Soulhunter Academy

by L. J. Swallow

  Omigod, she’s eating a cheese sandwich. I battle to keep the smirk from my face. Mouse Girl likes cheese. But is this awkward girl sitting with me really a mouse girl or as deceptive as her friend? Keir told me Dahlia knew I was on my way, and that Dahlia stops soulhunters touching him. How the hell does she manage?

  “What is it with you two?” I ask.

  “What?”

  “Always together but not a couple. Kind of weird.”

  “You don’t believe in platonic friendships?” She bites into her sandwich and I catch a hint of the smug that creeps in when I ask about him spending time with her.

  “Not when the guy’s as drop dead gorgeous as Keir.”

  Dahlia’s face darkens. “I’m not his type. And neither are you.”

  Unable to resist, I shift closer to Dahlia and lower my voice. “That’s not the impression Keir gave me when we were alone.”

  The sandwich drops from Dahlia’s hands onto her tray, sending salad spilling over the edge. “You’re lying,” she exclaims. “He doesn’t like you.”

  “Really? Jealous?”

  Dahlia gives a short laugh. “Absolutely not. But you keep away from him.”

  “That’s not so hard when you’re permanently attached to him,” I retort.

  Dahlia leans across the table. “Exactly.” The challenge in her voice amuses me.

  “For now.”

  Keir pushes through the cafeteria door, and appreciative looks from the girls sitting near the doorway follow him across the room to us. Keir’s pale T-shirt is damp across his broad chest, and a sheen of sweat covers his forehead, his cheeks red.

  “Hey,” he says as he slides into the chair next to Dahlia.

  “Been working out? You could’ve showered first,” I say.

  Perspiration oils his sinewy forearms, and I trail a look along them to heavy biceps. His nephilim eyes meet mine for the briefest moment. “No, I haven’t.”

  My stomach flips. Does Keir know the effect it has when he looks at me? Probably, and I hope he thinks it’s fear of him.

  “Everything okay?” asks Dahlia, putting her hand on his. I grit my teeth when Keir doesn’t move.

  “Yes.”

  Dahlia passes him a second bottle from her tray.

  “Thanks.”

  What the hell is their deal? Keir wipes an arm across his face, mopping his forehead with his sleeve, and Dahlia pulls a textbook from her bag. Both resolutely ignore me. I wait for a hint about where Keir was and drum my fingers on the table, hoping to irritate Dahlia enough for a response.

  No effect.

  “Well, it’s been a pleasure, as always,” I say and stand, pushing my bag under the table with my boot before stomping away. Neither looks at me. Rude. Which is priceless coming from me, Queen of the Impolite.

  Outside the cafeteria, I watch through the doors’ circular windows. Students leaving for class push through and past me as I refuse to leave my vantage point. Keir’s arrival looking like he’d run a marathon has to be a topic of conversation for him and Dahlia.

  Dahlia closes the book and places it in her bag, glancing around. The shiny Formica tables in the cafeteria are empty, apart from the group of texting girls and canteen staff unenthusiastically clearing half-empty trays. Dahlia pulls out her laptop and flips open the lid, pointing at the screen. Keir leans forward, crosses his arms over his chest, his features hardening.

  Once they’re engrossed, I head back inside.

  Big boots are perfect for kicking demons to the floor but useless for creeping around a squeaky floor. The pairs’ focus remains on their conversation, and they pay no attention to the world around them. Will Keir sense me before I’m close enough to hear something? I pause near a tall, uniformed lady clearing a table and catch a snippet of Dahlia and Keir’s conversation.

  “That’s another one—they seem to be converging here,” says Dahlia, finger on the screen.

  “So we deal with—” Keir’s head snaps up and he looks directly at me, setting his mouth in a hard line. This is the Keir I met by the fountain revealed again; his look a challenge: what the hell do you think you’re doing and you’ll regret it if you don’t stop.

  “Forgot my bag! I’m so dumb sometimes!” Ducking under the table, I grab my backpack. “Sorry, carry on…. If this is about the test tomorrow, can I borrow some notes?” I straighten and smile innocently at Dahlia.

