Supernatural Academy: Senior Witch Spring Semester Page 2

  If you wanted to murder someone and get away with it, this had to be the place to go.

  The alley was dim and long, leading from one bad area of town to another. Graffiti colored the walls, nasty words and hastily scrawled images of demonic faces. The drawing closest to me suggested a cow from hell, its horns and wide, penetrating eyes too realistic for comfort.

  Disha coughed, drawing my thoughts back to our business. “We can’t stand here in the cold forever. As interesting as this is, my parents are going to freak if we aren’t home by sunrise. Let’s hurry.”

  “Maybe we should call the police,” I suggested.

  Disha shook her head. “Another human murder by fae shows up on the news and things are going to go from bad to worse. You know how the situation has escalated in the past few weeks. We have to take care of this ourselves.”

  For a month now, almost every major American city had been dealing with a high number of fae refugees, a situation that was straining the relationship between their kind, Supernaturals, and Regulars.

  It was chaos.

  When the sick fae had appeared, hospitals were at a loss for how to treat the tar-like infection, and there hadn’t been enough Supernatural healers to get to everyone. Many fae had died—some because they couldn’t be helped, but others because of incompetence and lack of expertise. The fae blamed us, Regulars and Supernatural alike. It had been one of us who had infected their world, after all. And to make matters worse, they were now stuck here, a place they couldn’t quite comprehend and in which they didn’t fit in

  Staring down at the dead man, I wondered what in the hell Disha was talking about.

  “What do you mean take care of this ourselves?”

  “We could incinerate him.”

  Rowan nodded his head thoughtfully. “If we block the smell and smoke with a few spells, incineration is not a bad idea.” He ran his fingers over the day’s worth of stubble on his chin thoughtfully.

  “Rowan,” I said, hitting his arm. “We can’t just burn a guy. We’d be destroying evidence.”

  “Not if we collect it ourselves,” he said, crouching again. With careful hands, he flipped the body onto its side.

  Disha gagged. I took a step back, reeling from the sight.

  Runes were etched into the man’s bare chest. Deep, bloody gouges cut into his skin, making it appear like someone had taken a knife and written a manifesto in his flesh. But the words weren’t in English. Those were fae symbols.

  Covering her mouth with one hand, Disha wove a spell with the other. In a few seconds, the runes from the man’s chest were duplicated in shimmering light above him. They twisted shape until they spelled out English words we could read. Her fae translation spell had come in handy a lot lately.

  I squinted at the wavering letters until the message made sense.

  “A life for a life. Until we are repaid,” Rowan read out loud.

  Sighing deeply, I shook my head. This was the same message as the last three. The police had found all those, one in Salt Lake City, one in Denver, one in Birmingham and now this.

  We’d been tipped off about this murder an hour ago by Lynssa McIntosh. She’d installed some magical alarm spells in big cities, as they appeared to be the killer’s favorite places, and tonight her alarm had gone off. She’d deployed us since we were staying with Disha’s parents in New Jersey over the winter holiday. Disha's teleportation spell had gotten us here before the police could arrive.

  Though, frustratingly, she hadn’t told us what to do with the body after we’d inspected it and we couldn’t reach her now, no matter what spell we tried.

  When we'd first gotten the call, I’d felt useful. A task from our illustrious leader. Since losing my hand and my magic, my self-esteem had taken a major hit, so it felt good to be called to take action. But now, with the scent of death on my clothes and blood on my boots, I wasn’t so sure I liked this job.

  If there was a fae serial killer out there, did I want to know? How would I even help? I had no magic. I hated the idea of going into danger with no defenses. And burning a body? That was all kinds of wrong. What of the man’s family?

  “A life for a life,” Disha murmured, coming back to the words on the body. “The killer will have to be quite dedicated.”

  “He’ll need to kill again and again,” I said, my thoughts aligning with Disha’s. Thousands of fae, maybe more, had died. We had no way of knowing exactly how many. The fae who was murdering humans in a twisted way to settle the score had his work cut out for him.

