London Academy 1 Read online

  Five strangers barged in.

  Three stepped through the shattered doors and windows. They all wore the same thing—black combat trousers, straps coiled around their thighs with guns and throwing knives secured to them, tight corduroy sweaters, durable boots, leather gloves—and carried black handguns with spiralling engravings of silver and gold.

  They looked like soldiers, the private sort.

  A fairy-haired fighter stepped forward, the barrel of his gun aimed at Colt.

  Piper recognised him from Taco Tuesdays. His name was Ash, she remembered, and the dark-haired soldier beside him—he’d been there, too. But the light air of fun they’d had earlier that day was gone.

  Their silvery eyes were solid, like chunks of ice, and their muscles tense, straining against their sweaters.

  Ash’s finger slipped around the trigger and lingered there. “Having a party without us?”

  Colt raised his hands.

  The couscous slapped onto the floor, and the waiter released Piper. Kieran jumped to his feet.

  The courtyard was still.

  It was the calm before one leapt off a bridge in an adrenaline-junkie bungie jump, when the air didn’t move and the birds didn’t sing. But that moment passed.

  It always does.

  The first blast shot the bullet right by her. She slapped her hands to her thrumming ears and flattened herself against the ground.

  Colt swirled in a cloud of black.

  Piper heard screams, cries, shouts, but worst of all, the gunshots. She curled into a ball and wrapped her arms around her head, shielding herself.

  Her eyes squinted, peering over the broken dishes at Colt. But he wasn’t in front of her anymore, and he hadn’t dived to the ground like she had.

  He ran across the courtyard, shoving his kin out of his way.

  Ash, the light-haired fighter, raced down the stairs and chased him. His gun wound and weaved around the bodies of the teenagers—they stood there, staring at nothing, gazing ahead. They didn’t even blink.

  The dark-haired fighter flipped himself in the air, whirling over heads, and landed like a tiger in the centre of the courtyard.

  He crouched down, aimed his gun at the back of Colt—who ran faster than the best sprinter at Westminster Private School—and pulled the trigger.

  The blast struck nausea down Piper. The bullet tore through Colt’s thigh, splattering blood onto the stone. But it didn’t matter. Colt bent his knees before he jumped.

  Piper’s horrified eyes widened as Colt soared high, higher than the building itself, and disappeared over the brick wall. The fighters sprinted toward the wall and flew over it, some like it was a mere trundle in a race, and others swinging themselves up.

  They were gone.

  Piper couldn’t hear the sudden quiet over her heartbeat thrumming through her body. A ringing noise echoed in her eardrums, and her breaths came out hoarse.

  She grunted as she pushed herself from the ground and looked around. The others—those who had stood still—blinked. They were waking from whatever trance they’d been in.

  Piper wondered if they’d all experienced the same peculiar kind of shock. Whatever it had been, it appeared to be gone.

  They blinked, shook their heads, and gazed around at each other. Then, they turned to the shattered glass doors and marched out in a perfect line, one after the other, taking their methodical footsteps with them.

  Piper climbed to her feet.

  Her heels slid over the spilled mush, and she held her arms out for balance. The kneecaps of her legs jittered as she raked her gaze around the courtyard.

  It had been beautiful before, but now bullet holes and strange tranquiliser darts protruded from pillars, broken ceramic dishes and glass littered the floor. And everyone had left, except from a few waiters, ones who had been shot, who groaned on the ground.

  Kieran had left, and so had the red-headed boy. They must have run when they’d had the chance.

  Piper snatched her clutch and raced out of the restaurant.

  CHAPTER 6

  The floorboards creaked beneath her weight.

  Piper closed the door behind her with a soft click. The apartment was quiet. She’d half expected someone to jump out from behind a couch or table and shove sloppy couscous in her face. But no one was there.

  “Mum?” she said. Raising her voice, she tried again. “Mum, are you here?”

  No one answered.

