Page 1 of Blood on the Ice

killer queen

Looking around the campus with a critical eye, it isn’t hard to notice the differences between the campus of Swallowtail and State U. The major difference is age, of course, but even secondary schools overseas are unlike the blatant marketing machines that are American universities. State U doesn’t resemble the colleges I’ve seen in American movies or on TV, though much of that is the Society’s doing.

However, banners, statues, plaques, signs, and even architecture are emblazoned with the school’s motto—Honoris. Veritas.Potentia—as if constant reminders will enforce the virtues it extols.Thatdiffers from the places in Europe I attended or worked in.

“Getting used to the sales aspect of education here won’t be your biggest challenge and you know it,” I mutter to myself.

When the outcome of my trial led to a guilty sentence, I didn’t expect the punishment they handed down. Instead of being jailed for the murder of my ex, they decreed I would replace him as the Dean at State U. I wasn’t the only one who disagreed with my purgatory—the vote on the High Council was split down the middle until a mysterious figure cast a vote in favor of my exile. They summarily dismissed me from Swallowtail Academy and sent me home to pack my shit for a journey overseas to the nest of corruption created by the man I thought I would marry.

Not only am I the youngest Dean to ever hold the title, but I’m the only hybrid to head one of the Society’s schools.

Placing me at the helm of the crown jewel of their American institutions made their unorthodox punishment even more bizarre, but I’ve never believed the group that guides our kind to be infallible. The irony of replacing the being responsible for all the university’s current issues with the fiancee who killed him hasn’t eluded me. It’s like my penance for not blowing the whistle on him instead of taking my vengeance in blood.

They did not impress hard line elders with the eventual outcome, but that had to be expected. Some supernaturals don’t believe in the young being given positions of power, especially when that young candidate is also a woman and a hybrid. Given that I believe Magnus had cronies at various levels of government he was paying off, some of them must be worried I’ll expose them to prove I was right to remove him from thisworld. Either way, the assholes who are screaming I’ll ruin their precious programs and reputation haven’t shut up since I left the trial chamber.

Let them whine about their outdated, elitist standards. I’ll show them.

I turn away from the greenery of the campus, leaving the balcony to take a seat at the enormous desk in my overly plush office. Knowing the way parents and donors behave in this country, I assume every inch of this space has been purchased not by the college, but by donors who had ‘one little request’ for my ex. Magnus Corona was well-known in academic circles for milking the wealthy Americans until they ran dry, but his lack of ethics couldn’t go on forever. My greedy, dragon lover went on the lam after a series of scandals involving kickbacks, illegal sponsorships, sports, and sexual harassment. The last one is why I hunted him down and eventually watched the last breaths he took on this planet with vengeful glee.

I’ll start looking for a decorator immediately. If it’s not in the budget, my trust fund will cover it.

Like most lost ones, they left me on the doorstep of a very talented witch and her gargoyle mate. I never found my ‘real’ parents, but growing up on Swallowtail’s campus was not a burden. It was different when my adoptive parents were professors there—three hundred years brings a lot of changes. When I graduated, I attended Oxford and came back to work there in administration because I missed the old buildings and libraries.

That’s the gargoyle in me, I know.

My adoptive mother is blind—except for the gift of future sight. Being a beautiful, blind witch couldn’t have been easy when she was teaching, but she met my father in college and they’ve been together ever since. When they graduated, they came back to Swallowtail to teach. Eventually, she became the head of the Witchcraft & Wizardry department at the Finishing School and my father was the chair of the Physical Education & Training program. Over the years, my mother’s gifts made their investments and ventures fruitful enough to retire while they could still enjoy it. They live on a small island in the Mediterranean where supes of their caliber like to soak up the good life.

Once I get settled here, I might invite them to come tour the campus. My father would particularly enjoy the Gothic structure of the buildings; they were constructed to evoke the feeling of Oxford and he loves those old buildings. I give the picture of them on my cherry wood desk a half smile and sigh when I realize it’s going to be awhile before I can extend that invitation.

