Chapter One – THREE MONTHS EARLIER
There they are.
The university gates are twice as big as I’d imagined. Intricate iron scrollwork creeps high into the air, up and up and up, culminating in a row of curled, mist-swathed spikes that look more than capable of impaling anyone foolish enough to try climbing over them. On either side, an ancient-looking stone wall towers just as high, garlanded with clusters of deep green ivy. Even with my nose pressed against the car’s window, I can’t see where or if it ends—it simply winds away until the fog eclipses it.
The driver kills the engine. “This is as far as I go.”
Wait—what? Is that a joke? I glance over at him in confusion, but there’s no humor in the lines of his weather-beaten face.
“But the school?—”
“Foot traffic only. And for damn good reason.” He opens his door, steps outside, and continues to ramble as he heads around to the trunk to fetch my luggage, out of earshot until I climb out of my own seat and into the brisk, sea-salted air of Crimson Island. Steely waves crash against the slim peninsula that bridges the school and the mainland. A fall off the edge would probably be enough to kill even the best of swimmers.
The driver is still grumbling, “…damn slippery rocks. With how the road tapers, you got about a fifty-fifty chance of plungin’ over the edge if you try to pull a U-turn. Best bet’s to hit reverse and creep the whole way back, glancin’ over your shoulder…” He sets my suitcase down hard on the cracked stone road. “Not paid enough for none of that.”
“Oh,” I say, unable to think of anything else. “That makes sense.”
The driver slants me a strange look from under the rim of his tweed newsboy cap. “This your first year, young lady?”
“Yes?” That didn’t sound confident at all. “Yes, it is.”
“Huh. Well, best of luck to you—you’re gonna need it.”
Okay, sure. That’s not ominous or anything. “Um… what do you mean, exactly?”
“Tough place. Kids drop out all the time. Get stupid, get lazy, miss one too many classes. You gotta be real sharp to keep up at Crimson Elite.”
Right. Of course he’s just talking about academics. Way to dramatize, Lia.
He pulls out my last bag, a heavy purple duffel, and gives me a doubtful once-over. “You good to carry all of this yourself, miss?”
“I’ll be fine. Thank you.” I grasp the duffel strap in one hand and the suitcase handle in the other, then lift them both a couple of inches off the ground. “See? No problem.”
“Tougher than you look, huh?”
Maybe I shouldn’t have done that. “I guess. Uh—thanks for the ride. Have a nice day!”
My heart stirs against my breastbone as I turn towards the gates once more, my stomach as heavy as the bags I carry. This is it. The whole thing—the school, the island, my mother’s letter—has never quite felt real until now. But there’s no denying what’s right in front of me.
As for what lies beyond the gates…
If there’s any truth to the journal that my mother left behind, Crimson Elite is more than a fancy private school.
Much, much more.
“Miss?”
The consternation on the driver’s face when I glance back over my shoulder is almost cartoonish.
“Miss, are you plannin’ to pay or what?”
Oops.
“Sorry—sorry.” I set down the luggage and fumble with the suede purse looped over my shoulder. The wallet inside of it is, according to Papa, my lifeline out here in the “real world.” He sat me aside before I left to show me its scant contents: a sleek silver credit card and an ID card bearing the name Lia Morgan. The girl on the card, blonde and hazel-eyed, feels as strange to me as everything else—then again, so does looking in the mirror.
“Here.” I hold out the credit card. Papa reassured me that it held enough to cover any basic expenses, and I have to take his word for it—for all I know, the ride could cost anywhere between five dollars and five hundred.
He takes it, ducks back inside the cab, and swipes it through the slit of a clunky-looking machine affixed to the dashboard.
“Tip’s twenty percent by default. Work for you?”
“Sure, um—whatever works.”
“Whatever works,” he echoes with a low chuckle. He’s shaking his head as he straightens up and hands the card back over to me. “You rich folk are a different breed, I’ll tell you that.”
“I’m on a scholarship, actually. Not that you—just—yeah.”
He swings back into the driver’s seat. “If you say so. Take it easy, ma’am.”
I’m not sure what bought me a promotion from miss to ma’am, but I make a note of it all the same.
In the time it takes me to tuck my wallet safely under the rest of my purse’s contents—sunglasses, perfume, lip balm, registration paperwork—he’s already swung a wide turn and puttered away in the direction of the mainland.
Alone again—but not for long.
Here we go. For real this time.
