First Infraction Page 3

  Shouts ring out as gyrating couples shove out of the way, then a scream of terror silences the club as the music screeches to a stop. I take a few steps forward, harsh breaths puffing in and out of my lungs as my heart tries to beat its way out of my chest.

  My hand flies to my mouth, smothering a sob as I see Michael’s wide, unseeing eyes and still, lifeless body. The scent of burned flesh assaults my nostrils and I start to gag. Someone else screams and the crowd scatters. I stare at the dead human for a few seconds more before turning toward the exit.

  Pure self-preservation takes over, blocking out everything else. Without a coherent thought or purposeful decision, I run.

  Chapter Five

  The cracks in the ceiling form an almost beautiful mosaic that my eyes trace for what feels like minutes, but could be hours for all I know. I focus on those jagged lines, picking out pictures and scenes like I’m lying on green grass studying the clouds in the sky.

  Anything to keep my mind off this place and the horrid situation I’ve put myself in.

  Knuckles rapping on the door jerk me from the trance I’ve put myself in, and my body reacts, rolling off the bed and landing in a low crouch, a defensive maneuver that has become automatic after years of training at the academy.

  Through the slotted opening in the door, I see a beefy hand resting on the butt of a large black baton hanging from a belt. My body stiffens, wondering what this guard has in store for me.

  “Dinner time,” he grunts out, and the locking mechanism on the panel disengages.

  He sets off down the hall and I scramble forward, pulling the door shut behind me before rushing to catch up to him. He snarls over his shoulder when I get too close, and I slow my steps to put a little space between us.

  I just hope the man is leading me toward the dining hall. Otherwise, there’s no telling where I may end up. This could be a trick, a hazing of the new inmate.

  Panic rises up inside me as I squeak out, “Excuse me, is this the way to the dining hall?”

  The man’s shoulders tighten, then release before he stops and spins around much more nimbly than his hulking body should allow.

  “Where else would I be taking you after telling you it’s dinner time?” he asks.

  I tilt my head as I study him for a moment. He’s tall and has the right coloring for a Sylph—his blonde hair and bright green eyes would fit right in at the academy—but he seems rough around the edges and too solidly built to be a faery.

  And I can’t sense any magic in him. Maybe he’s a human.

  Great. I haven’t had the best of luck with humans lately.

  But that doesn’t make any sense either. No way would Echo Oberon hire humans to guard faeries. The mere idea is ridiculous. Without these bracelets—

  My eyes drift down to his wrist, and I see a glint of gold shining there. That explains the lack of magic, but why would a guard be wearing a prisoner’s bracelet? Is he being punished for something?

  I shake my head. It doesn’t matter.

  “Thank you,” I murmur, breaking the silence. “I appreciate your help.”

  He harrumphs and stalks off the way we were going, not turning back to see if I am following. I rush to catch up and, as is much the way with me when I am nervous, I start to chatter.

  “I’m Rory.”

  “I’m aware,” he mumbles, keeping his eyes forward.

  “And you are?”

  I let the question trail off, projecting hope and friendliness. God knows I could use someone, anyone, on my side in this place.

  He pauses and huffs out a breath, his face lifting toward the ceiling with eyes squeezed shut. An impatient groan vibrates from his massive chest before he turns toward me, locking his green eyes on mine.

  “My name is Jax Woodrow. You may call me Officer Woodrow. But I would prefer it if you did not speak to me at all.”

  He says the words, but something in his tone sparks my interest and I study him closer. I may not be able to see auras like my dad, but I am an Oberon, which means I have the ability to sense emotions in others. The power isn’t my strongest, and I have to concentrate really hard to get a taste of the truth, but I can do it.

  And what I’m getting from Jax Woodrow is not malicious. There’s no hate, no anger, no disgust. In fact, the only negative emotion I can feel is impatience.

  I arch a brow and cross my arms over my chest. “Nice to meet you, Jax.”

  His eyes narrow on me for a moment before he turns, and without another word, heads down the corridor again.

