First Infraction

  OBERON REFORMATORY

  First Infraction

  WENDI WILSON

  Copyright © 2020 by Wendi Wilson

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Cover by We Got You Covered Book Design

  Created with Vellum

  For my mother-in-law Rita, who always sees the bright side of any situation. May I learn to be more like her one day.

  CONTENTS

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Epilogue

  Afterword

  Oberon Academy Book One: The Orphan

  About the Author

  Also by Wendi Wilson

  Chapter One

  I’m not even supposed to be here. I should be thousands of miles away, on the other side of the ocean. Touring the historic sights, experiencing foreign cuisine, lounging on sandy beaches as the summer days dwindle and my final year at the academy calls me back to reality.

  It doesn’t get much more real than this.

  “Rory Finley, please stand.”

  I pull myself up on shaky knees as a self-righteous man in black robes spears me with an intense look. His beady brown eyes are narrowed, but I can still see the light of excitement behind his dark pupils. He’s enjoying this.

  “You stand accused of murder in the first degree. How do you plead?”

  How do I plead? How do I plead?

  I’m no expert on how the human justice system works, but I’m pretty sure I should have been offered legal counsel. Someone to stand up for me, argue my case, or at the very least, tell me what to say.

  A man is dead. By my hand. Maybe I should just say guilty and get this over with—

  “Miss Finley, please answer the question,” the judge barks, interrupting my internal mini freak out. “The fact that you are a Sylphid does not entitle you to special treatment, nor does it place you above the law.”

  I open my mouth to argue, to tell him that I don’t see myself as special. That I’m here, rather than on my grand tour of Europe, because I just wanted to have a normal summer like a normal teenager.

  That I’m not a Sylphid. Not entirely.

  But the only sound that comes out is a yelp when the judge slams his palm against his desk.

  “How. Do. You. Plead?” he grits out, and I start to tremble.

  I don’t know much, but I do know murder in the first means I intentionally killed him with a preconceived plan. That is not what happened.

  “Not guilty,” I squeak out, and a snarl rips through the judge’s thin lips, along with a fair amount of spit.

  “We have several witnesses, Miss Finley, who have sworn under oath they saw you shoot your power—a streak of blazing hot fire—into the victim’s chest, after which he fell to the floor. Dead. Do you deny this sequence of events?”

  “Well, no, but—”

  “Do you deny that you then ran, evading the police for nearly six hours before you were tracked down at your hotel room and taken by surprise?”

  “No, but I—”

  “So, you admit you killed a man in cold blood, then left the scene of the crime, thus proving your guilt?”

  I’m getting nowhere fast with this guy. I don’t know what to say. My mother would know what to do. My father would rip him a new one and swoop me out of here in the safety of his strong arms.

  But I can’t call my parents. I’m supposed to be in Europe. And the scandal would devastate not only our whole family, but the peace and cooperation they’ve spent the last two decades building between the Fae and the humans.

  Because I’m not a normal faery. I’m not a Sylphid, though my blonde hair and blue eyes declare me one. Which is why this human jumped to that conclusion. If he were to see my wings…

  No. No one can see my wings, or they’ll know.

  They will know I am not Rory Finley, anonymous teenage Sylph, but Aurora Finley Oberon. That I am the eldest daughter of December Thorne Oberon, queen of the Zephyrs, and Easton Oberon, king of the Sylphids.

  My parents ended the reign of the dark queen Sebille two decades ago, before I was born. My mother killed her and saved the planet, freeing humans like this one from the threat of eternal slavery. Or worse, total annihilation. Along with my father and the rest of our extended family, she healed the damage done to Earth by the humans, brought the two races of Fae together to live in harmony, and gave the humans back the free will Sebille had been slowly stealing from them.

  This judge is wrong. I am special. I am an actual princess, daughter of the first Sylphid-Zephyr hybrid and great-granddaughter of Queen Sebille. And my father is the grandson of Finn Oberon, the most powerful Sylph to ever live.

  I am three-quarters Sylphid and one-quarter Zephyr.

  And one hundred percent more powerful than any Fae this nasty little human has ever come into contact with, that’s for sure.

  But I can’t tell him any of that. If I do, the ramifications to my family and their life’s work would be devastating. It is too high a price to pay.

  No, I have to face this on my own. I stiffen my spine and look the judge in the eye.

  “I killed him, but it was an accident.”

  The look of pleasure and anticipation that transforms his features sends a chill down my spine. I have a sinking feeling in my gut that owning up to the truth was a big mistake.

  Oh, God.

  I’m not even supposed to be here.

  Chapter Two

  One Week Ago

  “I don’t understand why I can’t graduate early.”

  I cross my arms over my chest, my mulish expression matching my surly tone. It was an old argument, one I didn’t expect to win but had to instigate on principle, alone. I don’t know if I can survive another year at that school without exploding…or making someone else explode. Literally.

