London Academy 2 Read online

  London Academy 2

  Copyright © 2019 Klarissa King

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission—this includes scanning and/or unauthorised distribution—except in case of brief quotations used in reviews and/or academic articles, in which case quotations are permitted.

  Previously published under pen-name Thalia King as “The Shadows” in 2019.

  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons, whether alive or dead, is purely coincidental. Names, characters, incidents, and places are all products of the author’s imagination.

  London Academy Trilogy

  Imprint: Independently published

  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

  LONDON ACADEMY

  BOOK 2

  CHAPTER 1

  Sunrays warmed April’s entire body.

  The bright light pierced her eyes and blinded her. April turned her face away from the window and squinted. Her eyes creased and forehead wrinkled as the room cleared in her sight.

  It looked like a hospital bay of sorts, one from another time.

  The beds were iron, reminding her of asylum horror films, and the thin mattresses on top of them were draped in knitted blankets. Fluorescent lights poured down on the room, flooding it with a sterile whiteness; metal tables on wheels held strange medical tools that April didn’t recognise—triangular flower stems dangling from IV bags that were filled with orange liquid, crescent-shaped branches that were carved and sanded, and plates of amulets that glowed beneath the light.

  A white door stood opposite and there was an archway to her right. The archway led to a corridor, she noticed, and all the windows had metal bars on them.

  April wondered if she was in a hospital or a prison.

  The bed beside her had a body in it.

  The patient had her back to April, and sleek black hair flowed down the side of the pillow.

  It was Piper, sleeping. April recognised the hair.

  Every muscles and bone in her body strained as she forced herself upright. The mattress springs squeaked.

  She slumped against the metal bedhead.

  “Oh, you’re awake.”

  April groaned and craned her neck to the left.

  A few beds up sat a girl, around twelve years old, reading a gossip magazine. She had beige bandages wrapped around her neck and a black gauze stuck to her cheek. The gauze stretched as she smiled.

  “Desmond will be pleased.”

  April balled her hands into fists and rubbed her eyes. White dots danced on her eyelids.

  “Who?” she said, dropping her hands to the blanket.

  She looked down at her hands, and dragged her gaze up the length of her arms. Black bandages were wrapped around her wrist and bicep like tinsel around a Christmas tree.

  The girl giggled. It was an annoying sound that made April recoil.

  “Oh, you know,” the girl said. “Only one of the best up-and-coming enforcers in Britain.”

  April narrowed her eyes at her, half out of annoyance, but also to shield her eyes from the brightness of the room.

  The girl flicked the page on the magazine and said, “He checks on you a lot. He isn’t too happy about a dullborn in the Academy.”

  April pushed the blanket from her body. Her thigh and ankle had bandages coiled around them, too.

  The girl traced her gaze. “Not pretty, are they?” she said with a sigh. “You should’ve seen them yesterday. The healer was changing the dressing, and I caught a glimpse. I could see your bones in some places.” She flicked another page over. “At least you have skin now.”

  April climbed off the bed, her movements slow and cautious. Her feet flattened to the cold floor and pain jolted through her legs. Gritting her teeth, she shut her eyes and stifled a moan.

  “Bathroom’s down the hall,” the girl said. “Three doors to the left.”

  April inhaled until her chest rose and she couldn’t squeeze anymore oxygen into her lungs. Then, she limped to the end of the bed and slid a clipboard from the slot bolted to the bars. The heat of the girl’s stare burned into her back and followed April out of the hospital room.

  The hallway stretched so far that April couldn’t see where it ended.

  Clutching the clipboard in one hand, she used the other to balance herself against the wall. Each step she took sent bursts of fire up her body, but she made it to the bathroom without crying out.

  April didn’t want to draw any attention to herself. She shut the door behind her and locked it. Then, she lurched over to the basin, tossed the clipboard into the sink, and flinched at her appearance in the mirror.

  Dark circles bordered her weary eyes; the colour had drained from her chapped lips, leaving them a pasty beige; smudges of yellow, black and purple blotted her skin where the bandages weren’t coiled; and an unfamiliar white singlet and pair of shorts covered her. April dipped her chin and looked down her nose at the clothes. They weren’t hers, there was no way that she would purchase—and wear—polyester.

  April peeled the singlet off, wincing at the aches that assaulted her. It was as though her worst period cramps had spread all over her body, she mused.

  The fabric dropped to the tiled floor and she tugged off the shorts before stepping out of them. A bandage covered her belly, and she delicately unwrapped it to see what it shielded.

  The bandage dropped, joining her clothes, and she stared down at the marks on her stomach. Her eyes glazed over and her arms lay limp at her sides.

  A smear of crinkled skin stretched from her bellybutton to her lower rib, bigger than the circumference of a football. The flesh had pulled, like stretchmarks, but with an unnatural bumpy texture and grey tint, and two smaller strips of fraught skin lined it.

  April choked on a cry.

