Grimms & Garms: The Rose Cross Academy, #2

Grimms

&

Garms

Other Works by Rissa Renae:

The Rose Cross Academy Series

Risers & Dreamers

Grimms & Garms

Bane & Butterflies

Grimms

&

Garms

Book 2 of The Rose Cross Academy series

Rissa Renae

Copyright © 2017 Rissa Renae Tsang

RissaRenae.com

All rights reserved. This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and events are either the product of the author's imagination or are used for the purpose of building fictitious situations. Any resemblance to persons either living or deceased is coincidental.

Renae, Rissa.

Grimms and Garms / Rissa Renae.

Paranormal—Fiction.

Demons—Fiction.

High schools—Fiction.

eBook ISBN: 978-0-9948840-2-2

Trade Paperback ISBN: 978-0-9948840-3-9

First Edition published January 2017.

Edited by Rachel Small, http://rachelsmallediting.com/

Author photograph © Jeff McDonald, http://mcdonaldphoto.ca/

Cover Design Copyright © 2017 Rissa Renae, with photos used under license from

Shutterstock

THIS BOOK IS DEDICATED TO

Jeff and Gabriel, my guiding lights in the darkness.

Contents

The Fog

Under the Shade of the Elder Tree

Out with the Old

Almost Busted

Cream, Sugar, and Grimm

Follow the Leader

Tiptoe through the Park

Stone Walled

Room with a View

The I in Team

Leapfrog

It’s Always the Quiet Ones

Will the Real Mr. Grimm Please Stand Up

When the Wind Blows

Queen of Skulls

The Quill Is Mightier

Sleight of Handgun

Off With Her Head

Playing Stupid

Knock, Knock, Who’s There?

Three’s a Crowd

I Spy, You Spy

Wild Goose Chase

A Grimm Night

Wash Away the Day

Needles and Daggers

Thy Mother’s Glass

Far-Fetched

Nothing More Important Than Family

Hurry Up and Wait

Mornings Suck

A Quick Chat

Who Watches the Watchers?

A Rock and a Harder Place

Convicted Bookworm

Caught In the Act

Pool Party

The Ol’ Switcheroo

Put Up Your Dukes

You Can’t Hit a Girl

Party of Two

Deal with a Devil

Repeat After Me

Negotiations

Party Crasher

The Dead Love Company

Window to the Soul

Into the Sunrise

Glossary

Appendices

The Fog

Jessica McMarley was lost, and so terribly so. Here, the dead of night made for eerie company.

Gravestones stood as silent, weathered islands in a sea of thick blue-white fog churning in lazy patterns around her knees. Warm earth with the occasional hint of grass pestered her bare feet in sharp contrast to the chill of the night air tickling her arms and neck. A shiver ran down her spine and turned her skin to goose-flesh where her pink flannel pyjamas couldn’t protect her.

Overhead, a full moon glowed bright in a clear sky void of any stars. Its strange brilliance created shifting patterns in the murk, while the mist seethed and pulsed like a living entity. Strands of moonlight brushed the gravestone islands, making them shimmer and glow with dead, unnatural light.

Each grave marker gave way to another standing just a few metres off—some in the shapes of crosses, some round-topped, some square—all laid out in a haphazard pattern. No other landmarks peeked out from the fog to place any the boneyard within any sort of boundary. Borders lost themselves in featureless darkness no more than a dozen paces around her in every direction. The world beyond became unknown and unnerving, dark and full of silent, soul-devouring nothingness.

A sound drifted through the wispy entity, soft at first. Straining against the quiet of the graveyard, the young girl leaned in to listen. Scratching and dragging teased her ears. It was if someone were lugging a heavy sack through the labyrinth of tombstones. The sound crawled through the vapour. Her back between her shoulder blades seized with a terrible tremor. She wanted to run, but to where?

