Fae of the South (Court of Crown and Compass Book 3) by E. Hall (libby ebook reader .txt) 📕

against my insides with an almost violent urge for release.

Something falls from my pocket. The necklace from Ivan. It’s a simple silver chain with a snowflake pendant. A distant memory floats vaguely in my mind but then just as quickly evaporates into the things I’ve forced myself to forget.

Seated next to me, Officer Heather Bond spots the necklace. Her eyes widen, but she quickly irons out her expression. She picks it up before clasping it around my neck. “You probably don’t want to lose that.”

The gates to the school open to reveal marble and brick exteriors—this used to be a magical academy, but the supernatural has since been deemed a menace and needs to be managed.

For a moment, I imagine austere professors monitoring the halls. Polished wood echoing history. Uniforms complete with pleated skirts and knee socks. Students in pairs, laughing and whispering secrets to each other.

Instead, shadows cross the barred windows and a sense of emptiness fills me at the stone etching of the original name of the school: Amsterdam Island Academy. There’s also a crest with a golden-winged bird. It carries something in its beak. When I gaze at the wooden sign posted in front of the building, Riker’s Reform School, I feel more like a caged bird.

“You just barely escaped Riker’s Supernatural Prison aka RIP. Good luck at the Reformatory School also known as RIP Jr.”

Heather leaves me in a room with several other people around my age, each wearing variations of a scowl that matches my own. Some chatter, but mostly we remain quiet, attention fixed on a place that isn’t here.

Shortly after, a woman enters. A severe gray bob frames her face. She adjusts the jacket of her blue and grey herringbone suit and clears her throat. “Good morning.” The room abruptly goes quiet as she commands our attention in a strident voice. “I am Headmistress Jurik. I welcome you all to what promises to be a season where you will have the opportunity to learn, grow, and leave here with a new appreciation for freedom and the responsibility it comes with.”

There are a few snickers from the others.

Her expression doesn’t waver. “Think of this as the last stop before prison. This used to be an academy for gifted supernaturals so for that reason, we’ll call you students. But if you misbehave, you’ll be better suited to inmate or prisoner.”

No one utters a peep.

I’m going to review the rules and then invite each of our new students to make their pledges.”

I have no idea what this means but think vaguely about fraternities and sororities. I may have broken a few rules back home, but whatever kind of reform school this is, I’m underqualified.

The headmistress directs our attention to a stark list of rules on the wall.

1. No physical contact with other students, correctional assistants, faculty, or staff.

2. No fighting.

3. Do not attempt to leave the premises.

4. Open flame is not permitted.

5. Punctual attendance required at all classes and meals.

6. Electronic devices are prohibited.

7. You are not allowed in the dorms of the opposite gender.

“No excuses. No exceptions.”

A low murmur ripples through the room.

“Our purpose is to prepare you to reintegrate with the natural mortal world. If you break rules, we will lengthen your sentence accordingly until you’re of age to go to RIP. If you follow the rules, look forward to release. Is that understood?”

Several people, including myself, nod.

“You’ll learn about both the natural and supernatural worlds, borrowing from the time the school was an academy. We believe the more you understand your kind, the better able you will be to control yourselves.”

As though rebelling against the comment, the energy that I’ve struggled to control surges but remains just below the surface, and mercifully, out of reach.

Headmistress Jurik reads from a sheaf of paper—we’re to acknowledge our wrongdoing and pledge to reform. In turn, everyone plants their palm on a stone printed with a symbol. She says it’s a rune of truth.

The students who go ahead of me are either fae or vampires and their crimes range from vandalism and theft to assault. One tried to glamour the president—whatever that means. When it’s my turn, I hope it reveals the fact that I didn’t murder two natural mortals.

Instead, when my palm presses against the stone, my heart skids like it’s sliding across ice. My crowded thoughts freeze.

“Welcome, Lea Vladikoff. Frost Fae,” Headmistress Jurik says. “Murderer of two natural mortals.”

The blood drains from my face. If it could pool around my feet or freeze like my mind, it would. She meets my eyes. I look into two slate-colored pools of water in the twilight, almost as if they contain everyone’s secrets. I want to still the tremors that thump their way through my arms and legs, leaving me shaking.

The only rule I follow is to forget what I am. Now, everyone knows. Frost Fae.

As the last student plants his hand on the stone, the door opens and a familiar figure steps through. Instead of a scowl, he looks stunned.

The police officer calls to the Headmistress. “One more for you, Headmistress. This one is Tyrren Santos. Vampire. Involved in the Nefral Weapons Trade.” The cop grunts.

My stomach cartwheels, landing on dread. What is my best friend doing at reform school?

Chapter 6

Tyrren

What isn’t depicted in books and movies, is that when a person becomes a vampire, their mind is still their own.

Although my thoughts were blurry at first, my conscience is fully intact. In other words, I still know that biting people and sucking their blood is bad. Bottom line. However, it’s almost impossible to control those urges. Fortunately, my jiu-jitsu self-discipline training is coming in handy.

I’d managed to resist the pull and hunger as I roamed around Brooklyn, looking for