Hemlock (Academy of the Dead Book 1) Page 3

  You’d think she’d be grateful! But no.

  Cats.

  I reached out to my Mom, ready to do it, ready to deny what I am, and that’s when I saw him.

  And everything else just faded away.

  He was weaving in and out of the other students with a charcoal gray backpack slung over his slouched shoulder. He didn’t look happy. I could relate.

  This boy has light blue locks of hair, messy, tousled—brushing against black sunglasses that hid his eyes away from me. I can’t tell you how grateful I was to see someone—anyone—with a different color of hair outside of black, brown, bottled blonde, or red.

  It made him stand out. He was special. Maybe he had done the same thing I did. Maybe he had panicked and changed his hair color.

  My eyes narrowed. He has beautiful skin—pale, flawless—looking like a vampire right out of one of my favorite books. I stepped behind my Mom and leaned to the side so I could still see him as he got closer. Not to mention that chiseled jaw, defined cheekbones, and roman-like nose. His full pouty lips curled at the edge as he greeted other students who passed him by, other girls. He didn’t notice me—not once—but something inside of me changed—shifted. Like the earth on its axis.

  I didn’t know boys could look like that in person.

  These tiny butterflies began to collect in the pit of my stomach. I was riveted—drawn to him—without knowing why.

  A bravery bloomed inside me that I didn’t know I had. A full garden.

  Maybe this place wouldn’t be so bad after all.

  Mom slapped an open palm against her forehead. “I just can’t figure out what I’ve forgotten, Rook. I’ve looked at all of it too many times. I think my brain is broken!”

  “Tie,” I muttered absently while watching this boy climb the steps. He paused, glancing back over his shoulder. I crouched down and hid behind the car while white-knuckling the door handle.

  “No!” she exclaimed with a hard hit to the edge of the trunk. “How could I forget that?! Oh, no! What will we do? I doubt they’ll let you stay. Not without a tie. No—not without it. The tie is required!” Her wide-eyed expression would worry anyone else except me. I’ve seen it before. She’s very dramatic. An actor. One of the best.

  I wonder where I inherited my drama?

  I sprang up when he stepped inside the school. She was still spiraling. Soon she’d be recounting everything she’d ever done, trying to weave it all together. If she had a large white board at her disposal, she’d jot it all down, drawing lines here and there until her conspiracy theory was complete.

  It’s just how she is because I’m the same way.

  I guess I shouldn’t poke fun. I have my moments too. In fact, my last one had just occurred three days prior when I nearly had a massive meltdown about a misplaced book. I swore someone had stolen it out of spite—probably Bitter Bat. I ranted on and on about how it was my favorite book and I would have to skip enrollment because there was no way I could survive without it.

  TBF, it’s my favorite paranormal romance.

  I sobbed.

  I ranted.

  I tore my room a part.

  I hid under my comforter and refused to come out!

  I told my Mom to call the school and tell them I wasn’t coming.

  I nearly fainted four different times.

  I said I lost my will to live.

  I cut my bangs.

  I asked for a young priest and an old one.

  But then we found it under a chair.

  My Mom leaned in, pushing her white blonde hair behind her ear. My eyes followed her, waiting for more of that trademark desperation to shine through, but all she did was bite that pouty lip. The one that is a tad bit bigger than mine.

  My Mom is one of those naturally gorgeous women. She could wear a potato sack and still demand attention.

  A man’s voice interrupted my thoughts. “Hello.”

  He blocked out the sunlight with his wide shoulders and bushy mane of black hair. At least it allowed me to stop squinting. I’m sure it wasn’t attractive. But why bother worrying about that? This man doesn’t even know I exist—because again—my Mom is here.

  She reached up and rubbed her temple. The man leaned in, clearly concerned, and cradled her elbow. He was so friendly.

  Oh, I wonder why.

  My eyes narrowed with suspicion. “She isn’t going to faint.” I grumbled, shifting my weight to one foot and back again. “I promise.” I added while my penetrating gaze probed the scene. More cars arrived, spilling kids out onto the sidewalk one after the other.