Her wide eyes scanned the gravestones watching her. At one moment, the sound came from her left, the next moment, from her right and then once again from her left. With each shift in direction, the dragging grew closer and closer, hidden well within the haze.

No sound in a foggy cemetery at night could be a good sound! She turned on her bare feet to run only to find herself confronted by a single tree. She gave a cry and took a few cautious steps back. The tree had appeared unnaturally, singular and alone—she was certain it hadn’t been there the last time she surveyed the cemetery.

A prickle snuck down her spine. Deep in her soul, she felt eyes in the tree on her, watching her. Heart-shaped, jagged-edged leaves hung from gnarled limbs reaching high into the night sky. Black sap ate through a cadaverous trunk, creating many fissured and bulbous wounds. The trunk was barely thicker than her arm, but it reached a good thirty feet above her. In the light of the moon, the white bark glowed, pulsing with the same rhythm as the fog.

The sound of something scraping over the ground drew her attention again. She whirled about to face the islands of gravestones. Her heart thumped at the inside of her chest. To her left, a pocket churned and belched like a gentle geyser in the blue-white vapour. The expelled mist made a lazy leap into the air before it settled back into the sea of fog below.

Jessica let out a small cry and turned but jerked back as her eyes found three of the white-barked trees with the deep black fissures and the heart-shaped leaves. They loomed over her, tall and thin and menacing. She yelped.

That dragging sound again—closer this time. She dared a peek over her shoulder to see the fog belch into a small pillow no more than a couple metres from her. Turning to run, she screamed. There were now five of the white-barked trees barring her path. Her heart beat in her ears and her chest tightened. She darted them and ran for her life.

Something caught her ankle caught and she fell to the warm, dirty ground. Her uncouth landing created a puff of air, which blew away the low-lying cloud clinging to the cemetery ground. Earth became visible beneath her, grassy and littered with dead and discarded heart-shaped leaves and twigs.

The trees looming above her bent down to watch. Her chest tightened and it became hard to breath. As she tried to pull her ankle free of whatever held it, the fog cleared around her enough to show an old, dead tree branch wrapped around her leg. Its many little knuckles dug into her flesh.

She jerked several times but couldn’t break free. With shaking fingers, she reached down to tug at the branch to unwind it. It moved.

The branch wrapped tighter, shearing her skin to the bone. Pain shot up her leg and she felt the warm sting of scraped flesh against open air. The tree branch gave a good yank, and she skidded on her backside along the dirty ground until her foot was sucked into the pale blue nothingness up to her knee.

She screamed. The young girl dug her fingers into the earth, grasping at clods of sparse grass to keep herself from sliding in any further. She pulled and fought, digging her hands and elbows into the ground. She kicked her free leg frantically.

And then the fog cleared around her feet as a whisper of air dispersed the eerie white miasma. Wrapped firmly around her ankle was not a tree branch, but a skeletal hand. Strands of tendons and rotting flesh hung loose from the bones. The long boney fingers released her and disappeared into the cloud to be replaced by the same dragging sound she’d heard earlier.

She felt a breath creep down her neck and crawl over her body. All the smog dispersed in a great rush. As the blue-white blanket rolled back, the skeletal arm appeared again, uncovered up to the point where its owner began to resolve. She closed her eyes tight and screamed as loud as she could.

Jessica sat bolt upright in bed, the darkness of her room a startling contrast to the glowing blue-white fog and the eerie white-barked trees of the cemetery. A breeze ruffled the curtains in the open window. Cool night air snuck into the room and chilled her sweat-slicked body to its core.

The ache around her ankle grew a note and she felt the bony fingers again. With a gasp, she tried to pull her foot from under the sheets. But she was stuck. Again and again, she pulled but could not free herself.

Something had her.

With a yell, she kicked under her sheets with her free foot; maybe she was just tangled in the bedsheet. The sick feeling in her gut rose to catastrophic levels when her foot kicked something hard and solid underneath the sheets.

Something had her!

