Monster Academy for the Magical, #1
Jessica Sorensen
Monster Academy for The Magical
(Monster Academy for the Magical, #1)
Jessica Sorensen
Author’s Note
Dear Reader,
Thanks for reading Monster Academy for the Magical (Monster Academy for the Magical, #1). I hope you enjoyed it!
As stated in the book description, Monster Academy for the Magical is a SERIALIZED novella series told in episode form. And I plan to release one episode every 6 to 8 weeks.
Thanks for reading!
Jessica Sorensen
Monster Academy for the Magical
Jessica Sorensen
All rights reserved.
Copyright © 2019 by Jessica Sorensen
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The author holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited.
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For information: jessicasorensen.com
Cover design by MaeIDesign
Created with Vellum
Contents
Prologue
1. Haven
2. Haven
3. Haven
4. Haven
5. Haven
6. Haven
7. Haven
8. Haven
9. Haven
10. Haven
11. Haven
12. Roman
Chapter 13
About the Author
Also by Jessica Sorensen
Prologue
It was the darkest of nights, no moonlight visible. The sounds of the mother’s screams could be heard across the land, sending fear throughout the realm. But the baby’s cries overlapped it.
“Help her,” the father of the baby whispered.
He wasn't certain if he was talking about his baby or his wife. Well, now that he had seen what sort of creature the baby was, he realized she probably wasn't his. But he could barely process this painful revelation as his wife continued to scream, pulling at her hair, her face pale with exhaustion from giving birth only minutes ago.
The witch doctor still remained in the room, but the rest of the coven had bailed once they laid eyes on the baby, saw what she was, saw the shadows in her eyes.
“A maddening,” the doctor whispered in horror as he backed away from the bloodstained bed where the baby lay beside her mother, kicking and screaming.
The mother had tried to hold the baby at first, despite everyone’s fears.
“She won’t hurt me,” she promised.
But the baby had hurt her. Had made her go mad, poisoned the mother’s brain with her power of madness.
“Oh Gods,” the father choked out as reality crashed down on him.
His wife had cheated on him. And with a Maddening, one of the most feared and rare creatures in the realms. And now they had a hybrid, half-witch, half-maddening baby on their hands, one that had stolen her mother’s sanity within seconds of entering this realm. Not that it was the baby’s fault, but…
A rage built inside the husband’s chest.
“Get it out of here,” he commanded. “Take it as far away from here as possible.”
The doctor looked at him with wide eyes. "Sir, I don't think that's possible. You know maddenings can't control their power until they're older. And until then, anyone who tries to touch her is putting themselves at risk for getting cursed by madness."
“Then put a spell on her. Spell her powers to be dormant. I know it’s possible to do on younger maddenings.” He cast one last glance at the baby and a bit of guilt clutched at his chest.
For months, as the baby grew in his wife's belly, he had fallen in love with the idea of her. Now, though, that love no longer existed. Only hate did. And part of him hated himself for feeling this way, but he couldn't let it go—let go of what the baby represented.
He turned to leave the room.
“After we spell her, where do you want us to take her?” the doctor called out.
He gave a stiff shrug. “I don’t care. Just as long as it’s far away from here.”
“And what about your wife?” The doctor asked cautiously.
His wife let out a scream then, begging for the darkness to leave her.
He ignored her, though, reminding himself that she’d done this to herself.
“Get rid of her. Just make sure I never see her or the baby again,” he bit out.
Then he stormed out of the room without so much as a glance back.
The next day, he made a vow to rid his thoughts of the baby and his wife. And for years, he hardly ever thought about them, except on the darkest of nights when no moon was in sight.
When only darkness thrived.
Haven
I’ve always felt like I was… different. Okay, different might be sugarcoating it. Honestly, I’ve always felt like a freak. Like I can’t relate to anyone. Like I don’t belong in this world. And sometimes I wonder if maybe, just maybe, that’s it. If perhaps I don’t belong here. If maybe my… curse… ability means I’m from somewhere else. That this curse means I’m something magical. That it means what I did to my first foster mother all those years ago happened because I hadn’t learned to control my magic yet.
Back in the day, I thought it was okay to tell people about my secret ability. Boy, was I wrong. This was something I learned the hard way after I told a couple of kids at my school that I believed I had magical powers, that I could sometimes feel magic crawling under my skin and voices whispering to me. I was immediately mocked, ridiculed, and deemed the freak that no one wanted to be around. But honestly, I probably didn't stand a chance anyway, considering what happened all those years ago…
“She was perfectly fine until she showed up,” the mother of my foster mother sobbed to the police as her daughter, Mia, was wheeled out on a stretcher…
I remember how Mia had to be strapped down or else she kept trying to claw off her flesh, insisting demons were living inside her. She had also said the same thing about me the first day I was brought to live with her. She had taken one look at my dark, nearly black eyes, and had frowned in disgust. Later, I heard her gossiping with her friends about how I must be possessed like some kid in a movie she had recently watched.
