Monster Girl: Academy Of Magic

(Academy Of Magic Books Book 1)

Anne Hall
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 Monster Girl
Academy of Magic: Book One
Anne Hall
Copyright © 2022 Anne Hall

All rights reserved

The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real people, living or dead, is coincidental and not
intended by the author.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical,
photocopying or otherwise, without express permission from the publisher.

Cover design by: Warren design ©2021

Edited By: A.C. Geal

Edited By: Cassie Hurst

Proofread by: A.C. Geal

Written by: Anne Hall in Australia

Contents

Blurb
Word Glossary
Monster Power Level Ranking
1. Prologue — Azure
2. Chapter One — Nessa
3. Chapter Two — Nessa
4. Chapter Three — Nessa
5. Chapter Four — Nessa

6. Chapter Five — Corin

7. Chapter Six — Nessa
8. Chapter Seven — Nessa
9. Chapter Eight — Dylan
10. Chapter Nine — Nessa
11. Chapter Ten — Corin
12. Chapter Eleven — Nessa
13. Chapter Twelve — Corin
14. Chapter Thirteen — Dylan
15. Chapter Fourteen — Oscar

16. Chapter Fifteen — Nessa

17. Chapter Sixteen — Nessa

18. Chapter Seventeen — Corin

19. Chapter Eighteen — Oscar

20. Chapter Nineteen — Oscar
21. Chapter Twenty —
22. Chapter Twenty-One — Nessa

23. Chapter Twenty-Two — Nessa

24. Chapter Twenty-Three — Dylan
25. Chapter Twenty-Four — Nessa
26. Chapter Twenty-Five — Corin
27. Chapter Twenty-Six — Nessa
28. Chapter Twenty-Seven — Nessa
29. Chapter Twenty-Eight — Oscar
30. Chapter Twenty-Nine — Nessa
31. Chapter Thirty — Oscar

32. Chapter Thirty-One — Nessa

33. Chapter Thirty-Two — Nessa
34. Chapter Thirty-Three —
35. Chapter Thirty-Four — Nessa
36. Chapter Thirty-Five — Corin
The End of Book One
Other Books by Anne Hall
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Blurb

Twenty-two, and I haven't felt more than a spark of magic. Which is more than a little awkward
considering I'm leaving for The Academy of Magic in forty-eight hours. I'm a monster, or at least my
fathers reassure me that I am. Though I'm not very monster-like if you believe the stereotypes. I spend
most of my days curled up in my room with my nose buried in a good book. Despite preferring to hide
away, my best friend Lexi is constantly encouraging me to step out of my comfort zone, but I'm okay
the way I am. My life is going decently—if I do say so myself—until I step into my headmaster's
office and into a whirlwind of trouble. Not to mention the sweet troll who is insistent on being my
friend, my mountain man of a runes partner and my shy new tutor, who have me questioning whether
my lady bits are on the fritz. When my past and present collide, I can't help but wonder if I'm going to
make it through the term, let alone the next two years. I guess I'll just have to roll with the crazy or go
insane. Either way, at least I'll have some eye candy along for the ride.
Monster Girl is the first book in a new series and is set in the shared Supernatural Realm that
Willow and her men are part of. This book is a slow burn; why choose romance (which means the
MFC will not have to choose between her love interests at the end of the book). Though there may be
some bumps in the road, this series will end in a HEA (Happy Ever After). Sexual themes are
suitable for +18.
Word Glossary

Sparafart - too early to dignify the hour with a proper number.

Glamour - using magic or a spelled object to change or alter your appearance.
Rune - like a magical alphabet that can be used when casting spells/using magic. Can also be
written on something like a stone to link a spell to an object. (E.g a runestone on a building can add a
spell to the structure and make you able to magically change the inside of the building.)
Coach - the person who drives/controls the horse drawn carriage and also helps you with your
bags.
Diarmuid pronunciation: Dar–moo–id
Téras: Monster in greek - pronounced There-as
mikró mageia: small magic in greek.
Monster Power Level Ranking

O - The most powerful monsters out there, and they’re very rare. They tend to have more than one
power and are strong with each one.
A - They’re not rare, but aren’t as common as B-class monsters. This class tends to have multiple
powers, but is only really strong in one.
B - These monsters are weaker and the most common. They tend to only have one or two powers
that are very weak.
G - This class is less common, and usually aren’t even aware they’re supernatural as they’re about
as close to a human as a supernatural can get.
Prologue — Azure

22 years ago…
I trek through the forest angrily. It was one year ago today that our mate died. One year since the
day that should have been a joyous occasion, turned into our personal hell.
For a moment, everything was perfect. We were stationed around our mate Demi, whispering quiet
words of support as she strained to give birth to our little one. Then she fell unconscious. Suddenly,
healers came pouring into the little room as blood stained the sheets around her. Our beautiful mate
Demi died in labour and our sweet little baby girl didn’t make it either. No amount of modern
medicine or magic could save them.
A sad smile touches my lips as I think back, remembering the day we found out that she was
pregnant like it was yesterday. We were all so excited. Tears fill my eyes and I speed up my pace, my
blood pounding in my ears as the cold late autumn wind whips against my skin. Bitterness has my
stomach clenching with the urge to lash out. I let my shadow magic surround me and it curls out,
brushing against the gnarled dead trees and ghostly figures that reside in our forest. Téras Forest.
I don’t stop until I reach the bridge. Slowing to a walk, I make my way to the middle. It’s a
beautiful spot that overlooks a river. Bracing my elbows on the stone wall, I watch the inky water in
silence and for a few minutes I just breathe, trying to calm my erratic pulse. My heart rate is just
starting to calm when my shadows stretch to the right, tugging at me. Furrowing my brows and having
nothing better to do, I follow them. Their wispy strands create a dark pathway for me. I allow it to
lead me to the other side of the bridge, before veering off to the left of the main path. That’s when I
hear it—a baby crying.
Anxiety pulses in my chest, and I tear off in search of the source that’s making the desperate sound.
What the hell is a baby doing in the middle of the forest? My nostrils flare as I scent the air to sense
whether there are other people in the area. Is it alone? The path is overgrown and is directly beside
the river, the water gently lapping at the edge of the path. I slow down when the baby's pitiful cries
grow louder and the stench of death assaults my nose. Brushing through a particularly thick bush, my
steps halt and fury curls low in my gut at the sight that greets me.
On a small patch of grass lies a baby who can’t be more than a few months old. His or her lips are
blue and they are visibly shaking. Their tiny body is clothed in a well-worn t-shirt and a pair of
shorts, which provide very little barrier between them and the frigid night air. A blanket lies off to the
side, like it’s been dropped haphazardly and I quickly tuck it around her. Not far from here I can scent
a dead body. From what I can tell they have been deceased for at least six hours, but I don’t have time
to examine it properly right now.
I reach for the baby quickly, scooping them up into my arms. “Hello little one. You’re okay now,
I’ve got you. My brothers and I will keep you safe and get you all warmed up.” The infant’s cries cut
off the moment it is against my chest and large teary eyes blink open, freezing me in place as their
golden orbs clash with mine. “Yes,” I murmur. “We’re going to look after you, sweetheart.”
I hold the small bundle in my arms carefully, using my magic to keep them steady as I race through
the forest towards home. We’re only weeks away from winter fully setting in, so going off the vague
timeline I have of that person’s death, if this had happened in a few weeks time, this little one would
have frozen to death before I got to them. I cradle them closer, letting out a sigh of relief when the
house comes into view. Barreling through the front door, I call out for the others, “Morrigan!
Diarmuid!”
Not stopping, I climb the stairs, throwing open the door to what would have been our daughter's
nursery—which is untouched—without thought, my soul focus on the hypothermic baby that’s in my
arms. Working quickly, I strip off my shirt and remove the baby's blanket. Their stained t-shirt and
shorts are removed next, and leaving their soiled nappy on for now, I press their freezing body to my
chest. Skin to skin contact is the best way to warm them up. In the background I hear my brothers
Diarmuid and Morrigan breathing raggedly. I turn to find them standing in the doorway with tears
glimmering in their eyes as they take in the baby in my arms. After a moment they leap into action.
Diarmuid strips the stale sheets on the cot, replacing them with fresh ones and Morrigan leaves the
room, returning with an unopened bag of nappies.
I sigh in relief when the baby starts to tremble. That’s a good sign, their body has kickstarted and is
working to warm itself up. Every now and then they let out a little hiccup or small sound, but they’ve
otherwise been quiet. Shifting them in my arms, I keep them pressed to my chest, wrapping a blanket
around their shoulders as I look them over. The baby is filthy and damp, though, completely silent,
with those golden orbs flicking between us. They seem more lucid now. Glancing at Diarmuid I ask,
“Can you please run a bath?”
He nods, reaching for the baby tub we have resting against the cot. I continue, “Take the
thermometer that’s in the third draw of the changing table and make sure the water is at body
temperature. We need to regulate their body heat.”
Diarmuid silently does as I ask, both of my brothers yet to speak, seemingly in shock. After the
baby's skin begins to warm against mine, I carefully place them down on the changing table, stripping
off their nappy and disposing of it. She’s a little girl. Though filthy, she doesn’t have any visible
wounds and doesn’t appear to be malnourished. Thank the Goddess. I clean her up as best as I can
with baby wipes before pressing her to my chest again and heading for the bathroom.
Morrigan has organised everything, including having turned on the overhead heating lights and he
holds out his hands to take her. Ignoring the slight tremor in his hands, I gently place her in his arms,
mindful to support her head. I smile at the picture they make as Morrigan lowers her into the water
carefully. “She’s precious,” he murmurs. She fusses for a few minutes as she adjusts, but quiets again
when Morrigan speaks to her softly.
I nod grimly. “Yes she is. I found her abandoned in the forest, by the river.”
Diarmuid’s eyes glow green as his face whips toward me with a snarl from where he’s leaning
against the bathroom door frame. “You found her where? I’m going to kill whoever did this.”
A small evil grin twists my lips, “And I’ll help.”
My expression sours for a moment. “I could smell someone’s body, the kill was fairly recent. I
didn’t get a chance to check it out properly because I was worried about this little one.”
His face turns sombre. “We’ll have to go back later.”
I nod and we both fall silent. Once she’s clean, Morrigan dries off the baby, paying special
attention to make sure her hair is properly dry. Then he passes her to Diarmuid who leaves with her,
presumably to put a nappy on. I move to follow, but Morrigan places a hand on my shoulder. Meeting
my eyes he says seriously, “Azure, you need to shower and sit down. We’ve got this.” I’m about to
argue, but I look down at myself and realise he’s right. I’m coated in sweat and mud. With a slight
scowl I lightly shove him out of the bathroom.
“Fine,” I respond, shutting the door in his face. I hear his light chuckle as I strip, then shower
quickly.
***************
 Freshly showered, I rush to the nursery and sigh in relief when I find Diarmuid sitting in a chair
with the baby pressed to his bare chest. Her shivering seems to have almost stopped and her lips and
cheeks have a healthy pink hue to them. The awful blue tinge is now gone, and sleepy gold eyes blink
lazily as they move around the room, taking everything in. I move into the room slowly as a million
questions and thoughts race through my mind, but one stands out the most. What are we going to do? I
scan my brother's faces. We are brothers by choice not by blood, brought together by Demi but still a
family even though she’s gone. I’m eternally grateful to still have them with me and I have no idea
what I’d do without them. Clearing my throat, I speak up and voice my thoughts, “What are we going
to do?”
Both of their attention snaps to me and Diarmuid’s arms tighten around the baby slightly. When
neither of them speak, I wait them out. Diarmuid breaks first, he’s always been the most driven by his
heart out of the three of us. “We can’t take her back, they could hurt her again,” he all but snarls. I
look at Morrigan, not responding.
He has a dark expression on his face and he states firmly, “She’s not leaving, she’s staying with us.
Where she will be safe and never want for anything.” He grits his jaw and sits up straighter like he’s
expecting me to object to his words, but instead I sag back into my chair in relief.
“Then we’re all in agreement, she stays.” Even though it wasn’t a question, both of them nod firmly
in response.
Morrigan says, “If she’s staying with us then she needs a name.”
A smile curls Diarmuid’s lips as he whispers, “Nessa, her name is Nessa.” Nessa, I roll the name
around in my mind for a few seconds before nodding with a grin.
Looking at Morrigan who is nodding, I agree, “Yeah, Nessa sounds perfect.”
***********
It’s later that night when I’m feeding Nessa that Diarmuid and Morrigan come through the front
door wearing grim expressions. They went out to examine the dead body. “What did you find?” I ask
quietly.
“Nessa’s father, he was dead when we arrived. A little further away I found her mother. I think they
were trying to leave her somewhere safe, but got ambushed before they could,” Morrigan says
solemnly.
“We found a note and a teddy bear on the mother’s person. Explaining that they loved her dearly
and they needed someone to take her in. They didn’t mention what they were running from, but the
magic residue we found wasn’t from a monster, it was from some other powerful supernaturals. It
was too old to figure out what type specifically with nothing to compare it to.”
My brows furrow and I scan Nessa’s adorable sleeping face. “We’ll keep her safe,” I grunt. The
others both nod in full agreement as a sense of determined peace settles over us. I cuddle her closer
before relaxing back in the chair, Morrigan and Diarmuid spreading out around the room.
Chapter One — Nessa

