Shadowblade Academy 1: Darkness Calls Page 2

  “Oh. My bad.” Marlow ran a hand through her colorful hair. “Could she, like, do stuff like that?”

  I knew Marlow was fishing. It couldn’t be helped. Early in our friendship, I had once explained that Myria, the golden child, was a supernatural entity. It was my fault for letting the cat out of the bag. Marlow couldn’t be faulted for being curious; only for being drunk and nosy.

  “I mean, I never saw Myri do anything like that—speaking like a possessed Deadhead—but she could do, uh, other things.”

  “Like what?”

  I tilted my head. “I’d rather not talk about it, Mar. If it’s all the same.”

  She tried to put on a good face, nodding along. “Oh, of course, of course. Yeah, no, I get it. Sorry Cor. I’m just sloppy.”

  I gave her a genuine smile. “You’re fine, babe.”

  She leaned forward, conspiratorial again. “You never really told me what brought you to a podunk, tumbleweed town like the Crust, anyway. I mean, the name says it all. We ain’t got shit here, girl.”

  The Crust was what we called our small, low-income town outside of New Orleans’ City Park. It wasn’t technically New Orleans, but rather the crust of the pie. As we Crustaceans liked to lamely say, “The crust is the best part.” In this case, it was total bullshit.

  I shrugged, excusing Marlow’s snoopiness. “Low cost of living. Nowhere else to go. Hoped I might be accepted or unnoticed here—one extreme or the other, really.”

  Fear flitted across her brow. “Are you trying to hide, Cor? Are you in danger?”

  I flapped a hand. “No, nothing like that.”

  Her creased brow smoothed. “Okay. Good. Was it about your sister?”

  I really didn’t want to talk about all this family shit, especially on a painful day like my birthday. But the booze was starting to kick in, my lips were feeling loose, and I figured Marlow wouldn’t remember shit about our conversation tomorrow anyway.

  “Myri didn’t have anything to do with it . . . directly,” I started, folding my arms on the table. “Her powers came to light when she was eighteen. I guess that’s the normal time for supernatural abilities to show themselves. She went off to Briarwitch Academy, graduated, and now she’s at some other secretive university getting her magical Master’s or something. My mom and stepdad were ecstatic.

  “But my stepdad was a real piece of shit. I could tell he wanted to profit off my sister, somehow. He’s a con artist. He managed to poison my mom against me. Maybe he thought I’d try to steal their glory.”

  Marlow snarled like a dog, her upper lip peeling back. “That bastard. If there’s anything I hate worse than abusive, shitty men . . . well, I don’t think I hate anything worse than that.”

  I tried to put on a strong face. My next words hurt to say and I was pretty sure I didn’t hide it well. I spoke fast, trying to get through it as quickly as I could. “When I turned eighteen, I guess the magic gene had passed me by. I had nothing. Zilch. Just a regular, dumb human. Mom was sad and blamed me like I was the Abnorm—sorry, Myri—and my stepdad fueled her fury. Before she could kick me out, I bailed, and I’ve been roaming ever since.”

  “That’s how you stumbled here?”

  I bobbed my head back and forth. “Not immediately. I roamed, like I said. Eventually I came to the Crust and started working at Lindon’s. The rest is history.”

  Lindon’s was the little thrift store that employed both of us. When I had been transient, Marlow, who had simply been my coworker at the time, gave me a place to stay in her little shotgun cottage. I would be forever grateful to her for that.

  I gave my bestie a big fake smile to show that the topic of conversation was over.

  Marlow didn’t take the hint. I didn’t think she was capable of taking hints, in fact. “Where else did—”

  “Look, babe,” I said, reaching my wits’ end. “You were right. This is a convo that requires more booze. What do you want?”

  Her cherubic face lit up. “Oh, shit, birthday girl’s buying? I thought she didn’t do that.”

  “And I thought you had the memory of a goldfish. Looks like we’re both pleasantly surprised.” I started to wander off, pretty sure she would want another Rolling Rock since she had five of them lined up around her.

  “Rolling Rock!” she called through cupped hands.

  I gave her a thumbs-up over my shoulder and reached the bar. It was packed, so I had to squeeze through some patrons. The cute Creole bartender with braided hair and flawless dark skin gave me a shiny smile and approached.

