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My personal favorite was the time when I released a plague of locusts into the cafeteria, screaming at the top of my lungs that they were flesh-eating bugs. Little did the entire school know that the innocent little things don’t typically eat humans, but it was worth the chaos to watch the school scramble. A grin spreads across my face at the memory, their looks of horror etched into my mind permanently.

I was the outcast, the last one picked in groups. The one that students would sneer at and bullies targeted from day one. The teachers turned a blind eye for years, not wanting to get involved for fear of potentially getting on the bad side of the founding families. The same families that brought their children up to frown upon those who are different.

My parents started paying off the board early on, increasing their contributions each time something went wrong or I fought back. Now here I am, on my way to a new school, Blackstone Academy, to finish off my final year. The place where they send misfits, and kids that aren’t wanted anywhere else.

This should be fun.

The sleek, black Escalade rolls to a stop outside of a set of tall, wrought-iron gates as two men exit the building off to the side. Tactical gear clings to their overly muscular frames, with holsters carrying what look to be firearms clipped to their belts. The small building to the side of the gates has security along the side, indicating that we’ve hit a checkpoint of sorts. My old school certainly didn’t have anything like this, you could drive right through their gates uninterrupted.

Walking in line with their determined strides are two abnormally large, long-coated shepherds, their gaze pinned to our car. I have never seen dogs like them before, with the height of a Great Dane but the appearance of a German Shepherd. They move in perfect sync with their handlers, baring their teeth as they get closer to us.

They’re magnificent. The pair lift their noses to the window, causing a small area of fog to appear, their sharp canines on full display. It takes all I have to not jump out of the car and pet them, despite their “all work, no play” demeanor.

The driver lowers his window before handing over the letter my parents had sent with him about my enrollment. Money does incredible things when used correctly, like accepting an arsonist whose only notable skill is preparing a human body for its last viewing. One of the men reads over the letter silently while the other walks around the car with the dog at his heels. His eyes are pinned to the rear seat where I’m sitting, unable to see through the blacked-out windows but knowing I’m there. His hard stare sends a shiver down my spine, a feeling that's not unwelcome.

The man holding the letter gives us a silent nod as the iron gates swing open, revealing a long, winding road that disappears into a mass of towering, scattered oak trees. The woodland is dark and dense, filled with fallen trees and an eerie silence that makes my dark little heart sing. Low-lying fog has settled amongst the bottoms of the trees, adding to the overall allure of this place. Glancing out of the rear window, I see the men and their furry friends standing at attention, watching us disappear into the woods. The whole unexpected situation has me sitting on the edge of the soft leather seat, excited for what will come next.

After ten minutes of sweeping bends and staring at the same dark woods, a clearing finally comes into view, with the centerpiece being one of the most stunning pieces of Gothic architecture that I have ever seen. It looks like a castle had been plucked from medieval Europe with its high-peaked towers and large pointed arches. The entire building is made of light gray stone with intricate details that are hard to see from a distance.

Gargoyles are perched above each side of the entrance, their pointed wing tips looking almost like horns. The stone mouths are open, with pointed fangs and a long, forked tongue snaking out of the small gap. They remind me of some of the books I read, only those gargoyles are usually alive and fucking the female main character. One can only dream.

As the Escalade rolls to a stop, the driver parks and gets out to silently unpack all of my things from the trunk. He drops them at the bottom of the steps and hops back into the car without a word. I collect my things from beside me quickly, opening the door and nearly jumping out to see the building up close.

The sudden chill of the air sends a wave of goosebumps across my legs, my torn tights doing nothing to keep the cold out. The wind howls through the trees and into the clearing, causing my black, pleated skirt to rise above my ass and dance with the breeze. Any attempts to flatten it are futile, with the wind picking it right back up as soon as I move my hands. Luckily, the grounds seem barren, with the only people around being the guards at the front and the driver, who is already in the car with the engine running.

Movement in the entryway catches my eye as a tall, muscular man with disheveled, platinum hair steps out, leaning against the doorway with his arms crossed. His uniform looks scruffy, the black and white tie hanging low on his crumpled, white button-up shirt. One side is roughly tucked into his black slacks, showcasing a silver belt buckle with some form of crest on it. Even though he looks like he just rolled out of bed, this man is hands down one of the most attractive people I have ever set my eyes on.

I attempt to avert my eyes, turning slightly to grasp the handle of one of my suitcases. Usually, I’m able to mask my emotions well, something that was drilled into me at quite a young age. But somehow, this man, without even opening his mouth, has me fighting back a smile as my cheeks start to heat.

