Page 23 of Satanic Shadow
Now I’m researching what dreams mean while the freaky head hovers near the main desk, asking students about prophecies and why they’re important to the realms despite being irrelevant to how we can pass our classes and get to the Mortal Realm. Some answer, but most look bored out of their minds.
I keep reading my book to figure out what my dreams mean.
In the human world, they can have a lot of meanings, but here, within these castle walls, I don’t trust that they mean nothing. There must be a reason why it felt so real. Like a memory more than a fucked-up scenario my mind concocted.
Some dreams I like to stay in, but this one felt like a trap.
The book I have now explains that they may be memories from a different life. Or a desire to have that life.
Burning to death is definitely not a life I want, and I don’t know who my birth parents are. As far as I’m aware, the system raised me. I jumped between the orphanage and foster families and eventually found a home that gave me everything I needed. But then they died in a car crash, and since I was classed as an adult, I had to fend for myself.
Maybe that’s why I’m having these dreams. Or maybe I’m just stressed with my position. I’m frustrated because my needs aren’t met, and I’m lost, trying to find a way out.
Either way, I’m still in a magical school full of killers and bullies and creatures who want me dead.
I nearly jump out of my skin as my professor’s floating head appears in my lap. “Miss Winters! Pay attention or you’ll be given detention!”
I slap the book shut on the head. He vanishes and pops up at his desk.
“We do not tolerate laziness and immaturity in this academy. Tell me, little girl, what exactly is a prophecy?”
Little girl?
“You are aware that I’m twenty, right?”
His lips pull into a smirk. “I am four hundred and eighty years old. You are alittle girl.”
I look around the room, swallowing harshly, before leveling my bodiless teacher with a glare. “It’s just another way of saying something is a prediction,” I answer.
“A prediction of what?” he asks.
I shrug. “The future.”
“Wrong.”
A few students giggle, and my cheeks heat with exasperation. “No it isn’t. And cult studies have nothing to do with divination.”
“Wrong again. A prophecy is a forecast of events that are yet to happen. Something solid. Predictions are not accurate. In this world and every other. You are human. Tell me prophecies that have been true toyourgod.”
I shake my head, silent. And extremely confused.
“I have no idea what’s happening right now,” a student says. “What are we talking about?”
The teacher grits his teeth. “Be quiet, Quigley.” He settles his head on top of his desk. “We’re going off-topic. The reason for bringing this up is that there is a prophecy about a being who will end the war of the worlds…”
I stop listening. Not because he’s speaking far too fast and what he’s saying is far too complicated to understand, but because there’s a coldness wrapping around my leg, up my thigh.It weaves around me like a snake until it reaches my throat. Invisible, so no one can see.
And then there’s a quiet whisper in my ear. A lifeless hiss.Death to her.Death to all.
I spring to my feet, gathering my books and grabbing my bag, ignoring the professor as I run from the room. My feet take me out of the castle completely, as if they know where to go, and I only stop when I reach the barrier line next to the water.
I try to put up a facade that I’m fine, but I’m far from fine. I’m in a school full of creatures and paranormal entities. With someone who wants me dead yet has been partnered up with me for multiple classes.
As soon as the opportunity arises, as soon as he knows he can get away with it, he’ll come for me.
I can’t breathe. I press my palm to my chest, count to five, ten, fifteen, twenty and close my eyes. Lowering to sit on the ground, I inhale and exhale, my vision blurring.
The air shifts, cold and wet, and someone sits down beside me. “Are you okay?”