Present Day…
I blow a long strand of black hair out of my face in an exasperated fashion. Goddess, I hate
packing. You know what, actually, I don’t hate packing, but I do hate leaving my room which doubles
as my book haven. An entire wall is dedicated to books, all artfully arranged in floor to ceiling black
bookshelves. Bookshelves I will have to abandon in forty-eight hours. Nope, I can’t do it. Maybe I
can con the academy into letting me do the last two years online as well? I mean, I got straight A’s for
the first two years doing it that way. So, it’s not like I’m going to fail.
With a world weary sigh I flop back onto my queen bed, another thing that I’ll miss. My eyes snag
on the sheet covered board shoved off to the side of the room and my lips pinch, nerves swirling in
my stomach, but alongside that is determination. I know what I’ll find if I remove the sheet, but I just
don’t have it in me today to pour over it and agonise over the could-have-beens. The vivid pictures
pinned to it are already burned into my mind as it is. Memories threaten to rise up, but I shove them
away. Okay, pity party time is over. Lexi will be here soon.
I quickly finish packing a backpack’s worth of clothes and two suitcases. Then, using a basic
storage spell—with great difficulty—I shrink the covered cork board and place it into my suitcase
gently. I let out a satisfied breath as I glance over my packed suitcases. One is waterproof and filled
with strategically arranged books and consequently heavy as fuck. The other has all my school
textbooks and human technology, and isn’t much lighter than my book one.
Lexi and I are sort of nerds. Well, I am, she’s an extrovert that happens to love hacking, while I
prefer to hide in my room with my nose buried in a book. I opted to complete my first two years of the
academy online. Yeah, I’m sure you can see the differences. Lexi portals home from the academy
every weekend to see her family, so we haven’t grown apart since she left, but she is ecstatic that I
have to do my last couple of years at the actual school with her.
I work on brushing out my waist-length hair as I contemplate what this year is going to be like.
Awkward, probably. I chose to do online schooling when my magic still hadn’t come in by my
twentieth birthday. A familiar frustration curls in my chest at the thought of my magic. I know it’s
there, and have since my eighteenth birthday, but it’s an internal battle to try and use it for even the
most basic spells. It’s as though my magic is locked and I have no clue how to unlock it.
So instead, I took only the academic and theory side of all my classes, which means I’ve actually
completed all of that up until graduation. All I need to focus on for the next two years is the physical
side. Which, frankly, is going to be really embarrassing because my magic still hasn’t come in
properly.
My fathers are monsters. No, not bad people like the word automatically brings to mind, but literal
monsters. It’s the umbrella category that their supernatural species fall under—well, our species fall
under. Two of my fathers are A-class, which means they have multiple powers but only one that’s
strong, which is their primary one. Diarmuid’s primary power is my favourite out of all my fathers, he
can influence the weather. As a girl who grew up loving storms, I was constantly begging him to call
on them for me. Azure has the ability to trick someone into thinking they’re feeling debilitating pain
with just a thought, which is considered strong for an A-class monster.
Though they are powerful, they’ve got nothing on O-class monsters. They’re extremely rare and
when discovered, coveted for their powers. Unlike other classes they have multiple powers that are
all at the same strength level, which as a baseline, match that of an A-classes primary one. There
aren’t any around here, due to their rarity they’re seen as gods in the realm and are almost always in
upper class positions. Not walking among people below them, like us normal supes.
I snort. I’d hate that and would be quite happy as a mediocre B-class. My eyes catch on my black
claws and I grunt. B-class are considered the most common and most have a jumble of weak to
medium level powers with possibly a few physical tells that point to them being other. And lastly, G-
class, who barely register as supernatural and a lot of the time never realise they’re anything more
than human. People with light psychic powers often fall into this class in the human realm, and quite
often end up working in a field where they can utilise it.
Then there is me, I know I’m not a G-class because of my claws and the small amount of magic I
can access, but I don’t exactly qualify as a B-class either. If there were something in between the two,
that’s where I would be. N-class, for Nessa, a class all of my own.
 My Dads don’t believe that for one moment, though they haven’t told me their theories of what I
could be, they do believe it will be revealed in time and the best way for that to work is to attend
school.
Still trying to wrangle my hair I let out a sigh of frustration. Meeting the golden eyes of my
reflection, I cock my head to the side. I think I’m finally going to cut my hair. Tossing my head back
and forth a little I decide on a bob. My sharp features stare back at me from the mirror as I try to
imagine myself with my hairstyle of choice. Yep, it’s gonna make me look totally badass. I snort at
myself. Yeah… that’s a big no, ten-four rubber ducky.
Giving up, I toss the hair brush onto my vanity and go downstairs. My feet thud on each step,
announcing my presence. I’m fairly tall for a supernatural woman at 6 foot 1, and I blame that for my
lack of stealth. Lexi’s going to be a hairdresser when she graduates and is taking human classes
alongside her supernatural ones, so hopefully she’ll do my hair for me. I know the field I want to
work in, but I don’t know which specific section will suit my goals. Working for the supernatural FBI
or SFBI, is my current goal. But to get there, I have to work my way up the ranks first through the
Supe police force and then—hopefully—onto an SFBI team that shares similar values as me. But that
could just be a pipe dream of mine. Either way, I’ve done the theory classes I need and passed with
flying colours, and now I have the next two years to prove my worth in my physical classes so when I
graduate, I can already be ahead in my goal.
The kitchen smells amazing, Morrigan must be cooking. My stomach rumbles, and I wave good
morning when I find my three dads already seated around the dining room table. They each give me a
chorus of distracted greetings while I begin piling up my plate before digging in. Goddess, this is
amazing. As I shovel in mouthfuls of food, the droning background noises from our TV draws my
attention.
“...The number of supernaturals going missing throughout the Supernatural Realm has risen
dramatically over the last seven days. The Drákon group is said to be behind these attacks, but the
supernatural police and FBI are hesitant to confirm anything. If anyone has any information
please ring the tipline…”
I zone the rest of the newswomen's spiel out when I’m sure there is nothing new being mentioned
and stare at my plate as guilt clenches my chest. The Drákon group have been terrorising the
supernatural realm for the last few years and are steadily getting more brash in their attacks and the
supes they’re kidnapping. High ranking officials and powerful well-knowns being part of the list of
who have been taken, means no one is safe. The group works under a mated pair of supernaturals
whose identities are well guarded with the goal to return the realm to being under one rule. Or so the
rumours say, anyways. My fingers curl into fists at just the thought of them and I suck in a breath to
steady my emotions. The Drákon group are just a part of the reason I want to work with the SFBI, the
injustice of it all is insane and I want it to change.
I’m distracted from my heavy thoughts when Lexi comes flying in. She’s a bundle of energy and
happiness. Her mood is contagious and a small smile graces my lips as she delivers hugs and hello’s
to all of my dads before coming over to strangle—I mean, hug me. Thankfully she keeps it mostly
around my shoulders, I’d probably burst if she squeezed my stomach. My nose crinkles. Eww, that
was an image I definitely didn’t need after eating. I wash up my plate, then we head upstairs together.
Lexi flops down onto my bed with a huff, thumbing through a new novel I’m currently reading
while I run through the mental checklist I have for what I’ll need packed. The quiet between us is
comfortable and after I’ve rechecked everything my focus shifts to her.
“So, how are you doing?” I ask softly.
A broad grin stretches her lips. “Great, Layla and Dan are so excited to meet you in person. Are
you nervous?”
My lips twitch at her enthusiasm. Layla and Dan are her partners, they’re engaged to be bonded
officially at the end of the school semester in a few months time. My amazing bestie put her foot down
and said that they had to hold off on bonding for at least a semester so I can quote, ‘get the proper
roommate, university experience with my bestie’. The last of my sour mood dissipates and I grin at
Lex. “I can’t wait to meet them too. And, yeah, a little.” I shrug. I’ll deal with it. I watch her peek in
my suitcase for a minute before I ask hesitantly, “I was thinking of cutting my hair, would you like to
do—” I’m cut off when she flies at me with a shriek.
“Yes! What were you thinking? A trim, shoulder length, bangs?” she prattles excitedly. She runs her
fingers through my thick hair, cupping it and twisting it in different ways with an intense look of
concentration on her face, as though she’s visualising me with different hairstyles.
“A bob. What type do you think would suit me best?” I’m not surprised when her mouth falls open.
It’s been years since I’ve properly cut my hair and never that short before, but I feel like it’s time for a
new start. Lexi’s face falls into her professional mask as she examines my face with a clinical eye
before she shuffles my hair around again, holding it so it's sitting at different shorter lengths.
She makes a small humming noise in her throat before saying with a decisive nod, “An A-line
bob.”
I grin. “I trust you.”
 Still smiling, she slips away to grab her hairdressing stuff which is never far away. Lex returns
with her overnight bag in-hand. She mutters under her breath, activating the spell she has placed on it
for extra storage before starting to pull out her travel hairdressing kit. As she sets up she says
conspiratorially, “Are you going to tell your dads or is it going to be a surprise?”
“A surprise,” I decide, my lips curling up even more as I imagine their shocked faces. Yep,
definitely a surprise.
“How are your dads doing? With you leaving for the academy, I mean.” She’s almost finished
setting everything up and I grab the book I’m currently reading because I know she’ll zone out the
second she picks up the scissors.
I swallow slightly, guilt eating at me, even if it is irrational. “I’m not sure. I’m going to try and
come home for the holidays and call them often. I don’t want them to be lonely. I know it really hurt
them when they lost Demi.” I don’t mention their daughter, but Lexi already knows what I leave
unsaid anyway.
With a sad nod she ushers me to the chair, wrapping one of those barber blankets over me. She gets
started immediately and I study her reflection in the mirror. Her skin is grey with beautiful gold scales
trailing down her arms. Right now her hair is dyed rainbow, and her eyes are so light blue that they
look like jewel tear drops. Lexi is absolutely gorgeous and her soon-to-be bonds are very lucky to
have her. She’s an A-class monster and her intended bonds are strong B-classes. There are no rules
against different classes mating per say, but it can be frowned upon if a powerful monster such as an
A-class mated with a G-class. The only firm rule is you can only mate with those who consent and are
aware of the supernatural world. There’s a bunch of other legal stuff, but that’s the gist of it.
Giving myself a mental shake I focus on my book, a laugh bubbling from my lips as I immerse
myself in Sinclair Kelly’s Ghost Girl series. The main female character is a little loopy and her
ramblings are hilarious.
By the time Lexi taps my shoulder to let me know that she’s done, my ass has long since gone numb
and my back is aching. Then again that’s probably just from my shitty form, but I’m going to blame the
chair for being uncomfortable.
Suddenly nervous, I scan her face before I can even consider looking in the mirror. Shit, my hair
feels so much lighter now. Lexi’s sporting a huge grin and makes a twirling motion with her hand.
Sucking in a deep breath, I turn and take in my reflection. Wow, Lexi will definitely be passing her
hairdresser course. She did an amazing job. My hair is now cut into a sleek A-line bob and I tilt my
head this way and that to get a better look at the back. The new hairstyle has my cheekbones and jaw
looking sharper and makes my gold eyes look huge, complimenting my best features, and making
happiness bubble up inside me. I turn around and throw my arms around her with a laugh. “Thank you
so much, Lexi. It looks fantastic.”
She squeezes me back before moving around me in a circle, admiring her handy work. “It really
does look good. The hairstyle definitely suits you. Your fathers are gonna love it when they see it.”
Despite her protests, I help her clean up, chatting as we clean up my mass of hair. The main part
that we cut off I ask Lexi to donate to the human realm and she agrees easily. We spend most of the
day hanging out in my room, lazing about, packing and watching Netflix.
When the scent of dinner wafts upstairs we both head down to the kitchen. As I was hoping, my
dads are surprised by my new haircut and Morrigan walks off muttering under his breath about boys
and his throwing knives collection. My brows pull down in confusion but I shake it off with a laugh.
Yep, they’re definitely where I got my crazy from. I reassess the room, well, Morrigan and Diarmuid
are surprised, Azure isn’t in the kitchen. He’ll see it later.
I hip check Diarmuid as I head to the cutlery drawer, flashing him a smile when he grumbles, and
grab a handful of stuff before setting the table. The man is at least 6 foot 5 and built like a human
realm linebacker, but is a total teddy-bear on the inside. Lex draws my attention when she sidles up to
Morrigan who has returned to the stove and is monitoring the simmering pasta sauce. She leans in,
trying to sneak a piece of half cooked pasta only to be blocked and ushered away with a mock stern
look. She grins, using her powers to pinch the back of his calf, the spot flaring with white light like a
beacon, before he curses and falls back, so the cheeky shit has room to grab the piece she was after,
and dances away.
I shake my head and focus on placing the last of the cutlery down. We’ve known each other for so
long that she’s more like a sister than a friend, and my fathers are like her second ones. I know her
parents as well, but they tend to keep their distance, emotionally, from everyone, even Lex, so I know
she really appreciates my fathers. When she was younger and first came into her powers it ended up
being a rather traumatic event and she struggled afterwards to come to terms with using them. My
fathers helped her through it and tutored her in an array of different techniques, with me there often as
moral support.
The smell of dinner has my mouth watering. “Smells amazing,” I praise, and Morrigan sends me a
satisfied grin, adjusting his thick rimmed glasses. Despite his nerdy outward appearance, he’d pick a
movie over a book any day, which is something I give him shit over on a regular basis.
“It’s almost ready, could you go find Azure for me?”
 “Sure.” I duck out of the room, peeking into rooms as I trail down our hallway. When I reach the
study a soundless chuckle vibrates in my chest. I should have guessed he’d be here. Azure sits
sprawled out in a plush giant bean—a gift that I gave him a few years ago—a book resting on his
thighs while his black eyes rove over the words in rapid movements. Must be a good part. I knock on
the door frame lightly and his head pops up, focus snapping to me.
“Dinner’s almost ready.”
He sets the book aside and unfolds himself from the chair, absolutely towering over me as he
passes me to head to the kitchen, ruffling my hair as he does. “It looks good.”
A sheepish smile curls my lips as I follow him. Diarmuid is dishing the plates up and I plop down
into my seat eagerly. Morrigan’s cooking is the best. Once we’re all seated and everyone has their
food, I dig in.
After a few minutes, Diarmuid breaks the silence, “Are you all packed?”
I nod, letting out a hum in response because my mouth is full.
“Remember we’re only a call away,” Morrigan adds. His features are pinched as he focuses on me,
the usual humour in his expression absent.
Swallowing, I make sure to exude the ultimate confidence as I meet his eyes. “I’ll be fine, I
promise. And I’ll call if I need you.”
That seems to appease them somewhat and we finish up dinner with Morrigan detailing this new
recipe he wants to try. We help wash up then head back up to my room.
Lexi and I spend the rest of the day relaxing, her and I exchanging our feedback from our latest
reads. She also messes around with my hair, showing me some of the new ways I can style it now that
it’s a shorter length.
*******
It’s late the next night and we’re watching a movie when the nerves about going to the new school
really hit me. Holy shit, I’m going to be at the academy tomorrow. Swallowing audibly I ask Lexi,
“What’s the academy like?”
She pauses the movie, a serious expression falling over her features. “Well, as you know it’s very
cut off from the world. The professors are mostly polite, with a few assholes.”
“But, what about the um… the magic lessons?” My shoulders hunch slightly and I bite my lip. The
magical aspects of the academy have been poking at the back of my mind more and more as I get
closer to attending in person. I have no idea how I’m going to be able to pass my classes when I have
basically no access to my magic. Anxiety practically strangles me at the thought of my first day
because I have no idea what I’m going to be walking into.
A small smile spreads over my friend's face. “You’re going to be okay, Nessa. They’ll understand
about your magic and if they don’t then I’ll kick their asses, okay?”
That has a laugh tumbling from me. Goddess, I’m so lucky to have Lexi in my life.
I take a deep breath as we settle back in and she unpauses the movie. It’s pointless to ruin my last
night worrying over the unknown, and knowing Lexi will always have my back has confidence rolling
over me. Whatever happens I’m going to be okay. I bump my shoulder against hers and blow her an
air kiss before turning to focus back on the movie.
Chapter Two — Nessa