  “Finley,” my mother says in that impatient tone I know so well.

  “Don’t,” I snap. “I know you think you know how I feel, but you don’t. You had Dad. And Aunt Shaela and Uncle Charles. People who accepted you for who you were and had your back, no matter what. I don’t have that.”

  “Finley, calm down,” my father says, and I turn on him as my anger flares.

  “You should know exactly how I feel, Dad. I’ve heard the stories, how everyone flocked to you because of your last name. Our last name. How you never had any real friends and eventually stopped letting people get close to you because of how fake they were.”

  My father can see auras, so he always knows how people are feeling and the truth of their intentions, despite their pretty words and fawning attentions. I wish I’d inherited that power, but I couldn’t see the colors of strong emotion like he could. I can sense emotions if I try really hard, but seeing the colors would make everything so much easier.

  “You on
ly have one more year,” he says, his voice calm and steady, almost cajoling. “Surely you’re strong enough to handle that.”

  I shake my head and frown. He always appeals to my pride when we argue, and usually it works. But not this time.

  “I’m late,” I say, giving them my back. “I need to finish packing if I don’t want to miss my flight.”

  “You’re going to have a great time in Europe,” Dad says, turning me toward him and placing a kiss on the top of my head. “You’ll come back rested and refreshed with a whole new outlook on the academy.”

  When I refuse to look at him or respond, he sighs and moves away. My mother steps forward, circling her arms around me and squeezing me tightly. I want so badly to relax in her arms, but force myself to remain stiff and unyielding in her embrace.

  I have a point to prove.

  “We love you, Finley. And we’re going to miss you terribly.”

  I don’t respond, and they shuffle from the room. Mom turns back just before she walks through the door, and the shine of unshed tears sparkles in her eyes. I almost call her back to me. Almost.

  But that pride my father so enjoys appealing to seals my lips, and I let them leave without a word. I don’t even say goodbye.

  I stomp through the corridor of our high-rise apartment, my Glamour in full-effect. My hair and eyes appear to be black to any who see me, just as they have since my first public appearance.

  There are many reasons my parents made the decision to Glamour me when I was an infant. But most importantly, it was to protect me. We live in the heart of the Zephyr capitol, and during a time when tensions ran high between the Zephyrs and the Sylphs, my dark hair and eyes made me a more acceptable heir to the Zephyr throne. Despite their high hopes for a bright, integrated future for the two races, things were still a bit touch and go when I was born.

  When I was old enough and tensions had settled, I made the decision to continue the farce. It’s actually pretty convenient, having two faces. The one that the world knows doesn’t really exist, so when I just want to be myself, no one has a clue who I am.

  Or when I’m hiding right under my parents’ noses, but no one knows it’s me so they can’t rat me out.

  As soon as my chaperone, Sawyer, gets into the car next to me, I touch his arm. He looks at me, his black eyes filled with suspicion, but I ignore the guilt rising up from my belly.

  “We are going to Europe, together. I will be with you the entire time, safe and sound and touring the sights like a good little princess. You will tell my parents that I am having a great time, but I am still angry with them and refuse to speak to them on the phone. You will tell them that I have agreed to sit down and talk to them when we return, but I need time.”

  He nods at me, his eyes slightly glazed over.

  “Now, drive to the north side of the city. I need to make a stop there before we go.”

  As the car pulls away from our high-rise apartment building, I look up at the penthouse windows. It’s too far away to see, but I’m sure my mom and dad are watching. I once again swallow against the guilt building inside me.

  They’ll never know I didn’t go on my grand tour. Everything will be fine, and I’ll have the summer of my life before returning to the academy and all the fake and fawning people who want to use me to raise their social standing.

  This is going to work. I know it will, because my Glamour is permanent until I decide to remove it, unlike every other faery on the planet, whose Glamour fades with time. Well, every faery besides my kid sister.

  But we’re the only two who know that. We made a pact when we were younger to keep the secret for each other. We knew it would come in handy someday. Especially when dealing with our hard-to-fool parents.

  I would miss Robbie. She’s only fourteen months younger than me and we’ve always been close. But not even she knows about this plan I’ve set into motion. I have to protect her by giving her plausible deniability.

  I have Sawyer drop me off at a hotel on the north side before he heads on to the airport. I check in under an alias—Rory Finley—and start my real vacation.

  One that ends in disaster.

  Chapter Three

  Six months.

  The judge gave me a six month sentence after changing my charges from first degree murder to involuntary manslaughter. I was pleasantly shocked at first, surprised by his show of lenience and understanding.

  But it was all a ruse.

  My sentence will be served in the one place that guarantees I’ll never be seen or heard from again—Oberon Reformatory.

