Page 3 of Demon Found

How can he have so much power over me? I’m an adult next week. How does a gang even get given the right to run an apprenticeship program? It’s utter cerberus shit.

“Give. Me. The. Letter.” I enunciate every single word so loudly Dog’s hackles rise.

“Or what? Hmph. Although, don’t suppose it’ll do any harm now. You can have it as a keepsake, if you ask nicely.” He smiles, like he’s doing me a favor. “Can’t destroy the damn thing anyway, it’s spelled.”

“Please.” The word tastes like dust.

I have to see. I have to know for sure.

He flicks it out of his trouser pocket at me. I grimace at the grubby envelope being so close to his stinking privates for so long.He wasn’t taking any chances I came across that by accident, was he?

Snatching it up, I storm away to the one place I’m safe in this neighborhood. The cemetery. No one in Venez remembers their dead. They’re barely living themselves. Frank might not be very powerful, but heisa fully emerged manticore with access to his element. And he’s withdrawing. I can’t lose my shit with him. I’m no match, not yet. I’ve the scars to prove it. I’m lucky his patience lasted so long today. Dog trots happily after me, snuffling through the long grass, pausing occasionally to check where I am. The little asshole is delighted to be my friend again, now I’m nowhere near his precious master.

I give him an ear scratch before turning my attention to the envelope. I peel open the academy’s official seal and a tingle runs through my fingers. The letter is dated three months ago. My heart sinks as I scan the page.

I put my heart and soul into passing my school exams and acing the academy entrance tests, dammit. This was to be my ticket out of Venez. I applied for every freaking scholarship too. Not that it was easy, having to feed and clothe myself at the same time. And here, in my hands, is the proof that Iwasgood enough.

I did it.

But term started nearly two weeks ago. I’m too late. Disappointment washes over me, leaving a hollow in the pit of my stomach.

I’m one hundred percent done with the Franks of this world, with other people controlling my life. I’ll get out of Venez province if it kills me. The way shit is going, it might.

I have a plan.

Had. Ihada plan. I pass a hand over my face, holding in a howl. He’s completely screwed up my only way out. To get a visa and leave the province you have to be ascended.

So that’s it, my whole plan, gone.

If I can’t get into an academy, I can’t graduate. If I can’t graduate, I can’t freaking ascend, can I? Only academy graduates ascend. They don’t trust us lowlifes with the power ascension brings. You only get your magic completely unbound if you get through four whole years in an academy. That rules out most of the supes in Venez. Who here has the money to send a kid to an academy?

All my hard work. Gone. I was one hundred percent willing to sacrifice four years of my life surrounded by rich assholes with richer daddies for this one chance. I even got myself a sponsor. It’s almost worse knowing how close I was.

It was for nothing. I missed the date to reply. Even if I could call them and beg a favor now . . . the year has started. And I don’t even know what genus I am, what kind of supe. There’s abitof harpy in me, sure, but what else? Dad always told us kids not to listen to bullies, that being crossbreed wasn’t shameful. I was too little to understand. And it’s too damn late to ask what genus my mom was now.

Thoughts buzz around my head until I’m drowning in a cacophony. I can’t breathe. Shit. Steadying myself on a tombstone, I fight to take a deep breath, then slowly exhale.

I’ve got this.

I pat the tomb, reassured by the rough grit under my fingers. I’mnotgetting caught up in a gang. Screw Frank.Everyone for himself.That’s the mantra here.

There’s a way out of this. There has to be.

Chapter Three: Lorelei

Pattingdownmypockets,I fish out the stolen phone. My fingers tremble as I dial the academy number, hashing and rehashing what I want to say in my head.

“Fates Academy, reception speaking. How may I be of assistance?” The super-efficient, staccato voice on the end of the line has me freezing.

“Uh. I . . . Um, I would like to speak to the dean. I’m a student, well, supposed to be a student.”

“Then you should know the appropriate channel to make an appointment.” I can sense she’s about to put the phone down.

“No. Wait. There’s been a mix-up, I was meant to be in the new intake, but my offer only just reached me.”

“Why didn’t you say you wanted the admissions office?” the voice huffs. “Transferring your call now.”

They better be the right people to speak to. I was so sure the dean would be the one with the clout to change things.

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