First, I have to figure out how to get this ship back on course. Loyalty divides the staff; the students are due to arrive in two weeks, and I have a lot of house cleaning to do within these hallowed walls. It’s going to ruffle feathers to do the things that are necessary to keep our supernatural accreditationandour human sports certification. I’ll have to let some staff go, shuffle departments and assignments, and bring in new people to monitor certain aspects of the college’s accounting to satisfy all the requirements we need to meet by the end of the semester.

State U has never been forced to toe the line quite as closely as we must now, and that is all because of Magnus Corona’s lack of scruples and inability to think without his dick.

Not that any of his adoring fans will believe it for a second—and that is the rock I’ll have to push up the hill for the foreseeable future.

“They’ll have to get on board or get the fuck out,” I say as I compare the list of coaches, trainers, and support staff for the football team. “I don’t have a choice and neither do they.”

When I finally finish going overthe massive budget for the major boys’ teams, my brain is damn near fried. I cannot fathom how colleges here justify the expenditures of these programs compared to the paltry sums I saw on the balance sheets for academic programs. Americans truly have lost their focus on education, and it doesn’t surprise me at all that Magnus could manipulate this to his advantage. There’s so many discretionary funds and black holes in the books that I’ll have to find someone much more numerically inclined than myself to help me wade through this shit.

It’s almost like it left room for loopholes and nefarious deeds.

Pushing to my feet, I rise from the high-backed leather chair and slip my shoes back on. I’ve been at this for hours and because I don’t have office staff, no one was there to remind me I should eat or take a break. I had to fire everyone who worked in Magnus’ immediate circle—both out of principle and necessity. I can’t prove they knew what he was doing, nor that any of them would try to harm me as retribution, but I’m also not stupidenough to let someone with loyalty to my ex pour my goddamn coffee.

Coffee.

The word makes my blood hum and I know it’s time to find sustenance—particularly caffeine. I locate my phone on the massive desk and slip it into the pocket of my suit pants. My appearance has been a topic of gossip on campus since I arrived—social media is a terrible curse when you’re in the spotlight, even if it’s for the right reasons. I’ve seen staff and alumni commenting on the ‘uptight murdering bitch’ strutting around campus dressed like someone from theAddams Familyas if their vitriol isn’t public when they post on Facebook.

My lips curve as I look down at the bespoke Tom Ford suit, Zegna tie, and Louboutin heels. Dressing the part has always been a theme of mine, but Magnus preferred the ‘rumpled academic’ look. He allowed the staff to run around looking like grad students and that will soon end. If they hate me for looking sharp compared to my frumpy ex, they’re going to hate the new dress code when it rolls out in a week. I will not go as far as the Society schools did at home or in other countries, but I refuse to have the press haunting our grounds while taking pictures of grubby looking professors and coaches for their rags.

If this is the crown jewel, it needs more polishing than the Council realizes.

Before I go out, I shake my purple and black curls out of the messy bun, letting my hair settle over my shoulders. A quick check with the selfie mode on my phone tells me my makeup doesn’t need to be freshened—thank hell—so I close the camera and put on my sunglasses to keep my sensitive eyes from the waning sun.

I’ll need the State U app to find a place that’s out of the way. I open it and cringe—the damn thing is hideous in form and function. I make a mental note to interview app designers and web developers; the website has to be as poorly maintained as this bullshit. Yet again, I marvel at the level of incompetence men can show without consequence. It finally loads the map and I scroll around until I find a coffee shop on the edge of campus. I don’t want to go to a break room or the food court—there will be far too many eyes on me and I’d like to relax.

Noting the landmarks around the shop, I walk out onto the balcony and touch the amulet at my neck. My wings spring free, sprouting through the suit without a single tear, and I leap into the air. Catching a wind shear, I glide to the far end of the commons, then bank to the right towards the arts building. They nestled the little beanery I identified between the theater and the gallery, so I pull my wings back to descend slowly as I approach.

When I land, the magic of my mother’s amulet helps me slip my appendages back in gracefully and walk towards the door without missing a beat. I open the door, take off my sunglasses, and stride in with confidence. I’m not here to throw my weight around, but I can’t let anyone see me sweat, either. I look at the menu board before I lower my gaze to see the barista behind the counter.

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