  “There’s the mess,” he grunts, pointing toward and arched doorway before veering in the opposite direction and stalking off without another word.

  I guess I’m on my own.

  I stall for a few moments out in the hall, boosting my courage with a mental pep talk.

  Keep your head down. Don’t make any enemies. Do your time, then go home. There’s nothing to worry about. You’re stronger than all of these people.

  And if it gets too bad, you can just escape and disappear.

  That last thought startles me a little. I could probably do it. I’m pretty smart and powerful and I could figure out a way to sneak out of this place. I’d disappear…and resume my Zephyr appearance as Princess Aurora Oberon.

  Rory Finley would never be found. She doesn’t even exist.

  My stomach grumbles as the scent of grilled meat hits my nostrils. I can plan my great escape later. First, I need food.

  The dinner line is uneventful, a crew of tired-looking Fae slopping something that resembles food onto a tray without making eye contact.

  This place is a veritable funhouse.

  I find an empty table and slide into a chair, determined to keep my head down and, hopefully, avoid notice. While I’m not scared of the other inmates, I am scared of the spotlight revealing my power would shine on me. There’d be questions.

  “This is my table.”

  The growled words were punctuated by a tray slamming onto the wood, bits of soupy mashed potatoes flying in all directions. My head snaps up to see a girl across the table, her arms crossed over her chest, her gold bracelet gleaming and her lips twisted into a snarl.

  She’s a Zephyr, her black eyes narrowed on me as they dissect my appearance. Her long, obsidian hair is tied up into two pigtails and her gray shirt is knotted on one side, revealing a sliver of pale skin along her abdomen.

  “What are you looking at, Sylph?” she grits out.

  I open my mouth to respond, barbed words meant to cut to the bone only seconds from spilling out, but something holds them back. My head cocks to the side as I study her closer. Something is off. Something I can’t quite—

  “Oh, you’re good,” the girl says, plopping down across from me with a laugh. “It usually takes people a lot longer to figure out my sense of humor. Especially blondies like you. Are you a truth-sensor or something?”

  Her fast-paced chatter is such a one-eighty, it takes me a minute to register what she’s saying.

  “No,” I snap out, a little too loud.

  “I get it. You don’t know me. You don’t know my intentions,” the girl says, nodding thoughtfully. She points her fork at me as we lock eyes. “You and I are going to be great friends. I can tell. So you might as well tell me all your secrets now and get it out of the way.”

  A laugh bursts from my chest, unbidden, and she smiles. Her black eyes glitter with pleasure as she holds a hand across the table.

  “Lark Sparrow,” she says. “And if you laugh at my ridiculous name, I’ll shank you in your sleep. I mean, seriously, what parents with a bird last name would give their child a bird first name? No wonder I’m a criminal.”

  The way she emphasizes criminal makes it sound like she doesn’t really believe she is one. Of course, does anyone really think they deserve to be here?

  “Rory Finley,” I say when I realize she’s waiting for me to respond.

  After a firm handshake, she leans back and studies my face. I feel all squirmy an
d nervous, but force my body to remain perfectly still. I don’t even blink.

  “You seem…familiar,” she says. “Where are you from?”

  My nose twitches as I spit out the lie I’d already told.

  “I’m an orphan. I’ve lived on the streets of Old Los Angeles all my life.”

  Lark’s head tilts so far, her ear nearly touches her shoulder as she stares at me with disbelieving eyes.

  “Okay,” she says, but her tone tells me she doesn’t believe a word of it. Then she straightens. “I guess you won’t be admitting all your secrets tonight. That’s okay. I can wait.”

  Then she happily digs in to her food as I watch her with wide eyes. She doesn’t look back up until I grab my fork and take a bite of my own food.

  “Is it because I’m a Zephyr?”

  “What?” I ask.

  “Is that why you don’t trust me?”

  I can’t help it. I burst into laughter, garnering a handful of nasty looks from our fellow inmates. If she only knew…

  I feel eyes burning into my profile and I turn, the laughter dying in my throat. Blue eyes cut into me, narrowed beneath full, dark brows.

