Hawthorn Academy- Year Two Read online

  "Why?" I blinked.

  "Because I feel like a whingy bastard." He stared at the dregs of his tea. "I'm supposed to make grades, become a doctor, and then make money, not talk about feelings. Or start writing poems and playing guitar badly. Noah didn’t write that piece at Open Mic, I did."

  "How many people love art, music, and books? It's all because of how those things make us feel. You went out on a limb, catching feelings and showing the world. That takes bravery, chutzpah. Don't put that guitar down just yet. You're not whiny, you just have a heart. I'm sorry for not reaching out sooner."

  "I'll stop apologizing when you do."

  "Something tells me the devil's throne will get encased in ice before that happens with either of you."

  "Butt out, Spanos," Dylan snarled.

  "I need to talk to Aliyah about—"

  "Sod off!"

  I blinked and shook my head, shocked, but maybe I shouldn't have been. The fuse on the powder keg between Dylan and Dorian had to run out sooner or later.

  "Yeah, sure, fine, whatever." Dorian rolled his eyes, removed his hands from our table, and walked away, his back making way too straight a line.

  "I can't stand that bloody fop." Dylan wrinkled his nose. "I don't know how you tolerate having him around all the time."

  "Mostly for Logan." I shrugged. "He makes people laugh, at least."

  "He's witty, I'll give him that. And well-dressed, thanks to wealthy parents. But his defining trait is laziness."

  "What do you mean?"

  "Dorian Spanos can't be bothered to participate in Gym. Has to have a doctor's note. In Creatives, he sat around the entire time watching Grace bust her ass at the sewing machine. And in the library, he sat in the corner conjuring lewd ice pictures on the wall where the Ashfords couldn't see. He's trouble."

  "Well, I think Logan likes him. Likes-likes."

  "Bollocks."

  "The heart wants what it wants, Dylan." I gazed into my tea.

  "Don't I know it." He crumbled the last of his toast into his empty cup, then put his plates together. "But mine’s broken. Later, Aliyah."

  He knows nothing about your heart.

  I watched him leave, passing Tempe Fairbanks in the lobby on his way. She smirked at me and tapped her temple, then turned it in a slow circle beside her head. I rolled my eyes. She turned her back and followed Dylan.

  So of course I rose from my seat and bolted toward the doorway, but by that time, both Tempe and Dylan had gone.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Dorian

  Gryphon-Egg Problems

  I couldn't handle watching the poodle and her magus. I know, I know. I'm a goth who sees beauty in darkness and knows death was change through tragedy. But I am also seventeen, and staring death in the face like this again would be too much, too soon.

  That's why I ran away from my problems at Hawthorn Academy for the third time in as many days. I'm a coward, I admit it. I wouldn't be any good to my classmates and the new friends I'd made amongst them if the shit hit the fan courtesy of Temperance Fairbanks or anyone else, for that matter. They didn’t know that about me yet, but eventually, they'd figure it out.

  Yesterday, I would have told you my secret identity as a scaredy-cat was safe. Until the case of the poisoned poodle, I’d thought Grace was exaggerating, Faith had serious sibling rivalry, and Aliyah was a paranoid extramagus. The only one I trusted on campus was Logan Pierce, but he barely spoke about Tempe in particular or magisupremacists on campus in general. His main concern was his family, and I didn't blame him.

  It's ironic that my own folks accepted me no matter what, not that I didn't need it, all things considered. Ironic and lucky, I guess. I was secretly a unicorn in more ways than one. Anyway, Logan's home life sounded like a horror show, and I was worried about Parent’s Night for his sake.

  But I digress. That happens to me a lot. I don't know whether it's cowardice or laziness, but I'm all talk and no action. Changing the subject is safest most of the time, but it flies like a hardboiled egg in emergencies. Everyone and Aliyah's actual grandma wanted to act right then, which was why I ran off to find a place to hide.

  At the top of the ramp coming up from the infirmary, I saw food service staff with protective aprons, goggles, and gloves on, closing off the café. Even that sadistic Coach Pickman helped. I couldn't hide in there, and I wouldn't want to for fear of neurotoxin contamination, but I needed a place to calm down with Mercy, who I'd tucked under my arm inside my blazer.