We’re up at sparafart—AKA too fucking early—and I stumble down the steps, only just managing to
stop myself from going ass up multiple times. I mutter a litany of colourful curses and Lexi laughs at
me because she’s an early riser. That bish is already looking fresh faced and smiling. If I had powers
that were worth anything right now, I would zap her. My soul focus is on keeping my hands steady as I
pour myself some liquid gold. Ohmygod, yes, coffee, so good. I let out an obnoxious moan, sculling
half of it in one go. I’m a total coffee fiend. I make an irritated sound when Lexi hip bumps me out of
the way, which almost has me spilling my drink as she reaches over to grab her own cup full.
I grunt a low greeting to my dad Azure who, like my bestie is one of those horrid supernatural’s that
like to torture their bodies by getting up before dawn. If it was up to me I’d still be cuddled up under
my doona. No, bad Nessa, don’t think about your bed. I peek out the window and grumble again, the
sun isn’t even fucking up yet. Still muttering, I slip into the window seat and curl myself into a little
ball, covering my knees with my oversized hoodie. I’m dressed for the day in my giant comfy hoodie
and stretchy leggings, with combat boots and thick socks to keep my toes warm. We have a short
carriage trip to the portals, then I have the morning to get settled before diving into my afternoon
classes. Gulp. Thank the Goddess I was able to set up all my classes so they were in the afternoons.
Hopefully there will be no drama over the fact that I’ve finished all my theory classes already, or hate
from my classmates.
Sipping my coffee, I absently run my mind through everything I’ve learned. I should be an expert if
my magic finally comes in, I could do the theory side of everything in my sleep if I wanted to.
Hopefully that translates to my magic wielding skills. Oh and combat. Thank fuck my dad’s have been
training me since I was little. They want their little girl to be able to protect herself—their words not
mine—and I’m quite good with weapons as well. Specifically the double short swords.
 It’s practically a rite of passage to know at least the basics of fighting in the supernatural realm. Or,
that’s what I’ve heard. Supernatural’s that fall under the monster category are also more heavily
criticised and attacked, this being because most of us look different. The more common supernaturals
being shifters, vampires, witches and fae who, though powerful, don’t display as many diverse
physical features from their magic. But monsters can have four arms, claws, bright blue skin and
horns, and are left with no option other than to cloak themselves with their magic so they appear more
‘normal’ by human standards.
Supernaturals under the monster category come in all different shapes and sizes despite being under
the same species umbrella, we just have lots of different subspecies. Whereas most other supes
within their species have similar characteristics. It’s as though the supernatural council decided that
all the species that make up the minority of the Supernatural Realm are under the monster category.
Hybrids are also under the monster category, but they can be a bit of a grey area. Then the power
classes and levels divide us even further. When you’re a monster, the majority of the world is against
you.
I tip my head back, finishing the last of my coffee.I then make up a huge travel mugs worth before
washing up my smaller cup and mentally re-run through my checklist. I don’t want to forget anything.
Reaching for my phone, I facepalm when I realise I don’t have it on me to check the list. I quickly
grab both it and my charger from my room before moving to the front door and shoving it in a
suitcase. I always forget the damn thing. My dad’s and Lexi are the only people who contact me on it.
Most can’t afford to have their tech spelled, especially in this area and without having it done, human
technology is practically useless in our realm. Something to do with the different frequencies, not to
mention lots of places don’t have normal electricity, so having a unique converter spell is needed for
things like that. The technicalities for all that sort of Wi-Fi and tech coverage in our realm is mind
boggling, so for now I shove the thoughts away.
Lexi says a warm goodbye to my family before slipping out the front door to give me a moment of
privacy with them. The moment I have been dreading for years has come, and I abruptly turn to face
my dads, launching myself into Azure’s arms. My eyes burn as I squeeze him in a bone crushing hug
that Morrigan and Driarmuid join. “I love you guys so much,” I whisper as a few tears fall down my
cheeks, but I brush them away, not wanting to make this any harder on them.
I’m probably overreacting, but this is the first time I’m going to be further than a few houses away
from my parents. An ocean will literally be between us. Despite myself, another single tear falls
down my cheek. “We love you too, Sweetheart. It’s alright, you’re going to kick ass and FaceTime us
this weekend to tell us all about the new friends you’ve made,” Diarmuid says confidently.
“And call us once you’re settled,” Morrigan adds with a pointed look.
A smile breaks out on my face and I place a kiss on his cheek, backing away from them before I
grab my last suitcase. Lexi must have taken the others while I was distracted. “Bye.” I send them a
small wave, trying to push away the tightness in my chest.
When I get out front I find my backpack and one suitcase floating. The other moves to join when
Lexi waggles her fingers. “Come on or we’ll miss the carriage.”
I don’t protest, speed walking to her side. We walk along the main road of Téras Forest in silence
for a few minutes as I try to wrangle my emotions. Anxiety is a strong mistress, but at the moment
sadness is at the forefront and I take deep centering breaths as we walk. The quiet is interrupted by
the sudden sound of pounding hooves. A horse, here? How strange, monsters usually walk because
everything is so close in the forest and outsiders rarely venture through. The entire place usually
holds a deserted feel to it. I’m slow to react as the massive animal comes screaming around the
corner. Fortunately Lexi leaps to the side and has a magic shield—albeit a wobbly one—placed
protectively in front of me in moments, but thankfully the horse skids to a stop before actually hitting
me.
I wince, wiping grains of dust from my eyes. The close call reminds me once again of how strange
I am. My heart should probably be pounding right now, and my adrenaline should be racing through
me, but it isn’t. I’ve always been like that, things that should scare me don’t. I shrug the stray thought
off, and when my vision finally clears I find a sight I’m not expecting. Sitting atop this ginormous
horse is a female Pixie, cradling her young daughter to her chest. The little one is clinging to her
mother like a monkey and I scan my eyes over them, anxiety hitting my chest when I don’t find them
wearing a safe passage rune. Without it they have no protection against the supernaturals who live
here in the forest or the creatures we share it with. Those under the monster category are used to
being shunned and hurt by outsiders, which unsurprisingly turns lots of them into sour old men and
women. It’s dangerous to outsiders if they don’t have a safe passage rune from a resident here to
vouch for them, because they are seen as a threat. Shit.
I look to Lexi who is watching them with concern as well. “Hi, my name is Nessa. Are you lost?” I
honestly don’t mean for it to sound rude, but it sort of does and I cringe a little. The woman is
sporting a fresh bruise and gash on her cheek, and her eyes are wide and panicky as they dart all over
the place. Despite her rough appearance, I’m not getting any bad vibes from her. Just fear, lot’s and
lot’s of fear. My chest tingles for a moment in response, before the sensation fades. Huh. Refocusing
on the woman I catch her reply.
“No, we’re fine, thanks.” It comes out as a whisper.
She directs the horse to skitter around us, but I stop her quickly, “You’re not wearing a rune and are
risking the safety of your daughter. If you wait a moment my friend here can place the rite of safe
passage rune on your wrist.”
When she pauses, Lexi who is on the same page as me steps forward holding her hands out, slowly
so as to not spook the woman. The Pixie holds her hand out hesitantly and Lexi quickly does the spell
before releasing her. After a few moments a black bracelet-like tattoo appears on her arm and I recite
the rules of the spell in case she doesn’t know them. “You need to stay on the path and only use the
safe passage we granted to leave. If you have any negative intent to any of us that live here then you
will no longer have temporary amnesty. The protection my friend placed on you will be null and void,
understand?”
Her shoulders relax and she nods. I step back so they can move past and she says softly, “Thank
you…?”
“Nessa,” I repeat. I have a feeling she wasn’t listening in her panic at being stopped earlier. Lexi
pipes in with her name as well and the Pixie gives us a minuscule smile.
“Thank you Nessa and Lexi, I am forever grateful to you both. My name is Aria.”
My cheeks flush slightly at the praise and I respond somewhat awkwardly, “Safe travels, Aria.”
She nods and urges her horse on again.
When she’s out of sight Lexi clutches my shoulder. “Holy hell, that was crazy. Do you think they’ll
be okay?”
A pang of worry pokes at me but I reassure her softly, “It’ll be alright Lex. Now come on or we’re
really going to miss the carriage.”
We both hightail it to the edge of the forest, and thankfully they’re still there. The horses snort and
dance on the spot when we approach. It’s a normal response, most supes are instinctively nervous or
wary around us. It’s even worse for humans. The coach helps me with my bags and we settle in the
back before we’re off, towards the mikró mageia town. It translates to ‘small magic town’ which I’ve
always found humorous because it’s a Pixie town. I can’t wait, this is the most I’ve seen other than the
small towns we’ve visited in the realm. We don’t travel much and I’ve never been to the human realm
before. Though I know a lot about it and have a lot of human stuff. Big cities are more dangerous for
us Monsters and we tend to garner so much hate and attention that most who aren't able to glamour yet
avoid crowded places. I practically have my face glued to the window as we roll through the town.
Thankfully there is little traffic between the village and where we live, so we make it in about an
hour. The town is made up of multi story buildings, which is something we don’t see a lot where
we’re from, and there must be hundreds of Pixies and other supernatural’s going about their day. It’s a
little daunting. After a few minutes of driving through town, we pull up in front of an inconspicuous
building that must be where the portal is.
I’m out of my seat the second the carriage comes to a stop, my tiredness completely forgotten. Lexi
chuckles at my excitement. We split the carriage fee before lugging my bags between us because Lexi
can’t use magic out in the open here. We’re not legally allowed to practise magic in public or go to
the human realm until we’ve graduated from one of the magic academy’s and have our ID given to us.
Which we need to show at the portal. Inside, the portal is set in a spelled wall and guarded by six
huge men. They’re all around seven and a half feet tall and their faces are set in permanent scowls. I
stop at the guy who needs to see my temporary ID and give him a charming smile, barely giving his
horns a glance before focusing on his eyes.
“You know, if the wind shifts y'all will be stuck looking like you’re constipated for the rest of your
lives,” I offer conspiratorially before strolling past him to wait a few feet from the portal. Lexi lets
out a choked sound behind me and my grin widens.
A sudden guffaw bellows out of the guy. “You’re insane,” he mutters under his breath once he’s
calmed down before waving me to the portal, setting it for the academy. I shrug at his comment, not
really concerned. With a pfft sound aimed toward him, I step through the rip in reality.
The experience is really weird, at first it’s like walking into jello, but that gradually fades until I
feel like I’m in a freezer. I’m spat out on the other side, landing on my ass and feeling like a goddamn
popsicle. “Stupid fucking portal. Could you have thrown me any harder? Fuck no, you cocksucking,
prick of a—” My rant cuts off when Lexi steps easily out of the portal. My eyes narrow on her, and I
growl as I push up to my feet, moving to stare glumly at my spilled coffee. Someone is going to die.
Before I get a chance to choose who, Lexi’s muffled laughter has me giving her the finger.
“You’ll get used to it, Ness. Portals can be more resistant when you haven’t got your you know
what yet.”
Grumbling, I nod before picking up my travel mug, wrapping it in a plastic bag, and stowing it into
one of my many bags.
“There’s a coffee shop on campus. I’ll show you where it is once I have my class schedule and find
Layla and Dan.”
 I smother a yawn, then give her a muffled, “Okay.”
“I’ll show you to our dorm then I’ll head to the student building.”
Despite the fact that she’s engaged to be bonded, they can’t room together at the academy until
they’re officially mated, so pushing back her ceremony date worked in her favour for getting to room
with me for the semester. It sucks, but they have a strict no co-ed dorm rule unless bonded, after
which you get moved to a special apartment on the grounds, setup for you and your mates. It’s
necessary because lots of supes can have regular heats and more protective urges after bonding so
they have their own separate building for mated groups or pairs. I’m just glad that Lexi and I get to
room together this semester. I honestly don’t know what I’d do without her and as much as I wouldn’t
say it out loud, I love that she pushed to do it this way so I’m not alone.