  It’s the boy from earlier, the Sylphid-Zephyr hybrid who obviously can’t stop glaring at me. What did I ever do to him? I force my attention back to Lark.

  “I don’t trust you because we just met. In prison. Your heritage has nothing to do with it,” I say with a smile, and she smiles back.

  I think Lark Sparrow might be right. I think we might become good friends.

  If I’m here long enough for it to happen.

  Chapter Six

  When I leave the mess, I find Jax a.k.a. “call me Officer Woodrow” waiting in the hall. When he spots me, he jerks his head and trots off down the corridor like he has no doubt I’ll follow him. I almost dig my heels in on mere principle, but I quickly realize he’s actually being nice.

  He must be showing me the way to the headmaster’s office, right? Unless he has some nefarious plan to get rid of me and needs to get me to a private place to execute his dastardly deed.

  “Stop being dramatic, Finley,” I whisper to myself as I pick up the pace to catch him.

  But just in case…

  “Where are you taking me, Jax?” I ask, forcing my voice to remain light and pleasant.

  “Officer Woodrow,” he grits out between clenched teeth. When I don’t comment, he sighs. “You have an appointment with Headmaster. I am showing you the way to his office.”

  “Thank you,” I mutter, feeling the tiniest bit relieved.

  “Don’t thank me, yet. This probably isn’t going to be pleasant.”

  Something in his voice makes me give him a closer look. His words were simple enough, but there was a sharp edge to them. Like he isn’t pleased to be the one taking me to Echo’s office.

  I can sense anger from him, with an underlying tension that’s impossible to read. I shrug, and focus on the route, just in case I have to come here again without a guide.

  And by the way Jax is acting, I can only assume he has no intention of helping me out again. He probably feels like some sort of errand boy, and it’s grating on his macho-man nerves.

  Yeah, that’s it.

  “What’s that?”

  I flinch, realizing I’d said the words out loud.

  “Nothing.”

  “We’re here,” he says, pointing up ahead to a closed door. “Good luck.”

  I nod my thanks and take the last few steps alone while Jax stays rooted to the spot. Steeling my spine, I rap my knuckles against the door. I’ve got this. There’s nothing to be afraid of.

  “Enter.”

  I twist the knob at Echo’s brusque command, shooting Jax a nervous smile before pushing my way inside.

  “Close the door, Miss Finley.”

  My instincts scream at me to run. That I do not want to be closed in a private office with this man. I swallow against the urge to flee and pull the door closed behind me.

  I am no coward.

  I force my steps to be bold and stride to his desk, dropping into the chair situated in front of it. Echo arches a brow, then presses his palms together in front of his chest.

  “In the future, Miss Finley, you shall remain standing until I invite you to sit. Do you understand me?”

  I understand I don’t like his tone or the way he stresses my name.

  “Yes, sir,” I say between clenched teeth.

  I’m no coward, but I’m not stupid, either.

  “Good,” he says, his eyes darting down to some paperwork on his desk.

  He shuffles the pages and passes one in my direction. I reach out and pluck it from his fingers, my eyes scanning the printed schedule.

  “This is you class schedule. You’ll follow it every day, Monday through Friday, with weekends off.”

  Classes? My lips move soundlessly as I read, my eyes wide with confusion. Why are there classes? This is a prison, not an academy.

  “We here at Oberon Reformatory want our guests to have the tools to reintegrate into society as productive citizens.”

  I inhale some spit and start to cough, pressing my mouth into the crook of my elbow and squeezing my eyes shut. Who does he think he’s kidding? Everyone knows that no one ever leaves Oberon Reformatory. No one is ever deemed ready to “reintegrate into society.”

  There is no rehabilitation here.

  The thought sobers me, and barely suppress the urge to slap a hand across my forehead. I’ve been banking on the fact that I’ll serve my six months, then get out of here with no one being the wiser. I can Glamour my parents into thinking I’d extended my European vacation, and everything would be fine.

