That gets my attention.
“I’m sorry the what?”
“Ass proteges. Ass trolls. They’re sort of like pledges for frat houses. An older, wiser demon instructs them on the best way to literally torment someone from the asshole in.”
What the literal hell?
“That’s… incredibly detailed and informative. Thank you, Phoenix.”
He gives an anytime, anytime kind of nod that does nothing for the tight disgusted way my stomach’s twisting from his overly descriptive explanation.
“Yeah, let’s get the fuck out of here before the asshole proteges show up,” I say with a nod.
“Ass. Ass proteges.”
“Just stop saying it. Please.”
A small shrug lifts his shoulder and then the flickering flames wash away. And terrible, harsh fluorescent lighting looms over us from overhead.
Ah. The first hell I ever loved: Academy of Six.
I fucking did it.
I traveled through dimensions. And time and space and whatever the fuck else this old ass warlock is always rambling about.
I did it. I’m not a Prodless failure!
“Miss Castillo. Congratulations,” Professor Zent murmurs, slashing little red lines across papers on his desk, not glancing up at me with his less than excited congrats he just gave. He does, however, pull a worn golden timepiece from the pocket of his velvet suit jacket. “It only took you eleven hours and six minutes.” He smacks his lips patronizingly.
“Eleven hours?” I blurt out, the pride in me washing away into a pathetic puddle of disappointment.
“And six minutes,” Phoenix adds on a cough. “Interdimensional Travels warps time. What feels like minutes passes in hours in the present world.”
“You passed, but you failed, I’m afraid.” Professor Zent licks his dry lips and drops his attention back to his papers. “Do try to do better next week on the semester final.”
God dammit.
I wish I could say that’s the worst thing that happens today.
White fuming smoke drifts from the front doors of Dorm J. It’s late into the night and the twirling fiery scent of something burning drifts through the evening air, clouding over the nearly full moon above.
I stand at the front step, side by side with Phoenix. His fingers slide slowly into mine and it’s the first real moment that I feel like we’re a real team. Friends almost.
“Don’t leave my side,” he whispers, taking the first step on the broken concrete and guiding me into the ash that’s drifting through the halls. It clings to our bodies, shadows against our skin, a sticky coating that comes off easily with the gentle brush of fingertips.
When I think of ash, I think of destruction, of consuming fire raging and destroying. Funny how something like the aftermath of flames can seem so gentle somehow. But where is it coming from?
Blood splatters the old brick walls. It lines the broken tile floor like a pathway of breadcrumbs left behind, as if something was dragged from the front doors all the way up to the fifth floor.
Our floor.
A shiver crawls down my spine, sweat clinging there with every step I take.
What happened here? In the eleven hours that we were gone, this place is in worse shape than before. And I didn’t think that was possible.
My focus is room 503. My friends are in there. Saint and Malek are in there.
I hope.
Just when we creep cautiously up to it, the door directly across flings open. Violent steps storm toward me, black reckless eyes look to me with so much pain in them it’s terrifying.
Syko’s big arms wrap around me fully, pulling me against his hard chest until I can feel the tremble of his breaths inside. Slowly, Phoenix slides his hand away from mine and my fingers push through the downy soft feathers of the beautiful man wrapped around me.
“They fucking took her, Izara.” A sinking feeling of rage and sadness thickens his rasping voice. “They fucking brought her to the most dangerous place for a startle Prod and then they fucking blamed her when her Prodigium lashed out.” Hot breath heaves out from his trembling lips but he bites the uneven sound of his voice back. He’s tensing in my arms and just clinging to me like I can fix all the terrible things the world has done to him.
To Kayos.
She didn’t stand a chance.
Eighteen
Izara
Thick hair meets my fingertips and I push his pale white locks back from the lost look in his big eyes. He’s slept on my bed for four days now. He hasn’t moved once.
And they’ve given no updates on Kayos.
The curl of his body fits against mine and I hold him against my chest, listening to the steady but slow rhythm of his breath.
This place tries to break us.
They broke Kayos. And now they’re breaking Syko.
“You should get out for a few hours. Get some air,” Saint says to me softly.
“No.” Malek’s bare shoulders hold steely posture, his dark hair hanging loosely around his handsome face.
I had no intention of leaving Syko.
But now I’m curious.
“Why?”
“Full moon,” Malek says without further explanation.
I wait, but he gives me nothing more.
Okay...
My gaze spans to Phoenix sitting lazily across from me, his attention flicking from me to the nephilim holding me to him.
What are we? Are we really dating? Is this real for him?
The hard pull of his brows and the purse of his lips makes it feel real. The confusing guilt laying like lead in my stomach feels real.
“We should talk,” I say to Phoenix flatly.
“Nothing to talk about.” He shakes his head, biting the inside of his cheek, that I don’t give a fuck about anything or anyone firmly in place against his features.
“You’re an idiot,” Saint whispers from the bunk above.
“If she wants to sleep fuck me, but in reality snuggle the bird boy, that’s none of my business. We’re not real.” He air quotes that statement like it’s our relationship slogan.
Phoenix and Izara, Keeping it Not Real Since 2019.
I hate this.
Maybe I do need to get out of this fucking room.
I don’t leave right away. It’s hard to extricate myself from Syko’s body. Any time I tried, he pulled me closer, as if his unconsciousness couldn’t stand the thought of being alone without my warmth. It’s as if somehow I understood above all others what his sister means to him, and it was only in me that he could find solace.
I hated to leave him, but I was suffocating as much as he was. He couldn’t pull me close without Phoenix grunting or snorting or offering bitter commentary, to which Saint only replied in my defense. Malek had long since left the room. He never said where he was going and I didn’t ask.
Which is exactly why I’m here.
My tennis shoes crunch against dry leaves and dead earth. The wind stings my face, making tears burn behind my eyelids and trail down my cheeks. I tell myself it has everything to do with the cold and nothing to do with the haunting loss in Syko’s eyes echoing in my own heart.
“Your art is overemotional,” Kayos had said to me.
She’s right. I’m overly emotional and it comes out in a mess of reclusive quietness and lashing aggression sometimes. I’m wandering campus grounds with my hands shoved tightly into my pockets, crying silent tears over a young girl taken because she couldn’t control the Prod inside her.