  These thoughts pulse through me as I stare through the glass window, the landscape whizzing by in a green and brown blur. I wonder if I should call my parents. They could get me out of this mess. They could fix it.

  They could keep me out of prison.

  But the stakes haven’t changed and I refuse to be the catalyst that destroys two decades of hard work. If they get me off the hook, the humans will revolt. Accident or not, I killed one of their own. The magic of the Fae is a sensitive topic. It’s been used against them as much as it’s been used for them, and those memories haven’t faded.

  But they’re not the only problem. With my true identity being revealed, my true appearance will be, as well. The Zephyrs will feel lied to and betrayed, losing most of the trust my parents have worked so hard to construct. The Sylphs will get cocky—a Zephyr princess that looks like them—and tensions will rise between the two Fae races once again.

  I consider the possibility that I’m overreacting. That my parents could come in and quietly save the day. No one would be the wiser and our lives could go on, as normal.

  Then I picture the hurt and disappointment in my mother’s eyes when she finds out I lied to them. The anger when Dad hears that I tricked Sawyer into thinking he was doing his job, and that the old Zephyr fell for it.

  It’s much easier to make myself believe that I’m suffering in silence to protect the uneasy peace between the three races.

  I shudder and the human guard driving the car smiles at me in the rear view mirror before cranking the air conditioner up. What a jerk.

  And an idiot.

  Does he think this flimsy metal grate between us is actually protecting him from me? I could zap him into unconsciousness with barely a pinky finger.

  But, I won’t. I can’t do anything to draw undo attention to myself, and a regular Sylph wouldn’t be able to move under the weight of the magical ropes tied around me. I look down at them, the fibers giving off a subtle glow.

  The rope is supplied to the humans as a symbol of good faith and a tool to build trust. After the reign of Queen Sebille, who tricked them into thinking she was helping while she was really plotting to wipe them all out, the humans were understandably leery of the Fae.

  My grandfather Cris actually came up with the idea of giving them access to some of our magic. If they feel threatened or have a need to apprehend a faery, they can use the ropes to keep the upper hand. Fae can’t escape or even use magic when bound inside the coils.

  Well, most Fae, that is.

  Robbie and I are once again the exceptions, though nobody outside our family knows it.

  As descendants of Queen Sebille—the most powerful Zephyr, ever— and two dominant Sylphid bloodlines, we are anomalies. The blood of Finn Oberon and Robin Goodman, or Puck, as he likes to be called, runs through our veins.

  The truth is, I’m sure even the magic surrounding the reformatory can’t hold me in. Well, pretty sure.

  It was built by an Oberon, so I could be wrong. I’ll just have to wait for exactly the right moment and give it a shot. And hope the whole thing doesn’t backfire.

  The trees start to thin and splotches of gray stone catch my attention, pulling me from my thoughts. My eyes narrow as I try to make out what I’m seeing.

  Then it hits me. It’s a very long, very tall wall.

  It seems I’ve arrived.

  The building is…imposing. With tall towers of weathe
red stone and a large central building, it reminds me a little of the academy. But that’s where the similarities end.

  A dark cloud seems to hang over the property, making the whole place eerie with misty shadows. And there are bars on the windows.

  Dread mixed with panic spikes through me as the car rolls to a stop. I’m not ready. I’d rather endure more time in the car with this insufferable human guard. He can make it as cold as he wants. I won’t complain.

  The massive wooden door at the top of the steps swings inward as the guard hops out of the car and runs around to open my door. Of course, it’s a necessity, not a courtesy. I can’t move on my own due to the ropes. Supposedly.

  I don’t twitch a muscle as a man steps from the dark interior of the building and moves regally down the stairs. My eyes widen as his face comes into view. He looks…familiar.

  I never met my great-grandpa Finn. He died before I was born. But, I have seen pictures, and this man holds a strong resemblance to him. His hair is still blonde, rather than Grandpa Finn’s silver, but their facial structure is basically the same.

  And as he draws near, I see the color of his eyes is the same, as well. The soft gray shade matches the cloudy skies over our heads as they trail down my body, taking in my appearance.

  I’m still wearing the sequined blue dress I’d had on at the club that night. It has a modest neckline, but shows lots of leg. His assessing eyes hold not a trace of appreciation, for which I am grateful, but the ugly hate I see instead is nearly as unsettling.

  “Rory Finley,” he says, rolling the name over his tongue. “I have not come across that surname before. Who are your parents?”

  Panic arcs through me as my mind scrambles for a plausible explanation. I hadn’t expected anyone to show any interest in my background. I’ve been convicted and am here to serve my sentence. That should be the end of it.

  But this mountain of a Sylph, whom I can only assume is Echo Oberon given his family resemblance, is waiting for an answer. Thoughts of my mom flash through my mind, and inspiration strikes.