Shadow Phantoms - H.P. Mallory Page 0,4

warlock of the Templar. Death holds no fear for me. Death is but a door to another realm.”

I punched him in his gut and was pleased to see him gasp. “There are no warlocks. You are a mage and that makes you subject to me.”

“I am a warlo…” Another punch, this time to his face, cut him off.

“There are no warlocks,” I repeated. “And no witches either. Just the Mages of the King’s Alliance, trying to keep order in a disordered world. And threats to that order—threats such as you and your friend—will be terminated without prejudice.”

The man said nothing.

I sighed. “You say that you have no fear of death and I believe you. But I don’t actually want you dead. Why? Because dead men don’t talk. Except in a few very specific circumstances. We can keep you alive a long time and, to you, it will seem like a whole lot longer. But, in the end, you will talk. In the end, everyone talks.”

He was tough. But just for a split second, I saw a flicker of doubt. He knew I was right. Perhaps he’d even been on the other side of a conversation such as this one. Regardless, he knew as well as I did that in the end, everyone talked.

“Try looking at it this way,” I suggested, kindly. “How sure are you that I’m in the wrong?”

“What do you mean?”

I shrugged. “The Underworld is gone. Those old alliances are broken. The vampires and werewolves as well as the other lycanthropes, the Fae and witches, all those who lived in peace together under…” I paused. Who had they lived in peace under? The question brought a frustrating blank, but I moved on. “… who lived together in peace, have all gone their separate ways. I can’t bring that peace back and nor can your Templars. I’m just trying to make the best of a bad situation.” I took a breath. “The King’s Alliance is the closest we have to organization now, and only in organization can we regain any type of peace. If people fight against me then… well, you can’t make an omelet without breaking the eggs.” I shrugged. “Someone must rule or there will be chaos, and neither of us wants chaos. So the choice is yours; peace and rest, or chaos and pain.”

TWO

EMMA

My phone buzzed somewhere beneath the mess of sheets and unfolded laundry on my bed. I felt around for it, eyes closed. Crisp Salem air poured in through the open window.

“There you are,” I looped my fingers around the chipped black case.

I pulled the phone up and held it in front of my face. 6:57 AM.

“What the hell?”

I dropped the phone. It hit me squarely in the nose, and not gently. Yep, it was going to be one of those days.

I kicked my sheets to the floor, and the comforter. My uniform was in there somewhere... Dropping to my knees, I dug through the heap. I spotted a flash of grey amid the green and white and pulled my uniform pants out of the pile. The “crisp white shirt” the handbook mandated was balled up in the left leg. Shaking it down the length of the pants, I got it loose.

And promptly banged my knuckles into the two-drawer dresser by my bed.

Pros and cons of magic drawers: pro, they can hold a metric ton of stuff; con, they’re as hard as freaking diamonds. My knuckles were red and raw.

How many times am I going to hurt myself this morning? And I’m running late for my first class. Ugh.

I sat on the floor and slipped my pants on, one-handed. The shirt’s buttoned collar caught on my ear, but I managed to yank it over my head. Feeling the dry fizzle of static electricity, I looked in the mirror. Ten quintillion long blond lines poked out of me like quills. And the three-quarter-length sleeves were wrinkled to hell and back.

Okay, okay, sweater vest, sweater vest, where’s the sweater vest?

There, hanging from the top of my wardrobe. I pulled on it until it came down.

Something hit the floor with it and I heard the unmistakeable muted clink of breaking glass.

I pulled the sweater vest over my shirt and bent to examine the damage.

“Dammit,” I said as I realized what had broken. It was the only framed picture I kept in my dorm. One of my parents holding me when I was a baby. It had that hazy, polaroid quality to it, but mom’s eyes were blue