The campus is huge, and extremely diverse from what I can see. Just leaving the admin building
where the portal is, there are trolls, ghouls, demons, demigods, and too many others to name. My
chest clenches when I realise that I’m not one of the tallest women here. I’m six foot one, so even if I
didn’t look a little different with my golden eyes and sharp nails, I typically stand out, but not here. I
sigh, absolutely taken with this place already. Maybe I’m not going to hate my time here?
I’m dragged out of my thoughts by the sight of the campus and the academy itself. Holy hell. Wide
cobblestone paths surround a well-kept oval that makes up the campus, but that’s not what has me
staring. No, that would be the literal castle that stands tall behind the fancy-smancy garden paths. The
majority of the building is built from sand coloured stone that’s freckled by brown bricks, with a dark
brown peaked roof. Towers are dotted about the solid U-shaped structure. When I do a slow circle,
my interest is piqued by the shadowed forest that surrounds the academy. I shake my head slowly, this
is insane. I’m sure the inside of the truly ginormous structure must be made up of dozens of winding
halls. I cringe inwardly, already dreading trying to find my way around. Before I can ogle the building
some more, Lexi grabs my arm and drags me to the left, presumably towards our dorm room.
Yeah, you know how I thought before that I might end up liking this place? I was wrong. As we step
into the building I groan. Everything is light and shiny inside of the building, and the furniture and
appliances practically scream money. I should’ve expected it, but obviously I didn’t prepare myself
enough. The aged, almost frozen-in-time impression that the outside gives had me fooled. This
couldn’t be farther from our modest and cosy home in the monster forest.
We move through a hall before shuffling through a broad archway that opens into an open plan
room. Other supes are dotted throughout the space, their posture relaxed as they chat with each other.
Observing them, I realise most of the females are dressed up in preppy clothing and the men wear
business casual styled outfits. I’m by far the most underdressed in the room. I feel completely out of
place as we move into the room that seems to be set up as a chill space, with couches, beanbags and a
huge wall mounted TV. Probably our dorm's common area. I fidget with the strap on my bag, before
sitting it, along with the others on the ground for a minute. When Lexi turns to me her brows furrow in
reaction to whatever my expression is right now.
Clearing my throat, I mumble, “You could’ve warned me.” I ruffle my hoodie, feeling completely
underdressed and oddly self conscious. Lexi’s dressed in her usual stylish vintage look and stands out
as well, but in a good way, unlike me. Usually I can just brush off the weird looks, but this time is
different, these are my peers. People I’ll have to live in the same building with for the next two
years. It’s an odd new reality, one that I didn’t realise would affect me so much.
When her features soften, I know she’s figured out what I’m referring to. “You’ll get used to it,
Ness. I’m right here, and I won’t let anything happen to you.” I scrunch my nose up at her and mock
scowl, when really I’m grateful as hell. Goddess, I’ve got an amazing best friend.
I open my mouth to ask her what our room number is when I notice a goblin beside us, in the
process of moving one of my bags onto her luggage cart. She has pretty deep blue skin and delicate
features.
“Excuse me,” I ask her softly.
Light blue eyes whip to mine, appearing startled. “Yes.”
“I can take those up if you’d like?” I offer, feeling awkward about someone doing stuff for me when
I can happily do it myself.
Her face scrunches up, eyes narrowing fiercely, and my brows furrow. What did I say? “Goblin’s
are no different than any supernatural species! How dare you—”
I cut her off as politely as possible, “Sorry, I didn’t mean it that way at all…?” I pause for her to
fill in her name.
“Mavis,” she says, her expression relaxing slightly as she studies me.
A sincere, and sheepish smile pulls at my lips. “Mavis. I meant if you were busy, that I wouldn’t
mind taking them to my dorm. It’s up to you though, if you’d like you can take them…” I trail off again,
unsure how to fix the situation I unintentionally created.
Her expression clears and she smiles broadly. “Thank you for the offer, but I don’t mind. It’s my
job, Miss.”
“Nessa,” I say, holding out a hand for her to shake.
 She grips it with surprising strength considering her height of roughly four feet. The delicate wings
that curl over her back are not dissimilar to a Sprites. Unlike a fae, her wings are almost butterfly-like
in shape. Gracing me with one more smile, she leaves with a skip in her step. When I look up at Lexi I
find her watching me with wide eyed disbelief, alongside a few of the supes standing nearby. I’m
struck with the urge to be defensive, but I ignore it, opting to instead cock an eyebrow at them in a,
“What the heck is that expression for?” meaning.
“Did you just charm a goblin enough that she smiled at you?” Lexi mutters.
A scowl twists my lips. “You mean I spoke to her like any other supe, not the help? How shocking
of me.” I place a hand over my heart, sarcasm heavy in my voice. But with how quick Mavis was to
anger, this must be a fairly common occurrence so I feel justified in my frustration. Others judging
each other by their species might just be a tiny, itty bitty trigger of mine. With how others are so
prejudiced when it comes to monsters, I think it’s rightfully so. Instead of answering my snark, Lexi
sends me a scowl and shakes her head lightly. I instantly feel bad for arcing up at her and apologise.
She accepts it easily. She knows me well, including the things that trigger my short fuse.
Lexi smiles encouragingly. “Go ahead, Ness. I’m going to go get my textbooks.”
The playful jealous look she throws me has a laugh tumbling from my lips, momentary anger
forgotten. Yeah, I’ve already done all that, ha ha. I got all my books ordered online and sent to our
room. I stick out my tongue at her before trailing down the hall and back out onto the campus.
Hopefully I’ll be able to find the office.
I’m tugging the map I brought out of my pocket when I run into someone. Stumbling back, I end up
dropping the itty bitty folded bit of paper. Shit. Before I scramble after it I mumble an apology, which
obviously isn’t enough for the guy because he curses under his breath and grabs my shoulder. The
move has me jerking my head up with a death glare aimed his way before I shove his hand off of me.
“What gives? I apologised, it was an accident.”
The scowl this huge guy is sporting has me sighing, intuition telling me he’s going to make a bigger
deal about this then he needs to. When I straighten up properly, map clasped in my hand, his
expression morphs from angry, to a leer and my jaw twitches. I can’t tell his species by his looks, and
without heightened senses, I’m going in blind if he wants to turn this into a physical altercation. The
heat in this man’s dark eyes has me wanting to jump in a boiling hot shower and scrub off a few layers
of skin while I’m at it. It doesn’t help when he opens his mouth either.
“Apology not accepted, but I know a way you can make it up to me.” The suggestive tone to his
words has me scanning the area to find the biggest guy around. Despite not wanting to, I spent a lot of
the carriage ride to the portal running through how I should react in a scenario like this. Without
magic, I’m practically blood in the water for pricks like this guy. I suck in a centering breath when I
struggle to find a potential ally immediately. Hmm, come on, there has to be one somewhere.
My eyes latch onto one, but I dismiss him moments afterwards. His aura is just as bad as this guys.
Wait, no, no, yes! Bingo. I make a beeline for a pink haired man that’s standing about a hundred
metres from me, who appears to be checking his phone. I finally respond to Mr Creeper who is
following me. “No thanks.”
A quick flick of my eyes to the side shows that brown hair guy’s face is turning a mottled red, and I
quicken my steps towards the pink haired guy. Yeah, creative nicknames, I know. The moment I’m
within reach of him I step into his side and wrap an arm around his waist. He tenses, eyes jolting up
from where he was staring at his phone. He peers down at me, his brow furrowed as he slips his
phone into his pocket, so I stretch up on my toes a smidge to whisper in his ear, “Please, play along.”
I’m not usually one to back down from anything, but having an ally that’s bigger and stronger than a
potential threat gives a better advantage than going it alone.. So relying on a random stranger it is.
Surprisingly I feel his body relax at my words. Huh.
Before I can think about it too much, I refocus on Mr Creeper. “Oh, you’re still here.”
I leave it at that and watch as the guy falters, his eyes shifting between me and the pink haired guy.
Without missing a beat, the man I’m leaning on casually rests an arm around my shoulders, playing
along and I get a whiff of peppermint and dark chocolate which has my mouth watering. The big oaf in
front of us draws my attention again and I thank the Goddess the guy is playing along. The asshole
seems to get the message and takes a single step back before sending me a scowl that says this isn’t
over, then disappears into the sea of supes. I let out a tortured groan. Of course I’d manage to provoke
a random guy on my first day. Dammit. Running a hand through my hair, I slide a glance at pink hair
dude... whose waist I still have my other arm around. Oops. I draw back and give him a huge smile
and a quick “Thanks,” before ducking into the crowd. Okay, now to find the office building…
without a map… and without a guide. Aww shit. Using my height as an advantage I move onto my
tiptoes and look over the sea of students, but it’s no help.
I’m about to choose a random direction that isn’t the same way the other guy went, when I hear a
voice call, “Hey, wait up! You can’t do that then run off.” My head whips in the direction it came
from and my brows raise when I realise it’s pink hair guy. Surprised, I slow my footsteps and wait for
him to catch up to me. I study him with a curious expression, taking him in fully now. He’s striking
with his full lips, and his bright silver eyes contrast his spiked up vibrant natural pink hair and lighter
toned pink skin. The guy must be at least 6 foot 5 and I appreciate the fact that he’s taller than me.
That was a rare occurrence back home, not that I ran into a lot of supernatural men my age. Most were
old grumpy farts. Hell, out of the two guys I dated, or well, had ‘fun’ with, one was shorter than me,
and the other was my height. Yeah, it can suck sometimes being a taller girl.
“What’s up?” I ask him with a slow blink, kind of wondering why he isn’t running for the hills. I
mean, a random girl—me—just came up to him and practically groped him without explanation, then
took off. Yeah, when I put it like that it sounds really bad.
He gives me an odd look. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay. What was that about?”
Worried I’m going to be late to the office, I start walking backwards in a direction that I hope is the
right one, while I answer the guy. Hmm, I really need to ask what his name is. “Uh, yeah I’m alright.
Thanks for that back there by the way.”
Rolling my lips in, I turn around and take up my search again as the crowd starts to thin, but I don’t
spot a sign or board that says office or hints to where it might be. What’s the point in having a map if I
can’t find any obvious landmarks to point to where I am on the thing? “Hey, do you happen to know
where the office is?”
A grin lights up his features, and I feel a tiny smile curl on mine in response. This guy's joy and
energy are contagious. “Yeah, sure. I can take you there if you want.”
I agree and we walk in silence for a few minutes before he breaks it. “What’s your name?”
I slide a look at him out of the corner of my eye, but when I find his face innocent enough I answer
slowly, “Nessa.” His full lips move as he mouths my name, and a spark of desire curls low in my gut.
I give myself a mental scolding. No, Nessa, you just met the guy and he’s just being friendly. Cut
that shit out right now, there’s a reason you’re here and it’s not so you can hit on a guy. “What’s
yours?” I ask casually, forcing my thoughts out of the gutter.
“Oscar.”
I nod, then sag in relief when I see the office coming up. Now I know why I couldn’t find it, it was
inside a bigger building. Duh. I speed up so I’m ahead of Oscar, despite his long strides. “Well, thank
you,” I say over my shoulder to Oscar, before turning around and walking backwards so I can see his
face as he replies.
He grins, flashing his slightly pointed canines and my tongue flicks out over my lower lip in
response. “Dismissing me so soon, Nessa?”
I suck in a breath, my eyes narrowing at the playful glint sparkling in his. “Maybe.” I come to a stop
a few feet away from the office entrance, scratching the tip of my nose as I break eye contact with
Oscar.
He cocks his head to the side and a strand of his pink hair flops over his forehead. My focus zero’s
in on the strand, my fingers twitching with the urge to brush it away and I rock back on my heels, my
eyes widening at the stray thought. He tucks it behind his ear, his grin broadening as though he can
read my mind.
Biting the inside of my cheek, my gaze shifts to the office and I gesture to it. Having to physically
pull myself away from the compelling aura that surrounds Oscar. “I-I should go. Goodbye.”
I turn away quickly and duck inside, but not before I catch Oscar’s words. “For now, Little
Monster.”
For some reason the words have a pleasant shiver rolling down my spine. Inside, I approach the
front desk and am directed to a second door, but even as I knock my mind is still stuck on Oscar.
Chapter Three — Nessa

