“I panicked. I knew I couldn’t hurt them, even to protect myself, or I’d be sent here.” She laughs, but it’s a hollow, humorless sound. “So I conjured the first thing that popped into my head. I’d seen a werewolf movie earlier that day. I thought I could scare them off, then conjure the animal away. It scared them, they ran, and the animal chased after them. I couldn’t stop it. The results were…messy.”
“Wait, it attacked?” I blurt, and she nods.
My eyes drift out of focus as I think about that. A soulless creature that feels no emotion doesn’t attack. That requires fear, or anger, or hunger. According to everything I’ve ever learned, a conjured animal just kind of slumps to the ground and lays there.
I snap back to the present and see the three of them looking at me expectantly. Oh, right. They are waiting for me to tell them what I did.
“I killed someone,” I say in a quiet tone.
“Let me guess,” Cedric says, tilting his head at me. “It was an accident and you got convicted of murder?”
I wobble my head from side to side, saying, “Sort of. They tried to charge me with murder, and when I pled not guilty, they changed it to involuntary manslaughter. I got a six month sentence.”
“Six months!” Acadia exclaims. “I got four years igniting a fire, in a fireplace. An ember escaped and set the curtains ablaze, then the whole house burned down.”
“What?” I yell. “That’s ridiculous. How could they blame that on you?”
“We all seem to be here for overblown offenses,” Cedric says, his voice low. “That has to mean something, right?”
“We shouldn’t talk about this,” I murmur, pulling back the Glamour around us to see more than one camera pointed in our direction. Then I cover my mouth and mumble, “Cameras.”
Lark quickly bursts into some funny story about her life before prison, and though the rest of us laugh at the right times, it’s all an act. I know we’re all thinking the same thing—something isn’t right here.
What’s really going on at Oberon Reformatory?
Chapter Twenty-One
The days bleed into one another as time drags on. Every day we go to class and learn the same things—and I use the term “learn” loosely. I really can’t figure out what the point is, other than to keep us busy and out of trouble.
Mollie is great, but we do the same exercises every single class period. Group up, insult each other, and pretend we’re in control. Which we’re not. I mean, I am, but everyone else is controlled by their golden bracelets.
Tiana Avery becomes more and more unbearable with each hour I’m forced to spend in her presence. She respects no one, yet expects us to treat her with extreme deference. She knows nothing about true decorum and takes every opportunity to sneak in thinly-veiled jibes at us…particularly the Zephyrs in the class.
It’s all I can do not to throw a fireball at her face the second she opens her vile mouth. I have a whole new respect for what my parents must have went through, attending the academy with this witch.
The only class I somewhat enjoy is Chase’s, but even there I’m always on guard, careful not to let the full extent of my powers show. I made that mistake once. I won’t do it again and risk another meeting with our esteemed Headmaster.
Gag.
Things have gotten even stranger with Asher York than they were before our fight. We haven’t spoken a word to each other since that day, despite being grouped together with Lark during Discipline of Magic. She does all the insulting, and Asher and I sit stone-faced, refusing to even acknowledge each other. It’s the same in the other two classes, too.
He’s still mad at me, I guess, for taking him down during Elemental Practice, and my well-constructed walls against him are for purely defensive purposes. He affects me way too much. I can’t afford to lose myself in here, especially to someone who apparently hates me.
But our silent feud hasn’t stopped him from staring. I can feel his eyes on me, even now, as we sit with our new friends at lunch. They burn against my back, making me twitchy and uncomfortable. Lark cocks a brow at me.
“You okay?”
I take in a deep breath and exhale slowly. “I’m fine.”
“Mm-hmm,” she says, her eyes flicking past me to something over my left shoulder. When her dark eyes meet mine again, she smirks. “He’s staring, again.”
“What? Who?”
Jolene leans in close to Lark, attempting to find her line of sight to see who we’re talking about. Lark pushes her back into her chair and tells her to forget about it, but she jumps to her feet, undeterred. I can tell the moment she locks eyes with Asher, because her own black eyes widen and she drops back into her seat, hovering low over the table.