  Maybe I’m not as smart as I thought. Or I’ve let my fear block the fact that I knew there was no getting out of this place.

  “You may leave, now,” Echo says, his voice jerking me from my thoughts.

  I stand and say, “Thank you, Headmaster,” before spinning toward the door.

  When I get out into the hall, Jax is still standing where I left him. His face and his huge, hulking body calm me. Like he’s already become a piece of normalcy in this crazy situation I’ve landed myself in.

  Which is ridiculous. He works for Headmaster Echo. I need to remember that.

  His green eyes land on me for a brief second before he spins and heads down the hall. I follow behind him silently, my eyes scanning the schedule Echo gave me.

  8:00-9:00 a.m. - Discipline of Magic

  9:15-10:30 a.m. - Etiquette and Discretion

  10:45-Noon - Elemental Practice and Physical Maintenance

  DISCIPLINE OF MAGIC? Etiquette? What the heck is physical maintenance?

  I shake my head as I shove the schedule into the pocket of my loose gray pants. At least it appears we have the afternoons off. I don’t know if I could handle these ridiculous classes all day long. At least, not and keep my mouth shut about it.

  Jax leads me to the common area before grinding to a halt. Letting his eyes scan the occupants of the large room, he mumbles something I can’t hear.

  “What was that?” I ask, my eyes roaming the room, looking for…something.

  Snacks? A friendly face? An escape hatch?

  “Can you find your way back to your room from here?” Jax mumbles again, but this time I hear him.

  “Yeah,” I say, and he starts to spin on a heel. “Jax? I mean, Officer Woodrow?”

  He jerks back toward me, his brows lowered with annoyance.

  “Thanks,” I whisper.

  His face softens for a split-second, then tightens so fast, I’m not sure if it was real or if I imagined it. His head bobs curtly before he spins and stalks away, disappearing down one of the corridors that shoot off from the common area.

  When I turn back toward the room, everything has changed. Where before, everyone was staring at the floor in a submissive manner, now all eyes are on me. I look from the other inmates to the corridor where Jax disappeared, then back.

  That’s when
it hits me. The presence of Jax had them staring at the floor quietly. It had been the same when I walked through with Echo earlier. It’s as if it is something they’ve been conditioned to do.

  A shiver pulses through me as I wonder what methods have been used to condition such a response.

  “Rory! Over here.”

  I turn toward the voice to see Lark waving her hand in the air. Relief washes over me at the sight of a familiar face. Lark smiles as if she sees the tension roll off of me, then waves again, encouraging me to hurry over.

  “Did you get your schedule?” she asks as she pats the seat next to her in the couch, inviting me to sit.

  I pull the piece of paper from my pocket and pass it over to her, trying my best to ignore the fact that everyone is still staring at me like I’m some kind of science experiment.

  Or fresh meat.

  “Oh, cool,” Lark squeals. “We’re on the same rotation.”

  “Rotation?” I ask, forcing my eyes to focus on her and not the others, whose stares are starting to border on creepy.

  “Inmates under the age of eighteen have to take these classes, and are grouped into three rotations to keep the class sizes smaller. Same classes, different orders. Ours are the same.”

  She beams at me like having me in her classes is the best thing that’s happened to her all day. And maybe it is. I imagine things probably get a little monotonous around here.

  “Who teaches these classes?” I ask, stuffing my schedule back into my pocket when she hands it back.

  “Get this,” she says, leaning in close. “Other inmates.”

  “What?”

  She nods enthusiastically, saying, “The ones who’ve been here the longest teach what they’ve learned. Headmaster says their experience makes them the best at instruction.”

  It makes sense, I guess. But then again, if they are so experienced and wise, why are they still here, teaching us? Why haven’t they been released?

  Because no one ever gets out…

  I shake my head and focus on the flow of words streaming from Lark’s lips. She’s a breath of fresh air in this place—someone with whom I might be able to share a real friendship.