  “How can I help you?” he asked, directing all of his energy on my Mom. If he did hear me, he’d chosen to ignore it. It’s for the best. I get snarky when I’m nervous and he was probably some kids single Dad, using this opportunity to talk to pretty women like my Mom.

  She lowered her hand. Her wedding band was right there for him to see, just on the wrong finger. “I—well, I forgot my daughters tie.” Her voice trembled.

  YES—TREMBLED.

  “Daughter? No.” the man chuckled, then finally looked in my direction. A large cloud cast a shadow over the three of us and I could finally see some of his features. His jawline was bold and strong, like royalty. He had long sideburns peeking out from beneath his shaggy hair. He was clean shaven, no nicks or abrasions. He could clearly clean himself up better than my Dad. I can’t count how many times my Dad nearly left the house with a piece of white tissue paper sticking to his cheek, but thankfully Mom would reach in and snatch it, saving him from the embarrassment.

  She always took care of my Dad better than anyone else could.

  Where she excelled in organization, (minus forgetting my tie) he faltered. Probably because she was always in charge of the house. He was in charge of going to work and bringing home a paycheck.

  The man’s eyes sparked. “That can’t be true. I would’ve guessed she was your sister.”

  I drilled him with a wicked glare. “Yes, we’re totally sisters. Nailed it.”

  “Oh, how nice of you!” My Mom grinned then dove into the trunk to retrieve my suitcase.

  He winked in my direction. Up went my brows. Who does this guy think he is, being all whatever he is, with the two of us? We don’t need him. We’re fine. Missing tie and all.

  I stepped in closer, lowering my voice. “Listen buddy, we may live in a cottage on the lake, away from all the big towns, but we’re both book smart. My Mom can do anything she puts her mind to, and I can kill stuff—kill it without even trying.” I added a nod, like that was his one warning. Normally, I would never talk about it, ever.

  His lip curled in amusement. “Oh, really? But this is a school for Necromancers.” His eyes shifted away from me as he took in the scene. “I was under the impression that all of you practiced the art of resurrection, not murder.”

  His sarcastic clarification annoyed me.

  “I didn’t say murder.” I retorted. “I said kill. One implies premeditation, the other could easily be an accident.”

  He grinned. I didn’t.

  He coughed into the side of his hand. “Well, then, thank you for clearing that up.”

  My Mom was bent over the trunk, kicking a leg as she dragged my suitcase up onto the ledge. It was a little big. Bigger than needed, but she insisted that I pack like I was traveling the world, so it also held all of my journals with vital information like the Witches Calendar, Palm Reading, and lists of herbs. I even had a few spells, but I definitely needed help. The best I had managed to do was blow up a few apples by the lake.

  He reached in and grabbed it for her. Mom’s eyes shined with delight.

  Great. It didn’t matter what I said. She was smitten with the idea of him. I guess I understand because she’s lonely, and loneliness changes a person. I studied her face. That downturned lip was now upright.r />
  I don’t want to take that away from her.

  Mom deserved the compliments. She had changed when Dad left—at first it was a deep sadness that kept her in bed most days watching movies like Fried Green Tomatoes and Steel Magnolias, beckoning me into her room to sit by her while she sobbed over a bowl of chocolate chip ice cream. Then it morphed into a constant barrage of questions about wrinkles around her eyes, and gray hair, and any other ridiculous thing she could think of to ask me. None of it was true, of course, but Dad left on his own and said he didn’t have a girlfriend, so it forced us to wonder what we did wrong.

  She didn’t know he was unhappy, and I think it damaged her self-esteem.

  All she knew was us.

  The three of us.

  That was her reason for living.

  Maybe it was the time they spent apart.

  Dad works as a city planner, commuting two hours to work every single day. Mom stayed home with me and bounced from one project to the next. Our house was a testament to the years she studied how to garden, install bookshelves, and redo wood floors.

