by Lucy Auburn
“Got it.” A question occurs to me. “What exactly are your rounds?”
She stares straight ahead and starts walking instead of looking at me. “You don’t want to know.”
“I think I do, or I wouldn’t have asked,” I point out, following in her footsteps. “I know you keep the Grims here for a reason.” I don’t mention that Petra revealed at least one of the more sinister reasons after my last visit. “And I’m sure they have plenty of information. Is that it? Do you question all of them to find out what they know?”
“Yes,” she answers, too quickly. I have the feeling that while it may be true that she gets information out of the Grims housed here, there’s something else going on too. “But if you’re thinking of asking me to come along, don’t. I won’t take you into any of the rounds of questioning I do. Trust me, Dani, you don’t want to learn the things they know—or hear the things they say.”
Given the fact that Grims have universally slaughtered all Black Phoenix born to their family clans for centuries, I can imagine they wouldn’t have great things to say about me to my face. My mere existence offends their race purity sensibilities.
But they can’t be fond of the headmaster either. She and her mother put all of these prisoners here—and her other ancestors before that no doubt did the same thing.
I’m starting to think they had motivations for making a secret island prison offsite besides a supposed desire for justice. No one names a place Darkness Island without a little bit of bad intentions.
Studying the back of the headmaster’s head as I follow her through the hallways, though, I wonder if it should even matter to me. Whatever they do to the Grims in here, they’ve all got beds, food, a little privacy, and a few extra amenities besides. It can’t be all bad—and none of it comes anywhere close to what the Grims do.
But it gives me a strange feeling, like something’s not quite right here, a feeling I’ve gotten before from what are apparently my Grim senses. I’m about to open my mouth to ask her a few follow-up questions when she stops and spins on her heel.
“Here we are, cell 17. I’ll let you in, and you can speak to him through the holes in the plexiglass. Anything you want to pass to him will have to be left in the tray to the right of the counter and pushed through. Keep in mind you’ll be on camera the whole time, so don’t do anything stupid.”
I glance into the cell. Meyer is sitting up from the bed, hair unkempt and grayer than I remember, a stubbly shadow of a beard on his face. He’s staring at me so intently that I have to look away. I watch as Headmaster Towers opens the outer bars to the cell and motions me towards a thin counter in the plexiglass with a small stool in front of it and a passthrough tray system that they no doubt use to give the prisoners their meals.
In this case, the prisoner is my father.
I force myself to look at him, to study his face and see him as more than just the villain in my memory. He’s also the villain right here in front of me at this very moment. I’m determined to face him so I can finally walk away feeling like I’ve won.
He looks older. That shouldn’t be unexpected given all the things that he’s done to stay looking younger than he really is—and more importantly, alive. Without an endless supply of phoenix-created youth serum he’s finally started to look his age.
Pretty soon that age will be corpse years old.
“Dani.” His voice echoes from far away through the holes that allow conversation to travel back and forth through the plexiglass. “You visited. Alone. I was hoping you would.”
“I just came to give this back to you.” I drop the photo book in the tray and push it through to his side. “You left it in your desk.”
“Ah.” He glances over to the box where the tray sits, waiting for him to slide open the door and take it out. “I don’t need photos of you now that I’ve got the real thing standing here in front of me. How are you?”
I ignore his question. “Just take it so I can go and never come back.”
He studies me. “That’s a pretty absolute word: never.”
“Yeah, well, I mean it.”
“I’m your father, Dani.”
The urge to roll my eyes is overwhelming, so I roll them. It’s not quite enough, so I do it again just for good measure. All the rolling is enough to make me feel dizzy, but it’s worth it for the expression of exasperation on his face.
I warn him, “Say ‘father’ one more time and I swear I’ll summon the demons and have them torture you to death.”
“You wouldn’t.”
“They’re big fans of dick severing,” I brag, enjoying his visible wince. “Sebastian likes to take the whole appendage, balls and all. If those phoenix hearts you’ve been injecting are still in your system, you might even live long enough after a getting your dick severed that we can stuff it down your throat and make it your last meal, Wilhelm.”
He stares at me in silence for a long moment. I have to admit, I was hoping for more of a reaction from him; the fact that I know his secret evil centuries-old identity is a pretty big bomb to drop, after all. I wasn’t exactly expecting a telenovela-style gasp of shock, but he could at least look like he’s doing more than watching paint dry.
“I always knew you were a smart girl,” he says. “You and those demons of yours figured it out together, I’m sure. I let more things slip than I should have while I had them enslaved to me. There were so many things to prepare, and I got sloppy.” Meyer clears his throat. “So what are you going to do with your newfound knowledge?”
“What would I do? I’m letting you rot to death in here, like you deserve. No one is meant to live forever.”
“No,” he agrees, rankling me, “no one is, you’re right. I’ve taken my eternity for granted, because it was necessary to fight the scourge of evil I’ve been facing for far too long.”
“Whatever you say.” Clearing my throat, I ask him, “We found a scouting worm demon the other night. Was it yours? Or do I need to be worried about this fictional Big Bad Grim you keep warning me about?”
