Rogue Reformatory: Busted (Supernatural Misfits Academy Book 1) Read online

  Jason and Brandon hobbled by, heading for the street, but Cece remained motionless.

  Dropping my phone, I crumpled into a ball and sobbed.

  I stayed like that even as Dad’s car screeched into the alley and he got out. He ran to the fire escape, and his gut-wrenching cry echoed around us.

  I’d done this. I’d killed my sister.

  As I rose to lean against the wall, a black, unmarked car pulled in behind Dad’s, and two men got out, a blond and a redhead. They paused beside me and stared down, saying nothing, before walking over to Dad. Heated whispers swirled around me as I slowly died inside.

  Cece, I’m so, so sorry.

  “You sure you want us to take her?” one of the men asked.

  “Do it,” Dad grated out. “Make sure she doesn’t return.”

  The men walked over, grabbed my arms, and hauled me away from the wall.

  “What are you doing? Help my sister!”

  They strapped a band of cold, hard metal around my neck.

  “Please,” I said, my voice hoarse. “Cece!”

  They guided me toward the car. “You need to come with us.”

  “But Cece.” I strained to break away, to reach my sister. I needed to touch her one last time. “Please. I need to go to her.”

  The blond man placed his finger on my temple, and the alley disappeared.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Cece

  Damn, my head hurt.

  I awoke in a strange bed, wondering what the fuck could have happened to cause such a raging migraine. Then I saw the blinking machines, the IV pole, and a stupid pale green curtain, and I remembered it all. The beer. The shifters. The building crashing down on my head.

  And the tsunami of power that had emanated from Maddy.

  Shit! Maddy!

  I scrambled to get out of bed, but the world tilted on its axis, and I fell back against the pillows, praying for it to stop. I heard the scuff of reluctant footsteps stop just outside my room, and I waited for someone to enter and throw the hideous curtain aside in dramatic fashion to tell me what was wrong, TV-style. White coat, clipboard, stoic face, and all. But it wasn’t a doctor or supernatural healer who peeked around the green barrier.

  It was my dad.

  “How are you feeling, kiddo?”

  “Where’s Maddy, Dad? Is she here? Can I see her?”

  He sat down on the side of my bed and grabbed the edge of it. He was hunkering down for a full-on battle with me, and that didn’t bode well for anyone. Especially me.

  “Celine, I need you to stay calm.”

  “Dad,” I said, irritation covering my growing fear, “that’s what people say when bad shit happens—”

  “Language, young lady—”

  “I’ll make you a deal. I’ll stop swearing when you answer my question.”

  He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He looked so tired—more tired than usual. His salt-and-pepper hair was a mess, and his normally starched and pressed oxford was a rumpled disaster. Very un-Darren-like. Another ominous sign.

  “She’s gone.”

  Ice shot through my veins. “Gone…gone like…like…”

  “Oh no,” he said, launching across the bed for my hand, “Maddy’s not dead, Celine. Neither are the boys that were with you two.” I growled internally at the thought of them. “She’s just…she had to…”

  “Had to what, Dad?”

  Another deep breath. “She had to go. There was no other choice.”

  “Go where?” I asked, pulling my hand from his. “Where did she have to go?”

  I struggled to sit up while my father stared at me, as though willing me to read between the lines; to put together the ‘how’ and the ‘why’ and the ‘what’ behind the series of events that had led to my raging headache and broken state. While the monitors chirped in the bay next to me, I tried to think—think of where Maddy could be. When it became clear I couldn’t, he ripped the world right out from under me.

  “She’s been taken to Wadsworth Reformatory,” he said softly, hands folded in his lap.

  My heart seized at the mention of that place. A “school” for the worst of the worst supernaturals. A place where Maddy didn’t belong.

  “Dad,” I said in an eerily calm voice that barely hid every bit of the terror and anger I felt, “who took her?” He didn’t answer. “Dad! Who. Took. Her?”

  He hesitated before turning his sad eyes to me. “The Council came for her.” My heart fell to my feet. The Council were both renowned and feared in the world of the supernatural. They were the judges and juries of our kind—and, sometimes, the executioners.

  “But it was an accident! She didn’t mean to hurt me. And we were being attacked—it was self-defense!”