  Slamming the laptop shut, Dahlia rests her hand on the lid and glowers. “It’s not about the test.”

  “Go, Ava,” says Keir in a low voice.

  I hold my hands up. “Calm down. What are you? Secret agents?”

  Keir’s smile would warm my day if it weren’t so condescending. “You’re funny.”

  I look up and reflect his challenge. We’re nowhere near done here.

  “Apparently so.” I turn on my heel and head to class; aware two sets of eyes are boring into my back.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  I throw the book across the bed. Where’s the information about Dahlia? Dahlia glued to Keir’s side continues to be a big bloody problem; do I need to take her out of the picture? How? Soulhunters killing humans is frowned on but not out of the question. If I kill Dahlia, her death might spur Keir into action and this whole situation could be over with. Sure, Ava. One thing about nephilim, their earthbound powers rival any superhero’s, and a furious Keir hunting me down to kick seven shades out of me isn’t the best course of action.

  So what the hell do I do?

  On past assignments, the thrill of chasing demons and the adrenaline surge from fighting were joined by the high of success—a dead creature and captured soul. But this… the fear over trying to catch a nephilim soul morphs into something else. The task isn’t frightening—it’s excruciatingly boring.

  No, I need to be more proactive. Since the weird encounter with Keir, I’ve backed too far away. Look at me procrastinating and brooding all because I’ve hit a stumbling block.

  I sit.

  What the hell am I doing? Where’s the soulhunter who heads in, takes what she needs, then leaves? Am I seriously allowing my plans to be thrown by a weak human girl?

  Get a bloody grip, Ava.

  This shit stops now, and if Dahlia needs removing from the situation, so be it. I grab my phone from the desk and storm out the room.

  The odd couples’ daily routine remains the same and it’s simple to keep track of their movements. Dahlia rigidly follows her class schedule and then leaves for her halls. I sit on a bench in the dim and watch the pair walk by the same spot, at the same time, every night, before they disappear into Dahlia’s room. Every night I wait for Keir to reappear. He never does until after I grow bored and leave.

  Are they engaged in steamy sex? I smirk to myself. I bet I’m not the only girl on campus who wonders about their relationship. Tall, impossibly gorgeous guy with eyes to drown in and a body to hang onto, somehow enchanted by a plain girl who nobody would notice if she weren’t with him.

  Catching Keir as he leaves Dahlia’s later at night would be a great opportunity. I have the element of surprise.

  The crunch of their footsteps on the fallen autumn leaves alert me. Right on cue, Keir and Dahlia pass me as I sit on the bench, pretending to study my phone. Keir must suspect; they’ve seen me every day this week. As usual, Dahlia ignores me, despite my cheery hello. Keir doesn’t look at me, talking to Dahlia in an insistent voice.

  Unable to catch his eye and intrigued by Keir’s tense attitude, I set the timer on my phone for an hour, lean back and listen to music. Tonight’s the night. Do or die.

  An hour later, I cross to the halls and head down the tiled hallway. Locating Dahlia’s room, I bang on the door.

  No answer. I check the carefully written name glued to the frame. Dahlia Jameson. Right room. I pull at the door handle but it doesn’t budge and no light filters under the door. They haven’t walked back out of the building past me, and I watched the front for an hour.

  Where the hell did the
y go? I press my ear to the door. Nothing. How? There’s no other way out; no second exit. Where are they? I flick a look from right to left, checking for others walking down the hallway.

  No one.

  I root around in my pockets for something to help open the door. A hairpin. I smile at the cliché as I use the pin on the lock. Answers to their secrets have to lie in this room. I turn the handle and step inside, closing the door quietly behind.

  Flicking the light switch, a bulb illuminates the room with a soft green glow, shining through the patterned material pinned beneath the light. The length of the wall by the neatly made bed is plastered with maps, print outs, and newspaper cuttings, interspersed with red ribbon and bright yellow Post-it notes. I approach and attempt to decipher what’s in front of me. The random mess makes no sense. The city map has pins inserted into streets and printed sheets list recent unexplained events including a mixture of disappearances.

  Dahlia’s laptop charges on her desk, stationery and pens arranged neatly around it. I push a key hoping for an extra clue but the screen is locked.