The duffel bag, despite my little display of nonchalance, is, in fact, freaking heavy. Not surprising, considering its contents—but it sure makes the hike up to the front gates quite difficult. By the time I’m close enough to hear the murmurings of the crowd gathered further up the hill, a fine sheen of sweat has broken out across my forehead, and my shoulders whine in protest.
The gates are barely open. Not exactly welcoming the new students who arrive today, myself included. Equally imposing is the uniformed security guard who stands to the entrance’s side, seemingly comfortable in a tight, short-sleeved vest despite the chill in the air. He eyes me as I approach. My own gaze can’t help flickering down to the sinew of his folded arms. He’s not just here for show—a body like that means serious business.
I wonder if he’s ever killed someone before.
“Name?”
The bark of his voice snaps me back to attention. “Lia Morgan.”
“Freshman?”
“Yes, sir.”
Something like amusement flickers over his face. “You’re one of the last. Gates have been open since seven, and it’s, what, four?”
“I… got a late start.”
“Bit of advice: they take tardiness seriously here. Might want to work on that.”
Condescending much? I want to tell him that I’m perfectly capable of timeliness, not that it’s any of his business—but, probably for the better, he doesn’t give me the chance.
“M table is in the middle of the green. They’ll give you your keys, map, schedule. Leave your luggage right here. Staff’ll bring it to your room.”
Leave my bags unattended? No thank you. “Do I… can’t I just carry it?”
He gives me a doubtful look, not unlike the one from the cab driver. Guess I ought to start getting used to those. “If you want to lug all of that across campus, be my guest. You’ll look pretty crazy doing it, though.”
Drawing attention to myself is the last thing I want to be doing. “Right… got it.” The double padlocks on my duffel better be as reliable as Papa assured me. My instincts bristle in warning as I set the bags down, but I don’t linger long enough to second-guess myself before walking through the gate and into my new life.
The rumble of students’ voices grows louder as I ascend the stone steps winding up towards the school grounds. Without the weight of my luggage, I feel like I’m floating, and I’m at the top before I know it, breathless not from exertion, but from the sight before me.
Dozens of students roam the long, grassy quad, from timid-looking freshmen to boisterous seniors, laughing and jostling with their newly reunited friends. Several folding tables have been set up every three meters or so, each one manned by one man and one woman, all of them with the same bright red shirt and thoroughly harried expression. Past the crowd, looming higher than even the school gates, sits the castle.
And God, it really is a castle. Flagstones, arched eaves, gigantic windows of stained glass, domed towers jutting from the roof… it’s almost too much for my brain to process all at once. Draped across the front, rippling in the steady wind, is a deep scarlet banner—and in its center, larger than life, sits the school crest.
Someone shoulders past me.
“Hey—” I spin on my heel. The person who bumped me—hard enough to bruise, I’d bet—is loping away, seemingly unbothered. His back is turned to me, leaving me with no face to assign to my irritation—only short brown hair, a muscled back under a tight tee, and arms blanketed in a lattice of tattoos.
Whatever. Jerk. I’m not here to pick fights.
I press past my reluctance and start over towards the registration tables. The throng of students moves around me like an ocean, a myriad of voices and colors and scents, almost graceful in its ebbs and flows. Are crowds always like this? I guess I always envisioned something more static, a bunch of people standing around, but this felt alive in a way that, for the first time, makes me understand the term “student body.”
A young blonde woman locks eyes with me as I approach the table labeled K-M, gesturing for me to come over. Up close, I can see the school crest stitched over her breast pocket—but I’m more taken by her face. Full lips, high cheekbones, dark eyeliner flared into perfect wings… she could be a model.
“You need help finding anyone?” she asks once I’m across the table from her. “You look a bit lost.”
“No, I’m just… looking. Taking it all in.”
She raises one sculpted brow. “If you think this is a lot to take in, you’re in for a ride. Last name?”
“Morgan.”
She turns around to peruse a box of file folders, lending me a view of a waterfall of deep golden curls tumbling down her back. Maybe the most gorgeous hair I’ve ever seen. Maybe, for that matter, the most gorgeous… everything I’ve ever seen.
“Here you are. Lia?” She sets a sleek silver tablet on the table between us.
“Right.”
She flips open the tablet’s case with the bored practice of someone who had already gone through this song and dance one too many times today. The screen brightens to life, and her nail clicks against it as she points at the icons of several different applications. “Schedule, here. Map, here. Grades, menu, email. You’ll figure it out. And this—” She produces a key hooked onto the end of a long red cord. “This is your room key. Bit of advice? Don’t leave it on the lanyard unless you want everyone to pin you as a freshman.”