  Her hands shot up to her shoulder and tore off the bandage there. When she’d ripped it off, she twisted and looked at the spot on her back where a dull hum rippled against her skin. Underneath her shoulder blade was the same mark that was on her stomach, but the skin was thinner, translucent—she could see the blue of her veins wound around the paleness of her bone. Tears stung her eyes as she gazed at it.

  April dropped to the floor, her bum landing on the cushion of discarded bandages and clothes. Her fingers tore at the wrappings around her ankle, wrist, thigh, arm—until she was stark naked and gazing in horror at her gruesome scars.

  She counted eight in total. And with each one, her mind swarmed with pieces of how she’d gotten them.

  Reaching up her hand, April dragged the clipboard out of the sink and it slapped to the floor. There was a single sheet of paper clipped to it.

  ‘April Clark. Human. Administered for treatment to multiple Aswang bites.

  Order: To be healed and released immediately. Temporary residence approved by Provost Vale.

  Patient remains in a stable condition and is expected to make a full recovery. Permanent scarring to the torso, left outer-thigh, right ankle, left upper-arm, right wrist, and upper-left back. Is to be treated to the exception of resource availability.’

  April pitched the clipboard to the floor.

  It skidded and hit the wall. Hugging her knees to her chest, she hung
her head and shut her eyes.

  The sound of Nigel’s teeth ripping into her, the screams she’d cried, the blinding agony of it all—it all came rushing back to her in a packed punch to the gut.

  CHAPTER 2

  After an hour—or hours—sobbing on the floor, April decided she needed to go home. Even if her mother wouldn’t be there, it was a safe place to her. Not the alien building she was trapped in.

  In the bathroom, she fastened the strings of her hospital-shorts. Her eyes burned with the shedding of too many tears, and her throat had parched into a desert. But water could wait.

  All April wanted to do was go home. She’d managed to get some of the bandages back on, but the one for her shoulder blade had been a little tricky. It was crumpled in the basin.

  April left the bathroom and returned to the sickbay.

  The girl on the far bed wiggled her fingers in a greeting, but April snubbed her. She lumbered over to Piper instead. The black-haired beauty was in a deep sleep.

  April thought that she looked rather peaceful, if she ignored the blotchy tear-streaked cheeks. Maybe she should leave a note, she wondered, or wait for her to wake up. But that meant more time in the last place she wanted to be in.

  She could always text her later. April wobbled back to her own bed.

  A white paper bag sat on the bedside table, next to a full pitcher of water. She grabbed the jug with both hands and guzzled down what she could. Droplets leaked from the corners of her mouth and dribbled down her chin.

  She slammed it, half-empty, back onto the stand and snatched the paper bag. Digging her hands inside, she rummaged through the tattered, bloodied clothes and shoes until her fingers brushed over a cold metal brick. Her phone.

  April yanked it out and turned it on. The screen frizzed before it went blank.

  “Piece of crap,” she muttered, tossing it back into the bag.

  Her clutch, she noticed with relief, was in the bag, too.

  She pulled it out and flipped it open. Credit cards were slipped into the slots and a couple of twenty-pound notes were secured by a Dior money clip.

  April grabbed the bags and looked over her shoulder at the peculiar girl. “You know where I can get a taxi?”

  The girl giggled. “This is Central London. You can get a taxi anywhere.”

  A swell of relief hugged her insides, and she exhaled in a whoosh. At least she was still in London, a place she knew and called home. And that’s exactly where she was going—home. Her fingers pinched the paper bag, her clutch tucked under her arm, before she limped toward the doors.

  “Bye, dullborn,” sang the girl. April looked over her shoulder at her and faltered. The girl waved, and sparks shot out of her fingertips. April shook her head and hurried out of the sickbay into the maze of corridors. She would just add it to the list of things she should have never seen.

  The walls seemed to bend in on themselves, twisting and turning like warm toffee. It had felt like hours had passed when she finally reached a main landing.

  A few people sped across the area, running up and down corridors and stairs. They all wore school uniforms, but April didn’t recognise the stripes on the ties.

  Stone staircases spiralled upwards, balconies looked down on the landing, and a loud chime reverberated through the building—a church bell.

  Her head spun, like the compass on the wall she passed, whirling around with no direction.

  She settled on a wide, majestic set of stairs that descended to a lower level, and lurched toward it. The bannister gave her support as she treaded down one step at a time.

  A grunt escaped her lips as she neared the bottom level, which appeared to be a foyer—a wide floorplan that forked into staircases and single doors.

  One of the doors burst open and out came a group of boys, their ties hanging loose over their untucked shirts. They laughed over a crinkled piece of paper that they passed between them, and headed to the staircase.

  They noticed her and their pace slowed. Each of them observed her marked and bandaged limbs.

  “What?” she snapped. “Never seen a pair of legs before?”

  The boys looked between each other with I-don’t-want-to-know eyes. They hiked up the stairs and passed her without a word.

  April waited until they disappeared from sight before she struggled down the rest of the steps and staggered onto the carpet. Before she could breathe a sigh of relief, a metal door ahead swung open.

  April grunted and hobbled behind a Knight statue that stood beside the foot of the staircase. She slid down to the floor, taking the weight off her weak legs.

