Law and Disorder (RIP Magic Academy Paranormal and Supernatural Prison Series Book 1)

by E Hall

  Law and Disorder

  ★

  RIP Magic Academy Paranormal

  and Supernatural Prison Series

  ★

  Book 1

  ★

  by

  E. Hall

  Law and Disorder

  Copyright© 2020 E Hall

  All Rights Reserved

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any informational storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the author/publisher except where permitted by law.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  *Note: a version of this book was previously published under a different pen name of mine. It has been revised and updated.

  Cover Design: Camila Marques from Open World Cover Designs

  Website: http://www.ehallauthor.com

  Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/ehallauthor

  Contents

  Prologue

  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

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Let’s Connect

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Also by E. Hall

  Prologue

  ★

  Can you keep a secret? I hope so. Otherwise, I suggest you stop reading right now.

  There are all kinds of secrets. Some only I know. Ones I’ll share with you. Others that I wish I knew. But if we’re going to be friends, you should know that secrets are like wishes and shouldn’t be traded, sold, or shared. All I ask is that you promise to keep my secrets. Keep them close like your deepest, most treasured wish on a star.

  But we’ll get to the importance of wishes later. For now, are you ready?

  Okay. Here goes.

  Yesterday was my birthday and something weird happened. Not weird like the dogbrella my neighbor has for her Shih Tzu (it attaches to Stella’s harness to protect her from the rain). Not weird like the winter-hat-with-llama-eyes face filter my bestie Chelsea thinks is hilarious and keeps sending on social. And not weird like how my cousin’s mom cuts up his food with scissors instead of a fork and knife.

  No, weird like yesterday when I said my birthday wish and blew out the eighteen candles on top of my ice cream cake, I kind of knew that my wish was going to come true. Like knew knew. Knew it would happen like I know my name is Maija or that the sky is blue—well, deep blue-black since it’s dark out right now, but you know what I mean.

  I know you’re not supposed to tell people these things, but you said you could keep a secret. You promised, right?

  Here it is: I wished that I’d fall in love this year. (Cliché? Don’t judge, I had to be quick because the ice cream was melting.) Plus, I’ve never been in love.

  I’ve had a few crushes. For instance, movie stars and Carter Miller forever. Forever being since the four middle schools in my area combined at Hamilton High. If you ask anyone who knows anything about forever, four years is a long time.

  My older sister, Lila, who left for college and is best friends with Carter’s best friend’s girlfriend, informed me he hooked up with Naomi Cassini over the summer. Sigh.

  The wish thing was weird because I felt the trueness of it in my whole body. It smelled like fresh air, tasted like mint, and made my insides fizzy. (No, I hadn’t eaten any of the cake yet.)

  I felt like love was coming for me. But I also felt something else, like my heart would shatter and that love would come at a great cost. Like I said, weird and a bit dramatic. But true for sure.

  ★ September ★

  Chapter 1

  ★

  I am going to fall in love...and I’m not going to like it. Mostly. The thought is on repeat in my head...and the dread is in my body. Not the falling in love part. No, that’ll be good, but the heartbreak part.

  “You have a look, Maija,” Chelsea says as she trots across the sand and wraps me in a hug.

  My shoulder lifts and lowers nonchalantly as if to say, nope. No look. Cool as a cucumber over here. Little known fact: even in hot weather, the insides of a cucumber remain unaffected. Yes, I’m a dork. Even my parents are cooler than me. Story of my life.

  Chelsea wags her finger at me. “I know you and you have a secret.”

  I gaze into the near-darkness, looking for someone to bail me out because she isn’t wrong.

  Her mouth drops open. “You’ve fallen—” She grabs my jacket and pulls me close. “You’ve fallen in love. Who is it? Summer fling?” she practically shouts.

  I widen my eyes and shake my head. “Shh. No one. I’m not in love...” I trail off.

  No, it’s more like I’m currently obsessed with the possibility of falling in love...and terrified of the promise of heartbreak.

  I experienced the fullness of those facts the same way as right now I hear cars honking, doors slamming, and the rushing waves in the background as everyone gathers for the last beach bonfire of the summer before school starts tomorrow. They’re irrefutable. Certain.

  I felt it like I can feel the breeze on my skin, the warmth of the bonfire on my face, and the sand under my feet.

  It was as real as the nervous fluttering in my stomach about going back to school. Senior year. Chelsea gets wrapped up in the recent arrivals saying farewell to summer.

  Speaking of love, Keiko’s high laughter harmonizes with Reggie’s lower tones—they’re high school sweethearts. I hear chatter and hooting and happiness. Also, the melty chocolate scent of S’mores—I hightail it over to the fire and my friends.

  As I roast a marshmallow, I gaze into the darkness on the edge of the bonfire, hoping Carter will appear, telling me the girlfriend thing was only a rumor. How amazing would it be to cap off my high school career by finally dating him and having a high school sweetheart story of my own?