It pulled so hard she skittered down into the centre of the bed towards the footboard.

Screaming as loud as her lungs would allow, she kicked and thrashed until her sheets and comforter tumbled to the floor with a loud thump. The fingers around her ankle finally released their hold, leaving her ankle bruised and scraped. Mom! she screamed, so long and so loud her voice broke. Her feet pushed her back up the bed until she huddled with her knees under her chin at her headboard. Mom!

The young girl’s screams penetrated the house through to the floorboards. The sound of her fear drifted from the open window into the dark and rainy Vancouver night. There it mingled with the screams of several other children drifting through the neighbourhood.

One by one, lights began to flick on in houses on the block. Three, then four, then five houses. The streets of the quaint neighbourhood shimmered in the damp night as a gentle spring rain fell. Beads of rain dimpled the windshields and hoods of the cars lining the street.

In the middle of the wet street stood a tall young man with sand-coloured hair plastered to his head. His hands worked deeper into the pockets of a dark three-piece suit with blue pinstripes. The collar of a light-coloured shirt poked out from the lapels and cuffs. As his gaze shifted to the screaming, his eyes caught the light of a street lamp and glowed electric blue. He smirked as he folded his shoulders in and shivered. The air bore a humid sting, seeping through his clothing and into his skin.

Somewhat grudgingly, his feet began walking until bringing him to a street lamp. He gave a nod the pool of light there. Out of the darkness of the night stepped a figure in a long cape wearing a particularly large wide-brimmed hat. The hat nodded back to him politely.

Sure took you long enough, the young man said with more than a hint of annoyance. With a raised eyebrow, he regarded the figure standing in the pool of light. And what the hell are you wearing?

The hat bobbed. Fitting, I think. We have to live up to our reputations, don’t we?

You look like a fool, Dehmion.

Again, the hat bobbed.

And it’s raining.

Dehmion sighed long and loud, and rolled eyes to the heavens. His eyes caught the light from the street lamp. I cannot control the weather, Morghen.

Morghen rolled his eyes but abandoned the conversation nonetheless. His moonlit blue eyes glanced about to a few of the houses, each with a light on in a bedroom and movement within.

The hat also turned to survey the houses as the cape furling about him. Where’s Ehrin? Dehmion stepped out of his pool of light to stand beside his younger brother. The dark cape shifted again in the calm, rainy night.

Morghen only shrugged. Hell if I know. Probably off chasing frogs in a pond somewhere. Just listen for the explosions. Then we’ll find him. Morghen shook his head and motioned to the heavens with his nose. Great plan, Dehmion. With a wince, Morghen slowly stretched an arm over his head and groaned.

What’s wrong?

This one kicked me. Hard too.

Dehmion didn’t bother to try to hide his laugh. Probably served you right.

Morghen cornered the man in the hat with a flat, annoyed expression. Do we have anywhere to stay in this . . . place? He looked around at the houses with thinly veiled ire.

Not yet. But we will soon. I have a plan.

You? A Plan? So far you’ve been excellent at doing just that. Morghen laughed and shook fingers through his hair to dislodge rainwater.

You have little faith in your big brother. Remember whose kingdom has yet to be conquered?

Give it time.

Indeed.

1

Under the Shade of the Elder Tree

The long, black coffin holding Jeremiah Bartlett’s body sank into a hole dug deep in the earth. Shrouds of vibrant green fabric attempted to camouflage the grave and the horrible brown scar it made in the earth. Morning sunlight slid across the coffin’s surface in solemn patterns as the casket passed the threshold between the realm of the living and the dead. The Rose Cross Compass glinted in gold inlay at the head of the coffin, the southern point elongated until it ended at the tip of a small, five-pointed star.

Sniffles ran throughout mourners gathered in the cemetery. Professors and students alike lined the burial site, some wiping noses, some clinging to friends and loved ones for support. Most pronounced of the sniffles came from a middle-aged couple, and their daughter in her twenties—Jeremiah’s family. The sight made June Bae’s stomach crawl. He hated death. And he couldn’t help but feel that some part of Jeremiah’s death had been his fault.