  We even have a new kitchen that she installed herself, sink and all.

  It was always—your Dad this, and your Dad that—and I can’t wait until your Dad see’s what I’ve done!

  She was so proud. So dedicated.

  I think I hate him.

  I swallowed hard. I need to stop allowing myself to think about it so much. It trips me up.

  But anyway—I love our house and although getting accepted to my dream academy had lifted my spirits, I knew that I would grow homesick. I’d even miss all of her drastic mood swings that nearly gave me whiplash on a daily basis.

  But that house.

  I was born there. Grew up there.

  All of my memories lived within those walls and even though I honestly feel that we are lowly stewards of such things, the house was and would always be family.

  I guess I should be nicer about men hitting on her, for her sake—but it was not good for me. I love my parents together, and the constant back and forth was tiresome. One weekend here, one weekend there. Holidays split, birthdays celebrated twice. It all seemed silly when I knew deep down inside that they still loved each other. They had to.

  I mustered up a convincing smile as she soaked it in. Mom giggled, then waved off his compliment. She wouldn’t be smiling if she could read my mind.

  I blinked away my thoughts when Mom spoke up again. “No, this is my daughter, Rook.”

  His interest immediately shifted. “Dagger?” Our last name sounded more exciting coming from him.

  I felt my shoulders stiffen. Why did this man know my name?

  My Mom tilted her head. “Yes—and you are?”

  The muscles in his jaw flexed. “I’m Zander Mason.”

  My Mom looked at me as we spoke in unison. “Headmaster?”

  I nearly choked on the word. She had to tap my back and then instinctively raise my arms like she used to do when I was little. I had to shake my head and step away from her.

  He glanced over at me, offering a friendly smile, but everything would be awkward now.

  The Headmaster of Hemlock thought my Mom was hot, and I had basically told him that I could kill him, accidentally of course, if he didn’t back off.

  Great.

  He reached in and took my hand without warning, flipping it over and studying the lines of my palm. His brooding eyes shifted in color from silver to ocean-blue and back again. It was mesmerizing. I had read that his eyes did that, as most Necromancers do, but reading about something and seeing it in person, are two entirely different things. I only hoped that mine would someday do the same. But I’m different, and probably always will be. My eyes may never do that. They could stay emerald green forever.

  “So, tell me, Rook. What kingdom do you want to be placed in?” He asked with curious intent.

  My lips parted. “Assuming that I pass.”

  He let out a hearty laugh while letting my hand slip away. “Well yes, of course. But have you decided? Most children come here knowing what they want.”

  I looked down at my socks. “I’m just grateful to be here.”

  “Mmm, well. I’m sure it’ll come to you as quickly as the rain this time of year.” His chin tilted upward as a few more raindrops fell from the sky. A storm was coming, which seemed to fit my mood.

  It wasn’t until then that I noticed his thin black tie standing out against a crisp white shirt. His black coat was neatly pressed. Not a wrinkle in sight. The only thing that seemed remotely unkempt about him was his hair, but even that had a sort of organized chaos to it.

  “Rook would be happy to be placed in any of the Seven Kingdoms of Myth and Magic, and I’m Azalea.” Mom crooned from behind him, so he turned his attention back to her.

  I was glad. I was intimidated enough by the thought of coming here, but standing before the Headmaster had my heart racing in my chest. He had been here for a hundred years, and would probably be here for a hundred more. Necromancers live unnaturally long lives, which is something I’m still grappling with. I don’t want to think about a life without my parents in it.

  He leaned in and took her hand, gently kissing the top of it. Headmaster Mason was as charming as he was handsome.

  She was visibly thrilled. I kept my feelings to myself. I could no longer be aggressive toward him, but it didn’t mean that I couldn’t stop this whole attraction thing from happening. I had no interest in seeing him at the breakfast table any time soon.

  I decided to intervene as gently as I could. “The azalea is a plant that is highly toxic.”

  My Mom’s nostrils flared. “Thank you, my love.” She hissed.