  I ran a gloved hand through my hair. I still wasn’t able to get that day out of my head, though it was over a month ago. So many dead fae lying on the Academy grass, their black bodies curling inward like poisoned butterflies. Many more died in the infirmary despite our best efforts to save them from the black tar that ate up their bodies with swiftness and efficiency, unlike any disease known to man.

  For weeks, I had nightmares where the stuff got on me and ate at my limbs until they fell off while I silently screamed in terror. It didn’t help that I’d already lost a piece of me. There were those dreams, too. Visions of Ponomarenko lurking in the darkness. My body immobile. My screams useless as he mutilated me.

  A hand on my shoulder made me jump. When I looked up, Rowan was at my side, his face twisted with worry.

  “We don’t have to do this,” he said. “We can stop right now and go home. Call Counselor McIntosh.”

  I shook my head. Ever since I’d awoken without my hand, everyone had been treating me with kid gloves. It had been weeks, and I was sick of being broken, scarred Charlie. I wanted to be old Charlie, whole Charlie, and I wanted, more than anything, for everyone to stop looking at me like I might freak out at any moment.

  “I want to do this,” I said, despite all my qualms. “I hate doing nothing. I want to be useful.”

  His eyes narrowed, but he didn’t argue.

  Disha appeared worried, too. “Let’s hurry up, then. I want to get out of here. Get in bed. Call Drew.”

  I glanced around the crime scene, thinking. “Dish, can you take a memory spell? We can play it back for McIntosh.”

  “Sure. Rowan, you keep watch,” she said.

  Squaring her shoulders, Disha stepped in front of the man, careful to avoid most of the blood that had seeped out of the dozen knife wounds on his body. Then she crouched down and began weaving her hands. In a few seconds, her eyes glazed over and her face went slack. I’d seen this before. She was recording a memory that could be played later, like a video recording but with sights and smells added.

  Once done, Disha stood and began weaving her fingers again. “I’ll run a diagnostic and sweep for foreign fibers. It can even pick up traces of DNA that aren’t his.”

  “Wow, Dish, you’ve been studying,” Rowan said.

  She shrugged as she worked. “Forensic magic is interesting, and some nights I can’t sleep, so I study. Besides, these murders need to stop. We have to solve this. We can’t allow whoever is doing this to keep murdering innocent people.”

  As Rowan marveled at Disha, I stood in the cold doing nothing. Again.

  “Done,” she said, brushing off her hands as if she’d touched something instead of doing it all through incantations. “Now, let’s get the hell out of here, my Louboutin’s are getting ruined.” She grimaced at her expensive heeled boots.

  She made as if she was getting ready to transport us all away, but I held up a hand. “Hold on,” I said, leaning down.

  For all the investigation, no one had said a word for the dead man who had suffered a fate no person should. He'd died for no discernible reason, just someone in the wrong place at the wrong time, much like my friend Trey and those dead fae. If we were going to burn his body, someone should say something.

  I made myself stare into his face. Though pale and speckled with dirt and flecks of blood, he was handsome, a man in his fifties with gray hair, a sloping nose, and thin lips. He wore a ripped band t-shirt, some group I'd never heard
of, and I wondered if he played music or just enjoyed it, if he had kids who would miss him.

  "I'm sorry," I whispered. "You didn't deserve this. I hope you rest peacefully now. We'll find whoever did this to you. We'll put him to justice."

  Using my remaining hand, I closed one of his eyes, then the other. I reached over to close his jacket over his ruined chest so he might look like he was at rest, but when I did I felt something in a side pocket. His wallet? We should take it and notify his next of kin somehow. It would be awful if they had to wonder what happened to him. We could make up a story, something heroic.

  My thoughts stopped as my hand closed around the object in his pocket and drew it out.

  It wasn't a wallet.

  It was a finger.

  I held it in my palm, unable to process what I was seeing. Then, as my mind caught up with my body, I yelped and dropped it on the ground.

  Rowan coiled, ready to spring at whatever had frightened me, but then he spied what I'd found. He picked it up, turning the bloody, severed finger over and holding it up to the light.