Absently, June touched the bruise that had formed around his left eye, which he could finally open again. Being of Korean descent, he wasn’t blessed with the biggest brown eyes to begin with; the swelling made the one eye seem even smaller. His teammate, Stella Everhart, had dabbed at the bruise with her makeup to dull the appearance of the injury. When he touched his eye, he could feel the oily foundation move around under his finger.

Stop fidgeting. Stella leaned around Noel. Her blonde pigtails glowed gold in the sunlight. She motioned with her nose to June’s eye. You’ll end up looking like a raccoon.

June’s black eye had arrived courtesy Jeremiah’s teammate, Jackson Keaton. Jackson had landed a good sucker punch on him when they had been trapped Below—in the demon world—long after Jeremiah had already passed away. This black eye served as June’s reminder of that trying night they spent Below and all the negative consequences that were sure to come from the visit.

A hand patted June on the shoulder and squeezed, angering a knotted muscle. He winced and turned to his team leader and best friend, Noel Sebastian. A forced smile pursed his friend’s lips, which just made Noel look like he had to go to the washroom. Under other circumstances, June would have found the look funny. Today, however, June wondered if he’d ever be able to laugh again.

The sound of grinding metal and a dull thud marked the finale of the coffin’s descent into the earth. The sobs of mourning rose a notch in the graveyard. Marney Evens, Jeremiah’s teammate, covered her face with both hands and sobbed openly. A friend wrapped her arms around Marney for comfort. June couldn’t look at her or anyone else in the mourning party. Instead, he stared with purpose at the ground in front of the gravesite. Anger played a game of tag between his stomach and his chest, pausing on occasion to gnaw on the back of his mind. Things might have turned out differently if only he’d gotten to Riser Team Six sooner. If only he’d known he needed to get to them to help.

In conjunction with the thought, his dark brown eyes slid carefully to a figure seated in a wheel chair beside Marney: Jackson Keaton, Riser Team six leader. The senior was pretty much the bane of June’s very existence. Just last week, Jackson had been the large and almost fat school bully, constantly picking on June and a handful of other students at the Academy. Now Jackson was thin and pale. A slim face with sunken eyes watched the hole in the earth where his team mate and best friend would soon rest for eternity. Angular features contorted as the senior held back tears. Despite his condition, Jackson looked less like a senior Riser who nearly died Below, and more like a high-paid runway model recovering from the flu. Leave it to Jackson Keaton to command a presence even after dropping fifty pounds and nearly losing his leg to a giant demon pig.

A cast encompassed Jackson’s left foot and leg all the way up to his mid-thigh. A faint green glow marked the work of the Alchemists around the wounded leg. Healing motes were repairing his bones and re-generating his flesh underneath the cast. It had been about three days, or maybe even four, since June and Jackson were rescued from Below. However, the nightmare of being stuck in the demon world alone with the bully stuck fresh in June’s memory, as if it had just happened this morning.

People started to move around him. First Jeremiah’s family approached the green tarps. They shuffled to the edge of the gravesite, where they huddled together once more. One by one, they each tossed a single red rose into the pit. The flowers hit on the head of the coffin with lifeless thumps. After a few wipes of his nose, Jeremiah’s father tossed back a green tarp from one of the piles of earth and scooped up a great handful of dirt. He said something quietly to himself before dumping the earth into the gravesite. June could hear the dirt pitter-patter onto the coffin. The sound sent a shiver up his spine.

The family began down moving the line of the Academy’s higher-ups to mutter their thanks. Headmaster Rosenkreuz shook each hand without flinching, including the father’s, which was still covered in dirt. Each family member then made their way down the line of mourners.