  The library was closed, and the cafeteria bustled like downtown Providence during WaterFire. I would've gone to my room, but Eston was there with Kitty, plotting their Truncheons and Flagons adventures. Or enjoying some other form of alone-time.

  I backed up, trying to remember Logan's descriptions during our campus tour. My brain kept firing blanks, not coming up with anything. Logan liked his quiet time, but probably managed most of it in his room since Dylan worked so much. I couldn't remember him mentioning any safe haven on campus besides the Café de Poison.

  I glanced around the lobby, noting that the exit to the outer hallway was blocked by an enormous cleaning cart. Nowhere was left but the academic wing. When I got to the double doors with their stained-glass mural, my plan was foiled. The doors refused to budge when I pushed on them.

  "Caw!" Mercy wrangled her way free of my blazer, swooping toward the doors. She wrapped her claws around the handles then flapped, throwing her weight backward.

  I shook my head, sighing. "Out of the way, Mercy."

  She cawed again and let go of the handle, allowing me to reach out and pull. The door opened, of course.

  "Not just a coward, but an idiot too."

  I stepped through the doorway to find the hall dark, though it wasn't pitch-black as I'd feared. The magical light fixtures gave off a dim glow, like dark mode on a phone.

  I paced the hall, holding my forearm out in front of me to let Mercy perch there. She wasn't nearly as heavy as she looked because a gryphon's bones were hollow. That made them delicate, another reason for my caution since bonding with her. I reached out with my other hand and stroked the top of her head with my finger.

  She leaned into my display of affection, as always. While walking, I relaxed into the unexpected quality time with my familiar and thought back to how I’d ended up with this adorably uncouth half-avian in the first place.

  The Academy didn't allow pets, magical or not. They had wards to prevent all kinds of animals from congregating, mating, or giving birth on the premises, too. That is why I was stunned to see the large speckled egg in a shoebox outside my window one winter morning.

  Calling what they have at the Academy windows was a gross understatement. They were small patches of wired glass, letting through only the dingiest version of sunlight. Sometimes I pretended to be a fish in winter, swimming under a thick layer of ice while I looked out the ersatz window in my dorm room.

  Anyway, I had no idea what kind of egg it was, only that no animal had laid it there naturally. That meant a person had put it there, possibly a telekinetic psychic or a winged shifter. Magic didn't work on the interior or exterior walls at that school, including faerie glamour. The Academy was the closest thing extrahumans had to a military school in New England, and it was on near-constant lockdown.

  I said my parents accepted me. I might have given the impression they were lenient, but that's been impossible for them over the last few years. I ended up at the Academy because I snuck out of the house after my sister went missing, doing that running thing toward where I thought Cassandra would be.

  After a near-brush with a member of the Gitano Family, they sent me to the Academy for my own good. Dad never said it in so many words, but he was an empath, so I felt it. Mom might have had a vision. I wondered whether she saw me finding the egg, too.

  No matter how it got to a windowsill on the fifth floor, I watched the egg every day. I knew it was magical after about a minute because I used the skills they taught magi in class
and checked. It was blue and white, like my ice element. Maybe that was why I felt a connection, even though it was just this spotty oval on the other side of iron, wards, and glass.

  Every morning I'd wake before inspection. Yes, they had that. Staff came in to check that our beds were made properly and the rooms tidy according to regulations. Anyway, before all that, I'd silently greet the egg. It turned into something like a ritual, checking the aura, seeing it pulse and glow brighter, like the baby growing inside it responded to a walking mess of a person like me who didn’t know himself yet.

  I took to caring about the mysterious egg more readily than any of the discipline exercises they made us do at the Academy. I peeked at it every night also, wishing her sweet dreams. Yes, even then, I knew the baby inside the egg was a girl. She told me, and I trusted without question. If only it was that easy for everyone else.