When a nasally voice calls for me to come in, I push the door open and my eyes focus on the man
that’s seated behind the desk. He’s rail thin, and the vibe radiating from him instantly has my arm
hairs standing on end. If I were to hazard a guess I’d say he’s on some sort of drugs. When my eyes
collide with the mans, I internally cringe at my own thoughts before forcing a blank mask to come
over my features. Don’t judge a book by its cover. Cool and calm, Nessa. Cool and calm. “Good
morning. Uh, I’m Nessa, and I believe we have an appointment?” I say after clearing my throat.
I have to consciously stop myself from shifting under his beady eyed stare. His body is painfully
still and I swear he’s barely moved an inch since I’ve been in his presence. I have to hold back from
sticking my tongue out just to get a reaction. I twitch when his focus jerks down to read through some
paperwork. “Ne-ssa.” He draws out the word like he’s unsure what to make of me. I swallow hard,
but hold eye contact when his attention returns to me. Internally I’m cheering when he does a slow
blink, then looks away. “You got an acceptance letter?”
My lips part, but no words escape… Acceptance letter? What is he talking about? I received a
letter two years ago, but I was requested to attend. When I simply stare at him blankly he huffs. “The
letter we sent after you gave us your application? Where is it?”
“Uh, I never sent an application. I was going to put it off another year, but I received a letter stating
that I’d been requested to attend here. That was two years ago. Up until now I’ve been doing online
classes and have completed all the theory work that isn’t part of the physical studies. All four years
worth.” My stomach swirls and my head starts to pound as I try to figure out what the fuck he’s getting
at. He should know this.
His brows drop and it only confirms my worries. He doesn’t know about me. “Nessa, that’s
impossible.”
 My lashes flutter and I grasp at the measly book bag I have at my side. My control over this
situation is slipping through my fingers as I rifle through my belongings. I need to go here. I haven’t
made it this far, only to hit a wall now. Tugging out the letter I received and the past four reports
from my theory lessons over the previous semesters, I let out a relieved sigh before handing them to
the man. He takes them, that befuddled expression turning into something else. When he turns his full
attention back to me this time, his eyes hold a glint in them that makes my mouth turn dry. “You have
no powers?”
I flinch ever so slightly at his directness before responding, “No, I don’t. Not yet.” I tack on the last
part out of desperation, even if I’m not sure I ever will.
He makes a humming sound low in his throat then turns to his laptop, leaving us in a tense silence
for a few drawn out minutes. The fact that I’m still standing is brought to the front of my mind when
my feet start to throb, signalling that I’ve been in one place for too long. Unfortunately I’m not going
any closer to this guy, who by his name badge is the Headmaster, so the chair opposite him is a no go.
Plus he didn’t offer, so…
I study his features more deeply while I wait. He has sharp cheekbones, a strong jaw, and perfectly
styled brown hair. If it weren’t for the beady eyes and the menace practically radiating off of him, I
might even deign to call him attractive. His eyes don’t return to me as he shuffles the pages on his
desk around. “If you still haven’t come into your magic, then I’m afraid the best we can offer you is a
G-class education which consists of theory only. We can’t do anything more for you.” His voice is
patronising and he waves a hand in my direction in dismissal.
My chest clenches and my vision swims dangerously as I try to process his words. The first
response I have is to panic, and for a moment I do. What the hell am I going to do? If I’m thrown out
now I’ll have to start over and all my work will be for nothing. Years of planning pushed back. If I
can’t go here then I won’t be able to train here and potentially unlock my powers, then I’ll be
classified as a G-class and no longer qualify for the SFBI, unless I’m aspiring for a desk job.
Despair rolls through me, but before I can reach a new level of hysteria, anger overtakes my other
emotions like a match to gasoline. “I have come into some of my magic, I’m just struggling with it. I’m
happy to agree to seeing a tutor until I’m back on track, but as far as that letter and all of my work
states–I am a student here and you can’t throw me out unless I’ve done something wrong. Which I
haven’t, beyond struggling with my magic, which is what the academy is for, no?” I say, exaggerating
through my teeth about my magic, for his benefit as I glare at the Headmaster. I’ve come too fucking
far to let this opportunity slide. I have access to some of my powers, but I have no idea if it’s because
I haven’t come into my magic yet, or not.
His eyes hold mine, and after an uncomfortably long moment of him staring at me, he clears his
throat. “Okay. You can keep your schedule the way it is. I’ll catch up with you in a few weeks to make
sure you’re keeping up with having to balance all physical classes and no theory.” With that he looks
back at his computer, effectively dismissing me. Dick.
I’d take the time to curse him out in my head for longer, except I’m happy to get out of there. I slip
out the room and the building in a hurry, pausing when I find Oscar leaning casually against the wall
opposite me. Hmm, he’s still here. I’m not sure what to make of that. My eyes narrow in
consideration. While he’s focused on his phone I finally let myself take him in. His pink hair is messy,
and though not too much taller than me, with him being around 6 foot 5, I realise how attractive he
actually is to me. Shoving the thought aside for now, I shift the strap of my bag and walk past him, not
acknowledging the troll. Because, yep, that’s what species he is. A troll. A minuscule smile has the
corners of my lips quirking as an image of the little, magic haired, singing cartoon animated trolls
flashes through my head. His hair colour is almost an identical shade of pink that Princess Poppy’s is
in the movie, though his pink skin is a little paler. I cast another sly glance at the man who caught sight
of me and is now walking beside me looking pretty pleased with himself. Those thick lips tug up into
a grin and my gaze darts to his eyes before flicking away when I find his stare already focused on me.
Caught. My cheeks flush and a soft rumbling chuckle comes from him, so I send the troll a mock
scowl. Tugging my eyes away from the man beside me, I refocus on finding the coffee shop we passed
where I’m supposed to meet Lexi. Except when I get outside, my fingers drum against my thigh. Yeah I
have no idea where to go again. I suppose I could try my map, but my previous failed attempt has me
hesitating. I’ve always been shitty at reading maps and directions in general.
Surprising me, Oscar gently grasps my elbow and leads me through the diverse crowd. Sweat
gathers at the base of my neck as a person brushes against me, causing me to cringe away. It’s
definitely going to take me a little while to adjust to the sheer volume of students here. I figured this
school was fairly exclusive, but maybe I researched the wrong one? I know there are two in the
Supernatural Realm. I’ve really got to ask Lex.
Perhaps sensing my anxiety creeping up, Oscar moves his hand to squeeze mine briefly and it
distracts me some. Thankfully in the next moment we step out of the crowd and I suck in deep lungfuls
of fresh air, not having realised that my breathing had become shallow. When I spot Lexi and the
coffee shop my shoulders drop. Thank the Goddess. I peer at my new pink haired guide beside me
speculatively. It’s not that I got any bad vibes from him or anything, but I just met him for Pete’s sake.
I don’t tend to trust easily. So for now, I’m not going to acknowledge my attraction to him.
Naturally I throw myself into Lexi’s arms and relish in the little yelp she lets out in distress. That
little tingle rises in my sternum again and I swear I can hear her heart pounding from the shock I just
gave her.
“Nessa!” The stern expression she sends my way has me smothering a laugh. She’s so fun to scare.
Over the past few years it’s sort of become a game between us, trying to jump out and frighten each
other. Lex hates it because she’s never been able to get me to so much as flinch, but I’ve made her
scream multiple times. I’m not one who scares easily.
Knowing she’s not genuinely mad at me, I knock my shoulder against hers with a grin. Her eyes
drift over my shoulder and by the parting of her lips I can tell that Oscar is still behind me. With a
dramatic groan I check over my shoulder, and yep, there he is. “You’re still here?” It comes out
accusing and I cringe waiting for him to snap at me. I swear sometimes my absolute lack of social tact
just shines through. I’m about to amend what I said when his lips quirk at my response.
“You can’t expect me to leave now, Nessa. We still haven’t had that little chat about our meeting.”
My nose wrinkles and his smile grows.
“Uh-uh, we did talk about it. You helped me out… twice now, oh wait, three times, and I thank you
for that, but I’m fine now and you can be on your way.” I give him a fake sugar sweet expression.
When he simply quirks a brow at me I let the look drop, resisting the urge to rub my cheeks which feel
odd after twisting into that awkward position. Clearly I need to practise my nice faces in the mirror
more. Less scowling and more smiling. Yep.
When I focus back on my best friend I find her looking between Oscar and me with a mischievous
sparkle in her eyes. “So, Oscar, how exactly did you meet Nessa?”
I let out another groan, oh great, they know each other. I stalk into the shop ahead of them as Poppy
—AKA Oscar—tells Lexi all about our awkward encounter. That is totally my new nickname for him.
A smirk tugs at the corner of my mouth as I scan the menu, distracting me from my thoughts.
Excitement bubbles in my stomach at the wide variety of coffee options. Yeah coffee, that’s what I
need right now. And maybe something caramel. Hmm, yeah that will for sure turn my day around. I
continue to ignore the two people who followed me in, and step up to the counter, placing an order
with the kind fae woman that works behind the counter.
Luckily it’s not too busy at the moment so I have a hot coffee and a caramel tart the size of my palm
in my hands in under ten minutes.
 I plop down into a comfy reading nook in the back of the shop, zoning everyone out still until I’m
about halfway through my delicious treat and a voice interrupts my nummies. I toss a glare at Oscar,
but both he and Lexi are unrepentant as she grins at me. “Did you really just slide up to him and
pretend to be his girlfriend?”
I slowly blink at my friend, my jaw twitching. It was a necessity, it’s not like I go around and do
that daily. Remembering what led to all this, an uneasy feeling slithers low in my gut and I nudge my
food away, no longer hungry. I have no idea what people are capable of here, and have no powers. If,
or should I say when, they find out that I’m basically a sitting duck, it’s going to be open season on
me.
“Yes, the guy following me was a creep.” I watch as my friend's humour slowly fades.
“Who?” she demands in a low voice. Oh shit, a few of her scales start to glow and my eyes widen.
I love my bestie, I really do, but she’s hella protective of me and it’s only gotten worse since we
know my powers are severely limited. Which is all well and good, until you pair that with the fact
that she’s already shared mating bites with her soon to be bonded and has had a major power boost.
Under the eyes of the supernatural government and the heads of the academy, she’s not legally bonded
or mated until they have their ceremony and sign legal documents confirming the mating, but they’ve
already shared blood via their mating bites, of which the power boost is a byproduct. I really don’t
want her to accidentally electrocute some poor helpless supe. Even Oscar is edging away from her.
Naw, Poppy is scared. Any other time I’d probably give him shit, but instead I focus all my attention
on my best friend.
“Lexi,” I say loudly to grab her focus. “I did what I needed to do. He didn’t lay a hand on me. I’m
fine, see?” I stand up and hold my arms out, doing a slow spin. Ignoring the other patrons and what
they might think of me, I’m more focused on ensuring that Lexi doesn’t lose control. That could result
in a body, or multiple, and we’ve already been through that. It’s not something I want to repeat if I can
help it. Do you know how hard it is to move a dead weight like that? And not to mention the rigour
mortis that sets if you wait too long. Though she relaxes a minuscule amount, I don’t let up. “I can
point him out to you if we see him again, but I don’t know his name, and he’s not here, Lex.”
Reading between the lines, she snaps out of it and glances around at all the innocent people in here.
She pales, and the glow to her scales disappear. I gather my stuff quickly and say bye to Oscar as I
grip my usually bubbly friend's shoulder and guide her from the shop. I manage to find our dorm and
hurry Lexi up to our room, barely taking in the luxury around us. I push her down gently on the couch
and crouch by her knees, clutching them comfortingly. By the faraway look to her eyes she’s having an
internal freakout, and now that we’re alone, tears slip from her eyes.
I hold her through it; since the upgrade with her powers she’s been terrified of losing control of
them and whenever her emotions influence them it usually scares her. I rub circles on her back, letting
her cry and come down from the incident that almost happened. I know that the situation that happened
when she first came into power affected her a lot more than me, and that’s part of this. She
accidentally fried her childhood bully. Of course my warm hearted bestie was horrified, and naturally
I helped her dispose of the body and comforted her. Yeah… I’m not quite normal. I never have been,
but the utter lack of fear that I had when I witnessed that and in the hours afterward really solidified
that assumption. I can’t even blame the complete and utter lack of fear with being a monster because
others never seem to have this problem. I mean, it’s not like I’m a sociopath, I experience other
emotions, plenty. Just not normal fear. Love, anger, sadness, guilt—though not a lot—and all the
others.
And it’s not like adrenaline wasn’t pumping through my veins at the time, it was. So much so, that I
was lightheaded and could hear my heart pounding in my head, but that sickening drop that usually
happens in your stomach when something scary happens, never actually hit me. I’ve never admitted it
to anyone, but I’m sure my immediate family suspects it though. I shake off my thoughts and hum to
myself, brushing Lex’s hair back and winding it into an intricate braid as her sobs turn to hiccups,
before stopping completely.
“Thank you, Ness.”
“Of course, that’s what besties are for.”
I place a sloppy kiss on her cheek and grin when she makes a grossed out noise and uses her shirt
to wipe at the spot. But satisfaction glows in my chest when a smile quirks her lips. “Come on, what
do you think about having some lunch?” I make puppy dog eyes at her as I ask, and she relents easily.
We scrummage some stuff up and I cackle when she mutters under her breath about me being a
bottomless pit. Yes, yes, I am. I’m proud to admit that I can out eat my dads combined weight in food
some nights. I’m a growing girl, wink, wink.
Now that everythings calmed down, I take a moment to look around our dorm. My eyebrows raise
in surprise at the luxury. The main area is a decent sized space with a small kitchen that has a stocked
fridge and all the basics we could need. It’s set out in an open plan design, so across from the kitchen
is a lounge area and a single four seater couch set in front of a small TV. The rest of the space is
rather plain and generic. I duck into the closest bedroom and find Lexi’s suitcase already on the bed
so I head to the other one. The rooms are set up so the main area is between them. In the other room I
find my stuff placed neatly just inside the door and I take in the queen bed, side tables and wooden
hutch style desk shoved against a wall. “What a pleasant surprise,” I hum under my breath as my eyes
linger on my new bed and bookshelf section of the desk. I wasn’t expecting our dorm to be this
luxurious. I thought for sure I’d have to buy a bookshelf, so having one already here is handy.
There is a single window and I tug back the curtain to peer out of it, only to find that my potential
view is obscured by a large tree, so I let the curtain fall back into place and go back to the lounge
room with Lex.
We settle in and talk about mundane things for a while, but my nerves silently grow. I know I said I
didn’t feel normal fear, and that’s true, but I definitely feel some fears. It’s only my internal alarm
system for stuff that I should innately be scared of that seems to be skewed. My first class is this
afternoon and I’m dreading it. My delicate black claws click against the dark marble breakfast bar,
and Lexi slides me a look. “You’re going to be fine!”
I slowly blink at her. “I’m going to a power practise and management class, when I don’t have any
access to my powers, yet I’m going to be fine?” My voice is flat, the sarcasm heavy. She merely
quirks a brow at me and I reluctantly gather my bag and trusty map before I leave to find wherever it
is this torture sessio—I mean, lesson, is supposed to take place.
Chapter Four — Nessa