  So where the hell are Dahlia and Keir?

  The open window answers my question. Smart. I lean out; Dahlia’s room is on the ground floor at the opposite side to where I watched them. Yep, clever. Thick grass grows below Dahlia’s window and beyond that, trees. No light shines nearby. Shadows cover this end of the residential halls.

  Keir and Dahlia are one step ahead of me. I grit my teeth.

  Screw this. I flick the switch, plunging the room back into darkness, sneak back out, and gently close the door behind.

  There’s nothing gentle about the way I storm down the hallway, knocking pinned paper notices off the walls. Keir and Dahlia may think they’re smart, but I’m smarter. I’ll come back tomorrow, and this time they won’t have a chance to sneak off.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  The next evening, I wait in the shadow of the trees, near the halls instead of on the bench. Why can’t the bloody leaves hang on the branches and not crunch beneath my feet? At least the grey clouds darken the night sky for some cover as I shuffle from foot to foot keeping a greater distance than before.

  Keir watched me today, a sterner warning in his cerulean blue eyes. How strong are Keir’s powers? Will he know I’m around? Keen senses are a nephilim trait I need to keep my distance tonight, or the warning in his eyes could end in a painful night for me.

  Dahlia and Keir pass as usual, and Keir glances at the empty bench I normally sit on. Dahlia lags behind Keir as he strides ahead, hands buried in his pockets. Opening the door to the halls, Keir waits for Dahlia, tapping his fingers on the wood. An unusual tension around them suggests something different about their night. I’ve chosen a good time to lift my game.

  The heavy curtains in Dahlia’s window light up and after half an hour, no figures approach the window. My stomach plummets. Ugh. Perhaps tonight isn’t the same as the previous evening, and they’re studying the weird collection of paper on her wall instead of sneaking out. Is Keir aware I’m waiting?

  The adrenaline subsides as the hours pass, and boredom sets in. I yawn, twisting hair round my fingers into ringlets. This is a joke, I should bloody storm in there and take my chances. If I weren’t concerned over what the hell kind of power Dahlia has, I’d be in there.

  I’m mid sulk when a movement catches my eye, and Dahlia’s room darkens. I straighten. Yes. A figure slides through Dahlia’s window and onto the grass below. Keir shrugs on a leather jacket and helps Dahlia, lifting her to the ground as if she weighs no more than a child.

  I trace the handle of the knife sheathed inside my inner jacket pocket; if I’m following them into danger, I need to be prepared. In my other pocket, the soul crystal nestles against my hip. Just in case.

  Keir and Dahlia move through the campus grounds, avoiding the fallen leaves, their footsteps barely audible on the footpath. The campus is located on the city’s edge, amongst the student ghetto of crowded housing, cheap restaurants, and trendy coffee shops.

  Dahlia and Keir head away from campus, and slip onto the backstreets many students avoid. I’ve heard students are rich pickings for the disadvantaged who live amongst them, and certain areas are a no-go to humans.

  I trail behind, at a distance that hopefully won’t alert Keir. He and Dahlia continue along the rubbish-strewn streets, heads down, hands in pockets, occasionally leaning across to say something to each other.

  Eventually, we arrive in the quieter streets, the part of the suburb sensible people avoid. Keir and Dahlia pass a group of teenagers standing in a darkened corner with hoods around their faces. They watch the two friends pass by before turning away. I straighten my shoulders and pick up my stride into a confident gait. Their scrutiny turns to me and I tip my chin upwards. Please leave me alone. I could take the whole bloody group on if I need, but I don’t want the attention or inconvenience.

  Thanks to my wary eye on the gang, I lose sight of Dahlia and Keir. I pause. Did they round the corner? I turn the same corner and stop. Dahlia waits alone by the edge of the road, coat pulled up around her neck.

  I sidestep into the doorway of a Chinese restaurant. For fuck’s sake. Where is he? They were together a minute ago. From my vantage point, I monitor Dahlia. Should I look for Keir or follow her? A double-decker bus pulls into a stop near her, and she jumps aboard, not looking back as the bus pulls away again.