Jeremiah’s mother bobbed her head once to Noel and Stella who both returned the gesture. Then her red and swollen eyes came to June. The brown orbs in her face were dull and unseeing. Her lip quivered as she shook June’s hand, but she said nothing. When she moved past them, she slapped a hand to her mouth to cover a spasm of grief before hurrying off across the cemetery to an awaiting Academy car.

The presence of Jeremiah’s father appeared next, strong and commanding. The man held out a hand and June took it, feeling the grit of the dirt grind against his skin. Thank you for bringing back my son, he said, his face dark and hard. He shook June’s hand once with a stiff jerk and moved on.

Last, the daughter passed by and bobbed her head. She looked the most like Jeremiah, with large brown eyes and clear peachy skin. Sadness washed her face but didn’t mar her features. She forced a smile and much to June’s surprise, reached out to hug him. He froze awkwardly, unsure of what to do before she let him go and stepped by.

Noel patted him on the back. I’m proud of you, buddy. His voice was low and serious, but his words held genuine pride. I’m honoured to have you on my team, you know that, right?

June nodded slowly, all the while feeling a bitter regret forming in his stomach. He would be stronger for the next time the demon world decided to rear its ugly head. That was a promise. Deep inside, he knew without a doubt there would be a next time.

As the procession of students began to file past the gravestones, Johann stopped before him and extended a hand. June wiped his own hand down the side of his uniform before he shook it. Good to see you back, Bae. Johann’s face contorted in thought before his face firmed. My father would like to see you in his office. He says he needs a proper debrief.

Now? June glanced down the line to find the Headmaster and a few professors moving away from the funeral. They talked with Marney as she pushed Jackson’s wheelchair down a footpath. Their body language hinted at negotiation rather than idle after-funeral chat.

No one glanced June’s way except for Professor Boehme, their new mission champion, who cast him a narrow-eyed once-over. Today, most of the attention was on Jackson. A few professors had even pulled Noel aside to ask him some questions about Below. But no one wanted to ask June any questions. The professors, June thought, wanted to talk to everyone except him.

In the few days since the incident that led them all here to this funeral, the only questions about his extraordinary trip to Below had come from students at the Academy. Some professors eyed him in the halls and a few even pointed him out to other professors, but none stopped him to ask him any questions. He felt out of place at school. The attention—or lack thereof—made June feel as if he’d done something wrong.

Petra will be there too.

June startled. He’d forgotten Johann was still standing with him. A coy but smug smile teased the freshman’s face, and his lips wrinkled together to keep from showing his teeth. He patted June on the side of an arm with a smirk before stepping by. Don’t keep my father waiting. He hates waiting.

June sighed and let his eyes roll over the heads of the mourners to pick out the main campus building. The duel guard towers of the main hall peeked inquisitively over the tops of the cherry trees in full bloom, which surrounded the cemetery. Although the Academy sat several blocks away, the main building still watched over them from behind its wrought iron fence. His feet moved of their own will, even as Johann motioned him over to an Academy car. This morning, June would much rather walk back to campus, alone and undisturbed. The fresh air would clear his mind.

June! June, wait up! a female voice called. He tried to place a face to the tone. A little voice told him he should probably take Johann’s offer of a ride back to campus and make a run for it.

Someone grabbed him, and a wave of brown hair obscured June’s vision. The presence hugged him tightly, and a pair of breasts pressed into his chest. Surprised, he pushed at the body, hoping to see Petra. Instead, he found an equally curious student and the reason his brain had told him to head for the hills. Ly-Lydia? Junior Dreamer Lydia Kent smiled up at him showing all of her teeth. Large brown eyes painted with a generous amount of eyeliner and mascara fluttered back at him; her red lips pouted. Uh . . . Lydia! He tried to push her away again, but she trapped him in a rather relentless bear hug.

