Chapter Twenty-Eight When Life Hands You Monsters, Don’t Stop to Drink Lemonade
For a second, I’m certain that I’ve heard wrong. My mother could not possibly have said that we’re going to evacuate. In its entire eighty-year history, Calder Academy has never evacuated.
Not through Carla or Camille.
Not through Gilbert or Andrew.
Not even through Harvey or Rita.
All of them devastating hurricanes. All of them barely a blip on Calder Academy’s radar.
It’s one of the many perks of being magic, my aunt Claudia always says. The students may be banned from accessing our powers, but we have enough witches, warlocks, and other powerful paranormals on staff to create barriers that withstand even the toughest storms…and other situations.
So what does it say about this particular hurricane that even my mother actually thinks we need to evacuate? Especially since it’s only been a couple of hours since she told me she’d never let me off this island?
For one moment, pure, unadulterated joy sweeps through me at the thought of finally—finally—getting out of here. But then I have to wonder what kind of disaster would actually drive my mother to take such a drastic step…
As the decibel level in the room starts to rise, I pull out my phone to look up information on the storm myself. I’m not surprised when a quick glance tells me most of the people around me are doing the exact same thing.
What is surprising is there isn’t much out there on the storm yet. It’s named Gianna, it’s in the Gulf of Mexico, and it’s huge, but that’s about all there is to find. Maybe because it’s so new?
I don’t actually buy that excuse, but I can’t find a better one before my uncle Carter leans his nearly seven-foot frame down to speak into the microphone my mother is still holding.
“It’s going to be okay,” he says in the deep, reassuring voice I remember from my childhood. But then I remember him using this same voice—this same tone—the day they took Carolina away, and it turns into nails on a chalkboard. “I know this is unusual, but this is only a precaution, and we will protect you and the island the way we always have. But this storm is strong enough that we don’t want to take any chances. Your safety is our highest priority, and right now, that means evacuating you to a large installation about a hundred miles from Galveston, where we can guarantee you’ll be safe.”
“Holy shit,” Luis mutters as he slouches down farther in his chair. “That doesn’t sound ideal.”
“None of this sounds ideal,” I answer, slouching down with him. Because while there’s a part of me that is overjoyed at the idea of actually getting off this island for the first time in my life—it’s what I’ve wanted for as long as I can remember—there’s another, bigger part that’s waiting for the catch. Because with my family, there’s always a catch.
And if anyone thinks they’re just going to take a bunch of dangerous paranormals off this isolated, very protected island and plop us down in the middle of a hotel somewhere, then they don’t know my family—especially my mother—very well.
It’s much more likely that she’ll ship us all off to the Aethereum itself for the foreseeable future.
Just the thought of ending up at the same deadly prison where my vibrant, beautiful cousin spent the last years of her too-short life has my blood running cold. A glance across the room to where Remy is sitting with, but definitely not talking to, a very annoyed-looking Izzy tells me I’m not the only one whose thoughts are running in this direction.
A feeling that’s made even more abundantly clear when his voice—with his New Orleans accent out in full, Cajun force—rings through the rotunda. “Installation?” He looks as skeptical as he sounds. “Exactly what kind of installation are we talking about here?”
Before my uncle can answer, a violent howl of wind sends the trees outside the dorm into an absolute frenzy.
Their branches shake.
Their leaves skitter against each other, causing a creepy rustling to fill the air around us.
And their trunks bend so far over that I can’t help wondering if they’ll just give up and break in half.
As I watch them through one of the room’s large picture windows, a feeling of foreboding creeps over me, sliding over the hair on the back of my neck and slithering slowly, steadily, into my very pores. I try to figure it out, to put my finger on exactly what it is that’s making me so uneasy, but I don’t have words for the feeling.
I just know I don’t like it—even before a woman in a long, pink nightgown walks by the window. She’s barefoot, and her long hair is hanging in wet clumps around her face as she lifts her hands in a futile effort to keep the rain out of her eyes.
My mind starts to race with questions like who is she and what is she doing out there in this weather before she turns and I realize she’s very, very pregnant.
I jump to my feet, start to race across the room toward her. But she disappears before I’ve taken more than a couple of steps, and I realize she wasn’t real about the same time I realize everyone is staring at me.
Luis reaches out and grabs my hand before gently tugging me back into my seat. But not before my mother’s annoyed gaze slams into me.
I have no doubt I’m going to pay for my little outburst later.
“Are you okay?” Luis asks, concerned. “Are you sick or something?”
“It’s fine. I just saw a—” I break off as I realize the woman I saw had brown hair. And she was wearing a pink nightgown. Which means she couldn’t have been a ghost—they’re always gray. But how did she disappear like that, then? And who is she? It’s not like strangers randomly wander on to our little island at the best of times, let alone during a hurricane.
Before I can figure out what’s going on, my mother’s confident voice fills the room. “We’ve found a warehouse to rent in Huntsville, Texas. We’ve already contacted a local coven who has begun setting it up for us.” She pauses and once again attempts to look as many of us in the eye as she can. “Of course, things will be a little different there, but that’s a bridge we’ll cross when we get to it. The important thing to remember is that your safety and security are of the utmost importance to us. I assure you every precaution is being taken to make sure things go exactly as planned.”
I’ve had seventeen years to grow fluent in mom speak, and I know what she’s actually saying is, We don’t trust any of you, even in the middle of a massive storm, and we’re going to lock your asses up nice and tight to make sure no one escapes or does anything else that we deem unacceptable.