  That year, I needed a friend badly. My roommate got sent to the Academy after putting another guy in the hospital. He called me sissy, a girl, and a whiny bitch, so I kept my head down. No jokes, nothing but deadpan compliance, worn like a mask.

  The little life inside the egg made me feel connected, together with somebody in a way I hadn't felt since my sister went missing. She’d been seen with an older man in her sophomore year of college before vanishing. Out of this world, as it turned out.

  They found her dead in the Under, aged an impossible number of years in a bargain with a Tsuchigomo—a sacrifice of life-force to the creature, payment to save the son she’d birthed there.

  "Caw?" Mercy tilted her head, her inquisitive noises bringing me back to the present.

  "What's up?"

  She flapped her wings, pointing her beak at a room that turned out to be occupied. I heard muffled voices within. It looked like a classroom, not one for my year or maybe not any other. The academic wing had an awful lot of empty classrooms. I thought maybe listening in on someone else's drama might get my mind off my own problems.

  I found myself hiding in the adjacent broom closet, index finger against the wall, using my ice magic to filter sound through the wood to assist in my eavesdropping. I’d learned that at the Academy, too, but spying was a self-taught skill.

  "They'll never suspect it was us."

  "Who's taking the rap, do you think?"

  "Probably the wrong person. They'll question Onassis, of course."

  "I'd make that mistake too. I hope you didn't make this puzzle too hard. You're a genius, even if none of them realize it."

  "They'll get to it eventually, and then our hurdle will get canned. Probably lose his license, too."

  "I still don't know why you have to get rid of him."

  "He's a sympathizer, first of all. And second, he's protecting the biggest threats to the long game. Daddy said so."

  "I don't get why, though."

  "He's one of them, of course. Why else would I have asked you to pull his sealed record?"

  “How did you open it?"

  "I only peeked, and that’s my little secret." The voice sighed. "But I can’t show it to anyone else."

  "Shouldn't we be trying to prove he’s been lying instead of this frame job? A familiar got hurt."

  "We can’t prove that unless he reverts, which he won't; the conditions aren’t likely for a withered old fool like him. Besides, Hawkins must know and just not care. This is better."

  "What if you're wrong and he does revert? Won’t they go easy on him, as they did on the Morgenstern girl?"

  "I have a backup plan: an accusation to make. He'll still be removed from the equation, which will only help with the inferiors invading our campus."

  "If Hiram were here, we'd never have to endure this whole degrading ordeal."

  "True, but we also wouldn't have the opportunity to teach the inferiors a lesson right here on this campus."

  "Point, set, match."

  "I love it when you talk sporty to me. Come here."

  Okay, so I'm a bit shady. I've listened in on all kinds of back-alley deals and clandestine meetings. I'm from a part of Providence owned by organized criminals. Being in the background of my family's dealings with them gave me a taste for selectively overhearing private matters, but I had zero interest in the carnal activities of a couple of bigots.

  That's right, I'd just listened in on a conversation between magisupremacists, which my parents had been assured weren't tolerated on this campus. I removed my finger from the wall like it had suddenly heated to the temperature of boiling oil. After that, I extricated myself from the broom closet as quietly as possible. The last thing I wanted was to get caught by that dastardly duo.

  If I'd been Grace Dubois, I would've tried peeking through the window to discover the identity of the couple in the classroom. If I'd been Aliyah Morgenstern, I might have burst into the room, hands ablaze, and confronted them. Logan Pierce would have called in the authorities. But I was Dorian Spanos, consummate coward. I couldn't do any of that, even though Mercy took off from my arm and fluttered in that direction.

  "We're out of here, come on," I mouthed. Mercy always understood me, even when I didn't include volume while talking to her. Gryphons have amazing hearing, which explained how she heard me in the egg in the box on the windowsill through that magically warded glass.

  She followed me because familiar bonds were stronger than anything in either world. And coincidence, the truth behind the myth of fate, warped and weakened even the most ironclad rules and regulations turned against it. The connections we made with others, when true and from the heart, could overcome almost anything, even a psyche full of fear like mine.