  Instead, Chelsea trots across the sand and wraps me in another hug. She’s very touchy-feely. In one breathless flurry, she says, “Omigosh-what-did-I-miss?” She spots the marshmallows, chocolate, and graham crackers then makes grabby hands and says, “Ooh, gimme.”

  “I’m the designated S’mores supplier.” I was assigned this job because last year Keiko ate all the chocolate before anyone else got to it. I pass a roasting stick.

  “A marshmallow magic wand,” Chelsea says with a flourish and steps closer to the fire, promptly incinerating her marshmallow.

  My mouth drops open. “Wait, what did you do to your hair? It’s—”

  “Pink!” She passes me the stick with the scorched ball of goo on the end and strikes a pose. “Do you love it?”
<
br />   I couldn’t see it before, but in the light of the fire, it glows bright pink.

  “I was so tired of having mouse brown, boring hair. It’s a new year, I wanted to go bold.”

  “In that case, mission accomplished.”

  “I was saving it as a surprise. Consider it a belated birthday present.” Chelsea laughs.

  “My birthday was yesterday and you got me a spa set and helped my parents with the confetti balloons, the pool party, and the whole shebang.”

  The theme was confetti because I’m an enthusiast of all things happy, celebratory, and confetti-infused. Every time I find a little colorful piece of paper tucked in the hem of my skirt, in my hair, or underfoot, I smile. It’s hard to clean up, but it’s totally worth it.

  Chelsea interrupts my recent reminiscing. “Remember we were talking about how senior year is the time to step it up. Maija, now that you’re eighteen, you have a license to be fatal, fierce. What do they say at pep rallies?”

  “Go Hamilton Hippos!” Reggie says.

  “No, the other one.” Chelsea thinks for a moment.

  I don’t know about being fatal or fierce. But she’s right that change is in the air. While lounging in the pool yesterday, we did have a long talk about life.

  I guess I’m the same as I’ve always been with medium brown curly hair, tan skin, and almond-shaped green eyes with golden flecks. I’m medium height, fit, Finnish on my dad’s side, and my mom’s from Jamaica—they met in college during a symposium for Olympic athletes—they’re both sprinters and amazing. I live in the shadow of their golden achievements.

  I’m okay at playing piano and my grades are up there. However, I don’t have Olympic aspirations, a boyfriend, or anything exceptional to include on my college apps. I do not have pink hair. And I’ve never been in love...at least not yet. I’m actually pretty ordinary.

  Chelsea breaks into my lament. “I remember now. At pep rallies, they say, ‘Go big or go home.’” She cheers, shaking imaginary pompoms.

  “I guess, I’ll be going home,” I mumble, half-joking about how average I am.

  “Ha ha, no way, this party is just getting started and this is going to be our best year yet.” Chelsea suggests I get a nose piercing or tattoo.

  Whoever’s playing DJ has a strong reggae game and Chelsea pulls me from my spot in the sand to dance.

  While we groove, her eyes fall on a figure in the distance, but because of the bright contrast of the fire, I can’t see if she’s spotted Logan Nguyen, the guy she’s been texting all summer or someone else.

  “Did you hear about the two brothers?” Chelsea asks, slightly breathless and windswept from the breeze coming off the ocean.

  “Is this the beginning of a joke or are you asking me a question?” I ask as I dance.

  She looks at me sideways. “The Thorne brothers? I thought I spotted one.” She gestures vaguely. “They live in that old house on Skerry Street.”

  “The haunted one?”

  Chelsea laughs. “Yup. Remember when we went trick-or-treating with Keiko, Reggie, Ange, and Aaron?”

  It was our last time getting dressed up and going door-to-door begging for candy.

  “It was a dumb idea, because, duh, no one lived there,” I say.

  “Emphasis on lived,” she says in a spooky voice.

  We both erupt in nervous laughter as the song ends and we return to my post at the S’mores station.

  She says, “Maija, I’ve been hearing rumors about these brothers…” She leans toward the fire so her face takes on an eerie glow. “That they’re descendants of the witches from Salem and that they’re—”

  “Zombies? Because if you say zombies, I’m cutting you off from that show you’ve been binge-watching on Netflix.”

  “No, I didn’t hear that they’re zombies, but that wouldn’t be plausible anyway.”

  “Um, okay. Why not?” I’m confused, but this is typical Chelsea so I go with it.

  “Because I heard the brothers are super-hot and zombies are not.” She giggles.

  “Hot like your marshmallow that was on fire or—?”

  “Hot like—” She juts her chin over my shoulder.

  A guy our age, wearing unusually formal dress and holding a top hat, appears beside the bonfire. Dude, Halloween is almost two months away.

  However, I can’t help but stare at him. When he glances over, I startle and look away.

  His gray eyes.

  Certainly not zombie eyes and not vampire eyes either. Chelsea and I had a major thing for vampires a while back.

  But whoa, eyes that I could get lost in.

  I blink and he’s gone.

  While I was distracted, Keiko commandeered the marshmallow roasting sticks and along with Chelsea and Reggie, prepares S’mores. Or tries to.

