Page 18 of Savage Hope

I didn't sign up for this.

“What is that? Why are we here?” S asks, her eyes frantic as her breaths meld into short pants. Her gaze fixes on me, but all I can do is shrug as my mouth sets into a thin line. I’m in the same position as she is, I don’t have a single clue.

Sighing, I pinch the bridge of my nose again for good measure. It works wonders on making me focus instead ofletting the anger that coils through my chest burst free. I jolt when the bus seems to roll over a bump in the road, looking up just in time to see us pass through a set of wrought iron gates.

As we turn the bend, my breathing accelerates, matching S’s as a tall, Gothic-style building comes into view; turrets, pointed roofs, arched windows, and a sense of dread greets us.

Subconsciously, my hand finds its way to S’s, tightening around hers, searching for a sense of support. I can't decide if it's more for her or for me. I guess I can, but the denial is real.

Turning to look into her wide eyes, I swallow past the lump in my throat. “I guess we’re about to find out.”

7

P

The coach lurches to a stop and anxious whispers seem to slither through the small space, chased by an undeniable sense of excitement, but I don't get the sense of thrill that others seem to be basking in right now. If I give myself a moment to think about it, I’d consider myself in a state of fight or flight, torn between what to do.

Run or stay.

It's a weird feeling. I’ve never really acknowledged the option to run before, to fight for myself, but in a place like this, I don’t see my chances of escape being any greater than compared to Florentine’s.

I can accept the fact that I’ve spent so long trapped in the ‘mental freeze zone,’ that when things come my way, I accept them, but now, sitting here in a state of uncertainty, I feel like there’s something I should be doing. I think.

A sudden sensation ripples through my body, tingling down my spine. I don’t know how I came to know it, but I immediately sense the relief flooding through my veins and I know I can stand. Jumping to my feet, S is right beside me, eyes wide and staring deep into mine as we hear the sound of the door opening at the front of the bus.

Without a word, everyone is escorted off one by one. When it gets to our row, I let S lead the way, but I hold back. My feet seem rooted to the spot, my mind swirling with ideas, but it’s as if she senses my uncertainty, and before she even takes a single step, she reaches for my hand and tugs me along behind her.

It looks like there's no choice but to face it head on, even if I don't want to. It seems I spend a lot of time doing things I don't want to do. I can't assume being at this place is going to be any different.

S’s hold on me tightens as she rushes down the steps, pulling me along with her, and I feel like I'm choking on my breath as unfamiliar asphalt comes into view. I run my tongue over my bottom lip as I stare down at my feet. A shiver runs down my spine as an eeriness whispers in the gentle breeze around me. It’s strange to feel stronger sensations than I would at Florentine’s. I’ve lived my life on repeat inside that glorified cardboard box, and now I feel triggered even more than usual. I thought it didn’t get worse than that. Was I wrong?

Taking a deep breath, I lift my gaze, gaping at my new surroundings. I can see for miles from here. Hills after hills after hills, in every direction. They all roll into one another. The grass is as green as emeralds. The sky is as blue as sapphires. And the asphalt beneath my Florentine-issued school shoes is as deep as onyx.

It's a far cry from the playground we’re all familiar with.

Taking in my fellow Florentine students, it’s clear I’m not the only one gaping in wonder. I feel a burst of…something, in my gut, burning bright for the briefest moment before reality washes over me and trepidation claims me. Now I’m balanced on bated breath, waiting for the other shoe to drop and a dark truth to spring itself on me.

As if sensing the rolling questions swirling in my brain, the creak of a door rings in my ears, drawing my attention to theentrance of what I can only presume is Trinity Falls Academy, as the sign stated. A man steps out in a fitted suit. The navy matches the color of his eyes, while his black hair is peppered with speckles of gray. The smile on his face is wide, pride etched into every feature on his face as another bubble of excitement swirls among my peers.

I can’t decide if I want to feel it with them. Was that the sensation I quickly squashed only moments ago? Excitement is something I’ve seen in others many times, but it’s such a foreign feeling I don’t think I could even identify it if I tried.

Bringing my attention back to the man approaching, I watch as he comes to a stop in front of us and everyone grows quiet, waiting for him to speak.

“Good morning, children of Florentine. It is so wonderful to have you joining us today. My name is Professor Whitmore, and I am the headmaster of this fine establishment. I'm aware that, as many have before you, you will have questions today, questions that will take more time to answer than we have sunlight remaining, but I promise you, by the end of the week, you will be more than familiar with how we operate here.”

Clearing his throat, his eyes meet mine as he laces his fingers together in front of him. “You are, quite politely, the runts of the litter,” he states, his eyes moving on to the rest of the group as I gape at him, shocked at his choice of words. Any attempt at a response is lost as I reel in the turmoil of his description of us. “But you're here now, and that is what matters. We are Trinity Falls Academy, home to wolves, witches, vampires and humans alike. I'm sure Mrs. Stephens filled you in on the possibilities your futures now hold, so our goal today is to get you familiar with who you truly are and set you on the path to make the most of this new and exciting life you’ve been given.”

His words are filled with possibility, sending a ripple of glee through our small group. I don’t feel any glee, though, all I feel is a sense of horror.

If what he’s saying is true, then Mrs. Stephens was telling the truth. If that wasn’t shock enough, the words being spoken send me over the edge.

Supernatural? Wolves? Witches? Vampires.

How? Why? What?

I shake my head, disbelief clawing at my insides as I struggle to breathe.

I don’t want any of this. Whatever this sick, twisted joke is about, I don’t want any of it.

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