The Culling Trials (Shadowspell Academy #2)(22)

Thanks for the accommodations, guys.

“One wrong step, Johnson,” Ethan said, pushing open his trunk and rooting around. “One wrong step…”

“And what?” I grinned with all the bravado I had left, trying to ignore the warning crawling up my spine. “You’ll get rid of me and then start losing? Daddy won’t be pleased if his golden son doesn’t come home with the prize.”

He grabbed a set of clean clothes and crossed to the bathroom, clearly intending to take the first shower. No one stopped him.

“Thanks, guys,” I said as I grabbed my own set of clean clothes. Just like I’d figured, they were the right size. “I did not love the idea of begging for mercy from that guy.”

“He’s not capable of mercy,” Pete said, collapsing onto his chosen bed on the other side of the bathroom. “That was bred out of his family generations ago.”

I knew he was right, but I still would’ve tried. I had a way with words—most of my family did—I would’ve ridden that bicycle as hard as I could.

“How’d you get that picture?” I asked Gregory, who was looking out the window at the grounds. People milled around idly, probably to get away from their group mates. I could relate.

He didn’t glance back. “Found the place he hides his phone and wallet. It wasn’t hard. His magic is still rudimentary in many ways, and I’ve always had a gift for sniffing out secrets.”

“You need to watch your back, Wild,” Orin said, back in his corner. The guy was exceptionally weird. When he was older, he’d probably graduate to creepy. “Ethan won’t like admitting that he needs someone. You’re a threat, now.”

Another mark on my head. Awesome.

“Oh shoot.” Pete pushed up onto his elbows. “I probably am, too, then. Like you guys. Because we haven’t done my trial…”

“You are not an alpha, so you are not a threat.” Orin turned his attention to Gregory, ignoring Pete’s sputtering. “Gregory is, though. A threat, I mean. He drew the notice of his house and took the glory today. They have their eye on him now.”

“Yeah, but…” I scratched my nose. “It’s not like Ethan wants the notice of that house.”

“Ethan wants the notice of all houses, or else he wouldn’t be his father’s son.” Orin took a small step back, and shadow draped across his face. Exceptionally weird. “You two need to watch your backs before someone sticks a knife in them.”





Chapter 9





Sleep peeled away slowly, pulling me from a strange yet fantastic dream in which I was riding a sparkly unicorn within a herd of sparkly unicorns, running across the clouds and dodging massive spiked balls swinging at me.

It took me a moment to place what had stirred me. Everything seemed peaceful—stillness covered the room like a blanket, soft moonlight seeped through a crack in the curtains, and the only sound was soft, rhythmic breathing.

Then a prickle of warning ran down my spine.

Alertness chased away lingering sleep. My senses fired up, and I pushed up onto my elbows to take stock of the room. The lump that was Pete lay snugly within his blankets, curled up into a ball revealed by his open privacy curtains. Near the window, Ethan lay flat on his back, his face turned my way, his one visible eye closed. His privacy curtains were open, too, although they hadn’t been when he’d gone to sleep.

Another warning fluttered my stomach, and I swung my legs over the edge of the mattress, bare feet on the cool hardwood floor. Orin lay on his back, too, his curtains open but his covers undisturbed. As if he weren’t creepy enough, his alignment was that of a body in a coffin—arms tucked over his chest, legs pressed together, body straight.

I shook my head, peering into the other corner of the room at Gregory’s setup. His curtains were still drawn. I tiptoed over, gritting my teeth against the cold floor on my bare feet. On the side of the bed facing the wall, his curtains had been pulled back. No head graced his pillow.

Darkness coated the open doorway of the bathroom, but on the off chance Gregory had dream-walked in to use the toilet, I peeked my head in and made a psst sound. “Girl needs to use the bathroom,” I whispered. “Anyone in there?”

No slide of fabric or swish of movement answered me. I stepped farther in to make sure, relying on my better-than-average night vision. Shadows draped the interior, grays and blacks, and while I was pretty good in the dark, I wasn’t nocturnal. I fumbled in and waved my arms around.

Nope, still empty.

Frowning, I backtracked and looked out the window at the empty expanse of grass, then the still portables beyond. Not a soul to be seen.

The alarm clock on Ethan’s nightstand said eleven fifty-five, five minutes before curfew.

We’d learned of the curfew earlier, at the fabulous buffet dinner in the main cafeteria, a place all the trial-goers could now use. You could stay up as late as you wanted within your room—as long as you were respectful to your roommates—but you were forbidden to traverse the mansion or grounds after midnight, unless it was an emergency. To get caught would mean immediate expulsion from the trials.

The feeling of warning wiggled through my middle, demanding I take notice. But what could I do? I had no idea where Gregory might’ve gone, and I couldn’t risk getting caught wandering around.