  "Looks like the poor man gave a good fight." Rowan peered sadly at the dead guy, before turning the finger over in the light.

  "Gross," Disha exclaimed. "You are not bringing that into my house."

  “Look at this,” Rowan said, holding the appendage up to us.

  I didn’t notice anything other than a lurch of nausea in my gut until he rolled the finger over. There, on the underside were two tattoos inked into the skin. The first had three lines, the top, and bottom curving away from the centerline as if to indicate a mouth. On the centerline, two dots sat beside each other like birds on a wire. The second tattoo was a mere squiggle with two dots underneath.

  They looked similar to fae runes but more crude and rudimentary. I had a feeling Disha’s translating spell might have a hard time with these.

  “What does it mean?” I asked.

  Rowan's smile grew. “It means it was worth getting out of bed tonight, after all. We have ourselves a clue.”

  Chapter Three

  WINTER BREAK

  MID-DECEMBER

  There was a knock on the door. My heart took a tumble, both in excitement and apprehension. I considered hiding under the bed to see if Disha’s parents’ housekeeper did a good job with the vacuum cleaner.

  It was midnight, and there was only one person who could be visiting this late at night: Rowan.

  Slowly, I set a hand on the doorknob and took a deep breath. I waited, counting to ten, and half hoping he would assume I was asleep and go back to his room. Instead, he knocked again a bit more insistently.

  My room here at Disha’s was cozy with a queen-size bed, windows that overlooked the back garden, and its own private bathroom. Not far from the room where Rowan, himself, was staying. Knowing I couldn’t avoid it, I opened the door and had to smile when I saw his handsome face peering at me.

  “Hello, beautiful. May I come in?” His smile was dashing, self-assured. His dark eyes twinkled as if his thoughts and hopes were getting ahead of themselves. How could I say no?

  I took a step back and let him in. His dark hair was wet and shone in the lamplight. I was wearing a tank top and loose shorts for pajamas. I had taken off my bra and felt a bit self-conscious, especially when Rowan’s eyes traveled the length of my body, and he bit into his lower lip as he paused over my chest.

  “Um, did I wake you?” he asked, suddenly frowning, as if it hadn’t occurred to him that I may be asleep at this hour.

  “No, I was reading.” I gestured toward a book on my night table. It was a thick tome that dealt with the topic of mental magic. I was halfway through it and was yet to make any of its tips work for me. Blocking a powerful mentalist like Ponomarenko was hard, but without your own magic, it was literally impossible. I still had to try something, though.

  “I’ve been wanting some alone time with you,” Rowan said, taking a few steps closer. He placed one hand on my naked shoulder and let it slide down my arm until he took my right hand in his.

  He’d only arrived at Disha’s house a couple of days ago, and we’d been too busy to do more than steal a few quick moments together—not enough to drink him all in. Even now, as I peered up at his face, I reveled in his perfection. I had missed him so much. Lawson, his rocker persona, had been nice to look at, but nothing compared to Full Version Rowan: his chiseled features, his brooding eyes, his broad shoulders, everything about him was right. And now, he was here, looking at me this way, touching me, making me feel as if I would melt into a puddle at his feet.

  He raised his other hand and caressed my cheek. “I’ve missed you so much.”

  “Me, too.” I shivered at the feel of his skin on mine.

  After we defeated Nyquist, Rowan had to leave and hide from Magical Law Enforcement. He was still wanted for Mink’s murder, though Dean McIntosh was trying to procure a pardon for him. He had been instrumental in the battle against Nyquist, and the dean believed the High Council, with Drew’s father back at its helm, would find a way to expunge his record as payment for his service to the magical community.

  We certainly hoped so. Having to constantly hide and keep his presence here a secret sucked and didn’t help our already rocky relationship.

  Slowly, Rowan leaned forward and pressed his lips to mine. They were as cool as his touch, soft and smooth like silk sheets sliding over my skin. He drew me in, one arm wrapped around my waist as his other hand snaked behind my hair, sending a wave of heat to flow through me.

