Page 7 of Of Bone and Ash

No killing today, I remind my magic for a second time just in case it gets any ideas. According to my brother—the only other Reaper I know—my magic is a part of me, something that bends to my will and I must learn to command. I almost snorted out loud when he said that. My magic is anything but submissive to me. It does what it wants when it wants. Sure, I’ve slowly grown strong enough to calm it, to talk it down and make sure it stays deep, deep inside of me. But when it does escape, nothing and no one can stop it.

The car slows, turning onto a well-maintained, tree-lined drive. I reach into the pocket of my trousers and flick open the blade I keep there as darkness swells in my breast, instinctually pressing the fingertip of my thumb to the edge of the razor-sharp blade. Biting my lip, I stifle the moan that tries to burst from between them. The feeling of the cold metal cutting into my skin, just the smallest amount, makes me shiver as a burst of pain rushes up from my hand.

I allow myself a breathy sigh at the euphoric feeling as the smallest drop of sticky liquid drips off my thumb. The urge to kill melts from me as I relish the bite of pain.

I lean forward to glance through the windshield, brows lifting in surprised awe as I take in the medieval-looking castles in front of me. There is one main building, or castle, I suppose I should call it. The gray stone structure is large and imposing as our car speeds toward the towering, wrought-iron fence standing tall in front of it. Several small buildings are attached to the biggest one, with a handful more to the east of the property, but none are as eye-catching as the first. Turrets and spires jut into the sky, coming to deadly-looking points with large, black, and gold flags adorning them—the image of a golden Dragon in flight at the center of the university's crest.

I frown at the reminder of my past and glance away from the flag, growling under my breath. Then roll my eyes when the man in the driver's seat squeaks in fear, and I ignore him again. Looking back at the castle, I take in the carved stone creatures that litter the walls and coves in the stone.

My eyes move from a large carving of a Dragon breathing fire to a monstrous Gargoyle perched on the ledge of one of the tallest towers, then finally land on the nightmarish creature at the top of the castle. Its horns twist from its temples; its pointed tongue is long, jutting from its gruesome mouth filled with razor-sharp teeth. Wings similar to those of a Gargoyle’s rest on its back, and its twisted body is well muscled and hideous to gaze upon. I swallow at the Demon’s appearance, wondering if the artist carved its likeness from one of the monsters itself or from the account of a terrified student.

This is the only place in the Fae world that acknowledges the Demons existence without fear of retribution. They say it's because the Demons and the Headmaster have an understanding, but I know that to be a lie. It’s just a rumor to put students at ease about being so close to the Demons’ known breeding grounds.

“Welcome to Silverwood University, Miss Covington,” my driver says, his voice cracking the slightest amount as the renewed scent of fear filters through the car once more. As our black sedan draws near, the massive gates swing inwards, allowing us onto the grounds.

The men patrolling the fence's border step back and nod at the car, and I hold my breath as I scan their faces. There are three of them. All of them are tall with abnormally broad shoulders, dressed in black clothes with golden buckles holding weapons to their bodies. Their dark eyes sparkle, the gold ring of their Fae form circling their pupils, telling me exactly who they are.

The Balaur Patrol… Silverwood’s security team which keeps the school safe. All of them are well-trained in the art of killing and fighting Demons. And all of them are Dragon Shifters.

I shiver at the pop of magic that courses over my skin as we drive onto the well-groomed grounds of Silverwood University. The feeling pulls my attention from the men patrolling the gates and back to the view in front of me. A rush of familiarity washes over me, and I frown, trying to figure out what it is, but when my driver clears his throat and glances back at me, I shrug it off.

“Where to, miss?” he asks, and I frown, trying to remember what he said his name was.

Rodger? Randy? Shit, no, that's not right. Damn, I really need to start paying attention, so I don't embarrass myself.

“Take me to the main offices, please,” I murmur, speaking for the first time, my voice slightly raspy from years of disuse.

“Of course, ma’am,” the man says, and I glare at the back of his head.

Ma’am?

Jesus, do I look like a ma'am? Maybe I should change out of my pantsuit and long wool coat. I've always liked the stark appearance of black fabric against my pale skin. Since everyone already thinks I’m a monster, I've adopted it as a style sense, feeding people’s ignorant fear and enjoying the magical kickback I get from it. But now I’m doubting my outfit choice. Whatever, it’s not like I have time to change. This will have to do.

I shake my head and let myself take in the view as our car drives on the narrow roads of the university, moving slowly over the too-still campus grounds. Where the hell are all the students? It's mid-term… I glance at the car's radio and frown, and four in the afternoon.

Reaching up, I yank the hair tie from my long hair, letting the bluish-black tresses fall over my shoulders and down my back before digging into my purse for my compact and flipping it open to check my makeup. My thick-winged liner is sharp, lining my gray eyes that are framed by thick black lashes. I used a bit of contouring to sharpen my already well-defined features, and I nod in approval. I briefly note how pale I look and wonder if I should add some blush, but decide it doesn't truly matter.

People are going to be uncomfortable around me no matter how I look.

I’ve never had a lot of friends. My lack of interest in others and refusal to speak to anyone outside of my family made it almost impossible to befriend another soul. But when my Reaper magic decided it was done hiding in the small box I locked it in all those years ago, everything changed. Even with my tighter-than-normal control over my newfound powers, people could sense it when I was near—a palpable chill of darkness radiated from me in waves, and a cold lick of death ran down their spines when our gazes met.

It hurt at first. The way the other girls in my class would glare at me and flick their hair, refusing to meet my eyes. The whispered names of Monster and Freak as I walked down the halls of the academy. Eventually, I learned to ignore them, to tune out the name-calling and glares they shot my way. Almost every dirty look was a mask to cover the fear I could taste radiating off them when I walked too close.

After a year or so, I learned that their fear fed my magic, filling a deep need inside me that craved the violence of bloodshed and death. So I began to use it to my advantage. My magic grew faster than anyone thought possible. I was already an oddity to the Fae Council since the last known female Reaper died off centuries ago, and now they have no idea what to do with me.

It's been an ever-present problem for my brother, no matter how much he denies it. My magic is growing by the day. Thankfully, he is still a stronger Reaper than me and can help if needed, but I’m not sure how long that will last. A wave of self-loathing rushes over me as the deep, dark voice that lingers in my mind tries to come to the front. With a snarl, I shove the voice away as I feel the car slow to a stop and flick the blade in my pocket closed, resisting the urge to deepen the small cut on my thumb.

I don't have time for a mental breakdown right now.

The driver pops out of his seat, rushing to my side of the car and opening the door, a trembling hand extended to help me to my feet. I ignore the offered hand, waving away the terrified driver as I stand. Not that I mind the help, but I can’t be too careful around people when my magic is on edge like this. For their safety, I keep my hands to myself at all times.

Thunder rumbling through the air is the only warning we have before the skies open, turning the drizzle of earlier into a downpour, soaking through my clothes in a matter of seconds.

You have got to be kidding me.

THREE

Serafina

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