Fallen Academy: Year Two (Fallen Academy #2)(15)

“Six more. Lincoln’s upped our training to insane levels.” I groaned at the thought, but I was definitely going to be a well-trained assassin by the time we were done with all of it.

Shea rolled her neck; she’d mentioned it was kinked the day before. “Yeah, Noah’s riding me hard.” The second the words left her lips, her face took on a bright red hue. “I meant in training.”

We all busted out laughing. Their Wednesday make-out sessions in his car had turned into “movie nights” at his place.

“Have you slept with him yet? I hear he’s amazing.” Chloe took a bite of her apple.

Shea grimaced. “No, and for the exact reason you just said. I’m not letting that dirty car park in my pristine garage.”

Her garage was hardly pristine, but thank God we weren’t saying ‘wee wee’ anymore. We’d finally grown to adult metaphors, and I couldn’t be prouder.

“Oh come on, that’s not what I meant,” Chloe said, looking regretful.

Is now a good time to drop the truth bomb on my bestie? Probably not, but here goes.

“He totally, genuinely, cares for you, Shea. Loves you, even. If you don’t reciprocate that—and I don’t mean sexually, but emotionally—he’ll leave.”

Shea shot me full of ice daggers, and opened her mouth to speak when Tiffany shot out of her seat, clutching her stomach.

“You bitches!” she shouted across the hall at us, clenching her butt cheeks.

We all burst into fits of laughter as she ran out of the room. I laughed so long I was starting to worry I might actually piss myself.

“Revenge feels good. Next time, let’s replace her toilet paper with sandpaper,” Luke declared.

When I could finally breathe, I held my hands up. “There will be no next time. We got her back. Now we need to focus on school.”

The last thing we needed was a raging Tiffany prank war.

Luke rolled his eyes. “Yes, Mom.”

I blew him an air kiss, and focused on his sister instead.

“Angela, this weekend is our first Fallen Army gig. Can you tell us what they’ll have us do, or are you magically gagged?” I asked, the fourth year.

Angela leaned forward, looking each of us in the eye. “The first time you go out, it’s just to get you used to the outside war zones. Desensitize you, so to speak.” A dark look crossed over her face, and she swallowed thickly. “But as the months dredge on, you’ll start to do missions,” she confessed.

I stared at her with rapt attention. She was gone a few weekends last year, but I’d never thought anything of it, and when she got back, she never spoke about it. She’d said she helped the Fallen Army out a bit, but she’d never said that the gauntlet was their admissions tool. Now that I knew everything, I was seeing those missing weekends in a whole new light.

“What kind of missions? Girl, you can’t leave it at that,” Shea pressed her, putting extra sass into the word ‘girl.’

“Most of it is just bringing aid to those who are trapped out there, food and water and stuff. Sometimes we’ve smuggled people out of hot zones, or fought down some serious baddies.”

My breathing slowed. “Hot zones?”

She nodded, looking dejected. “Places where the demons have… captured humans, and other free souls.”

Captured. She said captured.

“But they only ask for help with those missions from upperclassmen, third and fourth years. Only one time my second year, when they got low on soldiers, they asked us to help,” she amended.

Chloe took a sip of her water, brushing back a chunk of her bright red hair that had popped out from behind her hood. “I can’t wait to be a badass fourth year, ferrying free souls across the hot zones and into Angel City.”

Luke laughed. “You have a hero complex.”

She shrugged. “So what?”

Shea held up her hands. “All I care about right now is that Tiffany is stuck on a toilet somewhere.”

As I laughed, I looked around at my friends. I’d totally grown attached to this crew and to my new life. Worry for Mikey and my mom, and the fact that this devil mark was permanent nagged at my insides, but overall, I was counting my blessings.



After all the fuss we’d made, Tiffany never ratted us out. It might have helped that Shea slid a note under her door that read, ‘snitches get stiches’ in red paint that looked like blood, but the fact that she didn’t tell on us actually scared me a little. Was she plotting revenge? Either way, we’d made it through the week, and were now minutes from leaving on our first weekend out in the war zone as Fallen Army reserve soldiers.

“Got you a present,” Lincoln told me as we stepped out of his trailer. He had somehow snuck a box into his hands that I hadn’t seen before.

“A prezzie? For me?” I spun, and ripped the shoe box out of his hands. It wasn’t wrapped, which was so Lincoln. But he’d put my name on the top in pen with a small heart to dot the i. Again, so Lincoln. He was super romantic without trying too hard.

We hadn’t really gotten each other presents before. For my last birthday, he’d bought Shea and me dinner. Then for Christmas, he got me a glitter unicorn phone case, and drew black angel wings onto the horse with a Sharpie. I’d gotten him guitar picks.