“The worm was mine.” He raises his chin, eyes flashing. “But you need to worry about Vera. She’s smart, and she’s coming very soon. You won’t see her coming, and you’re going to need my help to fight her. You can’t face her alone, and neither can the headmaster. Only I can.”
“How convenient for you. I suppose you’ll be wanting to be let out of your cell to fight this mysterious lady we haven’t even heard of.”
“You mock me, but you’ll see. Vera’s hold over the clans is the most dangerous threat Lana Towers will never see coming. Only a Grim can fight an enemy like her.”
“You sound like a liar. Not a surprise, since you are one.” Pushing the tray further inside the cell, I tell him, “I’m going now, since you’re talking gibberish. Enjoy staring at these photos, because it’s all you’re gonna get from me.”
“Wait.” He surges up off the bed, approaching me—though the plexiglass keeps us apart. “Dani, I’ve been trying to warn you. I need you to listen. And if you won't believe me, you should at least let me tell you what to do when she does show up.”
“There are over fifty Grims in here. I’m sure the headmaster can handle it,” I point out, dismissive.
“You don’t understand. This is different. You and I—we’re different. I've done things. And our clan is responsible for—”
“Shut up!” Hands clenching, I shake my head. “I shouldn’t have come here. The headmaster was right. Take your photo book or don’t, I don’t give a shit. I’m leaving.”
He tries to say something else, but I reach out and shut the door to the partition before he can, closing off the holes that let visitors speak to the prisoners here. Frustrated, he presses his palm against the plexiglass, but I just ignore him. It’s easy enough to walk away, close the door to the bars behind me, and stroll down the hallway until I’m standing outside the empty cells.
I stay there for what feels like an eternity before Headmaster Towers shows up,
keys in hand. She raises a dark red eyebrow at me. “Things not go as planned?”
“I returned his little book to him. Then he tried to tell me some nonsense that I ignored.” I ignore the pointed expression of I-told-you-so on her face. “It’s done. Let’s just get out of here.”
It’s a good thing that my date tonight is with Mateo, because I’m in the mood to blow some shit up. Namely my supposed birth father’s dumb, old-ass face. Maybe we can carve some pumpkins to look like him and throw grenades at them. That would be satisfying.
Since the demon himself kept the details of this date secret from me, I throw on my best outdoor-explosion-ready outfits and let my eyes flutter closed to summon him. Grabbing onto the bright, sharp bond I share with him alone, I tug on it until he’s here in my dorm room with me.
“So.” I open my eyes and watch him grin at me, mischievousness written in every smug line of his face. “Where exactly are we going that’s so special you wouldn’t tell me? Because it’s not like there’s anywhere on this campus I haven’t been, y’know.”
“Oh, but this’ll be special.”
“Tell me.” Leaning forward, I press myself up against him and pout as best I can. “Are we going to blow up the headmaster’s office? Burn the old gym down completely? What do you want me to light on fire?”
“Right train of thought, wrong direction. We’re going to the shooting range. During a break in your Group Combat class yesterday, I got your weapons teacher Kade to give me this.” He pulls a key off his belt and dangles it in front of me. “Now we can go after hours and shoot absolutely anything we want with any gun he’s got. Well, not the semi-automatics, he wouldn’t give me those. Asshole. But all the rifles and shotguns and pistols.” He waggles his eyebrows at me. “Want to draw Meyer’s face on a dummy and put enough holes in it to throw a football through?”
“Do I ever!” Throwing my arms around his neck, I kiss his cheek. “Best date night imaginable.”
Nothing will help me put Meyer behind me better than an evening of shooting shit up with my favorite trigger-happy demon.
Chapter 24
Four Months Later
“Second formation.” We stand side by side, my sword out, Petra in wolf form at my hip. “Good. Third formation, then crouch and leap.”
Flipping the sword behind me, I move forward into a crouch, empty hand resting on the ground to support me. Petra gets into position and places her paws on my back. I brace as I feel her weight shift forward, and she jumps onto my back.
As soon as I feel her feet dance across my spine, I surge forward from the crouch, and she leaps from my back in the same moment. Her fangs flash; I slash my sword in front of me at an invisible enemy.
Jared Fisk watches it all with keen eyes. “Again. Faster. Dani, move as soon you feel her feet touch your back. Waiting for her to get up is too late—the movement should be simultaneously flowing between you.”
We move back into position on his signal. As Petra moves past me our eyes meet, hers a dark gold, wry exhaustion written into the lines of her canid form even as she lopes into position behind me again.
This is the point in our Shield training when we typically get our third wind. There’s no stopping when we’re tired, much less exhausted past the point of no return. We both have to find more energy in the bottom of the well. With Fisk, there’s no other option. He demands that we keep going no matter how we feel.
In his words, “When the Grims come to gut you, they won’t ask if you’ve had enough sleep, and they won’t let you take a little cat nap in the middle of their murderin’.”
He won’t even let me summon my demons while training with Petra. He says I have to get used to fighting without them, just in case something happens one day and I can’t summon them during battle. What this “something” could be he won’t elaborate on, but he makes Petra do the same kind of rigid training too. Right now he’s forbidden her to shift back from wolf form to human form, and during other sessions he’s done the opposite. Sometimes he makes us fight with only our hands; more than once he’s tied us to something and goaded us into freeing ourselves and fighting back.