  I tapped a fist on the counter and pouted, trying to make it look like I was thinking hard. “Two Rolling Rocks, please. And a shot of tequila. Well is fine.”

  He said, “Sure thing, birthday gal,” in a deep voice. I watched his tight ass as he sauntered away. It was too bad he was gay, because I was starting to feel frisky. Birthday, booze, and frustration all mingled inside me. My gaydar was rarely mistaken.

  When he returned with the drinks, I slapped down a twenty, knocked back my tequila in a flash—which earned a whistle from the hottie—and started back toward our table.

  I didn’t make it two steps before a tall dude with greasy hair and a trust-fund-baby smirk stood in my way. Before he even opened his mouth I was debating whether to knee him in the nuts, but I decided I wouldn’t let my aggression take over before I heard whatever pickup line he had.

  “Did it hurt?” He leaned casually against a too-high table, which fit perfectly for his height.

  Should have kneed him in the nuts. “You should be ashamed.”

  My answer definitely wasn’t what he was expecting. With a surprised jolt, his brain short-circuited. “Huh? For what?”

  “For actually trying to use that pickup line on a flesh and blood, whole ass human.”

  His eyes widened. “Jeez, I—”

  “For the record, dude, it didn’t hurt when I fell from heaven because God is a figment and so are the pearly gates. If I wanted to placate your fantasy, I would say I crawled up from hell and squeezed out of my mother’s withered snatch like a gremlin, then ran away screaming.”

  I’d never seen someone’s eyes bulge so hard. They were about to pop out of his preppy face. “Jesus Christ, girl, you’re twisted.”

  “Don’t even get me started on Jesus, buddy.”

  He wandered off shaking his head. An immense feeling of satisfaction rolled through me. Holy shit, I just nailed that. I was at the perfect level of drunkenness, and the guy seemed like he deserved it. Even if I was feeling frisky, I had standards.

  When I got back to the table, Marlow was talking with a different guy. The dude’s back was to me.

  Of course, split us apart for two minutes and the hyenas come circling us both like we’re carcasses.

  “Cor!” Marlow exclaimed, smiling over the guy’s shoulder. “You remember Brad from work, right?”

  How could I forget Brad from Lindon’s? I worked with the arrogant douche for eight hours, three days a week. He had tried shooting his shot at least six times since we started working shifts together.

  He was semi-cute, giving me a big smile when he turned around. Then his eyes roved over my body and I felt like shuddering.

  In my defense, it wasn’t a great time to catch me. Not much had changed in the twenty seconds since I’d rejected Mr. Lamest-Pickup-Line-Ever. I was still thinking about my shitty family upbringing.

  I took a deep breath and tried to calm myself. I wished Bruce Kittenson were there to help. It’s not Brad’s fault you’re a raging asshole, Coralia. Remember that. No wonder you haven’t been laid in eons! It’s not Brad’s—

  “Hey, birthday girl,” he said with a wink. “You’re looking mighty fine.” His eyes did another up-and-down over my body.

  Why do men have to be?

  I was literally dressed like Mother Teresa. I’d been attired for a psychic reading, not a twenty-first-birthday bash. What the hell was “mighty fine” about me? Brad also had this fake, slurry cowboy way of
talking that made me want to rake my nails across a chalkboard.

  I said none of that, instead opting for, “Thanks, Brad. How are you?”

  Marlow leaned around his side, always the conspicuous rumormonger. “Brad wanted to ask you something, Cor.” Her eyebrows jumped mischievously.

  Brad gritted his teeth. “Well, there’s no time like the present, right-o, girly? I want to take you to dinner—”

  I raised a palm, cutting him off. “Look, Brad. I’m going to try and say this nicely.” I took another deep breath, trying to be zen. Then I heard my patience snapping in my ears. “I would rather drag my tits through jagged glass, belly crawl over lava, and twerk on the pointy end of a spear than go out with you. I don’t know how many times I can say ‘no thanks’ without you getting the hint.”

  Marlow clapped like a golfer, her mouth making a little O. “It’s a triathlon, Brad! For sadists!”

