Page 8 of Dead Wolf Falling (Bad Moon Academy 2)

The dungeon?

I frown. “Where is that?”

“The stairwell is on the opposite side of the first floor from where Headmaster Erron’s office is.”

“Past the cafeteria?” I raise my eyebrows. All my visits there and I didn’t even think about there being more on the other side of the buffet line aside from a kitchen.

“Yes. Through the kitchen door and into the supply closet. There’s a door there.”

Chewing on my lip, I search her face. “Bea, how do you know where the dungeon is?” I cross my arms over my chest.

Is she the bad guy?

“I’ve been down there before. It doesn’t feel right.” Her eyes widen, and she blinks at me.

I cringe when her lip begins to tremble.

“Are you mad at me?” Her voice breaks, and I officially feel like the world’s worst human, I mean shifter, being.

“No, Bea. I’m not mad.” I cross the space between us and hug her, chest tightening when she releases a soft sob. “I’m sorry, sweet girl. I’ll fix this, I promise.”

I know better than anyone how soul crushing broken promises can feel, but I can’t seem to stop the words from tumbling out of my mouth. She sucks in a hard breath, and I pull away and look at her.

“Take care of my friend, okay? He’s important.”

She rubs her arm under her nose. “Okay.”

Shall we go save our men?Joan asks.

Hell yes. This spirit is going to wish they’d never messed with us.

* * *

The academy isquiet as I make my way to the cafeteria. Not a soul—alive or dead—in sight. The door leading to the kitchen stands ominously at the end of the buffet line, and my stomach churns the closer I get. I don’t know what waits for me in the dungeon. I’ve never experienced a spirit like this, filled with such malevolence and obvious insanity. Who else keeps students here and slowly eats away at them?

Glancing down at my body, I’m once again amazed by the power it displays. When the ward—if that’s even what it was—broke, I was bone thin and my skin was shriveled as though I’d sat in a bath for too long. Now my skin is healthy and my weight has gone back to what it was before I was turned into a shifter. Now I know why Joan is always so hungry; the spell over the academy made me oblivious to the fact that I was fading away.

I place my hand on the door, the hinges making it swing back and forth with ease, and then give it a shove. I shoot my gaze around the kitchen until it swings back and I catch it with my palm. Empty as far as I can tell. With a deep, steadying breath, I pull my shoulders back and push into the kitchen. The tile is a muted brown, and the appliances are all outdated and covered in layers of dust. Almost like they haven’t been used in years.

I search for any hidden threats before I explore. Satisfied there are no boogie men lurking in the corners, I walk over to the stove. It’s at least fifty years old. I run my finger over the grime, grimacing when I stare at my now black fingertip. This kitchen hasn’t been used for a long time.

This doesn’t make sense. Where did all the food come from? Where’s the smoker for the brisket? Was it all a manifestation of the ghost? My eyes land on a large fridge. I rush to it, yanking the doors open and immediately covering my nose.

If you try to feed me that, I’ll throw up all over you,Joan whispers.

Trust me, I have no inclination to eat. . . whatever that is.The only thing in this refrigerator is an awkward, almost oval shaped blob sitting on a shelf. It’s black and moist. Congealed liquid pools around it. My stomach heaves and bile fills my throat. I slam the doors shut and lean my back against them, breathing through my nose to keep from throwing up. After a few moments, I recover and decide my time exploring this place is done.

Way to delay the inevitable with a disgusting detour.

Excuse me for being curious, Joan. Aren’t you the least bit concerned about how our body is even functioning right now?

Our priority is saving the men, then we can deal with how we will find real sustenance.

Fine,I grumble in my head.

The door which I assume leads to the supply closet is shorter than an average sized one. I peek through the cloudy window. There are a few good potatoes, a box of pasta, and crackers sitting on one shelf, but the rest are empty. Entering the room, I walk around one of the shelves and see a small, worn door. White mist curls from the gap between the wood and floor, reaching for me. Cold seeps into my veins, and my breath fogs in front of my face. This is definitely what Bea was talking about. With one last steadying inhale, I open the door and start down the cement stairs. Wrinkling my nose and taking short breaths, I try not to gag on the mildew filling the stairwell.

I place my hand on the brick wall, cringing when something slick coats my skin. It almost feels like moss. Wiping my hands on my pants, I take slow, measured steps to avoid tripping to my death.

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