Page 15 of Escaping Hallow Hill Academy
Once their bodies are sent off in a stream of screaming light to the fixed plane of souls, I search for the fifth and final name on the list. I whisper the spell and the name, its mere syllables falling off my lips, which shows how little I care about the life I am going to take.
I feel the pull of my kill, and my feet and magic carry me miles within moments, until I appear in front of the man. I don’t give myself time to take in what he looks like. It will do no good for my sanity to humanize my target.
It’s just a job. And he’s just a target.
He screams and jumps back. His whole body is covered in blood, and he’s sweating, wearing an orange getup that looks like he just escaped from prison.
I lift my sword, and he dodges out of the way. “Wait! Please! I know Krist sent you. Please don’t kill me!”
His pleas fall on deaf ears. He should know that begging will get him nowhere. I know the instant he sees it in my eyes, because he falls to the ground and gives up. It’s so pathetic, I could laugh. I lift my sword, and it sings a chorus, egging me on.
“She wants to silence me,” he whispers between chattering teeth as I lift the blade to his neck. “She’ll silence you, too. She’ll silence all of us. No one will know what she’s doing at that place. With my death, all is lost.” He’s rambling, throwing out words one after the other into strings of sentences I don’t understand. Nothing seems coherent, and perhaps this is why I was sent to end them. The others did the same. They begged and pleaded and cursed a man named Dr. Hyde.
I slice the weapon across his throat. Blood spills. He chokes. Dies. I just watch with detached emotions until his soul is sucked into my sword, and I can send him away.
I’m done.
I’ve done Krist’s bidding. I’ve survived the night.
I just don’t understand why I feel so dead inside.
Chapter Five
Iarrive at the Academy, and after Marcen takes away my sword but before I can flip him off properly, I walk away from him, pissed off and with five new runes hissing against the skin beneath my clothes. I stop when I come face-to-face with Sialen. His eyes flicker over my tattered state of dress and haggard appearance, but he doesn’t say a word about it. Instead, his head jerks, indicating that I should follow.
He’s such a rat cock.
And he’s lucky I’m too exhausted to do anything more than glare at his broad shoulders as I follow after him.
Blood mats my hair, framing my face, and neither of us speak as Sialen leads me into a dark wing of the Academy I haven’t yet seen. It’s quiet aside from a few whispers lighting up the night from behind closed doors. And there are just so many doors. It only takes me a few seconds to realize the long corridor is a housing unit.
He stops abruptly toward the end of the hall, just in front of a door with a golden number 119 on it.
“This one’s mine. 120 has an open bunk, and the girl knows you’re coming. Play nice,” is all he says before shoving open his door and swinging it shut on my face.
“He really is Prince Fucking Charming,” I whisper to myself.
A glorified babysitter. That’s what he is. Mentor my ass.
I’m still glaring at his closed door when I realize it’ll do me no good. Among the shadows, I see a small sitting area just past what is now my new room. A long couch and a few chairs face one another, but the space is vacant. No light. No noise. Nothing.
And I need a shower. Sialen’s little Prince Charming self might be spotless, but I’m fucking disgusting. There has to be a shower somewhere on this floor.
Without a sound to interrupt the quiet, I tread through the sitting space. I wander down beyond what appears to be a snack and drink station. I roam the isolation, and to be honest, it’s nice. It’s soothing to be alone and without a facade of caring about the other Sekar and what he might be thinking of me or why he is the way he is or . . .
Oh, my fuck.
A warm, romantic light shines down like the Holy Lady of Death herself has blessed this one particular toilet. I slowly step through the open door to get a better look at the many stalls of shining glittering shitters. Literally, they’re gold. Why? Who planned the budget when creating this asinine school? I wonder how much a single toilet seat will go for in the black market?
The white tiles beneath my dirty boots are flawless but damp. My messy reflection looks back at me with tired features and clinging crimson-black hair in the running expanse of mirrors. And just past that is a large open shower.
“Fuck, yes,” I murmur to myself. I want to wash the blood off myself, to get rid of deaths that felt undeserved. I won’t cry or reminisce over my shitty day, but I will say a quick prayer of thanks for their unsuspecting souls and ask my Lady to watch over them as they cross her river of sorrow.
Hot water streams down from all of the showerheads above, and I strip out of the dirty clothes without pausing to look for a towel, soap, or any other necessities. All I want is hot water for my aching muscles.
I’m already striding right into the large stall when my feet slide, stopping me instantly when I lock eyes with a stranger already taking my lovely shower space.
It’s alarming but makes me smile all at the same time.
