Evermore Academy (Evermore Academy #3) - Audrey Grey Page 0,54

be dead.”

“Fine, okay.” Her gaze bounces across the greenhouse until she makes sure we’re alone. “He had a shadow his first year. Her name was . . .”

Miranda throws her hands up to her throat, clawing at her neck as it swells. Eyes bugged wide, she opens and closes her mouth as her face turns as purple as the leaves of the castor bean stalk next to her.

I rush over, prepared to help. “What’s happening?”

“Same thing as last time,” Eclipsa growls.

“And that is?” I gasp as I catch a bulge wriggling up her throat. “If you say an alien pops out, I’m leaving.”

Still clawing at her neck, Miranda suddenly bends over and violently coughs. Something small and white lands on the dirt floor.

Eclipsa plucks the object from the ground and twirls it between her fingers. A white daffodil flower.

“Does that happen every time she tries to answer?” I ask.

“Yep.” Eclipsa gestures for poor Miranda to flee. We both watch Miranda stumble out of the greenhouse and then Eclipsa adds, “It’s not just her. I’ve found several shadows from Whitehall who, after a little persuasion, were more than happy to answer my questions. But they couldn’t. Each time they tried, that happened.”

“Hellebore spelled them to secrecy?”

“It’s clever, really.” She hands me the daffodil flower and strolls toward a row of gympie-gympie stalks lovingly nicknamed the suicide plant. “A true silencing spell is complex and takes a lot of magic to implement. The same with an actual memory spell. Hellebore is entirely capable, but spelling that many people to silence would be hard if not impossible. So he did a simple conjuring spell instead. Whenever students try to say certain words, they inadvertently conjure something in their throat. A daffodil, a toad. One time some boy coughed up a full grown garter snake.”

“Well that’s only slightly terrifying. Could they write it?” I persist, desperate for answers.

“Already tried that. The pen becomes a scorpion that stings.”

I kick my toe into the dirt. “What about school records?”

“Oh, wouldn’t you know, they had a magical fire right before Whitehall closed that destroyed all the filing cabinets.”

“This guy, ughhhh!” I look down to see the daffodil crushed between my fingers. If only that was Hellebore’s face.

“Any luck winning over Freesia?”

I shake my head. “I’m pretty sure she’s skipping classes because she’s never at school.”

“Hell must love dealing with her,” Eclipsa purrs, pocketing her gardening gloves. “There has to be something she likes to do. Figure out her hobbies and then bond with her that way.”

“We both hate her brother so I’m sure we can bond over that.”

Mutual hatred is a powerful thing.

We leave the greenhouse just as the final horn blows to announce the Selection’s end. The setting sun hugs the mountains in the distance. As we round a wall of hedges, I take in the group of students on the lawn with a proud smile.

My mother is wrong. Fae and mortals working together makes us stronger, not weaker.

“Summer.”

Something in Eclipsa’s voice sends nails of dread clawing across my back. I take in the crowd on the lawn more closely.

They’re circling something.

Experience has taught me that when someone is hurt, it’s usually someone I care about, and I sprint toward the crowd, Eclipsa close behind.

Three students are laid out over the grass a few feet from the shore. Even before I make out their round ears, I know they’re mortal by the bright red blood glinting on the grass around them. The metallic stench of blood hits before I see their injuries.

And when I do, when I catch sight of the bright red gashes in the shape of claw marks, the broken bones and missing flesh . . .

It’s all I can do to keep from puking.

The worst is a dark-haired girl whose throat was ripped out.

Relief spreads fast and hot through my chest as I realize I don’t know any of the shadows.

Followed by crushing guilt.

A cluster of real shadow Guardians in dark uniforms surround a male lycan third year named Torren. I’ve only met him in passing, but he’s one of the few nice Evermore. Blood covers him head to toe. He’s shaking, his face half-shifted, his gaze skipping from the dead students and then to his own partially shifted hands.

Is he injured? Did he witness the attack?

My focus flicks to the guns in the shadow Guardians’ trembling hands. Why are they pointing weapons at him?

“What happened?” I whisper to no one in particular.

The headmistress is deep in conversation with Professor Balefire. Both stop