I heave a great sigh as I fall onto the ground in a cross legged position. Sweat trickles down my back
uncomfortably and I pinch my shirt, fluffing it to try to cool down. Lexi pointed me in the right
direction after promising to peek into my class after she gets out of hers, but I took a wrong turn and
had to run here so I wouldn’t be late. Thank the Goddess for the nice freshman who gave me
directions. Yeah, a freshman gave me—a third year—directions, cue the embarrassment. After I take a
minute to collect myself I surreptitiously peek at the other supes in the room, trying to figure out just
how much I’m going to get pummelled in this class. We’re down the hall from the school’s massive
spelled gym and are about to go over the rules of magical combat before we use the fight circles so
our teacher can get a feel for our level. Or at least that’s what the lesson plan says…
As I predicted the teacher spends the first fifteen minutes going over the rules which are fairly
simple:
1. No using your powers or fighting until the spell is activated around your fight circle.
2. Once your opponent is unconscious, stop.
3. No fights to the death.
4. No running with weapons, or using them unless permitted by the instructor, and only when in
your fight circle.
And that was the extent of them. Yep, I’m going to die. With a resigned sigh I trail after the class
towards the gym once instructed. Like usual, numbness takes over and I’m a mixture of zero emotion
and adrenaline by the time I’m paired up. I’m with a pretty girl with pale blue hair, and equally pale
eyes. I tap my fingers on my thigh as the magic domb activates around us, and I contemplate how I’m
going to play this. I’m not completely helpless, I have my claws, which I can extend much like a cat,
but that’s about it magic wise. I’m trained extensively in short swords and hand to hand combat
fighting though, so when it comes to that I’ll be okay. Unfortunately this first round is only magic, and
we’re not to use other tactics. Staying in a relaxed stance, I flex my hands and listen as our instructor
counts down. The moment she gives us the green light I lunge for the girl, claws extended. Her eyes
widen and flash, suddenly a semi-opaque shimmering barrier springs up between us. Instead of
connecting with her skin, my claws hit the barrier, and surprisingly cut through it like butter.
This has her stumbling back in surprise, and barely dodging my claws. Pausing, I stare at my sharp
nails. Huh, I didn’t know they could do that. Now that I’m closer, I can tell the girl is a hybrid and a
fairly powerful one. I shouldn’t have been able to tear through her barrier with my nails like it was
nothing. Unfortunately my distraction and confusion leaves me blind to the ball of magic she throws at
me. One moment I’m in front of her, and the next I’m on my smarting ass. I don’t get up, making sure
she knows that she won the fight so I don’t get beat up for no reason. It’s clear for anyone to see that
I’m not a fair match for this girl.
She shakes my hand after I get to my feet, and the barrier lowers before we move along to our next
partner. It goes much of the same way for the next few matches, I’m knocked on my ass, and they stop
after I’m down, taking the easy win. It isn’t until I’m locked in with a guy who is the second to last
match I have to face, and I can already tell from the way he’s holding himself and the asshole smirk on
his face, that he’s not going to let me off that easily.
I roll my shoulders, and the teacher who I’ve noticed has been focusing on other pairs decides to
move to outside our circle. Great, she’s going to watch me get my ass kicked and realise I have no
powers. Taking a deep breath, I again keep my body loose, but curl my fingers in so he doesn’t notice
my claws. They’re the only thing I have against him, and this time when the buzzer sounds, we circle
each other rather than just running at each other. I squint at him. He must have some sort of either short
range or physical power, otherwise he would have hit me by now. Proving my assumption, he charges
me, trying to grab me with his massive meaty hands. I easily dart out of the way, and seeing an
opportunity, I extend my claws to their mighty length of four inches—cue the snort—and gouge them
into his uncovered side. I meet resistance and put all my strength into the strike. When I pull back I
dart away, blinking slowly when the guy lets out an angry roar. Shit. Maybe I should have just let him
take me down. Adrenaline has blood rushing in my ears and I quickly take in my surroundings, trying
to work out a way to survive when the guy, whose eyes are now bright green, starts taking measured
steps towards me.
I’m trapped and it irritates me more than anything; not only do these magic domes keep people
outside safe but they keep the opponents trapped inside. They have an emergency fail safe, but that’s if
someone's heartbeat slows enough, it will teleport that person out. Or the instructor can manually take
it down, but I doubt this woman likes me enough to do that. When the guy gets close, I drop into a
defensive position, screw what the instructor said. He throws an unnaturally hard punch that I knock
aside easy enough, and I strike out making contact with his face. My claws once again split his skin
and he goes for me again. I dip out of the way, but not quite fast enough, and catch a blow to the ribs. I
barely flinch as I hear a crack, my adrenaline covering the pain for the moment.
His blood trickles steadily from the wound as I deflect another attack from him. This time he also
blocks the ones I aim at him. After a few minutes of doing this, I can feel myself tiring. I’m not used to
this and don’t have a supernatural metabolism like him. My defence starts to get sloppy and his fist
connects with my face. I wince, hitting the ground with the force, barely rolling out the way of the
stomp he aims at my mid section. Clearly his power is extra physical strength. I can hear multiple
voices calling out, but all I can focus on is avoiding the attacks still aimed at me.
Drained, I quite clearly try to signal ‘I give up’ to him but he ignores it when I bare my throat to him
and hold my hands out in surrender. His boot covered foot catches me in the thigh and I cry out in
pain, scrabbling back so I’m pressed against the barrier. “Hey, dude stop. I give up. You win,” I say
hoarsely, but he doesn’t pause.
I swallow hard and am about to curl into a ball in defeat, when a sudden white figure appears in
front of me, sending the crazy guy back. It takes my eyes a moment to adjust, but when they do I find a
woman who can’t be much older than me. And she’s transparent. “Holy shit.” Her red irises zero in
on me, holding my gaze as she tries to dodge my focus, and her mouth parts.
“You can see me?” It’s said slowly, disbelief coating her tone.
I nod, too speechless to do anything else. Is she… a ghost? Is that my power? Seeing apparitions?
No, I don’t think so, plus the power radiating off of her says she isn’t a normal ghost. Studying her
features, I notice that something about her face seems familiar, but I can’t put my finger on it. Before I
have a chance to ask, she raises a hand and the magic dome drops. She throws me a small smile then
fades into the wall of the academy. My brows furrow. What the heck just happened?
I don’t get time to contemplate it because people swarm into the small area. My head is throbbing,
as is my face, and when I focus on the guy who was attacking me I suck in a quick breath. Damn. He’s
still either unconscious or dead from the hit Ghost Girl dealt him.
The instructor blocks my view and starts speaking to me, forcing me to focus on her words. “...are
you okay? We’ve got the medics on the way to check on you…” I catch before a particularly strong
pulse hits me behind my right eye and I groan, clutching my head. Goddess, that guy has a strong
Another random document with
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 CHAPTER XXVIII
BLACKMAILED!