Oh, June, are you okay? Her voice dripped with dramatic worry. She hugged him one last time before a hand smoothed back his hair. Finally, she drew away, face painted with concern. Her finger dabbed at the bruise around his left eye, poorly hidden behind Stella’s makeup. Oh, June—. She sighed. You’ve been through a lot, haven’t you? I wish I was there to help. Immediately, he found himself in another bear hug. Johann’s ride back to campus was looking awfully tempting right about now.

Okay! Lydia! June struggled and pushed until he freed himself. He held her back at arm’s length. Okay. Uh, thanks. He stepped back out of reach of another devouring hug and set to rearranging his uniform. Her painted eyes looked him up and down. I-I have to get to the Headmaster’s office. He dared a look to the line of Academy cars. There he found Johann doing a terrible job of hiding his laughter. The jerk. June wanted to toss him in Lydia’s path, and then they’d see who would be left laughing.

Oh, but June . . . Lydia started towards him. June jumped.

Fearing another attack, he ducked away and started across the cemetery as quick as he could without seeming desperate. He could feel Lydia giving him a sly smile. Her voice called out to him, asking him to wait. As luck would have it, Johann directed him into an awaiting car, not bothering to hide his mirth nor the big grin that split his face. Breaking into a run, June cut across the cemetery grounds to the safety of the shadowy vehicles.

Okay! Let’s go! he called to Johann as he rushed up. June tried to hide the fact that the short, frantic dash had left him winded. A quick glance over his shoulder showed Lydia Kent jogging to catch up, her breasts bouncing under her shirt. Alright! Into the car! June tried to shoo Johann into the dark-windowed vehicle much like one would shoo a cat off the kitchen counter.

Johann, however, saw right through the ruse. You have a groupie, June. A snigger and a jerk of Johann’s long nose pointed out Lydia. She was closing in fast.

Let’s just go. He dared another look and stiffened. Uh, can’t keep your father waiting, right?

Whatever, June. Johann motioned him into the back of the black sedan. After you, rock star.

Shut up. But he hurried to duck into the back seat anyway.

Petra wanted to chew through the gravestones. Muscles in her jaw worked as she watched June hustle across the cemetery and duck into a black Academy car. It was idling at the curb as Lydia ran up to it. The older student knocked on the window and tried the door handle. That girl had touched June—she had hugged him and got awfully close to him. Too close for Petra’s liking. June was hers. Petra didn’t care that Lydia was almost eighteen with a body far more developed than her own. June was still hers.

Petra?

What! She turned with temper blazing to see her teammate Kingsley Mathews startle back a step. Clearing her throat, she composed herself and brushed down her uniform. Sorry. King. What?

King pursed his lips and huffed. We should be getting back to campus, too. Johann told me you have to debrief with the Headmaster and Cross Bae.

Her heart skipped into a trot at the mention of June’s name, but she covered with a frown. Why did it take them three days to bring us in for a debrief?

King put his hands up in mock defeat. Hey. Just passing along orders, here. He made a show of taking a long and cautious step past her before joining the sprinkling of bodies making their way through the grounds. Don’t chew the head off the messenger, he called back.

I wasn’t chewing your head off! Petra noticed far too late that her tone was scolding.

A hand wound through her arm and Petra knew the presence without looking. Her roommate and best friend, Sanja, sighed. Trouble with the troops, Cleo-Petra?

A smile quirked the corners of Petra’s mouth. Why couldn’t I be on an all-girls Dreamer team like you?

Sanja shrugged. It’s not as great as you think, really. Sanja had dark eyes and flawless olive-toned skin that survived the days without a drop of foundation. The two stood in silence for a moment before Sanja huffed. I hate cemeteries. Petra only snorted. Sanja urged her towards the Academy. Sooooo, she drawled with a playful smile, leaning close to whisper in Petra’s ear. I hear it was you and June the professors found in whatever was left of the Headmaster’s office when that thing got on campus. She paused to giggle. So, does that mean you and June are . . . you know . . .

