to embarrass me in front of him, and I threaten to strangle her.
It’s a routine we’ve fallen into, one I know won’t stop until one of two things happens—I make her believe I only want friendship with her cousin, or I stop resisting and just admit my deepest, darkest truth.
I want Asher York.
But it doesn’t matter what I want. I need to keep a clear head and focus on solving the mystery that is Echo Oberon and what he’s doing at Oberon Reformatory. He seems to be collecting high-powered Fae for some unknown reason, and it’s worrying enough that my great-grandpa Robin has gotten involved.
Puck, as he likes to be called, knew I’d been sent here, and he didn’t tell my parents or put a stop to it. Instead, he tasked me with the job of infiltrating Echo’s inner circle—assuming he even has an inner circle—and discovering his motives.
The headmaster is paying for prisoners, and humans and Fae alike are sending innocent kids to prison for accidents, small offenses, and for crimes that were never actually committed. And my grandfather wants to know why.
He’s had a spy on the inside for ten years with no luck. Though he’s technically a guard, Jax Woodrow is as much a prisoner of this place as the rest of us. Stuck in a dead end job with no chance of pardon or parole until he finds the truth.
But Echo has kept his secrets close to the vest, and in ten years, Jax hasn’t learned much. When I lied, skipped my European grand tour, and accidentally killed a human at a night club, it presented the perfect opportunity for me to come here and do some snooping for Great-grandpa Robin.
I just didn’t know it at the time.
But now I do. I have a circle of allies who know the truth of who I am and are willing to help. I have managed to garner the attention of Headmaster Echo, who has of
fered me private tutoring sessions. Everything seems to be coming together, except our illustrious headmaster has been dragging his feet in setting up those tutoring sessions. I know it’s a power-play. I denied his offer at first, then changed my mind, and this delay is a punishment of sorts for not jumping on his offer with enthusiasm the second it left his lips.
I wish he’d just get on with it already. His obstinance is giving me too much time to second-guess myself.
“Rory?”
I snap back to the present at the softly spoken word, and realize my eyes have been focused on Asher’s drawing the whole time I was lost in thought. My gaze darts up to meet his.
“What?”
He grins, his eyes sparking with amusement…and affection.
“I asked if you like it.”
“Like what?” I ask, tilting my head as I try not to melt into a puddle.
He chuckles, and the sound sends a shiver down my spine. I close my eyes for second, take a deep breath, then refocus on him.
Just friends. Just friends. Just friends.
“The drawing,” he clarifies. “You were staring at it and I asked it you liked it.”
My eyes drop back to the sketch, which he’s turned so I can see it clearly. My breath catches in my throat as my fingers dance toward the paper under their own volition. I pull it from his desk and hold it with a shaking hand, my eyes burning with emotion.
It’s me, but not. The girl has my features—almond-shaped eyes, high cheekbones, and a pointed chin—but there’s something very not me about her. A sparkle in her gaze, like she has a secret no one knows. A small smile that seems both open and mysterious at the same time.
“Is this me?” I whisper, my eyes not budging from the page as they rove over each individual feature.
“Yes,” Asher murmurs back. “This is how I see you.”
The shiver in my hands works its way up my arms and into my body, and my eyes burn with emotion. The girl on the page is beautiful. Full of life. Cherished, almost.
I finally meet Asher’s eyes as I hold the page out to him. I blink back the tears and give him a smile.
“I love it.”
He wraps his fingers around mine, and sparks of excitement shoot up my arm. Pushing my hand and the drawing back toward my chest, he tells me to keep it. I put up a token argument, but he insists, and I back down quickly.
I don’t want to give it back. I want to keep it under my pillow so I can stare at it and feel closer to him. Imagine his thoughts as he created it with such attention to detail.
Oh, God, Lark is right. I am such a goner.
Chapter Two
“When you are back on the outside, trying to rebuild your pathetic lives, it is crucial that you remember your place and show deference to those who hold a higher social and socioeconomic standing.”
It’s obvious she considers herself one of those who deserves our awe and respect. I do everything within my power to hold a straight face, one that portrays interest and rapt attention, but I’m pretty sure I’m failing. Tiana Avery is just too ridiculous.
She may have held some sway at Oberon Academy before my mother showed up and knocked her off her pedestal, but she’s in prison now—just like the rest of us.
I want to ask her why she hasn’t been released if she’s so important, but I know that would be a mistake. The only thing more inflated than her delusions of grandeur is her temper. And she plays dirty…just ask my mother.
I watch her posture and preen as she calls on random students to show their reverence, and I think about what must’ve brought her to this point. I’ve heard the stories. Tiana hooked up with my paternal grandfather, Alwyn Jameson—gross—when she was at the academy with my parents…while he was married to my Grandma Freya.
Alwyn poisoned my great-grandfather, King Finn Oberon. He took my dad—his own son—hostage and sold him to the Zephyr queen so he could become king of the Sylphs, had an affair with Tiana, and ended up getting himself killed…by Grandma Freya.
A memory I’d forgotten pushes its way to the surface, and a small gasp slips through my lips. My dad once told me that once Sebille was defeated and everything came out into the open, he’d had Tiana arrested for treason. That was the last they’d seen of her.