  One warm spring morning at the Academy, something was wrong with Mercy's prenatal aura. When I realized she couldn't get out of her egg, I acted immediately. My roommate woke blearily, unwilling or unable to fathom my anguish over an egg on a windowsill.

  I reached a hand out and pressed it to the glass, summoning all my strength and focusing on lowering its temperature as much as possible. The wards should've prevented this. They probably would have if I wasn't so desperate and hadn't also felt a fear that mirrored my own from the other side. It pushed my conjuring power to heights I'd never even heard of, let alone felt before.

  The egg stopped rocking back and forth, as it had been for the last few minutes while Mercy failed at breaking out of it. I sensed her in there, stilling physically to muster her magic. Her efforts were downright Herculean, heroic in a way I never imagined anyone who cared for me could be.

  In that utilitarian cinderblock room, I screamed without thinking, without stopping to adjust my pitch lower first. My voice went full soprano without cracking, but the glass did. That had little to do with the sound coming from my mouth, though. It was mostly ice, a deep arctic freeze.

  And then the crack imploded, shards of metal-laced glass flying inward through the window. My hair took on a grainy feeling like I'd laid in sand at the beach, and a patter like hail falling on a frozen pond sounded behind me. My face was wet in spots but with blood, not tears. Coincidence was on our side. Mercy and I were destined to save each other.

  I reached through the small opening in the wall. If I'd been thinking I wouldn't have. I would've feared hurting my unhatched friend with my ice-rimed fingers.

  But as it happened, the cold was exactly what Mercy needed to escape her egg. She'd been an ice gryphon all along, half-Arctic Fox and half-Arctic Tern. She hatched to the sound of the school's alarms blaring, and the first spoken words she heard outside the egg weren't mine but my horrible roommate's.

  "Sissy's got a trash gryphon."

  Before I could respond to his indignities, the door burst open. The Academy's brute squad dragged me off to the captain's office. Yes, they called the head of the Academy “the Captain.”

  They locked me in a room alone with Mercy until my parents showed up. Because they're amazing, that only took half an hour. Rhode Island is a small state, but they lived on the other side of two bridges from the Academy.

  They home-schoo
led me for the last few weeks of that year, then pulled some strings and got me in at Hawthorn Academy on probation, but still an improvement in my academic life. My social one, too. Until the poisoning, anyway.

  "Caw!" Mercy kept trying to fly toward the classroom, but I stood at the doors leading to the lobby already. I wasn't going, and my familiar knew it. I reached out and pushed the door, and she sailed through over my head. I would've walked in and mingled with the crowd in the lobby or the caf, but I couldn't yet. The experience alone in the academic wing had me too shaken up for that.

  My sister had died because she knew too much and pushed too hard. She got caught up with the wrong guy, and he used her for his own ends. When she stood up to fight, they struck her down forever. I owed it to my parents and Mercy not to end up in the same situation. Maybe this time, instead of cowardice, running was the better part of valor.

  I gazed at the stained-glass doors for a moment, trying to compose myself. The mural on them was titled Long Division, depicting a scene straight out of the Under. I couldn't stop the tears. I just couldn't handle it anymore—the stress of being in a new place with magi who had no idea what they might be in for.

  My family had already lost enough to shifter crimelords and magisupremacists. Now here I was, trapped on a campus with more than one and no idea whether they were students, staff, or faculty—because I had run away.

  I needed to talk to somebody, knowing that instinctively. Who could I trust? Obviously, the people I'd overheard were still in the academic wing. It'd be easy to jump to the conclusion that anyone out in the common areas right now wasn't them. But they couldn't be acting alone.

  I wouldn't go to the headmaster because he'd start an investigation. The student handbook said that in cases of serious allegations, accusers couldn't remain anonymous. There was no way to be sure who at Hawthorn Academy was safe to talk to, except for the one person they’d mentioned.

  Aliyah Morgenstern.

  But when I found her in the cafeteria and tried approaching her, Dylan had nearly bit my head off. I left, heading into the hallway between the lobby and the school's entrance, which wasn't blocked anymore. I leaned against the wall, thinking about requesting to call my parents to ask if I could go home. Chickening out again.