“Oh—I am a freshman,” I explain, taking the cord from her and draping it around my neck.
She stares at me, long-lashed doe eyes unreadable. I’m starting to get a little stressed by all this staring. First the driver, then the guard, and now this girl. The only person who hasn’t looked at me as though I just sprouted wings is the guy who bumped into me—and he hadn’t bothered to look at all.
“Right. Okay. Girls’ dorms are on the left. Freshies and sophomores in the closer one.”
The unspoken goodbye couldn’t have been louder. “Okay—thanks a bunch.” The tablet fits snugly when I heft it under my arm. “Um, see you around?”
Her incredulous giggle tells me everything I need to know.
A rash of embarrassment burns behind my cheeks as I trudge towards the massive stone tower that will serve as my home for the next four years. How do I feel optimistic when nobody will even tell me what I’m doing wrong? Unless… does everyone just treat each other like this? If so, this is going to be a lot harder than I anticipated—and I wasn’t expecting a cakewalk.
Several other girls, most of them around my age, have also peeled off from the crowd and started towards the two stone towers to the left of the quad, while the guys head towards a matching pair of buildings on the opposite side. Some of them are already chattering away—meeting up with old friends, or making new ones? I can’t imagine how anyone could connect with a stranger so quickly and easily, but I’ll figure it out. I’m determined to do that.
Goosebumps dart across my skin as I step into the shadow of the girls’ tower. Up close, it’s even taller than I’d thought, hewn of rough white rock and dotted with red-draped windows. Rose bushes, their blossoms glittering with dew, cluster around its edges. One half of the arched double doorway is propped open, allowing for a steady trickle of newcomers to pass beneath.
For the second time today, I step through a threshold that marks the end of my old life—my old self—and the start of something I can’t even begin to imagine.
A broad hardwood hall stretches before me, illuminated by a pair of crystal chandeliers. From where I stand, I can make out a sunken living area at the very back, furnished with bookshelves, couches, and an array of overstuffed armchairs, many of which are filled by laughing and chattering girls. My feet carry me towards it automatically, past several other rooms branching off in my peripheral vision—a kitchenette, a study area, a TV room… each of them white-walled and welcoming, much more modern than the outside of the tower had me expecting.
This is better. Enclosure is safety. And once I reach my room, maybe I’ll finally be able to catch my breath.
I pause at the edge of the lounge. Everyone looks so comfortable, and nobody seems to notice me lingering. I want to make friends, but… maybe I’ll start small, see if I can get some one-on-one interactions. I turn my back on them—for now—and head back towards the center of the hallway.
Looks like I’ve got two options to get to my room—a winding staircase on my left and a pair of elevators on my right. For the first time, I take a look at the key given to me by the blonde girl. Pretty standard. Room locks won’t be anything a hairpin in the right hands couldn’t jiggle open. Which could prove to be very good or very bad, depending on… on a lot of things.
That doesn’t concern me right now. What does concern me is the number engraved at the top of the key. 1203.
Based on the dizzying height of the tower, 12 must indicate the floor, and 03 the room.
Yeah, I think that’s a no on the stairs.
The elevator opens a moment after I press the UP button. No one else is inside, nor does anyone join me after I step inside and tap my floor number. My reflection, distorted as it is in the brushed-chrome finish of the door as it slides shut, gives me a little jolt. I don’t usually wear makeup, but I’ve dressed myself up for the occasion of my first day—not much, just a dash of bronzer and blush here and there to highlight my slender jaw and high cheekbones. I considered doing something more colorful to bring out the green tint in my eyes, but I’m glad I decided against it. This natural-ish look is truer to who I am… though that isn’t saying much.
Before I said goodbye to him for the last time, Papa had taken a moment to hold me at arm’s length. Not speaking, just watching. Remembering, maybe.
If only she could see you now, following in her footsteps… if not for the accident…
Even then, I felt ready to break—to scream at him that it was not an accident; that if only he’d read the journal my mother had left behind, he’d know that something else was happening during her time at Crimson Elite University… but he was always too sad. Sad and scared enough to keep me locked up my whole life, to the point where I had to beg and beg for him to let me go, to just give me a chance to be normal for once.
That’s why I’m here, above all else. It’s time to focus on being myself. On being Lia Morgan. After years and years confined within Papa’s suffocating walls, a stranger to the outside world, I’ve finally found my independence—and I’m not letting anyone, living or dead, take that away from me.