Did that mean she’s been here, in this prison, for the last twenty years?
It had to be.
“Rory Finley.”
My attention snaps back to the present at the sound of my name. Tiana is staring at me expectantly, and I have no clue what she expects.
“Excuse me, Miss Avery. I didn’t hear you.”
I keep my voice as meek and deferential as I can, but it’s no use. Tiana’s face tightens at the insult my inattention has delivered. She points a finger toward the door, ordering me to leave with nothing more than a frown.
I gather my things and leave without another word, breathing a sigh of relief once I’m out in the hall. I lean my back against the wall and slide down until my butt hits the concrete floor. I have to wait for this class to end before I can head to the gym for Elemental Practice.
I sit in silence and think about how stupid this whole situation is. We’re in prison, yet we’re forced to take these ridiculous classes that are supposedly for our benefit when we’re released from the reformatory—a place from which no one is ever released.
There are no grades, no tests, no way to fail. I could get myself kicked out like this every single day, and it wouldn’t matter. So, why do they even exist? To keep us busy? To give us hope that one day we’ll be free?
And out of everyone who’s ever been sentenced here, why is Tiana Avery the one teaching a class about a subject she knows nothing about? I bet that evil witch has never shown an ounce of respect to anyone…unless it was a ploy to better her position.
Is that what happened here? Did she pander to Echo, feed his ego to get the position? She did it with Alwyn, so who’s to say she didn’t do the same thing with our illustrious headmaster?
A bell chimes, cutting off my random thoughts. I stand up as prisoners start filing out of the room. Lark and Asher flank me as I turn to head toward the gym, and Asher bumps a shoulder against mine.
“Were you lonely out here, all by yourself?” he teases.
“Anything’s better than suffering through Miss Avery’s tedious lectures,” Lark grumbles before I can respond.
Asher leans over me, his warm breath tickling my ear as he whispers, “Next time, I’ll get myself kicked out, too, so I can keep you company.”
My face heats as I hear the innuendo in his voice. Tingles arc through me, and an involuntary shiver races down my spine. He chuckles and puts a little more space between us.
Asher may have agreed to my request to remain just friends, but he does not hesitate to remind me that he’s hoping it will grow into more someday. And by someday, I mean someday very soon.
The change in him has been so quick and so drastic, I feel like I’m still suffering from the whiplash.
When I first arrived here, Asher was suffering from the betrayal of a Sylph faery who pretended to have a relationship with him. He really cared for her—or who he thought she was—and all along she was playing him for a fool. The whole relationship was an elaborate setup to get him comfortable and trusting enough to let his guard down.
Once that happened, she lured him to a Sylph party where he was ambushed and beaten—just for being what he is. A hybrid. But before he lost consciousness, he conjured a storm and a stray lightning bolt hit one of the faeries, killing him instantly.
That’s why Asher is here, and also why he had such a chip on his shoulder when he thought I was a pureblood Sylphid.
He explained all of this to me as part of his apology after I admitted to being a hybrid, myself. Since then, he’s been charming, thoughtful, and funny. And I don’t know what to do with that.
I was undeniably drawn to him when he was a jerk. Now that the dark clouds over him have scattered, and he’s reverted to what Lark assu
res me is his true self? I’m going insane, trying to resist him.
Half the time, I can’t even remember why I resolved to do so in the first place. I have to remind myself it’s because I wanted to stay focused on Echo Oberon and the mystery that is Oberon Reformatory.
The only problem is, I think trying to tamp my feelings down is more distracting than giving into them and letting nature take its course would be.
Ugh, I’m so confused.
We walk into the gym as Chase Wheatley, our instructor for Elemental Practice and Physical Maintenance, calls the class to order and starts pairing people off. Of course, he assigns me with Asher.
“All right, stretch out and let’s get to it,” he calls out as he walks over and flips a switch on the wall.
Multiple sighs of relief echo across the space as they do every time he flicks the switch that deactivates our bracelets. After hours, sometimes days, of not being able to touch or harness their magic, the Fae feel a great sense of relief suddenly feeling it buzzing inside them.
I can see the satisfaction on Asher’s face as he shakes out his hands and calls forth his power. That satisfied look quickly morphs into a smirk of determination as he widens his stance and readies to volley me with wind and fire—his two strongest elemental powers.
He’s never truly bested me, and rather than letting it sting his pride, it only drives him to try harder every time we face off. And I can’t even use the full extent of my powers because I know Echo is watching.
I need him to believe that I need tutoring. So, I defend myself from Asher’s attacks, but barely put any effort into my own counterattacks. I also make it look like I’m putting everything I’ve got into defending myself. It’s all very exhausting, and I hope it pays off. Soon.
Asher sends a cyclone of warm air my way, and I let myself get caught up in it for a moment before deflecting it back at him. He forces the wind tunnel to dissipate before conjuring a dark cloud over our heads.
Surprise fills me, followed quickly by a strange sense of joy.
Asher has refused to conjure a storm since the fateful day that brought him here. He’s been scared of losing control, of hurting someone—or worse. The fact that rain is pattering against my head right now can only mean one thing…he’s healing.
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