  “This is true. What else do we know?” Zander asked, beckoning me to go on, so I did because the study of plants and everything they can do was one of my main interests. I plan on excelling in my classes—especially that one.

  My Mom had cocked her hip, drumming her french-tipped nails against dark red jeans. She had also stolen one of my white t-shirts and a short black jacket that I no longer found useful.

  She just loves to borrow my things without asking.

  Sometimes I swear she is my sister and not my Mom. That’s another curse of being an only child born to people who had me at a young age.

  My Mom is only thirty-two. My Dad’s thirty-four. She acts young most days, but Dad’s sudden departure had aged her to a certain degree.

  But not when it came to rifling through my closet without asking.

  I lifted my chin, hoping to impress him since we got off on the wrong foot. “Well, if you ingest any of it, you’ll get sick with stomach pain, which could lead to difficulty breathing, paralysis, or even death.”

  “Lovely.” My Mom muttered. She wasn’t impressed, but I was, and I think the Headmaster was, too, and quite honestly, that’s all I cared about. My Mom would leave, forgetting about this ever happening ten minutes into her hour drive back home to our small cottage on the lake.

  So, it’s totally worth it.

  It was hard enough to get into this school. I had to take twenty tests. All extremely difficult—all nerve racking. “I know I’m a year older than the other kids that’ll be in my class but I’m a fast learner. I promise I’ll catch up.”

  “That’s very good, Rook. Very good.” He stroked his chin. “I don’t see why you shouldn’t be placed with kids your age. I mean, if it proves overwhelming for you, then we can always hold you back a year.”

  I nodded. I couldn’t believe how much faith he had in me after looking at my palm and listening to me ramble on about azaleas.

  My Mom interjected, “Yes—yes! My Rook is so smart, and a hard worker—but unfortunately, she doesn’t have a tie—which is all my fault.”

  The Headmaster studied her with piercing scrutiny. “I’m sure we can find one, rig
ht?” he asked.

  I eyed him boldly, “Yes, of course. I don’t see why a tie would stop me from starting school on Monday.”

  Something dragged his hawkish gaze. “Nadia!” he called out with a welcomed wave of his hand.

  I turned to see a girl, about my height, come bouncing over. She paused, then rocked back and forth on her matte red boots. Nadia’s skin is a little darker than mine, which doesn’t mean much, because I’m milk-white. I love the sunlight, but it doesn’t love me. Ironically, I’ve never had a sunburn. I just get slightly pink then it fades away, but my freckles do get more pronounced. She also has a snub nose with a tiny ball on the end that forced it to flip upward, cupid’s bow lips tinted red, and eyes like silver lightning. Her cheeks appeared rosy, nearly blushed, but I can’t tell if it’s makeup or her natural complexion. She is cute, with dimples and faded freckles to match. She has a compact little frame, which makes her appear athletic. Like a gymnast or a cheerleader. She could easily be both.

  He folded his arms over his broad chest. “This is Rook Dagger, and her mother, Azalea.”

  The girl leaned in as her long black braid slid across her shoulder. The tip of it was dyed dark blue. I could see a small crescent moon tattoo on the web of her right hand, resting between her thumb and index finger. I was jealous that she had parents who would allow her to get one.

  “Cool name—hair, and glasses.” She offered, while ogling them.

  The edge of my lip turned when a grin fought its way through the nerves. “Are they real?” she reached in.

  I handed them over so she could try my glasses on. “Very.”

  Nadia’s eyes looked even larger through my prescription lenses. Her face contorted while she toyed with them, sliding the oversized frames up and down her nose. “Whoa, you’re practically blind.”

  I was enjoying my first real conversation with another person the same age as me. Don’t get me wrong, I talk to a few people online, but this is totally different.

  “Yeah. Cool tattoo,” I replied, while forcing myself to maintain eye contact with her. She handed the frames back over to me and rubbed her thumb across the crescent moon tattoo. “It’s real.” She stated with pride. Her chin cocked.