“Let me guess, Wynn? The funeral home girl?” He laughs deeply, his lips kicking up into a smirk. Not the most original nickname someone has given me, that's for sure. Is that blood in his hair?

I can feel myself leaning forward slightly to get a better look; the deep crimson is a stark difference to his otherwise almost-white hair. Questions sit on the tip of my tongue, my mind torn between wanting to know more about him and wanting to get as far away from him as possible. The unfamiliar butterflies in my stomach don’t seem too put off by the blood nor the danger that flows from the man in front of me.

Glancing around, I still don't see another person in sight other than the Escalade winding its way back down the dark path.

“There looks to be so many of us out here, I don't know how you were able to guess it so easily,” I deadpan, dragging my heavy suitcases up the stone steps, the loud clunk echoing through the silence. His chest rises and falls, chuckling as he walks through the timber doors just in time for them to swing back into my face. Mature.

Yanking open the heavy doors, I find him standing close to the doorway, facing me with a smug look on his face. It makes me want to slap the look right off him, almost as much as it draws me in. People are walking through the space behind him, but all of my attention is consumed by the man looking at me with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

I tentatively step forward, feeling the air grow heavier the closer I get to him, like a hand squeezing my lungs and making it hard for me to breathe. His deep, almost red-hued eyes roam down my body, halting at the slashes in my tights before a cruel grin spreads across his face. I have never seen eyes like his before. The color is a beautiful, dark crimson, almost like the color of blood. His eyes meet mine with an intensity that’s unfamiliar, charged with emotions that I can’t, for the life of me, pinpoint.

His hand reaches into his blazer pocket, pulling out a folded piece of paper and a small black pouch. The moment I take them out of his hands, he steps back, shaking his head. “Here’s your key and map, admin circled your room. Classes start tomorrow, the rest you can figure out yourself, I'm sure. Welcome to hell, new girl.”

His back is turned before he finishes his sentence, jogging up the large, double staircase and out of sight without a backward glance. For the first time in the last ten minutes, I feel like I can breathe. His presence is unnerving, though that feeling is something I could get used to. It’s strange that they sent a student to give me my things, but it’s certainly not something I’m going to complain about after that encounter.

Opening up the basic map, I find the mark on the third story in what looks to be a corner room that's separated from the rest. Hauling the suitcases up the stairs, I watch every student pass me in silence, staring in my direction with blank looks on their faces. No smiles, no hellos. Nothing but silence, broken only by my heavy footsteps down the hall and the clicking of my suitcase wheels spinning on the floor. Turning to face them, a smirk tips the corner of my lips. I expect nothing less from a new school, especially one that takes on the caliber of people that this one does. The jokes on them though, I thrive in silence.

Growing up in a funeral home and mortuary, you find comfort in things that others would find uneasy. For me, solace is silence and solitude. Being able to indulge my morbid curiosity without the social pressure. Where other kids would spend their spare time playing sports with their parents, I was taught how to prepare a body for its final viewing. Our family holidays were spent traveling to the other branches of our company, teaching the next generation of mortuary assistants the arts. The scent of embalming fluid still lingers in my nose, strangely bringing a homely feeling to something so clinical. It’s always there, acting as a reminder of the place that makes me feel most at ease.

After twenty minutes of navigating the complex inner walls of the academy and being outwardly avoided by every single person I pass, I find my home for the next six months tucked away at the end of a long, quiet hall. The door creaks loudly when I open it, the motion causing a plume of dust to kick up from the floor, making the already dimly lit room look hazy.

Dark timber furniture is spread throughout the space, interlinked with intricate webs that almost sparkle with the small amount of light in the room. I trail a finger along the dusty dresser that’s against the wall, leaving a clean line and a thin scratch from my sharp, black stiletto nails behind. My teeth rake along my bottom lip, fighting back the smile that's threatening to crack through. This will be perfect.

The large window draws me in, the ornate design mottling the small amount of light in the room. It looks like a flower at the top, with two peaked panels separated by stone underneath. Thin, black drapes hang from a rail, pooling on the floor. They don’t look like they will hold out much light, but it adds to the feel of the room. I drag a chair from the desk setup over to the window and use my sleeve to clean some of the dust from the glass.

My eyes take in the stunning view where the tree line meets the slightly more manicured academy grounds. The low-lying fog settles along the base of the trees like a blanket of mist, making the woods look even more mysterious. I have this feeling in the pit of my stomach that something is watching me, but all I can see is mist, trees, and the looming darkness settling in the sky. Shutting my eyes, I inhale a deep breath before getting to work cleaning up the space.

CHAPTER TWO

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