  “So why are we at the beach again?” Reggie asks.

  “So we can make S’mores, obviously.”

  “How do you keep the marshmallow from burning?” Reggie fumbles with the chocolate.

  “Or the graham cracker from breaking?” Keiko adds.

  Reggie drops a square of chocolate in the sand. “No!” he says, falling to his knees. “Why do I dislike the beach? Let me count the ways. Sand in the food or in this case, food in the sand. Seagulls pooping on stuff and taking your food, and sand.” He repeats, “Did I mention sand? Sand and food do not mix. The five-second rule does not apply in this situation.” He holds his hands up in dramatic agony. His partially melted chocolate isn’t salvageable.

  “Let the S’mores master demonstrate,” I say, sliding the perfectly toasted marshmallow off the stick, onto the graham cracker, preloaded with chocolate, and taking one delicious, gooey bite.

  While I make another, Reggie goes on. “Sunburns, bathing suits. Sand in the food—”

  “Yeah, you said as much.” Keiki steals the chocolate.

  “Getting lobbed in the head with a volleyball or Frisbee. Getting sunburned,” he adds.

  I laugh. “Yes, but the sun isn’t out.” I glance up at the starry night sky. I love the beach and everything about it.

  Sparks from the fire flutter toward the sky. I gaze up, up, up. A bittersweet feeling of endings and beginnings fills me half and half. The stars flicker and then one disappears. But I don’t see a shooting star otherwise I’d make a wish.

  I blink my eyes a few times because what I do see, or at least I think so, are the stars rearranging themselves. My mouth drops open. Maybe I had too much sugar.

  Like the airplanes that write love letters in the sky as part of a marriage proposal or congratulations on graduation day, letters form and twinkle.

  After they take shape, I see my name written like a wish among the stars in the sky.

  Chapter 2

  ★

  The star letters flare and disappear. My eyes burn. I’m quite sure I saw my name up there. I turn my gaze toward the sea and blink a few times. As though branded in my mind like the hot coals of the bonfire, the shining, sparkling letters of my name written against the backdrop of night remain. M-A-I-J-A.

  When I glance back toward the group, the guy with the top hat and gray eyes stands off to the side. The firelight illuminates the sharp edges of his features. His eyes are as deep as the sea on a cloudy day, clear and cold, intriguing and sad. They invite me to wonder, but I look away.

  I tell myself to shake it off: the stars, the guy, the bittersweet feeling.

  Chelsea, Keiko, and Reggie have moved on to talking about which teachers they’re hoping not to get. They gossip about scandals and schedules, assignments and advice on who and what to avoid.

  “If we stay up until midnight we can get our schedules on the portal,” Reggie says.

  “I heard they’re not releasing them until the moment school starts,” Chelsea counters.

  “Then how will we know—?”

  “Who is that staring at you, Maija?” Keiko asks.

  Chelsea flips her hair and says, “Oh, that’s the new guy. One-half of the brothers Th
orne that moved into the old house at the end of Skerry Street.”

  “The haunted one?” Keiko scoots closer to Reggie.

  Chelsea dismisses this. “I hear they’re twins.”

  “Do they both wear—?”

  “Jaunty top hats?” Chelsea asks. “Personally, I think it’s super-cool.”

  “Says the girl with bright pink hair.”

  Reggie says, “Sorry, Keiko, I will not put one of those on for you.”

  We all laugh because we know he’d do anything for her, including wearing a top hat, a beret, or fedora.

  “However, I will dance with you,” he says, busting his best moves while Keiko starts shimmying beside him.

  “Whoa. He is staring at you, Maija,” Chelsea adds as she starts to dance. “He’s like a cross between a hot, young Mr. Darcy and Edward from Twilight. Also very Edwardian in that historical romance kind of way.” She laughs as she twirls and kicks up the sand.

  I start to dance as she continues to talk about how our love story could be legendary, given his choice of clothing and my penchant for historical romance novels.

  I try to hush her as he strides over. Subtlety is certainly not her thing.

  Even though we’re standing on the uneven sand, he’s easily a head taller than I am. All pale angles like one of my dad’s architecture models.

  He says, “I’m JJ Thorne. It’s nice to meet you, Maija.”

  “Do I know you?” I ask.

  His eyes don’t waver from me. It’s as though his gaze stretches through time, seeking me, reaching me, seeing my past, and scanning my future. I feel vulnerable and yet I can’t look away.

  “I’m Chelsea,” she says, breaking the spell that weaves itself between us. “You pronounced her name correctly, JJ Thorne. Not Maja or My-ay-ja. Maija. Rhymes with playa like the beach in Spanish or fiyah, like fire,” she says, gesturing. “Like you’d say if you’re from Boston. Are you from Boston?”

  I elbow her to stop rambling. Plus, I hadn’t even said my name.

  “I am not from Boston. Lovely city if you like that sort of thing.” His voice is proper, slightly condescending, and British. Chelsea practically swoons. Me too.