Petra frowned at Lydia as they passed the car in which June had sought cover with Johann. The junior was still knocking on the window asking to be let in. As Petra and Sanja passed, Lydia looked back and wrinkled her nose before returning to her efforts of trying to gain access to June’s car.

Don’t worry about Lydia. Sanja pulled her around the Academy cars until King’s coffee-toned skin and bleach-blond hair caught their attention. He held open a door to a long, black limo while he scrolled through his phone. Anyway, tell me! Sanja huddled in and giggled again. So are you and June, like, a thing now?

I don’t . . . I don’t know. I don’t think so.

You said you kissed him, right?

Sanja! Petra’s cheeks grew hot. I told you, he was asleep at the time! Her eyes darted to the students they passed, making sure no one decided to eves drop on the conversation. Jeez, Sanja. Keep it to yourself.

Oh, come on P! You’re telling me the whole night nothing happened? You and June all alone in the Headmaster’s office . . .

Petra pursed her lips and hushed her friend. Stop it! But she couldn’t hide a chuckle.

King checked his phone one last time as Petra and Sanja approached the car. You’re gonna be late, Petra. The Headmaster hates waiting, you know.

Oooh, back to the Headmaster’s office, Sanja teased. She made a sound, which may have been a poor attempt to sound like kissing. Petra hit her anyway. Ow! You’re so mean, P! But Sanja hugged her before the two slid into the car.

The balance of Sanja’s Dreamer Team Eight and a few other students Petra ignored took up the other seats. King slid in after them, bullying Petra further across the seat with his hip until he could close the car door. He pounded a fist into the roof several times before shouting. Back to the Academy!

Petra wiggled around until she could peer out the back window at Lydia Kent, who was still trying to coax her way into the back of June’s car. Her hand itched to hit Lydia.

2

Out with the Old

June opened the newly installed door to the Headmaster’s waiting room, listening to the hinges rub just shy of squealing. The Ghast that had followed him onto campus a few days ago had blown apart the door, carving, carving an angry hole in the Headmaster’s waiting room. Carpenters had since repaired the wall, leaving unpainted drywall surrounding the new door jamb.

Inside he found Petra pacing and wringing her hands beside a large, leather chair that loitered awkwardly in a corner. That single chair and the enormous man-eating sofa were the only pieces of furniture that escaped total destruction during the attack just a few short days ago. Even so, the large couch June remembered falling asleep on now bore many small cuts and deep scrapes on its aged surface. One leg had been sheared off in the incident and the couch tilted at an awkward angle. Both the chair and the large sofa had been forced up against the wall to make way for the carpenters and painters.

A clear plastic tarp covered the old carpeting. Through the plastic, June could still make out the scorched area where he had thrown a fire mote to exorcise the Ghast. Wood chips and insulation littered the tarp, camouflaging a pool of bleached carpet, where Petra had been wounded by a glass shard from the door.

Old green curtains waved in a window keeping watch above the giant leather sofa. Cool morning air snuck into the room, rustling the curtains and stirring up construction dust. Above the sounds of hammers and drills, birds chirped sweet songs in the bushes, punctuated on occasion by the sound of a car horn or a delivery truck somewhere in the city.

Despite the familiar objects in the room, June didn’t remember much of what happened three nights ago. Most of the night was still a blur of exhaustion, but he did remember one important point: Petra. She had stayed with him that night and had protected him when the Haunt came for them.

No. When the Haunt came for him.

Petra’s fidgeting ebbed when June stepped into the room. She stiffened and stood straight, her hands still wringing. Good morning, June. A light found her dark blue eyes and she smiled before taking interest in arranging her skirt.

A flock of butterflies tickled his stomach and he coughed to chase them away. Since that incident with the Haunt on campus, Petra had been an intriguing new addition to his world. He paid more attention to her now, and watched her in class and in the hallways. She would smile at him, and he would smile at her. Even now in the waiting room, they shared a smile that left June feeling like a giddy fool.