  “I know that, Celine. They do, too—”

  “Then why—" I cut myself off, reality slamming into me as hard as the concrete building Maddy had destroyed. Maddy had toppled that building... “Oh my God. Maddy is a malum magicae…” My father nodded slowly—just once. He, too, seemed unable to fully process this news. But how could anyone when faced with the reality that someone they loved was filled with an ancient, deadly magic? One that might destroy them? “You didn’t know?” I asked, barely able to speak.

  I didn’t really need to ask, given his resignation, but he shook his head anyway.

  “It was too late,” he whispered, his voice distant, his gaze unfocused. “They came to take her, and I let them…I had to.”

  That remark sobered me a bit and dragged me from my downward spiral. “Of course you did,” I snapped. “You’ve never done anything to help her since the day she was born.”

  I ripped the IV from my arm and threw my legs over the side of the bed. The room spun less that time, so I took it as a win and kept moving.

  “Celine, you’re not supposed—”

  “I don’t care.”

  “The healer was very clear that you were to take it easy for the next few days.”

  “That seems unlikely,” I said as I fumbled through the room, grabbing hold of whatever was nearby to steady myself as I searched for my clothes. I found them on a standard-issue hospital chair; both my jeans and t-shirt were covered in blood. With no other options, I carefully pulled them on so as not to flash my dad in the process.

  “Celine, I know you’re upset—”

  “You don’t know anything, Darren, but that’s not all that surprising. That would take effort, and that’s not really where you excel. You’re great at making children—it’s the raising them bit that really falls apart for you.”

  His silence spoke volumes. He knew there was no argument he could make that would trump mine. He’d given up on me a long time ago. And he’d never even tried with Maddy.

  “Where are you going?” he asked as I threw my purse over my shoulder, wincing at the motion.

  Damn concrete avalanche.

  “To help Maddy.”

  “Celine, there’s nothing you can do.”

  “That feels a lot like a ‘hold my beer’ challenge to me, Darren, and I think you know how well I take those.” I looked over my shoulder at where he stood next to the hospital bed, his shoulders rounded in defeat. I tried to dial back my hostility a notch so I didn’t emotionally crush him. Unfortunately, I failed. “I’m going to do what you can’t, or won’t. I’m going to get her back.”

  I rushed out of the room as his argument began, chased down the hall by his frustration and anxiety. They wrapped around me like a tether, trying to bring me back. Emotions were my weapon and my downfall, and no matter how hard I tried to thicken my armor and shore up any vulnerable areas, they always got through eventually. An empath could only stave them off for so long, no matter how strong they were.

  And I was wicked strong.

  So I ran until I was outside the hospital and halfway down the block, my head (and other parts of my body I hadn’t realized were injured) protesting every step of the way. I needed a moment to think without my father’s emotional bag
gage weighing me down. I had enough shit to deal with already; the fallout of his actions would have to wait.

  I’d heard a rumor once about Wadsworth Reformatory—about how it was little more than a glorified juvenile detention center for supernatural problem teens, hidden deep in the White Mountains of New Hampshire and glamoured to appear to human eyes as a monstrous estate with an elaborate backstory that had held up well over time. Lots of famous people had properties throughout the state; why would the locals suspect anything? But some supernaturals did.

  One day, when I’d been hanging out with a sketchy group of sorcerers who deserved to spend a few years at Wadsworth themselves, one of them had mentioned a friend of theirs that had gone there for what seemed like a tiny infraction and hadn’t returned for years. When he finally did, he was never quite the same. For whatever reason, that story had stuck with me, buried deep in the back of my mind until Dad had said Maddy had been taken there. That had ripped it from the archives in a hot hurry.

  There was no way Maddy could survive in a place full of rogue magicals for long on her own. She was powerful—more powerful than me by a long shot, apparently—but power could only get you so far, especially if you lacked the will to use it on others to save yourself. I, unlike Maddy, had zero problem hurting someone that hurt one of us. So I knew what I had to do.

  I smiled as I ran down the street, headed for those same shady sorcerers. My powers weren’t the kind you could easily commit criminal offenses with—or at least not the kind that would leave me standing with a smoking gun. No, I’d need a little help if I was going to do something bad enough to land me in Wadsworth, which was exactly what I planned to do.

