Page 3 of Spelled By Truth and Tresses

My entire body trembled as a shiver snaked down my spine. I pulled my sleeves down over my hands and buried my chin and nose in my soft wool scarf. I breathed in the brisk, cold air, trails of vapor sneaking through the material covering my mouth and nose, and briefly closed my eyes.

I walked the long stretch of yellow-leaf carpeted pavement to the academy, then turned the corner and spotted Thomas across the road. He moved quickly, pausing only to push his thick-rimmed glasses up his straight nose. Behind him, his long, flowing black cloak dragged across the ground. In his arms, two leather-bound books were bundled. He glanced up. His hazel eyes—almost lost in contrast to his thick, black eyebrows and long eyelashes—landed on me for less than a second before he averted his haze.

My stomach dipped as I recalled the incident that changed him from the boy with a quick mind and even quicker wit, into the avoidant shell of himself that he is now. There was no proof, of course, but the accusations drove him to a breakdown. Rumors were nasty things, especially when they were about murder.

A tingle prickled the back of my neck, and I turned my head to the voices behind me, on the other side of the road.

Great. Jax.

I slipped into the shadows of an oak tree before Jax could see me, not wanting to bump into that asshole today. He hadn’t even bothered dressing in his uniform. His gray sweatpants hung low, a black top stretched over his defined muscles. He shoved his hands into his pockets, shooting his friend, Jeremiah, a self-assured grin. His bone structure was perfectly symmetrical and made more handsome by his roman nose.

His olive-skin, dark hair and eyes were magnetic. He could have fooled me into believing he was half siren too, but he was part human and part phantom—giving him the ability to move through walls, and see glimpses of the future. Although, Jax possibly had more powers than that as not everything was known about phantoms.

He walked with an arrogant confidence that spiked unnecessary anger into me. The smug dick. Phantoms were the worst. They hated sirens for whatever reason. We were natural enemies, although no one really understood why.

Maybe it was because we shared similar traits—an insatiability to devour souls. Being part mortal meant we didn’t have the true hunger that came with sirens or phantoms, who were cannibalistic by nature. Using the energy of the dead they consumed to keep them young and immortal, but the desire still lingered.

Phantoms hated that part of themselves. They’d tried to scrub it from witch history countless times, but I could sense the darkness lurking under his skin from here, calling me on a primal level. The depths of inky power seemed to caress my spine whenever I strayed too close to him, but I couldn’t be sure if it was in greeting or warning.

Unlike me, he was exceedingly reckless. Causing fights at the academy, persuading people to give into their baser urges. According to history, they were also immune to siren magic, so he was, in part, unaffected by my so-called beauty.

He and Jeremiah had a short, hurried conversation, then continued walking, keeping to the shadows of the road.

Not that he would say anything to me if he saw me. I could count the number of times we had conversed on one hand.

I quickened my pace, the heavy book in my bag thumping with each stride. I was obsessed with reading. Somehow, words inked onto pages of dead trees banished my every woe into blissful escapism.

It was a welcome relief from the self-help books Mother had given me after my dad’s death. Her concern was, in part, real. Despite her coldness toward me and my dad, she loved us, in her own way. I knew his death hurt her, but since then she’d only displayed anger at him being mentioned.

Meanwhile, I couldn’t feel anything. At the funeral, I had to run into the restroom and splash water in my eyes just to make it look like I was crying. People were staring and sharing hushed whispers. Mother was concerned about me. I felt it with each accusatory stare every morning. She was worried I was some kind of psychopath. At first, I was worried she was right. Because I loved him. I adored my dad so deeply that the ache of his absence triggered something so raw and terrifying that I had no choice but to bury the emotions, for all our sakes, but especially mine. If I let the grief in, I was certain I would combust.

Then there was Lalita, my best friend, but even she had given up messaging me after two months of silence.

Then there was Eleanore, a totally different person to either of us. She was uptight and intelligent, but strict. She was the mother of the group, so to speak, and her parents always made sure she was studying and getting high grades. She was hoping to become a professor of magical studies, in the few secret academies for our kind in this world.

There were witches, sirens, or half sirens, like me, who were extremely rare, vampires, and phantoms. There were other creatures too, monsters even, but they didn’t attend higher learning. At least, not at Ghost Rose Academy.

I reached the intimidating wrought-iron gates of campus. My eyes traveled over the name of the academy spelled out in intricate, twisting letters spanning over the large space where the gates connected. The two halves of the large central pointed arch loomed on either side of me as I passed through them.

It looked like any ordinary academy, but in reality it was far from it. The building was old—built in the nineteen twenties. Since attending Ghost Rose, there had been four deaths, one missing professor, and eight missing female students. You wouldn’t think it for a small town, but Crimson Leaf wasn’t any ordinary small town. It was built on something dark. I was sure of it. Nothing here was straightforward, and an air of mystery surrounded everything.

I cast my eyes over the gates, then the flying buttress, and lead inlaid windows speckling the sides of the tall, gray-bricked stone buildings making up the campus. I braced myself to go in, when a voice sounded from behind me. The muscles in my shoulders tensed. “Surprised you're back, Bathory,” Jax said as he passed us, then glanced over his shoulder.

My stomach knotted, and I grimaced. “I have a first name, Holmes” I snapped, but he shrugged, then kept walking.

Fucking phantoms.

I shook my head, annoyed that he’d acknowledged me at all. I was perfectly happy being ignored, but it seemed everyone was staring. As if I was suddenly some grotesque spectacle in the story of my dad’s death.

CHAPTER 3

My heart was pounding by the time I reached the courtyard before my first class. I wove between the mass of bodies, their eyes tracking my every movement. Unintelligible whispers carried from groups of friends as I tried to avoid my own.

Someone’s hand glided across my arm as he passed me, too quickly for me to see whose it was. I shuddered against the lingering touch, then noticed a boy with hooded eyes and blonde hair staring at me from the black bench nestled under the trees.

Averting my gaze, I wrung my hands. As much as I enjoyed the freedom of being outside of my house, I couldn’t shake the constant eyes on me. I could sense it everywhere, the questioning stares boring into the back of my head. Although, it was more than that. I could sense the obsession building behind people’s eyes when they saw me, as if they were laying eyes on me for the first time. It was happening again—the confusion flitting on their features, as if they couldn’t understand why they couldn’t look away. I hated it. It was why no past relationship ever worked. I could never be certain if someone’s feelings for me were real, or if they were because of my siren side.

“There she is!”

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