  Brad blinked. I stared him in the eyes long enough for him to look away.

  “I hope this doesn’t make work weird,” I said lamely.

  “I’m, uh, gonna go get a beer,” he replied, then wandered off like a wounded animal.

  “Little harsh?” I asked Marlow once he was gone.

  She giggled. “He’ll get over it. He’s tried asking me out no less than eight times since I started working at Lindon’s. Is it wrong that I’m completely horrified and a little turned on right now by what came out of your mouth? Like, seriously, where did that come from?”

  “Should’ve seen how I responded to the guy at the bar,” I mumbled.

  “You don’t seem in a great mood, Cor.”

  “No, I’m having fun. This is me having fun.” My voice had no energy.

  “Your sarcasm is as heavy as Jose’s pours, love. And by that, I mean to say I’m fucked up.” Marlow toasted me with her new Rolling Rock.

  I clinked glasses with her. “No, really, all kidding aside. Thank you, Mar. It’s been forever since I’ve gotten out and socialized. Thanks for dragging me out of my wallowing cave for a day.”

  “Um, is scaring off all the men in town with terrifying analogies really socializing?”

  I shrugged. “Is for me.”

  “Okay, Wednesday Addams.”

  I threw my head back and laughed, drawing a few looks my way. When I became aware of my surroundings, I scanned the room. “Damn, this place is getting packed. Guess everyone knows it’s my birthday.”

  Marlow snorted and bumped shoulders with me. “At least you’re getting lots of attention on your big day, right? I knew there was a reason I kept you around.”

  I tilted my head and quirked a brow, The Rock style.

  “Maybe I need to stick by your side more often, so I can get laid . . . by proximity.” She nodded thoughtfully to herself. “Dicked down by association.”

  I laughed again, harder, sputtering until tears were pouring out of my eyes.

  She grinned devilishly once I’d calmed down. “Wanna split? I won’t be offended. I’m plenty smashed.”

  I downed the rest of my beer and smacked my lips. I wasn’t doing a great job of pacing anymore. “Yes please. I think you’re gonna make me piss myself if we don’t leave.”

  Chapter 3

  Coralia

  WE LEFT JOSE’S RANCHERO out the back, down a hall, content on an Irish goodbye so I didn’t have to run into Brad or Mr. Did-It-Hurt again. I supposed I owed them both an apology since I’d practically murdered their egos. I was already pretty vicious and awkward in social settings—Marlow wasn’t wrong to call me Wednesday Addams—but add alcohol to the mix and good fucking luck.

  At least I always felt bad about it afterward, so that was . . . progress, right? “Progress not perfection,” as my AA-toting mother would say. Though I still hadn’t gotten an amends from her for actively making my life hell as a teenager, so I wasn’t sure how much weight to put into anything she said.

  Marlow hugged her leather jacket around her body, looking around the alley we’d walked out into. The sticky-sweet humidity of the night air was already doing untold damage to my exterior.

  “Uber?” she asked. “Actually, hold up. Speaking of pissing yourself, I need to use the little girl’s room before we go.”

  I groaned. “Okay, hurry up. I’m gonna turn into a swampy puddle out here.”

  “You could just come back inside and wait for me, Cor. It’s spooky as shit out here.”

  I waved her forward, checking both ways down the alley to make sure the coast was clear. “Yeah, that’s New Orleans for you. I like spooky shit. I’ll be fine.”

  She shrugged and opened the door. “Suit yourself, weirdo. I’ll B-R-B.”

  Marlow vanished into the bar and I was left alone with only the distant sounds of cars on the main drag to keep me company. That and my own thoughts. Which was a dangerous situation for me to be in.

  I couldn’t stop thinking about that psychic’s omen. I had never experienced something like that, being the target of an inhuman reading. I had to wonder if that was Madame du Mond’s shtick, but for some reason I doubted it. She had seemed just as confused as us once she’d snapped out of her trance. In fact, in her mind she’d said something completely different than what actually came out of her mouth.

  I was thankful Marlow had been there to witness and hear it. Otherwise, I was pretty sure I’d be going bonkers. Everyone would think I was crazy and no one would believe me. Shit, I probably wouldn’t have believed myself.