“Asher York?” she whispers. “Rory is crushing on Asher York?”
“No!” I bark, but Lark’s enormous smile negates whatever argument I’m prepared to make.
“Oh, yeah,” she says. “Big time.”
“Lark,” I warn. Then I look at the others. “I do not like him. He’s just…always staring and it makes me uncomfortable.”
“He could stare at me all day with those baby blues,” Acadia chimes in, a dream-like quality to her voice.
“Stop it,” Cedric says, narrowing his eyes at her. “He’s too old for you. And besides, looks like he’s already got his sights set on Rory.”
“Oh my God,” I mutter, dropping my forehead to the table.
I’m going to kill Lark.
“Okay, okay. Everybody knock it off. I was just kidding. Well, mostly,” Lark says, and I lift my head to look at her. “Rory is definitely crushing on him, but she hasn’t admitted it to herself yet, so we need to give her a break.”
I send her a glare meant to singe her eyebrows, but she just winks at me in a totally adorable way that makes me laugh.
“I hate you,” I say, fighting my smile and narrowing my gaze at her.
“I love you, too, babe,” she replies, blowing me a kiss.
The heat on my back intensifies, and I can’t stop myself from glancing over my shoulder. I lock eyes with Asher for just a moment, his blue gaze searing right through me and stopping my breath. Then he breaks the contact, stands, and leaves the mess hall, dumping his tray on the way out.
I turn back to my friends and attempt to listen to their witty banter, but my mind refuses to cooperate. It lingers on Asher as a dozen questions bombard me.
Why am I so drawn to him? Why does he stare at me, then proceed to treat me like I don’t exist? What goes through his mind when he sees me? Was Lark right when she said he’s interested in me? He must realize by now that I’m not the shallow, bigoted person he expected me to be when we first met. Why is he still so distant?
Get it together, Finley. Not here to meet a boy.
And even if I was, I wouldn’t choose a jerk like him. It doesn’t matter how attractive I find him, or intelligent, or strong. It doesn’t matter that my nervous system goes haywire when he’s around or that no one else has ever made me feel as alive. It doesn’t matter that he makes me so angry I could spit nails or that that anger could, and probably would, morph quickly into other passionate emotions.
None of that matters. He hates me. And I hate him.
End of story.
I WAKE up angry after dreaming of Asher all night. I blame Lark and her incessant innuendoes at dinner. She put the idea of possibility in my head, and my brain worked overtime during the night, spinning all sorts of scenarios where he and I could be together.
Nonsense, all of it.
I’m tired and grumpy, but at least it’s Saturday and I don’t have to endure sitting in class with my new best friend or her insufferably magnetic cousin. Thank goodness for small favors.
I sit up, flick on the light, and swing my legs over the edge of the bed, but before I move another muscle, my eye catches on a small, folded slip of paper near the door. I forget to breathe as I stare at it like I expect it grow legs and walk over to me.
But it doesn
’t. It just lays there innocently, waiting for me to breathe again and feed my muscles the oxygen they need to function.
I inhale deeply before climbing off the bed and take several slow steps toward the door. I peek through the slot, but there’s no one there. Bending over, I pinch the paper between two fingers and swiftly move to stand behind the curtain that enshrouds my toilet area.
If anyone happens by, I don’t want them to see me with the note.
I unfold the paper with shaking fingers, nearly dropping it into the toilet when I see the first word.
Aurora
Oh my God. So, the first note wasn’t metaphorical. The author actually knows who I am—literally. I shake my head and look back at the words scrawled on the paper.
Aurora—
Keep your identity a secret. Should anyone discover the truth, the consequences will be unfortunate…particularly for your family.
I feel the blood drain from my face as I read the words again. Is this a threat against my family?