  “It’s our job! What would you have me do? Banish every halfbreed from the world they legally have a right to exist in? Want me to go change all the laws because you don’t like her?”

  April peeked around the side of the statue. Two guys stormed out of the metal doorway. The light-haired one—Ash, she recalled—was chased after by the brunette, Desmond.

  “It’s not a personal vendetta, Ash.” Desmond’s voice wasn’t a furious shout, like Ash’s. April compared it to more of a deep growl. “I don’t like what she is—that isn’t a secret around here—but it’s more than that.”

  Ash snorted and rounded on Desmond. “It’s nothing more than your prejudices emerging. You don’t like Halfbreeds, dullborns, or Nightwalkers. You don’t like anything that isn’t pure, one-hundred-percent daywalker.”

  “For all we know,” said Desmond, “she’s working for Colt. We don’t have any way to test her for banyon ingestion. She could be here on his orders.”

  “I haven’t studied banyon properties for years.” Ash’s voice had tightened and was laced with arrogance. “But I’m certain I recall the side-effects quite clearly. And I know that Piper isn’t showing any puppet-like signs. She’s not zoning out, drifting off into trances, and—here’s the kicker—she can talk!”

  Desmond shrugged, his expression cool. “You know as well as I do that some banyon eaters don’t experience the symptoms for up to a week. It’s been two days.” He ran his fingers through his ruffled dark curls that reminded April of chocolate swirls. “And even if she isn’t infected, she could still be working with him. She could be feeding him information on our case files, and here you are ready to have her join the bloody case.”

  “Yes, you’re totally right, Des. It’s perfectly normal for someone to pledge loyalty to a maniac who killed their mum.” Ash lowered his voice. “We need her,” he said. “We need all the halfbreeds we can get our hands on. The cult didn’t make halfbreeds for nothing. The less they have with them, the better for us.”

  “So this is just about the case?”

  Ash threw up his hands. “What else would it be about?”

  “Right.” Desmond nodded, a dark smile on his lips. “Where’s Kieran Wilson?”

  April couldn’t see Ash’s face. From the angle, she could only see his back. But the subtle squeak in voice betrayed his surprise. “What?” Ash said.

  “The other halfbreed,” said Desmond. “Where is he?”

  “He’s in the east-wing sickbay—”

  “He left this morning at sunrise.” Desmond’s words were soaked in pompous superiority.

  April could tell that he’d thought he’d won the quarrel.

  “He left. He told the healer that he wanted to go home until he was thinking straight. And,” he added, “what about that other halfbreed, Thomas Roberts? Was his mother killed by the curse? Did the Aswang intrude on his home, too?”

  “Neither of us joined the raid for Thomas,” said Ash. “We went to Piper’s first, and you know how that turned out. Our business with Piper and the dullborns overlapped with the Thomas Roberts mission.”

  “And when all of that was dealt with,” said Desmond, “and there was nothing left to do except go to bed, I went to the debrief. I found out what happened on the Thomas Roberts mission, while you were holding your halfbreed’s hand.”

  Ash scoffed and whirled around. He marched over the st
aircase, and April ducked her head behind the statue.

  Desmond shouted after him, “Do you know what happened to the halfbreed, Ash? After his brother touched the stone? He turned—he killed and ate his own family. Athena shot him on sight.”

  Ash spun back around, his shoulders tense. “Why did you save her?” he shouted. “You could’ve just put her down, like you did to that old man in Sutton, and every other Aswang victim we’ve encountered. Yet, you bound her wounds and brought her here for treatment. Why?”

  A brief silence passed. April shifted behind the statue, avoiding the tension that seeped over to her.

  Desmond’s voice was low, icier than glaciers, when he said, “If you’re implying that I saved a dullborn”—He spat the word with venom, and April flinched—“for any other reason to appease the halfbreed you’re fawning over, you’re sorely mistaken.”

  “I’m not suggesting it,” said Ash. “I’m saying it outright. You were going to kill Nigel, the other dullborn, so why not her?”

  April slapped her hands over her ears as Desmond bellowed, “BECAUSE YOUR HALFBREED ASKED US NOT TO!”

  “I’m glad you did.” Ash’s voice was calm, almost soft. “The more people Piper loses, the harder it will be for her to assist our mission and transition into our world. Broken halfbreeds don’t lead admirable lives. That’s why I agree that her friends should be saved.” Ash stepped closer to Desmond. “But that’s not why you did it. I’ve noticed and so has Piper. I’d be a bit more careful about how you approach the issue from now on.”

  “Your skewed perception doesn’t mean a damn thing.”

  “No,” agreed Ash. “But the law does. And if I’ve noticed, it’s only a matter of time before others do, too.” Ash turned his back to Desmond and stormed up the stairs. He moved fast, April noticed, like a sparrow soaring past a tree.

  The heavy thuds of his footsteps vanished, and soon April only heard her own laboured breaths.

  April hadn’t heard Desmond move.

  A minute passed before she peered around the side of the statue again. He wasn’t by the door, or in the foyer. He’d vanished, too, it seemed.