  Piper tossed her keys in the bowl beside the door and kicked off her heels. Her coat flapped as she swung it off and hooked it on the coatrack.

  Piper slipped her phone from the coat pocket and wandered to the living room doors, which she’d left open. The room was empty, but the candles from Soy Solace still burned.

  She could have sworn she’d extinguished the flames before going to the restaurant. A frown wrinkled between her brows as she approached the candles and blew them out.

  Piper sighed and spun on her bare heels.

  She went upstairs to the second floor, checking her phone on the way. Her mother hadn’t called or texted, but April had, at least twenty times. It wasn’t alarming. She did that often.

  ‘Come to Club Soho,’ one of the texts said.

  Another asked, ‘How’s your dinner with long-lost-daddy?’

  And another, ‘I’ve decided to become a go-go dancer.’

  There were too many for Piper to read that night. Her brain had shut down. A numbness had gripped her entire being. Her muscles had turned to jelly. She was on auto-pilot.

  Was this what they meant by ‘a state of shock’, she wondered.

  Piper pushed through her bedroom door.

  The canopy bed—white and fluffy, curtained by sheer drapes—beckoned to her. She embraced it and flopped onto the soft mattress. Her silver laptop winked at her from beneath a misplaced pillow. She dragged it closer to herself and turned it on.

  At first, she didn’t know what to look up—the restaurant, mysterious soldiers in all black gear, red couscous, handguns with silver and gold glittering on the handles—but after a pause, she typed two words into the search engine: ‘Colt Stirling’.

  As she scrolled through the results, her hooded eyes drooped. The links led to car sales websites, and a bunch of vehicle forums. Piper wondered if it was even a real name or that of a car’s.

  Giving up, she slammed in the name of the restaurant. There could be news articles about it already, she thought.

  The gunshots would have been heard from outside of the courtyard. The police could be on the scene already.

  A pang twisted in her gut.

  If the police were there, they could be on their way to her house. She’d given her name to the hostess—had she written it down in the reservations book?

  The police would see it, come knocking on her door, and her mother would find out that she’d gone behind her back and put herself in harm’s way.

  What would Piper even tell the police? She didn’t have any answers to give them, none that made sense at least.

  It was mad, she thought, to tell them what she really saw; how the dark soldiers had jumped over people and walls as if they were tiny hurdles, how they’d shot someone who ran faster than an Olympic sprinter, and the others…the dazed look in their eyes—

  The doorbell rang.

  Piper shot out of the bed, her hair whipping her flushed cheek. Wild eyes pierced through the door, and her hands balled into fists.

  Her toes curled into the fluffy carpet before she walked across the room. She crept down the stairs and across the landing. Her throat pulsed with the rapid thrum of her heartbeat.

  She reached the door, splayed her hands against the wood and leaned up on her toes. Her eye peered through the peephole and saw a magnified version of the lobby.

  There was no one there. No police banging on the door, no creepy father holding out couscous, and no armed soldiers aiming the barrels of their guns at her.

  Piper hummed and dropped to her feet. Her fingertips
still grazed the door, and she wondered if she’d imagined the doorbell ringing.

  But then her heart jumped up to her throat, and ice flooded her veins.

  “Hope you don’t mind,” said a voice behind her, “but we let ourselves in.”

  CHAPTER 7

  Piper whirled and staggered back against the door.

  In the armchair beside the staircase lounged a shadow.

  She squinted at it until her sight adjusted to the dark corner, and she realised who it was. The solider—the one from the restaurant and Rupert Street—with tendrils of thick spring hair.

  Her hand slipped behind her back and gripped onto the door handle. “Who are you?” she whispered. “What do you want?”

  “I’m Ash,” he said, rising form the armchair.

  He stretched his arms above his head before rolling his shoulders.

  “And that’s Desmond.” His head jerked to the side, his tousled espresso-hair bouncing a little.

  She followed the gesture to a plain door in the far corner that led to the kitchen and laundry. But the door was obscured by a tall, muscular figure—the dark-haired companion.