Basically, he’s a bastard of the worst sort, out to torture the two of us forever.
And I’ve surprised myself by loving every minute of it.
“Faster, Dani! You were born a Grim, so act it. Fourth formation, defend.”
Petra dramatically falls onto her side, mime-acting like she’s been wounded. I leap over her body, feet on either side of her, and brandish my sword. It’s double-edged, unlike the katanas we practiced with last semester, short and light enough to strike fast from up close. Balancing my weight on the balls of my feet, I move through the sword exercises Fisk calls out, all the while keeping my body above Petra’s to protect her.
Of course, there are no actual enemies here for us to fight. Fisk claims that we’re not ready to face actual combatants on the field, but as soon as we are we’ll know it because they’ll show up when we least expect it
Well, I’m expecting it.
Because this is our next-to-last Shield Training exercise before school lets out for the summer, and he’s pushing us harder than ever before. He wants us absolutely exhausted before he springs even more on us—it’s exactly the kind of instructor he is.
So of course he's going to send someone to attack us right when we're at our weakest. I'd expect nothing less from the marvelous hard-edged bastard of a trainer.
I see the shadow on the ground first, and crouch above Petra, hand in her fur. She cuts her dark golden eyes in my direction, her chest rumbling with a deep growl. The flash of her white teeth says it all: she wants me to take my hand off her. But the shadow is growing as its caster moves closer, and that’s just the first of many to come.
“Hawk incoming,” I murmur to her, as Fisk barks for me to stand up and do more exercises instead of fucking around. “Get ready for company.”
She snorts, her way of saying she’s got it. I finally listen to Fisk—who is no doubt considering skinning me alive for ignoring him—and get back into position with my sword at my side. As I go through the moves I keep my eyes on the ground, watching the shadow of a hawk circle around us, getting larger and smaller as the hawk scouts the location. I let my eyes skim the trees around us as I switch sword positions, sweat rolling down my back, right arm aching.
One by one I spot them: shifters waiting in the darkness between the trees around the practice field, ready to attack on Fisk’s mark. And while they’ll keep their claws sheathed and pull their bites, no doubt we’ll get tackled to the ground enough to bruise us from head to toe.
That is, unless we get them first.
Fisk is still calling out orders and positions, but I ignore him. At this point he’s just acting as a distraction to make sure we don’t see the attackers coming—and I won’t fall for it. Sword at the ready, I step away from Petra and call out, “First position. Let’s get ready to rumble.”
Leaping to her feet, she presses up against the back of my calves in a crouch, lips peeled back from her teeth and a heavy snarl purring like an engine in her chest. Facing the figures in the woods, I eye the closest—some kind of dog shifter by the looks of things—and brandish my sword.
“Let’s do this.”
“Wait!” Fisk sounds deeply annoyed as he approaches me, palm up to signal for a pause. “You weren’t supposed to see them coming. Take this.”
I eye the blunt, edgeless sword he’s holding out. “Their teeth and claws will be real.”
“Yes, and they won’t use them if they know what’s good for them,” he says, aiming his voice loud to be heard, “but to be blunt, you’re a phoenix. You can survive a few minor scratches or even a giant laceration or two. The shifters heal, but not that well, and I’m already on short notice with Headmaster Towers for a few... incidents last year that may or may not have been my fault.”
Petra snorts, a sure sign she disagrees with his oh-so-innocent side of the story. I’ll h
ave to get the details from her later.
“Just take the blunt sword and try not to kill anyone.”
I grin at him. “Will do.”
Tossing him my sword, I grab the edgeless blade while it’s in the air, appreciating the advantage my Grim speed gives me over Fisk. He grumbles as he catches the double-edged sword by its hilt, narrowing his eyes at me. I’m sure he’ll get me back for that later, but it was worth it for a bit of showmanship. Someone has to keep the Group Combat teacher on his toes.
As Fisk strides back to the edge of the field, I hold the blunt sword out in front of me, feeling a heavy tension rise in the air. That shadow flits on the grass, growing larger as the hawk descends closer and closer to our heads; any moment now the signal will go up and the staged attack will begin.
My heart races, not with fear but with anticipation. I’ve got this—I just know I do. Especially with ornery and ever-fierce Petra at my side. An 18-wheeler going one hundred miles an hour couldn’t take the pint-sized yet ferocious wolf shifter down for long. Together we’ve got this and then some.
At least that’s what I think.
Until my eyes pick out more shifters in the trees. They move towards us on nearly silent feet, so quiet in the darkness that I wouldn’t be able to see them if I didn’t have phoenix-enhanced Grim vision.
I count ten at first. Then twelve. When I hit fourteen I give up counting and decide there’s only one way to do this: one at a time.
Fisk wants us to wait until he gives the signal. But I’m not one to play by the rules, and he knows it. If he intended to have this done neatly, well, he should’ve brought another girl to the field.
Grinning maniacally, I look down towards Petra. She meets my eyes with her fierce golden gaze and peels her lips back in a macabre wolf smile. We’re on the same page—it’s now or never.