The feeling of trepidation inside me grows, even as I continue to stare out the window, trying to catch another glimpse of the pink-nightgowned woman.
My worry must show, though, because Luis’s eyebrows shoot up when I glance at him. “Why do you look so freaked out? I thought you’d be jumping for joy.”
Me too. I’ve been waiting my entire life for an opportunity like this. A chance to see someplace, anyplace, else. More, a chance to never, ever come back. So why am I so inexplicably nervous?
“I don’t know,” I tell him. “But something feels…off.”
“It’s Calder Academy.” He rolls his eyes. “Something always feels off.”
“Because something always is off,” I shoot back. “And I’m pretty sure this is no exception.”
“What do you mean?” he asks.
Before I can figure out an answer, my mother continues, “I need the cooperation of each and every one of you for the next few hours.”
She pauses, holding up a hand to stave off the expected objections—but for once, none are forthcoming. Instead, every student in the place just stares at her, waiting for whatever comes next. Which is more than a little terrifying in its own way, considering cooperation isn’t exactly our strong suit.
My mom looks as surprised as I feel, but she recovers quickly. “After things are set up in the warehouse, the coven there is going to join with our security team here and create a portal that we can evacuate through at six a.m. tomorrow morning. We should all be safely at the warehouse by seven a.m. at the latest.”
“Why are we waiting so long?” someone calls from my left. A quick glance identifies her as Jude’s friend, Mozart. The dragon shifter shoves a hand through her silky dark hair as she continues, “If the hurricane is as bad as you say it is, shouldn’t we get out of here now?”
My mother’s blue eyes flash dangerously at her words, but I know it’s not the actual question that pissed her off. It’s the fact that Mozart—that anyone—has the audacity to inquire about her plan.
“As I said,” she starts, her voice as dry as ice, “the storm has stalled out, and that buys us several hours. The best projections say that the storm won’t reach us for another eighteen to thirty hours, so that gets us out of here in plenty of time. But we need to make sure the warehouse is ready so you are safe there as well. It’s no use taking you from one dangerous situation to another.”
Mozart raises a dark brow. “You could just give us our powers back and let us find our own ways out of here.”
One of the new wolf shifters—a blond guy that I haven’t met yet—shoots her a fuck-you look. “We can’t all fly, jackass.”
Mozart returns the look with interest. “I’m not exactly sure that’s a downside to my plan.”
“No one is flying out of here. Or swimming. Or doing anything besides following the plan.” My mother’s annoyed voice booms through the microphone. “The portal will be ready by six tomorrow morning. Until then, we have some tasks we need each of you to accomplish.”
She hands the microphone to my aunt Carmen, who takes over with a huge smile that doesn’t quite meet her blue eyes. I’m not sure if it’s because she disagreed with my mother’s plan and lost like she usually does or if she’s more worried than she wants to let on. But something’s not right.
“I know this is a lot to take in,” she tells us in her low, soothing voice. “But everything is going to be okay. We’ll evacuate, let the storm pass, and be back here in just a few days.”
“If there’s anything left standing.” Jean-Jacques snickers from his spot right in front of her. “Maybe the storm will blow this whole damn place apart.”
“It won’t,” she assures him before turning to look at the rest of us. “And to that end, the tasks we have for you will ensure that remains the case. We’d like all of you to pitch in to help get the school ready to withstand the hurricane. We need sandbags filled and lined up to create a barrier against storm surge, windows covered with plywood, trees and bushes trimmed so they won’t go through any roofs or windows, as well as a few other tasks.”
Groans fill the room at her words, but they’re half-hearted at best, and steely looks from my mom and Uncle Christopher shut them down quickly.
“There are tables on each floor of the dorm, manned by faculty members, who will help you with the next steps,” my aunt Carmen continues. “Seniors, stay where you are for a few more minutes. Underclassmen, head up to your rooms and pack a small bag for the evacuation. Then report to the table on your floor to receive your group assignment. When complete, report back here and check in to receive a box dinner that the kitchen witches have prepared.” She scans the room. “Any questions?”
There aren’t any, so she finishes with a quick thank-you for our help before dismissing us.
“So what exciting task do you think we’ll get stuck with?” Luis mutters as we wait for the ninth through eleventh graders to file out, and I swear, if he slinks down any farther in his chair, the boy will be on the floor.
“As long as it’s not stocking up the chricklers’ food supply, I couldn’t care less.” The scratch on my shoulder twinges at the thought, and part of me can’t believe I just got it yesterday. It feels like days have passed since then.
“No shit,” Luis replies with a snort. “Even your mom couldn’t be that cruel.”
“I think we both know that’s not true.”
“Okay, seniors, thank you for your patience.” Uncle Christopher takes the microphone. “Since you’re all out at the cottages, we’ve centralized your task tables in here.” He points to four tables stationed around the room, each with letters corresponding with a range of last names. “Report to your table and get your group assignment. Once it’s completed, you can come back here to pick up your dinner before heading back to your room to pack a bag and get some sleep before we portal out of here. Any questions?”
A few queries get called out, but the rest of us are already moving. The faster we get this done, the higher our chances of beating the next rainband.
I don’t mind boarding up windows or trimming trees, but I’d prefer to not do it in the pouring rain. Despite the beach towel Luis handed me earlier, my clothes and hair are still really wet from the last round.
Except, when I get my assignment, I realize it doesn’t matter if it’s still raining or not. Because it turns out I was right and Luis was wrong.
My mother really can be that cruel.