She had pretended it was a joke, but every time she looked at me, I saw the fear in her eyes. It didn’t help that I was socially awkward and would barely talk.
And then one stormy night, the… incident happened and now… Well, Mia now spends her days locked in a psych ward.
And me? I do my best not to think about it, think about what I did. But sometimes late at night, it haunts my nightmares.
Maybe I really am a demon.
I've thought this many times, and part of me actually believes it. Not that I’ll ever admit it aloud. Like I said before, I've learned to keep my mouth shut about those sorts of things.
That silence has led to me spending the entire seventeen years of my existence without any friends. While the loneliness can get to me, I’ve learned to cope with it, learned how to exist by myself without going too mad.
One of the coping mechanisms that have helped me not go insane with loneliness is reading. Books and stories are my escape. Well
, normally they are. Right now, though, my love for books may have sentenced me to a horrible punishment.
Earlier today, when I left my house, I thought it'd be okay to make a quick stop at the town book fair. I'd told myself I had plenty of time to hang out there and also have time to run the errands that my newest foster mother had sent me on. I should've known better, remembered how I get around books, how I lose track of time. Now, I'm realizing I never should've stopped and risked being late. It's not like I did—or could've bought—any of the books anyway. I have zero dollars to my name. Always do. Being a foster kid my entire life, I rarely have any money of my own. And with me constantly bouncing through homes, getting a job is complicated. Not that I haven't tried. But no one wants to hire me. That doesn't surprise me since I've spent my entire life aware that most people are repulsed by me.
Even after the incident with Mia was years behind me, I still was the girl no one wanted to be around. Even my teachers acted like I had the plague, although I think some of them had heard the rumors of what I did to Mia. Plus, I’d often zone out during class and go into trances where I wouldn’t communicate with anyone. Last year, a rumor was going around that I worshipped the devil. It didn’t help that during my zoned-out episodes, I started muttering words in a bizarre language. At least that’s what I was told. I can’t recollect what happens during my “episodes,” as everyone calls them. I only know what people tell me.
A school therapist once suggested I should go see a doctor. My foster parents at the time told her they’d take me to one, but they never did. And I'm glad since the one and only time I talked to a therapist led to me nearly getting put in a "special" group home, which is basically where the send foster kids who are considered dangerous. I've heard stories about these homes, about the horrible things that go on inside them. It makes living with crappy foster families seem wonderful. Not that all foster parents are that way. I've heard stories about good ones. I just usually seem to end up with the bad ones.
The ones I'm currently living with are the worst. I've been living with them for almost ten months. Ten months of hell.
On the outside, they seem like a nice enough couple. Middle-aged with no kids of their own, and I'm the only foster kid they're fostering. My first day with them, the foster mother gave me this lecture on how I was basically going to be their maid, that I owed them that for the food and shelter they were going to provide me with. Which whatever. I've been in situations like that before. But what makes this one worse is the punishment system they have for when I mess up. And everything I do seems to be a mess up. Like tardiness, which is about to happen. Again.
As I glance at the time, I quicken my pace to a run. If I hurry, I might be able to make it in time. At least that’s what I try to convince myself. Deep down, I know I’m not going to, that I can’t run that fast.
Maybe if I try harder, make my feet move quicker—
Smack.
I crash into something solid, the force sending me backward, and I fall all to the ground hard.
“Shit, that hurt,” I mutter, blinking up at the object I ran into.
Nope, not an object. A woman with the brightest pink hair I’ve ever seen, almost like it was spun from magic. Or a cotton candy machine since it looks very similar.
So weird.
She also has on an extravagant black dress secured together with laces and ribbons, and the bottom is made of lace. She looks like she's going to a Halloween party, but it's only September.
“Sorry about that,” I tell her as I get to my feet.
Her brows knit. “You can see me?”
"Um... Yeah," I say confusedly. "I just wasn't watching where I was going."
She fiddles with a crescent moon-shaped pendant dangling around her neck as she assesses me with her startling turquoise eyes. “What are you? I can’t read you at all? Do you have a shield on you or something?”
And people think I’m crazy?
Deciding to ignore her, I swing to the side to go around her. “Sorry I ran into you,” I apologize again, then move to hightail it out of there.