I T was a very rambling statement, but certain plain facts emerged

from it. Sir George had now become a regular habitué of Miss
Buckley’s flat, and they were constantly in each other’s society,
lunching and dining together, going to theatres when her
engagements permitted her to have an evening to herself. Several
times he had come across young Graham, to whom he seemed to
take a very great fancy, and was very curious about him.
On this particular evening he had put some leading questions on
the subject, and Alma in her confused state had thrown her usual
caution to the winds and blurted out the youngster’s real name, and,
worst of all, had let drop the fact that his father, Graham Darcy, had
come into conflict with the law.
Mrs. Morrice was naturally much annoyed at her friend’s
indiscretion, due to her having lost control of herself. But Alma’s
contrition was so genuine, her contempt for herself so bitter, that she
did not like to show her annoyance too plainly.
She rather affected to make light of it. “Of course, it would have
been much better if it had never happened,” she said in her laudable
desire to cheer up the drooping Alma. “But the name of Darcy will
convey nothing to a man in Sir George’s position. It all happened so
many years ago, and it was not a sensational trial, no paper had
more than a few lines about it. At the same time, my dear old friend,
you must forgive me for saying it is a lesson to you to keep a stricter
watch over yourself in certain respects.”
Alma, of course, promised that she would, as much for her own
sake as for that of others, and the two women parted as good friends
as ever. In a few days the incident almost faded from the minds of
both.
 They did not meet again for a month, and when they did, Miss
Buckley’s manner was very grave and constrained. Her friend, who
knew her moods so well, surmised at once she had got something
on her mind.
“Why are you looking so woebegone, Alma?” she questioned at
length when she noticed that her friend’s gloom seemed deepened
rather than lightened in spite of the efforts of both to keep the ball of
conversation rolling.
It was some time before Alma spoke; when she did she rushed out
her words with a sort of nervous impetuosity. “You’ll have to know it
sooner or later, Lettice; I may as well tell you and get it over. It all
arose from my making an idiot of myself on that fatal night, when I let
out the name of Darcy and the truth about Jack’s father. I’ve told you
that Sir George was always very curious about him.”
It was now Mrs. Morrice’s turn to look grave. She felt instinctively
that something portentous had happened.
Alma went on in her quick, nervous way: “Sir George was round at
my place a couple of days ago, and after we had talked a little on
casual subjects, a queer sort of smile came over his face, and he
came out with it all. I hate to tell you, Lettice, but you must know. He
has found out all about you, how I cannot guess; I begin to think,
much as I like him, he is a dangerous man, and that there is about
him something—how shall I describe it—just a little bit sinister. He
knows all about the trial and sentence; that you and Darcy were
married in France; and that you are now the wife of Rupert Morrice. I
cannot say how wretched and miserable I am about it. When he left,
I felt as if I should like to go and drown myself, but that wouldn’t do
any good.”
It was a terrible shock to Mrs. Morrice that her carefully-guarded
secret should be known to anybody beyond themselves. She tried to
take an optimistic view of the situation. Sir George had been wild in
his youth like his two brothers, but he was a gentleman by birth and
breeding, he would never take advantage of his knowledge. And yet
—and yet, why had he taken the trouble to find it all out? It must
have required considerable time and patience, and does any man
spend the one and exercise the other without some adequate
motive? And how was it possible that he should get the information
after all these years?
When Mrs. Morrice came to this point in her narrative, Lane made
no comment. But, recollecting what he had learned from MacKenzie,
he guessed how easily the baronet had been able to go about his
researches. Sir George was known to be an associate of “crooks” at
the present time, crooks of the high-class variety; no doubt he had
associated with them for many years past. Even if he had not known
Darcy personally, the name would be a familiar one in the criminal
world, and everything about him was known to those who belonged
to it.
It was probable that he had at first embarked upon his researches
out of a mere spirit of curiosity, scenting some mystery about Alma
Buckley’s connection with the youngster, and being desirous of
unravelling it. In doing so, he had stumbled upon a secret of
considerable value to an unscrupulous man. Lettice Darcy, the
widow of a criminal, had married a wealthy and eminent financier of
high standing and integrity, absolutely ignorant of his wife’s past, for
it was not to be presumed that any man in his senses would unite
himself to a woman with such a record. Such a secret ought to be
worth a good deal to him.
He was not long in unmasking his batteries. He and Mrs. Morrice
had a few common acquaintances at whose houses they had often
been guests at the same time. But they had never exchanged a word
together. She, knowing who he was, at once identified him as the
brother of the man who had figured in that disagreeable incident at
the Brinkstone Arms, but he had not appeared to recognize her. She
had been rather glad of this, as she was anxious to consign the past,
her girlhood included, to oblivion.
A week after that disturbing interview with Miss Buckley, she was a
guest at an evening function at a well-known house in Piccadilly, with
Rosabelle Sheldon; her husband had not accompanied them, he
was dining at the club with a brother financier to discuss one of his
big schemes.
 She had just finished chatting with an old acquaintance, and at the
moment was standing alone in a corner of one of the big salons,
when she saw Sir George approaching her. She felt a slight shiver
pass through her as she realized he was seeking her. She
remembered that Alma Buckley, who had been frankly in love with
him, had spoken of him as a dangerous man, and suggested there
was something rather sinister about him.
He bowed in his usual courtly way, he always infused a subtle air
of deference in his manner towards women which impressed most of
them greatly in his favour.
He addressed her in his pleasant, cultivated voice. She was to find
out later that he was one of the most unscrupulous blackguards who
ever preyed upon a helpless woman, but certainly nothing in the
man’s exterior gave any indication of the blackness of the soul
beneath.
“We have met for many years at various houses, Mrs. Morrice, it is
strange that I should only just now recognize you as the young lady I
used to encounter in her walks in that quaint village of Brinkstone,
when you were Miss Larchester.”
She was very agitated inwardly, she knew at once that in recalling
himself to her recollection, he was actuated by a sinister motive
which would presently be revealed. If he were the gentleman the
world supposed him to be, he would have kept locked in his breast
the secret which he had acquired through Alma Buckley’s
indiscretion.
A little strained conversation followed, then he plainly showed his
hand.
“I should very much like a little private conversation with you, Mrs.
Morrice. I wonder where we could have it? For the present, it might
not be very prudent for me to call at Deanery Street.”
She felt sick and faint as she listened to those words. It was
impossible to ignore the threat that underlay them. Should she
refuse to grant him this interview and present a bold front? Alas, if he
had made up his mind to use her secret to his own advantage, she
was helpless, she dare not defy him.
She made an appointment to meet him at Miss Buckley’s flat.
Alma, burning with indignation against the man whom she had taken
for a gentleman, on whom she had set her affections, was present.
He was polite and suave as ever, but behind that suavity and
politeness lay an inexorable purpose, to victimize this unfortunate
woman to the fullest extent.
He turned first to Alma with a bland smile. “I do not think you are
aware that for some little time I have been cultivating the
acquaintance of that very charming boy, Jack Graham; he has been
in my company several times unknown to you. I have taken a great
interest in him; he is a sharp, intelligent young fellow, and I may say
without vanity that he has evinced a strong liking for me. I have
made up my mind to relieve you of any further concern regarding his
welfare, by adopting him myself.”
The two women were struck speechless by this bold declaration;
they waited for further disclosures. One thing they were both sure of,
that whatever his course of conduct might be, it would not be
dictated by philanthropic motives.
He turned to the unhappy mother. “While making every allowance
for the unfortunate circumstances in which you found yourself
placed, Mrs. Morrice, I cannot acquit you of having proved a very
unnatural parent. I find this bright intelligent young fellow condemned
to an obscure existence with but little chance of bettering himself,
while you, his mother, are a wealthy woman and living in the midst of
refinement and luxury. I propose to remedy this, to place him in a
position more suitable to him”—he paused for a second and added
with deadly emphasis—“and in this laudable object I shall insist on
his mother’s help.”
There was no mistaking what he meant. Alma, giving way to her
naturally fiery temper, flashed out indignantly, “And supposing we
refuse to abet this scheme of yours, what then?”
 At this question, he no longer made a pretence of keeping on the
mask. “In that case it will be my painful duty to inform Mr. Morrice
that this lady, whom he honours so highly, is the widow of a criminal
and the mother of John Graham, that criminal’s son.”
They knew him now for what he really was, a thorough-paced,
plausible and ruthless blackguard, who would use any means to
further his vile ends. But they were helpless and in his toils.
Indignation failed to arouse his cold and pitiless nature, he met it with
indifference. Any appeal to his better instincts only provoked a
sardonic smile, and taunting allusions to “an unnatural mother.”
He forced his project through. His brother Archibald had recently
died in Australia, nobody in England knew whether he was married
or not. He would pass the young fellow off as that dead brother’s
son. It was only fair that the young man should have the entrée to his
mother’s house, should see something of refined life. What had Mrs.
Morrice told her husband about her family? she must have told him
something.
If Mrs. Morrice had kept her head just at this juncture, she could
have told him that her husband knew her to be an only child, and
that it was therefore impossible for her to have a nephew. But she
was so confused that she blurted out the actual information she had
given Mr. Morrice, that she was one of a family of three, herself, a
brother and a married sister, both dead. She was never quite sure
what reasons had prompted her to tell this lie to him—at the time it
might have struck her that the introduction of these fictitious relatives
gave a greater air of verisimilitude to her history.
But even if she had put a temporary check on Sir George’s
schemes in this direction, he would soon have invented some other
means of forcing himself and the young man into Deanery Street.
But now it was all very easy. Morrice, the most unsuspicious
person in private life, had accepted his wife’s statements, and had
hardly ever made the briefest allusion to these dead relatives or in
fact to her family history at all.
 She would now tell him that her sister had married Archibald
Brookes, that the marriage had been a very unhappy one of which
she did not care to speak, that her dislike of Archibald had extended
to Sir George, for no particular reason, and that for years they had
met as strangers; that learning he was about to adopt her sister’s
child, she had agreed to bury the hatchet and take an interest in the
young man’s welfare.
This scheme was carried out in spite of spasmodic opposition on
the part of both Mrs. Morrice and her friend. When they dared to
object, they were met by the stereotyped threat: “Very well. Then
your husband shall be told the secret of your past. The choice lies
with you.”
Sir George took young Darcy—to call him by his real name—to
live with him at the beginning, and he found the young man an apt
pupil. He experienced no difficulty in instilling into him a deep
resentment against a mother who had practically cast him out of her
life. The young man had no scruples in helping his supposed uncle
to extract as much money as they could out of the helpless woman.
Their demands grew by leaps and bounds. At first they were
content to take a part of her income—the generous allowance which
her husband made her. Then, in obedience to their insatiable
exactions, she was forced to realize her own small capital. Then
came the sale, piece by piece, of her valuable jewellery, and its
replacement by cleverly-executed imitations.
The unhappy woman was now so completely under their
domination, so broken down by the threat of instant exposure to her
husband with which they met the least show of hesitation or demur
on her part, that she was finally driven into stealing from Morrice’s
safe, when she had exhausted all her other resources.
The way of doing this was made easy by the fact that she had one
day, while her husband was away on a business visit to America,
discovered amongst a loose packet of his papers a cryptic
memorandum which aroused her curiosity. After puzzling over it for
some time she came to the conclusion that it must be the
calculations for the time lock which the makers of the safe had
handed to Mr. Morrice after its construction.
She had locked it up, intending to give it to her husband on his
return. But as Mr. Morrice had never alluded to its loss, the incident
had slipped her memory. It was revived when Sir George one day
jokingly alluded to the financier’s wonderful safe—for Morrice was
very proud of this invention and spoke about it to everybody—and
wished that he could put his hands inside it for five minutes. Very
foolishly, she had admitted that she knew the secret of its
mechanism as well as her husband and young Croxton.
Sir George seized upon this indiscreet admission as soon as it
suited his purpose. She did not know how the two exactly
apportioned the money they wrung from her, but she had an idea
that the greater part of it went to the elder man, who lost it at the
gaming-table almost as quickly as it came into his hands.
The five thousand pounds handed over to her by her first
husband’s instructions, together with the few hundreds left her by her
father, had gone to satisfy the insatiable demands of this pair of
miscreants. There were still a few pieces of jewellery which had not
yet been realized, amongst them the “birthday” necklace. Soon these
would have to go the way of the others.
It was necessary to find some other sources of supply; to Sir
George’s acute mind the safe presented an obvious solution, there
was always something of value inside it.
For a long time she fought obstinately against their efforts to make
her a criminal, but in the end—cowed by that terrible threat of
exposure, her will-power weakened by these long years of secret
suffering—she gave in. Fully conversant with the safe’s mechanism,
fully acquainted with the movements of her husband and his
secretary, having free access to his room during the absence of
both, it was for her a comparatively easy task.
She carried out the first robbery, a most fruitful one for those who
engineered it, and this resulted in the disgrace of Croxton and his
banishment from his benefactor’s house.
 She carried out the second, although she vehemently warned the
two scoundrels that as Richard was no longer a member of the
household, suspicion might easily be diverted into other quarters.
Her arguments had no influence on them. Morrice, while sure of the
guilt of his secretary, had spared him. If discovery did ensue, he
would be equally sure to keep silence about his own wife.
The third time she opened the safe on her own initiative, driven to
do so by a fit of remorse. The second robbery, it will be remembered,
had produced poor results, the booty being inconsiderable and a
portion of it valueless to the persons into whose hands it fell. It struck
the distraught woman that in putting back the Swiss notes and the
packet of private papers, she was making an act of reparation.
 CHAPTER XXIX
SIR GEORGE IS ARRESTED