I could interpret it as a statement of truth, one I already knew—if anyone finds out who I am, my family and their mission for peace and harmony in the world would be the ones to suffer. Or I could read between the lines and see this as a direct threat to them if I tell anyone the truth.
Somehow, I think it’s the latter.
A loud bang startles me, and the note slips from my cold fingers, floating to the floor.
“Yo, Rory,” Lark calls out form the other side of the portal. “You ready for breakfast?”
The thought of food makes the bile in my stomach churn. I can’t eat, and I can’t let Lark see me right now. One look at my face and she’ll know something is wrong. I don’t think she’d push for details—it’s just not her way—but I’d still rather avoid her questioning gazes until I figure out what to do.
“I’m not feeling so great,” I croak out, loud enough for her to hear me. “I’ll catch up to you later, okay?”
“What’s wrong? Do you need anything? You want me to hang out here with you until you feel better?”
“No,” I shout, then softer, “no, thanks. If I’m sick, I don’t want you to catch it.”
And…I’m an idiot. Humans get sick. Fae do not. Not unless they’re poisoned by magical means. If I had said anything else, she might have bought it. But me being sick? It’s a totally lame, totally obvious excuse.
“Okay,” she says, and I’m sure I’m not imagining the disappointment lacing the word. “I’ll check in later?”
“Thanks, Lark,” I call out as her footsteps fade down the hall.
I close my eyes against the guilt and shame welling up inside me. Lark has been the best friend I’ve ever had, and now I’m lying to and avoiding her? She must think I’m the worst.
My eyes pop open as I bend over to pick up the note and read it again.
…the consequences will be unfortunate…
I can’t risk my family. I can’t risk Lark or any of the other new friends I’ve made in this awful place.
I’m trapped in an untenable situation and the weight of it all is pressing down on me to an almost unbearable degree. I can’t tell anyone who I am, but someone already knows. I can’t stay here, but I can’t leave until I figure out who wrote the note. I can’t figure out who wrote the note on my own—I need help. But I can’t ask for help because I can’t tell anyone who am.
My thoughts come full-circle, and my mood darkens even further. Whoever it is obviously only works at night. Both notes were delivered while I was sleeping…which means the culprit is not locked up at night.
Which means it’s not an inmate.
Well, most likely not an inmate. I could get out of this room if I wanted to. And, while it’s highly unlikely that anyone else here has access to their magic the way I do, it’s not impossible. I can’t completely rule my fellow inmates out, and I’ll keep that in the back of my head if no other suspects come to mind.
My first instinct tells me it’s one of the guards that patrol the halls. Jax Woodrow flashes through my mind, but I quickly write him off. He actually seems to like me, so I seriously doubt he’s the one threatening me and my family.
My class instructors are another possibility. I know they have more freedoms than the rest of us, but are their cells locked at night? I have no idea. And asking around about it will only raise questions.
No, I need to figure this out on my own. I can’t drag anyone else into this mess.
Chapter Twenty-Two
I spend the whole morning in my room, playing scenario after scenario out in my head. Most of them are risky and include me using magic, which could blow up in my face.
I could Glamour myself to look like one of the guards. That way, I could subtly question the others and keep an eye out for suspicious behavior. I would use Glamour to make those I’ve talked to forget the conversation, and everyone would go about their day, none the wiser.
Perfect, right?
Wrong. The major flaw in that plan is the cameras. Because they move, there is no way to memorize their locations to avoid them. If Echo, or whoever else is watching, sees me and the guard I’m impersonating on the monitors, it’s over for me.
I could Glamour myself to be invisible, but I still have the same issues with the cameras. I can’t Glamour a machine not to see me, and because I don’t know who is watching on the other end, I can’t guarantee my anonymity.
The only plan I can come up with that has any chance of actually working is to stay in my room, awake and watching the door, until I get another note. I can throw the door open and catch them red-handed. I know I could push through for a while, conjuring up coffee to help me stay awake, but what if nothing happens for days?