  His head was bowed, his face illuminated by the screen of a mobile phone, and his chocolate curls fell over his forehead. He was texting, and hadn’t looked up from the screen.

  Like Ash, he wore the same apparel from the restaurant, but was now smeared in blood. It coated his leather gloves, dotted his cheeks and chin, and droplets of it had dried in his hair.

  “I’m calling the police,” she said, her voice wavering. Her hand tugged the door handle down, but it didn’t budge. It was locked. “You best get out of here before they arrive.”

  Ash ignored her threat and held up a set of keys. “Fished this out of the bowl beside you.”

  He’d locked the door. But she had options. Piper’s eyes swerved around the room, searching for a way out.

  Desmond blocked the door to the kitchens where the fire escape was. But the living room window led to the terrace of the building. She could climb down the lattice from there.

  “There’s no need for that,” he said, as if he read her mind. Perhaps he did, because he glanced at the living room doors. “We won’t take up too much of your time.”

  Despite that the door was locked, her fingers still coiled around the handle. Her clammy palm dampened the cold metal and her back pressed against the hard wood.

  “What are you doing in my house?”

  Ash seemed to consider this. His tongue dragged across his bottom lip and his piercing silver eyes flickered upwards.

  “There are a few reasons,” he said. “You might want to take a seat. Shall we go in there?” He gestured to the living room.

  Piper inhaled through her nostrils and folded her arms over her chest.

  “I guess not,” he said. “First reason—it’s a beautiful home and I chose to wait inside as opposed to the lobby.” He paused and looked around at the décor, his gaze lingering on the crystal chandelier above. “It is much nicer inside.”

  “And the other reasons?” she gritted out, though her teeth threatened to jitter.

  “We saw your name on the guest-list at La Cheminée. You were there tonight, yes?”

  “So what if I was? Are you going to shoot me, too?”

  Piper surprised herself with the strength in her voice. Her insides were crumbling and collapsing, yet her voice was sharp and steady.

  His eyebrows quirked in surprise. “I don’t plan on shooting you. Besides, we only want to ask a few questions.”

  “What sort of questions?”

  “We can begin with the basics.” He stuffed his hands in his pockets and leaned against the staircase railing. “Why were you there?”

  “I—” she hesitated. The words caught in her throat.

  She didn’t know this person. He’d broken into her house, locked them all inside, shot someone …

  Why should she tell him anything?

  Desmond drawled, “The quicker you tell us, the quicker we leave.”

  Her eyes darted to him, and she saw that he still typed into his phone, and hadn’t looked up. He was bored, she thought.

  Piper’s toes curled into the carpet. “I was there to meet someone.”

  “Colt Stirling?”

  Piper nodded, a curt gesture. Her arms tightened around her chest.

  “Why were you meeting him?”

  “He—I met him earlier today. He said he was my father, and that he wanted to meet with me at the restaurant. I was under the impression that it would be a private affair.”

  “You didn’t know about the others,” said Ash. As it wasn’t a question, she didn’t answer. “So you got there, saw there were more people than you expected, then what?”

  “I waited,” she said. “I suppose I waited for some sort of explanation. And then he arrived and made a strange speech—”

  “What did he say?”

  Piper dropped her hands from her chest and pushed herself from the door. “That we were gifted, somehow. He said something along the lines of ‘you are from my essence’. He tried to force us all to eat some red food.” She stopped and ran her hands over her face. “Look, are you going to tell me what’s going on?”

  “That’s what the other halfbreed said.” It was Desmond, and he’d tucked his phone away.

  “The other what?”

  “halfbreed,” said Ash. “The other one—Kieran, I think his name was—said that the meeting took a tense turn when Colt Stirling tried to force-feed you banyon, and well, then we arrived and saved your life.” He smirked and straightened his shoulders. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

  “You didn’t eat it, right?” barked Desmond. His stony eyes matched his harsh tone. He wasn’t what Piper would call a bundle of joy. “The banyon—the red food.”