But she reaches out and snags my arm. “Did the coven send you after me? Because I’m not going back.” My skin sizzles as she grips my arm. “I won’t ever go back to that hellhole.” She growls. “I want to stay a huntress. It’s what I’m good at. The gift… It bleeds in my bones.”
My skin grows so scorching I feel like I’m blistering from the inside out.
What the hell is happening? Who is this person? And what in the crap is she rambling about?
"I don't know what you're talking about." I jerk my arm out of her grasp, and the heat leaves my body. But coldness replaces it, an icy chill glazing inside me. "I'm going to leave now. " I start to walk away when she lets out the most blood-curdling scream I've ever heard.
“Darkness!” She throws her hands over her ears, staring right at me. “You’re evil! A monster! Get out of my head!”
And that’s about when I say peace out, fleeing the area and running like mad toward my house, leaving Miss Pink Haired Crazy Pants behind. But her screaming chases me for at least another mile.
Haven
I’m late. Of course I am. I didn’t stand a chance after I ran into that crazy woman. I’m beyond frustrated and kind of weirded out. Yeah, the woman seemed off her rocker, but that’s not the first time someone has called me evil or a monster.
I’ve heard it tons of times. I’ve just never had a random stranger throw such hate at me before. Did she somehow know about what I did to Mia? It’s been years since I crossed paths with someone who remembers that awful day, but it’d explain her reaction to me.
Sort of…
The town clock chimes the next hour, tearing me from my worries and making me focus on another much bigger problem.
Summoning a deep breath, I twist the doorknob and walk into the single-story house that reeks like old shoes.
Tina, my foster mother, is waiting for me in the living room. Her frizzy hair is pulled back into a ponytail, her arms are crossed, and her expression is filled with irritation. But that’s just Tina.
“You’re late,” she says to me with her eyes narrowed. “Tardiness is a sin.”
I close the front door behind me.
The curtains are all shut, so the atmosphere is dark—it always is. And the walls are covered in crosses and framed religious quotes. The first time I walked into this house, the sight made me uneasy. I soon learned why, that I could sense the darkness living within these walls.
“Sorry,” I tell her as I hand her the sack with flour in it.
She’d sent me to the store to pick it up because her husband had requested biscuits with his dinner tonight. And she always makes him what he requests, I think because she's afraid of him. And she has a good reason to be. The man is a straight-up asshole, evil hidden behind a mask that no one else seems to be able to see.
But I see it. All the damn time.
She snatches the bag from me. “Sorry isn’t going to help me get these biscuits done in time, is it?”
"No," I grit my teeth as she glares at me. "I really am sorry. There was this construction spot, and they had the sidewalk blocked off, so I had to go around it," I try to lie.
“You’re such a bad liar.” She points a finger at the door that leads to the basement. “Go. Now. And think about your sins.”
I ball my hands into fists, fighting back the urge to scream at her. But I want to. Dammit, do I want to. "Please don't make me do this again. I hate… I hate the dark. It makes me anxious." That part is true.
It started the day I hurt Mia. Darkness had been a big part of that day—had been all of it.
Memories of that day try to surface, but I shove them back, refusing to remember what happened—what I did.
“You know the rules,” Tina snaps, continuing to point at the door. “Tardiness is a sin in this house.”
Everything is a sin in this house.
Stabbing my fingernails into my palms, I
march over to the door, yank it open, and step in. A lamp is on at the bottom of the stairway, but it’s still extremely dark. But I don't bother turning the light on. I've had this punishment enough to know she's about to shut off the breaker, so I have no choice but to sit in the dark. So I rush down the steps before the lights go off to avoid falling down them, something that happened the first time I was sentenced to this punishment. I ended up cutting open my arm on a nail and still have a scar from it.
The moment I reach the bottom of the staircase, I hurry toward a recliner. It’s where I sit while I’m down here. Halfway there, though, the lamps goes off and darkness smothers me.
“Dammit.” I squint against the darkness, trying to see something, but no windows are around to offer even a drop of light, so I’m left trying to mentally visualize my surroundings.
I know a shelf is on my left, and to my right, is a wall. And I think just a few steps forward is where the recliner is.
Sticking out my hands, I stumble through the darkness until the fronts of my legs bump into the recliner. I sink down onto the chair, hug my knees against my chest, and keep my gaze in the direction of what I hope is the stairway, waiting and watching.
Waiting and watching for the other half of my punishment to come.
For him to come for me.
Haven
I'm unsure how much time goes by since I don't own a phone. I do have an old watch I found in a parking lot once. I have it on right now, but it's too dark to see the time. I can hear it ticking, though, taunting me. The noise is maddening, and I find myself longing to hear something else—anything else.