  Suddenly, something that had been wound tightly inside my chest seemed to uncoil, and I fell into him, feeling more vulnerable than I ever had. He was here, really here. In the past year, I’d gone to bed alone so many times, wishing I could hold him and now…

  My right hand traveled over his torso, enjoying his solidity. He wore an old, flimsy T-shirt, and I could feel every muscular ridge under the fabric. Part of me wanted to rip them off and satisfy the flaming desire that simmered inside me. And yet, Disha’s parents were just down the hall. How far would I let this go?

  His kiss deepened. He pulled me in harder while his lips explored mine as if to memorize them. He was aroused. I could tell right away, it made my breath hitch and my heart hammer out of control.

  “Charlie,” he said in a cool breath against my ear as he pushed me backward.

  Hoisting me with one strong arm, he picked me up and laid me in the middle of the bed. He hovered over me for a moment, a wicked smile on his lips, and a look of deep hunger in his eyes.

  Not once did he look down my left arm toward my missing hand. I kept the stump close to my side, an affectation that made it look as if I were hiding my hand behind my back. I hated to feel so self-conscious. I wouldn’t give a damn if Rowan—or anyone for that matter—were missing a hand, but I couldn’t help my own shame. It was more than my hand that was missing. It was my magic, too. It made me feel worthless and out of place with my Supernatural friends as if I didn’t belong anymore.

  I pushed my stupid thoughts away and tried to focus on the moment. It wasn’t hard. Rowan was glorious, hovering over me, his hooded eyes, his strong jaw, and half-parted lips, revealing a hint of sharp fangs.

  Carefully, he positioned himself between my legs, pushing them apart with the weight of his body. He wore a pair of basketball shorts that left nothing to the imagination. My gaze kept wandering downward, and I got a chill every time I saw the magnitude of his desire for me. He didn’t care that I wasn’t complete. He wanted me all the same.

  Lowering himself to me, he began kissing me again. His tongue brushed mine. His teeth nibbled on my lower lip. His cool hands weaved under my t-shirt, exploring, getting more daring by the second, making me crave his touch in all the places he had never visited.

  His hips rocked back and forth as he trailed kisses down my collarbone. I raked my fingers into his damp hair and said his name in a heady voice that seemed to do something to him because he growled in response.

  Des
ire flared brightly inside of me. I wanted him so badly that I forgot myself. My arms went around his back and pulled him closer. In my mind, all ten of my fingernails raked down his back, but in reality, it was only my right hand that was able to touch him.

  Instantly, my mind flooded with memories. The searing light of Ponomarenko’s magic flashed before my eyes, and once more, I was in Nyquist’s dreamscape, watching as the mentalist picked up the Aradia cuff and discarded my hand as if it were nothing but garbage.

  I froze, going so stiff that Rowan couldn’t help but notice my reaction.

  He stopped kissing me and pulled away, bracing himself on one extended arm. “Charlie, I’m sorry. I thought you wanted this.”

  “No,” I shook my head. “It’s not that. It’s just…” I turned my face away as a tear slid down the corner of my eye.

  Rowan lay next to me, making an effort to peer into my face as I tried to hide it.

  “I’m sorry,” he repeated, gently caressing my cheek. “I was selfish. It was wrong of me. We haven’t even… talked about what happened.”

  And that was all it took. The waterworks turned on, and the next thing I knew, I was in Rowan’s arms, crying like a baby, doing with him what I hadn’t done with anyone else: falling apart.

  I had tried to keep up the tough act. I’d pretended I was okay and hopeful, but it was all a lie.

  Rowan held me without saying a word. He simply wrapped his arms around me and smoothed my hair in gentle strokes. He didn’t tell me it would be all right. He didn’t tell me to be patient, to trust that Nurse Taishi would find a way to fix me, to give me my magic back. He knew me better than that.

  I wept until my tears were gone, every single one of them, and I could do nothing more than huddle close to Rowan, my face pressed to his chest.

  After a long while, he pulled away to look me in the eye. “Do you want to talk?”