T HE long narrative was finished. Three times had Miss Buckley

opened the door, intimating by that action that it was time the
interview was concluded, and each time Mrs. Morrice had signalled
to her to withdraw.
It only remained now for the wretched woman to sign the
confession admitting her guilt, and clearing Richard Croxton in the
eyes of those who held him in regard.
Had Rosabelle been present she would have shed compassionate
tears over those passages in which Mrs. Morrice described the
mental tortures she had suffered through the machinations of this
evil pair.
But Lane was made of sterner stuff. She had been deeply sinned
against, it was true, but she had been a great sinner herself. She
had been the victim of a tragic set of circumstances which might well
have appalled the bravest woman, but in her selfish desire to keep
herself afloat, she had chosen the line of least resistance.
Apart from her lapse into actual criminal courses, there were three
things he could not forgive her for, her callous abandonment of her
child, the son of a felon it is true, but still “flesh of her flesh and bone
of her bone”; the equally callous sacrifice of Richard Croxton; her
unscrupulous conduct in marrying Morrice, an honourable and
upright man, under false pretences. True, that if she had told him the
truth about her past he would not have married her, but it was little
short of dastardly to involve him in her own unhappy career.
Anticipating that he would have no difficulty in wringing the truth
out of her, Lane had brought with him the confession ready written
for her to sign. But, before handing it to her, he had a few questions
to put upon collateral points.
 “Before you embarked upon these robberies, Mrs. Morrice, you
had to obtain possession of the two keys and get duplicates made.
That was rather a difficult matter, wasn’t it?”
Not so very difficult, he learned. Mr. Morrice was a very careless
man in some respects, and he was so confident nobody but himself
and Richard was acquainted with the mechanism of the safe, that he
was incautious in small details. He frequently left his key lying about
in his room when he went up to the City. Richard was not quite so
careless, but occasionally he did the same. The moment Mrs.
Morrice—ever on the watch—got hold of them, Sir George was
’phoned for to come to the house, and the rest was easy.
“And now tell me about those finger-prints of the man ‘Tubby’
Thomas who was in Dartmoor at the time the robberies were
committed. What was the motive of that, and how were they
obtained?”
The answer to this question involved a longer explanation. It was
done, as Lane had rightly suspected, as a mere act of devilment, for
the purpose of making a fool for the moment of any agent of the law
who might be called in by Mr. Morrice. It had succeeded temporarily
in making a fool of the astute detective himself.
The modus operandi was as follows: Young Archie Brookes, to call
him by his assumed name, had provided her with a pair of surgical
rubber gloves upon which a copy of the expert robber’s finger-prints
had been impressed.
How were they obtained? Sir George, who took a great interest in
the science of identifying latent finger-prints, had procured those of
the notorious “Tubby,” with whom he had maintained some sort of
association before his conviction, and had very cleverly reproduced
them upon the thin rubber gloves.
“It would appear, then, that your pretended relative by marriage
was the friend of crooks; were you aware of this, Mrs. Morrice?”
“By certain things that he let drop now and then, I had no doubt
that the man was engaged in every kind of villainy and wrong-doing,”
was Mrs. Morrice’s answer.
 “And now tell me a little about Miss Buckley’s attitude towards him
when she found out his real character. You say she was in love with
him; did she break off all relations with him, and forbid him the
house?”
“It was the dearest wish of her heart to do so,” replied the unhappy
woman. “For my sake she forbore, as she feared that if she angered
him it might make things worse for me. And, besides, her place was
a useful meeting ground when it might have been too risky for him to
come to Deanery Street, in such things as handing over money, for
instance.”
“I quite understand. And you are positive that, although she knew
about the blackmailing and the disposal of your jewellery and the
fraud of Archie Brookes, she was ignorant of the robberies?”
“Quite positive. They were very particular about that. I think they
were a bit afraid of what she might do, if she had an inkling. She is a
strong-minded woman in many respects, and she might have
determined to go to Mr. Morrice and tell him the whole truth to save
me from becoming an actual criminal.”
There was nothing more to be said. The confession was signed.
Lane, punctilious in everything he did, gave her a copy and left the
flat. Shortly before dinner-time he went to Deanery Street to
communicate the result of his interview to the financier. He found him
and Rosabelle together, and was invited to speak before them both,
Morrice having no desire to keep anything from his pretty niece in a
matter in which her interest was as keen as his own.
Of course, both had guessed that the pseudo Archie Brookes was,
in all probability, Mrs. Morrice’s son, and that there was some
shameful secret connected with the relationship. But they were not
prepared for the terrible disclosures now made by Lane. It was a
great blow to the proud man to learn that the woman who had borne
his name and done the honours of his house with such a calm and
gracious dignity, was the widow of a convicted felon, that she had
involved him in her disgraceful past.
 He turned sternly to his niece. “From this day, never let her name
be mentioned between us. Let us think of her as one dead to us.”
Presently Lane spoke. “This winds up the mystery so far as I am
concerned, Mr. Morrice. I shall pay a formal visit to Mr. Croxton and
acquaint him with these results; he must, of course, be made aware
of them.”
Morrice nodded. “Of course. I have no wish to hide my disgrace
from him.”
“Your reflected disgrace,” said the detective gently. “Well, there is
a little thing I wish to mention. I am not at all sure that this scoundrel
of a baronet has not got some of those French francs left. They
would be awkward things to get rid of in bulk. Depend upon it he is
peddling them out as occasion offers. If you would give me the
necessary authority to act, I do not think it impossible for me to
frighten out of him what he has got left, if any, with the threat of
criminal proceedings. Of course we know you will not take these, for
obvious reasons, but he cannot be sure.”
“No,” said Morrice, “I shall certainly not take proceedings. I have
no desire to wash my dirty linen in public, to show how I have been
made a dupe and a fool. There will be plenty of conjecture as it is; let
it stop at that. But if you feel keen about this, you have my full
permission to do what you think advisable.”
Pretty early the next morning, Lane made his way to Sir George’s
flat. He chuckled inwardly as he recalled that memorable evening
when he and Simmons the valet had been surprised there by the so-
called Archie Brookes. He remembered how he had been puzzled by
the smallness of the baronet’s banking account and the somewhat
contradictory statements made by Simmons with regard to his actual
financial position. Of course, now it was all quite clear. That banking
account was a blind, Sir George had other depositories in which he
placed the moneys he made by his nefarious schemes.
Simmons opened the door; Lane saw that the man was in a state
of considerable excitement. At the query of: Was his master at
home? the valet smiled broadly:
 “Come in, Mr. Lane, and welcome. No, Sir George isn’t at home
nor likely to be. Something’s up, sir; we always had an idea he was a
‘fishy’ customer, didn’t we?”
The detective went with Simmons into the room where he had
conducted his investigations on that memorable evening. It was in a
state of confusion; the key of the safe into which he would have so
dearly loved to peep on that occasion was in the door. Lane
unlocked it and swung it open, to find the safe was empty. The
drawers of the writing-table were all unlocked, some of them partly
open, and in them nothing of value, only a few old letters and
unimportant memoranda. The fireplace was littered with the ashes of
burned papers.
“What’s the meaning of it all?” asked Lane with a frown. He had a
pretty shrewd premonition that his visit had been paid too late, that
there was very small chance of recovering any of his plunder from
this wily scoundrel.
It appeared that early the previous morning, young Archie Brookes
had called and the two men were closeted together for over a couple
of hours. Simmons had followed his usual tactics of applying his ear
to the keyhole, but they were on their guard, and spoke in such low
tones that he could not catch a word. After the young man had left,
Sir George came out and ordered the valet to fill a good-sized
portmanteau with clothes; he had in his hand a bag which, no doubt,
contained all the money and everything of portable value in the flat.
He explained briefly that he was going abroad for some months,
and had given his solicitors instructions to dispose of the furniture
and contents, and sub-let the flat. He handed Simmons a written
character and—wonderful to relate—gave him three months’ wages
in lieu of notice. A taxi was called, and the chauffeur given
instructions to drive to Charing Cross station.
It was pretty evident that Sir George, to use the valet’s graphic
expression, had “done a bunk.” Simmons had not noticed the
number of the taxi, but even if he had taken this precaution, it was
not likely to have given Lane much assistance. A practised
campaigner like this well-born rogue would be clever enough to
conceal his tracks; he had already his plans cut and dried to evade
pursuit.
The valet had come round this morning to clear up things a bit,
and after he had done that he was to post his own key to Sir
George’s solicitors.
The scoundrel had enjoyed a long start, and by now was clear
away. It was not worth while wasting time over him. Mr. Morrice had
shown by his manner that he was sick and tired of the whole matter,
and wished to shut it out of his recollection. To a wealthy man such
as he, the recovery of a portion of the stolen money was a matter of
comparative unimportance.
So Lane decided that he would go no further in what might be
termed the side-issue of the Deanery Street mystery. But second
thoughts induced him to look up his old friend MacKenzie at
Scotland Yard.
What was the motive of the baronet’s sudden departure? Of
course, he would have learned from Mrs. Morrice or Alma Buckley
that his game was up in that direction. Did he dread the vengeance
of the financier, or were other causes at work?
MacKenzie received him with his accustomed cordiality. “Well, how
are you getting on with the case you told me about?”
Lane informed him that it had ended successfully from a
professional point of view: he had proved his client’s innocence and
found the real criminal. Lane did not proffer the name of that real
criminal, nor did MacKenzie ask it. They were confidential with each
other up to a point, but a certain etiquette was always preserved.
“I went round to the flat of our friend, Sir George Clayton-Brookes,
this morning and learned that he had left in a violent hurry. I was
sorry, as I wanted to have a little talk with him. Seems something
‘fishy’ about this sudden flight.”
The keen Scotchman smiled and tapped his broad chest with his
finger. “Scotland Yard has got something to do with that. We have
been years trying to get him, as I told you, but he was so devilish
cunning that we might have gone on for years longer but for a lucky
accident. We got one of his gang and the fellow split. We have plenty
of evidence against the gentleman now. I suppose he got wind of it
before we could get a warrant out. It’s astonishing what a
freemasonry there is among these scoundrels. But he won’t escape
us now. Clever as he is, we shall have him by the heels before he is
much older.”
“Have you found any evidence that involves the young man known
as Archie Brookes?” queried Lane.
“No, we can’t find that he has any connection with this particular
‘stunt’—I shouldn’t say Sir George was a man to share more than he
could help with anybody.”
MacKenzie’s prophecy was fulfilled. Within three weeks from that
date the baronet was arrested in Italy, and brought back to England
after the observance of the usual formalities.
As he now disappears from these pages, it is only necessary to
say that he was put upon his trial, found guilty, and awarded an
exemplary sentence.
It was a nine days’ wonder in Clubland and the circles in which he
had been a prominent figure; and then other startling events
occurred and drove him out of the public mind, and the plausible,
well-mannered, smartly-groomed baronet who had led such a
chequered existence became a memory.
But much to the relief of Rupert Morrice and his niece, nothing
came out at the trial which could in any way connect him with the
robberies at Deanery Street. Morrice’s friends and acquaintances
were, of course, very grieved at the reflected disgrace cast upon him
by the fact that, through his wife, the financier and the criminal were
some sort of distant connection.
 CHAPTER XXX
RUPERT MORRICE MAKES AMENDS

I T was a very subdued man who, shortly after breakfast, walked

into Rosabelle’s sitting-room. It cannot be said that Morrice was in
any sense of the words arrogant or overbearing, but his innate
strength of mind and character gave him a certain feeling of
superiority over ordinary men which reflected itself in his general
bearing, the incisiveness of his utterances, the vigour of his
gestures, as he talked. To-day, all these symptoms were absent.
He had passed a sleepless night, bitterly upbraiding himself with
having committed a grave injustice, he of all men, who prided himself
on being inflexibly just. His face was drawn and white, his heavy
eyes showed the want of rest. He stood before the girl almost
humble, filled with remorse and self-accusation.
“Rosabelle, I want you to do me an immediate favour.”
“Of course, dearest uncle.” The sympathetic girl’s heart went out to
him in his misery. It was terrible to see this proud, strong man so
abased in his own estimation, standing before her almost as a
criminal might have stood before a judge. “You know what pleasure it
will give me.”
“I want you to order the car at once, go straight to Richard, and do
your best to make my peace with him. Tell him that I am following
you in half an hour to entreat his forgiveness. If he will accord it to
me,” he added in a broken voice, “I will devote my life to making
amends.”
Rosabelle flung her arms round her uncle’s neck, her eyes full of
happy tears. “Oh, gladly will I go on such an errand. And, of course,
Dick will forgive. All along he has always admitted the terrible
strength of the evidence against him, and told me that nobody but I
would have believed in his innocence.”
 “You believed in him because you loved him, child. I loved him,
too, but the love of man lacks the divine quality that always animates
that of a woman,” admitted the humbled man in a voice of deep
sadness.
Well she knew as she drove along to the little cottage at
Petersham where Richard Croxton had been eating his heart out for
so many weary weeks, that the treachery of his wife had affected her
husband less than his injustice towards the son of his old
sweetheart.
Little need to describe the rapture of the lovers when the
wonderful news had been told. Hand in hand they sat, discussing the
golden future before them, for had not Rupert Morrice avowed his
intention of making amends?
And then, half an hour later, for even in moments of stress, this
capable man of business was ever punctual to the minute, Morrice
unlatched the garden gate of the tiny cottage and found Richard
waiting for him at the door.
Silently the two men clasped hands. It was the elder who spoke
first. “So Rosabelle has induced you to forgive me? She was ever a
peacemaker.”
There was perfect sincerity in the young man’s tone when he
answered. “The past is buried, sir, absolutely and irrevocably, so far
as I am concerned. My only regret is that my innocence should have
to be established at such a terrible cost to yourself.”
The financier waved his hand with one of his old imperious
gestures. “No more on that subject, Dick. Thank God, her passing
out of my life will not make the difference to me that yours did.”
Richard was deeply touched. By those few words he knew how
deeply his benefactor had suffered from the severance of their old
affectionate relations.
Morrice took the young man by the arm and led him into the little
parlour where Rosabelle, flushed with her new-found happiness,
stood awaiting them. He took a hand of each and joined them
together.
 “That is the dearest wish of your hearts, is it not?” he said, a kindly
smile lighting up the drawn face. “Well, God bless you both, and give
you all the happiness you deserve. Sweet little Rosabelle has always
been as dear to me as if she had been my own child. You, Richard,
will resume your place in my house as an adopted son. But I would
wish you to defer your return for a week or two till all this painful
business is over. When you come back, we will draw a close curtain
shutting out that hateful past. I shall live for the future, for you and
Rosabelle—for your children.”

A few months later Richard Croxton was married to his loving and
faithful Rosabelle, and rewarded with a partnership in the famous
firm.
Mr. Morrice still believes in his wonderful safe, although he does
not talk about it as much as he used, but he is very particular now
about his two keys which he carries himself. He does not leave them
lying about in odd places, and his memorandum of the mechanism is
securely locked up.
Mrs. Morrice lives with the friend of her youth, Alma Buckley, and
that friendship is the only comfort in her miserable life. Jack Graham
has dropped the name of Archie Brookes, and, still helped by his
unhappy mother, has turned over a new leaf and is now in the way of
earning an honest livelihood in the commercial world. The fate of his
former protector, Sir George, struck terror into him, and proved a
salutary warning of what can befall a man who enters upon evil
courses.
The Croxtons have a charming home in one of the prettiest spots
in Surrey, within easy distance of London by rail or car. But the
greater portion of the year is spent in Deanery Street, with the grey-
bearded financier whose experience of matrimony was so bitter, and
who is never so happy as when he is in their society. The bad time
they all went through is forgotten in their present happiness, and the
name of Mrs. Morrice never passes their lips. The tender-hearted
Rosabelle often thinks compassionately of her, but there is no
forgiveness for her in the hearts of either of the two men whom she
so deeply wronged.

THE END