  A wave of nausea washed over Piper. She leaned against the buffet table and gripped onto the edge.

  “No,” she said. “I didn’t eat it. What the hell is a halfbreed?”

  Ash arched his dark eyebrow, a patronising gesture. “I would think it’s self-explanatory. You are half of each. Your mother is a dullborn, your father isn’t. Therefore, you are a halfbreed.”

  “I think you should leave,” she breathed. Her insides matched her voice now: Shaky, crumbling, weak.

  “That man who claims to be your father,” said Ash, ignoring her demand. “He is. And he isn’t human. He’s daywalker.” Ash paused and thought for a moment. “Well, he used to be. We can’t know for certain what he is until we track him down.”

  “None of that matters right now,” snapped Desmond. He turned his stormy eyes on a pale Piper. “We caught scent of the banyon while patrolling. A few reinforcements later, we crashed the party that was about to end your life. If you’d eaten it, you wouldn’t be the same. It was cursed.”

  Ash put the keys on the armchair and said, “Those who did eat it are his now. We won’t find them until we find Colt. It’s a binding curse, and where he goes, those who ate it will follow.” He turned to Desmond, curiosity glowing in his silver eyes. “Like those monsters in that dullborn movie you like. What are they called again?”

  “Zombies,” said Desmond, tilting his head. “I suppose they’re similar. Though, they won’t run around and eat people. They just exist for Colt and will do his bidding.”

  Piper gaped between the two, at a loss for words. Foreign terms—halfbreed, banyon, daywalker, dullborn—whirled around her static brain like a brewing tornado. She inhaled, prepared to voice a forming question, but before she could, the door rattled.

  Piper snapped her gaze to the door, her muscles clenching. The door rattled once more before it swung open.

  Rosemary stepped inside, balancing a stack of manila envelopes on her hip. She kicked back her foot, and the door slammed shut behind her.

  “Piper,” she greeted. Her brown eyes pierced through Piper, and reached her writhing soul. “What are you doing? I heard voices. Were you talking to someone?”
/>   Piper looked over at Ash, the panic spreading through her wide eyes. But he wasn’t there. He was gone, and so was Desmond. The lingering traces of them were tiny smudges of blood on the railing and armchair.

  A breeze wafted through the living room doors.

  Rosemary huffed and stormed over to the doors. “Oh, for heaven’s sake, Piper,” she said. “It’s almost thirty degrees outside. You’re letting all the cool air out. Close that window. Oh—Piper! Why open the window if you’re just going to light the fire?”

  Piper staggered over to the living room and peered inside. The window was pulled up, and the lace curtains danced in the wind that invaded the apartment. The marble fireplace, stacked with kindling and logs, simmered.

  Rosemary marched up the stairs to the second landing but paused before she went through the door. “Have you contacted him?” asked Rosemary, without looking back at her.

  Piper shook her head, gazing at the window. But then she realised her mother couldn’t see the gesture, and said, “No. I haven’t. I—I don’t want to.”

  This time, she turned around and peered down at Piper. “You don’t?”

  “No,” she said. “I thought about it and I don’t want anything to do with him. Not yet.”

  Something passed through her mother’s eyes. It was hard to tell what, given the distance between them, but Piper suspected it was relief.

  “Well, that’s that,” said Rosemary. “Now close that window and douse that fire. I’m off for a kip. Goodnight.”

  “Goodnight mother.”

  Piper waited until the door swallowed her mother up before she ran to the window. She slammed it down against the sill, turned, and rushed to the fireplace.

  She hadn’t lit that fire, and wondered why Ash or Desmond would do so themselves, or when they could’ve done it. The china bucket beside the fireplace was filled with sand—she tossed handfuls of it onto the fire.

  The flames suffocated and withered into embers.

  Piper sat on the rug facing the embers.

  The adrenaline and panic had seeped from her body, but the lingering excitement buzzed through her veins. Her fingernails dug into the rug and her heart still strummed.