  “Six dark ways to reach the abyss,” I thought, shivering at the omen. What the hell did it mean, and what did it have to do with me? I should probably try to unpack this whole shitshow when I’m sober. Now’s not the time to dive into occult rituals. Inside, I knew I was going to Google this crap when I got home. It was too intriguing.

  “Are you sure you like spooky shit?” a voice said behind me.

  My brain went offline for a split second before registering how close the voice had come from. It was male, deep, rich.

  Goosebumps dotted my arms as I spun around, my fist clutched to my chest.

  The man in front of me was tall and bathed in shadows. An old-timey gas streetlamp at the end of the alley cast a black circle over him and the wall of Jose’s, silhouetting him so I couldn’t see his face.

  “Holy shit, man, don’t scare me like that. Brad, is that you?” I inched back toward the door of the bar.

  My heart hammered in my chest when the man took another step forward, my fight-or-flight taking over. He moved gracefully, not drunkenly, and I knew then it wasn’t Brad. My misguided coworker wasn’t as tall and he had a heavier, slower gait.

  “Afraid not.”

  The man’s simple answer chilled my blood, rooting me to the ground. My stomach dropped to my boots and I felt the color leave my already-pasty cheeks. “Hey, dude, get back,” I whined. “I’ve had about enough advances from mediocre Crustaceans tonight. Get in line.”

  In that moment, I knew I’d fucked up. Using a witty jibe in a public place, like in Jose’s Ranchero, was fine because I was surrounded by people. If I didn’t get a laugh from onlookers, at least I knew no one would try to hurt me.

  But my incorrigibly sharp tongue could get me in serious trouble when I had no one around to back me up. Such as now.

  Fear enveloped me. I glanced over my shoulder at the door. Come on, Marlow. Where the fuck are you?

  When I turned back around, the man was even closer—just a few feet away. I gasped and raised my hands, the “fight” response winning over against “flight.”

  “Stay back, asshole!”

  “You need to come with me, Miss Hargrave.”

  “Like fuck I do!”

  His hands reached out toward me.

  I swatted them aside.

  He moved swiftly like a fox, angling himself so I was suddenly flailing at open air.

  When his palms fell on my shoulders, I yelped, “Help!”

  His grip was rough, strong, his fingers biting into my shoulders through my dress.r />
  I kicked to try and catch him in the jewels.

  He was ready for it and swung his body around mine.

  I knew if he got behind me I was finished—chokehold, full nelson, arm-bar, you name it.

  I spun with him when he turned, making it look like we were pirouetting through the alley. Adrenaline fueled my outrage, pumping through my veins. The audacity of this asshole to try and take me right outside Jose’s backdoor rattled me.

  Gritted white teeth flashed near my head, out of my peripheral. I still couldn’t make out his face.

  I clamped my hands on his forearms and tried to pry him off. He was too big and strong. “Motherfucker!” I yelled.

  “Your tongue’s going to get you in trouble, Miss Hargrave,” his voice whispered in my ear, making my hairs stand on end. “Still think I’m a mediocre Crustacean?”

  “Bottom of the barrel, bastard!”

  I pivoted and felt renewed strength inside me—anything to make sure I didn’t have my back to him. We moved in a weird, scuffling dance that had us struggling back and forth for dominance.

  I knew, at any moment, he’d win.

  I didn’t even think it was the adrenaline fueling me anymore, but the fucking booze. My blood felt warm—

  No, that’s his breath on the back of my neck!

  Slicing left, I put my foot out behind him, hoping to trip him up as I pushed back against his body.

  A tornado of sensations roiled through my stomach, a sandstorm spreading through my limbs. It was unlike anything I’d felt before.

  He tripped over my foot and stumbled, but didn’t fall.

  It gave me enough time to spin out of his iron grip and face him straight-on. “I said fuck off!” My voice didn’t even sound like my own. With all my strength, I ran forward and shoved the man in the chest.

  He flew back toward the wall, eyebrows rising in surprise as his body prepared to collide against the patch of shadow cast by the streetlamp—

  And he vanished.

  I sprinted up to knee him where it hurt before he could get his bearings, already planning my next move before he hit the wall.