  Perfect. Keir’s alone and ready to be dealt with now.

  When I find him.

  The appetising smell drifting out from the restaurant kitchen hits me. I peer in the window at people sitting around tables, chatting over noodle bowls. My stomach rumbles and the restaurant, adorned with hanging lanterns and golden dragons, beckons. Tempting. I shake the thought from my head.

  Keir can’t be far. I step out the doorway to retrace my steps and hope I can sense him.

  A noise in the nearest alleyway startles me, and I spin around, squinting through the darkness. The brick buildings overhang, practically touching; the narrow space between them stacked with skips and refuse. A shadow crosses the alleyway and I cock my head to one side, listening. In the darkness, I can’t make out anything, but two low voices argue, one sounding panicked.

  Now what? I glance at the roofs above. A ladder, half-rusted but intact, runs down the restaurant wall and I scale it onto broken roof tiles, close to a large metal chimney releasing a mouth-watering cloud from the restaurant below.

  I crouch and hold my breath. The voices rise. Creeping along the rooftop, one eye on my footing, the other on the alley below, I attempt to locate them.

  There. In the dead-end darkness, hidden from passers-by, two figures fight.

  A man is doubled over as Keir rains blow after blow into a guy’s stomach. Holy shit. He struggles to fight back, but Keir overpowers his victim who falls to the floor, covering his head in protection.

  Nephilim have demon blood—and share their contempt for human life—but the brutality of Keir’s attack sickens me.

  Oh. My. God. He fooled me. Keir’s the one responsible for the human deaths. His disguise as one is cleverer than I realised. I have to stop him.

  I edge along the roof, carefully stepping over broken tiles, lining myself up with Keir. All I can see is his leather clad back leaning over the screaming man on the ground, as he kicks him in the side. Pushing away the horror freezing me, I leap from the roof onto Keir’s back, yelling at him to stop.

  Keir shouts in surprise, twisting his body from side to side trying to dislodge me but I wrap my legs tightly around his waist, and grip Keir’s neck.

  The man on the floor uncovers his head and looks up at me, yellow eyes wide. A mocking grin crosses his face as he takes his chance, pulls himself to his feet and sprints into the night. Demon. What the fuck? I loosen my grip on Keir’s neck in surprise. With a growl, he flings me backwards, and I land spread-eagle on the floor, the breath knocked from me.

  “What the fuck are you doing?” shouts Keir.

>   An invisible force lifts and slams me into the brick wall opposite, and I wince at the impact. Keir strides over, fist held back and I flinch, convinced he’s about to smack me. He hits the wall instead and leans forward, eyes shining with fury.

  “I thought you were killing someone,” I shout back, struggling against the force holding me in place.

  “I was—a demon—and now he’s escaped. It took us weeks to track that one down. You stupid—”

  “Don’t talk to me like that, nephilim,” I interrupt. “How was I to know? It’s not as if you have a history as the good guys.”

  Keir steps back, allowing me to sink onto the cardboard boxes littering the floor. “What do you know? Really, little soulhunter?”

  His mocking spurs me and I jump to my feet, and launch myself at him. Keir pushes me in the chest, a swift simple movement with twice the force I could manage. I land heavily on my back again. Shit, I’m going to have some bruises tomorrow. If I survive.

  He glares down. “Don’t be so bloody stupid—you know I could do the same to you as I did to him. I know you’re weak.”

  “Really?”

  I push myself to my feet again, ignoring the pain in my limbs. Mustering all my strength, I throw myself at Keir. Catching him off guard, I send him backwards against the opposite wall. I pin my arm across his neck, and Keir stares back, his blue eyes searching mine. I brace myself for his retaliation.

  I’m overwhelmed by an awareness of his hard, muscled body pressed against me. Images of myself pressed to him slipped into my mind a few times, since the inexplicable attraction to him at the night by the fountain. But not like this. Our faces almost touch, hearts thumping against each other’s chests and something weird passes. An imperceptible spark of connection. A distraction.

  My head snaps back as Keir catches my hair and pulls. I drop the grip on his neck, and attempt to dislodge his hand. Keir spins me round and holds me in a headlock from behind.