Chapter 36 The Pact
"A pact," I agreed, reaching out to squeeze her hand. "Nobody breaks us."
Scarlet grinned, her sharp wit returning instantly. "Good. Because I’ve been doing some reconnaissance. A 'field report,' if you will, on our esteemed mentors."
I arched an eyebrow. "Oh? Lay it on me."
"Okay, so, Malik," she started, gesturing dramatically. "The guy is a masterpiece, right? But he’s like a statue waiting for pigeons. He’s so stiff and holy. I bet he has to permit himself to blink. He looks at you like you’re a sacred relic he’s terrified of breaking, but also like he wants to spend three days straight repenting for even thinking about you."
I felt a blush creep up my neck. "And Ryker?"
Scarlet’s grin turned wicked. "Ryker is a whole different brand of trouble. He doesn’t look at you like a relic. He looks at you like a wolf deciding if you’re dinner or a chew toy. Usually both. He’s all sharp edges and 'come hither' darkness. If Malik is the Sunday morning service, Ryker is the Saturday night mistake you never want to forget."
"He’s arrogant, snarky, and completely full of himself," I muttered, though the memory of his hand on my cheek made my skin tingle.
"Exactly," Scarlet laughed, falling back onto the pillows. "And you’re caught right in the middle. One wants to enshrine you, the other wants to unleash you. Honestly, Amaya, I don't know whether to envy you or pray for you."
"Don't pray," I said, looking out at the alien stars. "I think I've had enough of 'holy' for one day. I’d rather just find a way to survive the night."
The welcome gathering was held in a courtyard that felt more like a tropical jungle reimagined by a jeweler. Floating lanterns cast a soft, pulsing light over groups of students—angels in shimmering silks, demons in rugged leather, and everything in between, all keeping to their respective corners of the garden like a high-stakes chess match.
"Welcome to the social hierarchy of the end of the world," Scarlet whispered as we navigated the crowd.
My senses were on a hair-trigger. I could feel the gazes of the other students—curiosity, disdain, and outright hostility. But my attention was hijacked by the smells. The air was thick with the scent of roasted meats seasoned with spices I couldn't name, and fruits that glowed with an inner luminescence.
We approached a long stone table laden with crystalline carafes. A tall, slender demon with iridescent wings was pouring a liquid that looked like liquid gold.
"That’s Amyl," Scarlet warned, her voice low. "Beautiful, right? Smells like a dream, but for humans? It’s a one-way ticket to 'I-don't-remember-my-own-name' town. It heightens everything. Emotions, desires... touch."
I looked at the amber liquid, remembering the silver flask Ryker had given me. He’d lied. He’d given me a taste of this euphoria back in the alley to seal my transition. No wonder the memory of it felt so visceral, so dangerously inviting. My body hummed at the thought of it, a traitorous craving for that loss of control.
"And that?" I pointed to a pitcher of shimmering silver liquid.
"Lumin," the demon behind the table answered, his voice a melodic rasp. "Safe for your kind, little bird. It will lift your spirit without stealing your senses."
I hesitated. The 'brat' in me wanted to reach for the Amyl, to prove I could handle the fire Ryker had promised. I wanted to feel that roar of power again. But I felt Malik’s gaze from across the courtyard—steady, watchful, and disapproving. And I felt Ryker’s gaze from a nearby shadow—challenging, hungry, and waiting for me to slip.
I reached for the Lumin.
As the silver liquid hit my tongue, it tasted of citrus, mint, and a clear winter morning. The tension in my shoulders began to melt, replaced by a gentle, buoyant warmth. It wasn't the explosion of the Amyl, but it was enough to make the world feel a little less like a battlefield.
"Good choice," Scarlet said, clinking her glass against mine. "We need our wits about us. Especially since Seraphina and her flock are currently staring at you like they're trying to set your hair on fire with their minds."
I followed her gaze to a group of angels across the courtyard. In the center was a woman with platinum hair and eyes like ice. Seraphina. She didn't look like a creature of grace; she looked like a predator in white silk.
I took a long sip of my Lumin, tilted my head, and gave her a sharp, two-fingered salute.
Scarlet choked on her drink, laughing. "Oh, you are definitely going to be trouble here, Amaya Janice."
"I certainly hope so," I replied, feeling the first spark of true excitement. The mundane world was gone, replaced by a place of beautiful monsters and intoxicating dangers. And for the first time, I wasn't just watching the storm. I was becoming it.
The bioluminescent ivy outside the window pulsed with a rhythmic, emerald light, casting long, swaying shadows across the stone floor of my bedroom. Salvation at night was even more unnerving than it was during the day. It didn't feel like a school; it felt like a living creature that was slowly digesting me.
I sat on the edge of the bed, the silk of my new nightgown—a gift from the Academy’s 'wardrobe manifest'—feeling like a cool, thin layer of treason against my old life. It was too soft, too expensive, and far too revealing. Scarlet was already out cold in the next room, her soft snores a rhythmic comfort that I desperately clung to.
I was reaching for the glass of water on my nightstand when the air in the room suddenly changed.
The temperature didn't just drop; it sharpened. The scent of ozone and something smoky—cedarwood and burnt sugar—clung to the back of my throat.
"You know," a low, gravelly voice drawled from the darkest corner of the room, "for a prophetic catalyst, you have the situational awareness of a stunned hamster."
I didn't scream. Mostly because my heart had relocated to my esophagus, effectively blocking any sound. I spun around, clutching the silk at my chest as Ryker detached himself from the shadows. He was leaning against the heavy oak wardrobe, his arms crossed over a chest that looked like it was carved out of granite and bad intentions.
"Ryker," I hissed, my voice a frantic whisper. "What the hell are you doing? The Headmaster said—"