He cleared his throat. How’s your leg? A piece of glass as long as his finger had ended up in her thigh that night.

Hammers and drills caused them to both startle and exchange another smile. Petra moved her hand to her skirt and lifted a corner to show a large bandage on her thigh. It’s much better now. Thanks.

The fluttering returned to June’s stomach. He remembered how the skin of her leg had felt under his hand that night when he tried to attend to the wound: soft and warm. The memory of that sensation made his insides do flip-flops. He hoped he wasn’t blushing. Just in case, he cleared his throat again and found great interest in the plastic tarp under his feet. So, what do you suppose Headmaster Rosenkreuz wants to see us for?

Probably something to do with all of this mess. She gestured to the construction in the waiting room before her fingers began to pick at one another.

With a sigh, June circled a glance around the office before he let himself down into a corner of the man-eating couch. He took care to sit as near to the edge as he could to keep from being devoured. The piece of furniture shifted beneath him and dipped over onto the stub of its lost leg. The scent of old leather made his nose itch, and brought back a rush of uncomfortable feelings. The couch smelled like the forests of Below.

So, June said again. Why do you think the Headmaster wants to debrief now? Three days after . . . He ended the statement with a cough into his fist.

When Petra only shrugged, June looked up to watch her as she settled into the chair to begin smoothing out imaginary wrinkles in her skirt. On occasion, he caught a glimpse of a corner of the large bandage covering her wounded thigh as she fidgeted.

June caught himself mirroring Petra’s uneasiness and gave himself a shake. Well, he continued, I haven’t had a chance to debrief with anyone yet. I’m kinda surprised no member of the Council other than Boehme has even asked about what happened in Below. Professor Boehme, his first-period Demonology professor, had been the only teacher who’d taken an interest in his uncouth foray into the demon world. And even then, Boehme had only asked June if he’d seen anything else in Below that might have been a concern. Specifically, Boehme wanted to know if he’d met any one local while in Below.

An image of the demon man with the glowing blue eyes popped into June’s mind and immediately stomped out all other thoughts. Such had been his memories since returning from Below. Every time he tried to recall the incident in any part, all he could remember were the glowing blue eyes and a large hat that hid the demon’s face.

I’ve seen the Headmaster and the Discipline Mistress twice now. Petra’s voice hinted at the unpleasantness of the experience long before she shuddered.

Madam Sophie? Why? The Discipline Mistress was just that—the one who advised and carried out discipline when students violated the rules or acted out of turn. Did you do something wrong?

Petra glanced up to look him straight in the eye. I was the one who shot Nevin.

June scoffed without thinking. Serves him right, from what I’ve heard. He eyed the scorch marks on the carpet again. Noel suspected Professor Nevin orchestrated the entire kidnapping at the elementary school. June would have preferred to see the crotchety old professor locked up for good in some remote corner of the world. Good job for that. Really. I think you did us all a favour.

Petra smiled widely and giggled before she cleared her throat. It was—it was my pleasure.

I’ll bet! June’s fist clenched in his lap with the urge to pummel the man into the ground himself.

They shared a laugh.

They didn’t suspend you, right? June glanced sidelong at her and caught her eye.

This time, Petra didn’t shy away from his gaze. She held it for a moment before her nervousness took over and she went back to rearranging her skirt. No, they didn’t suspend me, given the circumstances, I guess. Petra shrugged. They tried to get me to remember what I could about Below. That’s probably why I had to see the Discipline Mistress. They say she can read minds, and all that stuff. But I couldn’t really remember anything. Just . . . Petra ran a hand up her arm and shivered. Just a pair of eyes. Every time I try to remember what happened, all I see is this pair of eyes, like a cat’s eyes stuck in the moonlight.

Blue, glowing eyes? June shivered when Petra nodded; those glowing eyes meant she too had been affected—or possibly infected—by the cape-and-hat man from Below. Yeah, me too. Odd, he thought, that both he