I’m going to need to sleep, eventually. And I have no idea what will happen if I try to skip those ridiculous classes on Monday.
And I’m not going to be able to avoid Lark forever.
But for now, it’s all I’ve got. So, here I sit, on the floor next to my cell door. Waiting. Bored out of mind.
After three cups of coffee and about a million minutes of lonely monotony, I’m ready to desert this stupid plan. That’s when I hear the footsteps.
Every muscle in my body tenses, and I climb to my feet in small, soundless motions. As the footsteps move closer to my door, I hold my breath. The scuff of rubber soles against the floor slows, then stops, and blood roars through my ears as I reach for the handle.
This is it.
In one swift movement, I twist the handle and pull so hard the door flies from my grip and bangs against the inner wall. A very startled Lark nearly takes flight as her feet come about a foot off the floor.
“Jesus, Rory, what are you doing? You just about scared me to death.”
“Oh, Lark. Hey. Sorry.”
That’s all I got. How am I supposed to explain this to her without telling her the truth?
She pushes her way into my room, and I reluctantly close the door behind her. She spins to face me, arms crossing over her chest as she taps a toe against the concrete floor.
“What?” I ask, feigning innocence when she doesn’t say anything.
“Oh, is that how we’re playing it?” she asks, arching a brow. “Like what just happened wasn’t out of the ordinary? You’re acting like a total crazy person!”
“The door just got away from me. It was a coincidence that you were outside,” I offer, and it sounds lame even to my ears.
“Rory!” Lark shouts, her voice echoing off the walls around us and making me flinch. Taking a deep breath, she composes herself. “We’re friends, right?”
“Yes. Of course,” I stutter out as guilt burns a labyrinth inside me.
“And I told you when we first met that I’d eventually learn all your secrets.”
“I told you I’m a hybrid,” I say defensively. “That was a pretty big secret, Lark.”
“Yes, and I appreciate the faith it took to tell me that. But that doesn’t explain why you waited by the door and basically
ambushed me when I stopped outside. Like you thought I was here to…what? Sneak into your room? Attack you while you slept?”
“What time is it, anyway?” I ask, hedging.
“It’s nearly dinnertime,” she says with a huff, “and don’t try to change the subject. Please, talk to me. You can trust me, I swear.”
My body deflates as the tension eases out of me. I know I can trust her. I feel it in my gut. It would feel great to confide in someone, to tell them everything and get a fresh perspective, but it seems selfish to drag her into the middle of my problems.
“I can see the gears spinning in your head, Rory. Whatever it is, I can handle it. I’m demanding to get involved, so you have nothing to feel guilty about.”
“It’s Finley,” I say, sighing as I slump onto the bed in defeat.
“What?” she asks, her face screwed up with confusion.
“My name. It’s Finley.”
“Right,” she says, plopping down beside me on the bed. “Rory Finley. I know. Do you normally go by your last name, or something?”
“It’s my middle name, actually,” I murmur. Then I take a deep breath and lock eyes with her as the words tumble from my lips. “Aurora Finley Oberon.”
“That’s not funny,” she says, hurt drawing her features down. “If you don’t want to tell me the truth, that’s fine, but don’t lie to me and pretend to be a freaking princess.”
“I’m telling the truth, Lark.”
She jumps to her feet and gives me her back. I can feel anger radiating off of her, and I don’t blame her in the least. I wouldn’t believe me, either.
“Everyone knows what Princess Aurora looks like, Rory,” she says, and her voices hitches on the nickname, like she’s just now realizing the similarity.
“Like this?” I ask, pulling forth my Glamour and popping my wings out as I leap to my feet.
She spins around, and her black eyes widen as her mouth falls open. I know what she sees. Black hair and eyes, blue wings with black edges—the façade the whole world recognizes as being me.
“This isn’t the real me,” I say, and my voice startles her. “This is a Glamour my parents cast over me as an infant to make the Zephyrs feel more comfortable.”
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