  Because Maddy was my little sister.

  And I’d burn down the world to save her.

  The buildings grew sketchier as I made my way into a notorious neighborhood, at least in the supernatural community. Bad things happened there—highly illegal things. I needed to get my hands on a few black-market items if I was to have any chance at doing what I wanted to do.

  As I walked up to the decrepit blue house, I practically choked on the seedy vibe emanating from inside. Fear crept up my spine at the thought of what was in there, but I beat it back with the thought of my sister getting jumped by a group of degenerates in the reformatory. Shoulders squared and chin high, I marched around to the back door that I'd seen a friend use once before when he’d needed a forbidden talisman and knocked in the exact pattern he had. One wrong move and I knew I'd be toast, but the risk was worth it.

  Two seconds later, a sketched-out looking twenty-something sorcerer stood before me, scratching at his arm like he needed a fix.

  “Yeah?”

  “Hey! It’s Cece...remember me? I was here with Tommy once?”

  Realization dawned in his bloodshot eyes. “Oh yeah. The girlfriend.”

  “Ex-girlfriend now, but that’s not important. I came because I need you to hook me up with something.”

  “What kind of ‘something’ are you looking for, ex-girlfriend?”

  I shuddered internally at the emphasis he put on that word. “The kind that blows shit up.”

  He grinned at me, exposing his lack of oral hygiene. “You got cash?”

  I pulled out the money I'd stolen from my dad earlier that night. “This work?”

  He eyed it and licked his lips. “Yep. Follow me.”

  Though the thought of entering his den of illegal magical paraphernalia made my skin crawl, I walked behind him through the hole-ridden halls and into the basement. There, before me on the far wall, was a menagerie of spells and charms and weapons for sale, all capable of drawing the eye of Wadsworth my way.

  “How big do you want that explosion?” he asked as he reached for some crystals on the highest shelf.

  “Big as it can be,” I replied.

  He laughed and shook his head as he grabbed a purple stone and brought it over. He dropped the amethyst into my palm.

  “This right here could level the old textile plant on the far side of town.”

  A wicked smile crept across my face. “Perfect.”

  I handed him the money and turned to leave.

  “You know what’ll happen to you if you get caught, right?”

  My smile widened as I looked back at him. “Oh, I know. In fact, I’m counting on it.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  Maddy

  “Take off your clothing,” the woman said curtly. Her hand flicked toward the back of the room. “Behind the screen.”

  “Are you…” I gulped, “a guard?”

  “We prefer to use the term ‘keepers’.”

  “Oh, okay.”

  I stood inside a tiny room near the entrance of Wadsworth Reformatory—so the sign outside had indicated. White walls. White tile floor. The only splashes of color came from the steel folding chair set up in the corner, the gray folding screen, and the keeper’s blue uniform.

  She was a vampire, if I wasn’t mistaken. It wasn’t just her teeth that gave her away, ‘cause some shifters’ teeth looked about the same. No, it was the expression in her eyes; the stillness that hinted at predator.

  “Change!”

  I jumped and couldn’t stop the tears from welling in my eyes. But damn it, I wouldn’t let them fall. After what I’d done, I didn’t deserve pity, not even from myself.

  It was time for me to grow a spine—I was going to need one at Wadsworth.

  The woman’s gaze cut to the two men who’d brought me here. They stood inside the doorway, shuffling their feet on the floor. Not long ago, they’d hustled me inside and waited while the keeper behind the glass wall near the entrance had called for this woman. She’d appeared beside me and sighed. “Another? That makes three today.”

  “Girl.” The woman snapped her fingers in my face, reminding me of the present.

  “Take off everything?” I asked, my voice full-on quivering. But shit, I was scared out of my mind, not sure what was happening.

  Wadsworth Reformatory. Was I being locked up in supernatural juvie?

  “You can keep your underthings, but nothing else.”

  The redhead bobbed his chin and directed his gaze to the floor, while the other guy just watched me, his black eyes skimming my frame.

  “There’s a bin with various sizes of jeans behind the screen, but take this.” Thrusting a t-shirt into my hands, she scowled. “Three of these will be delivered to your room, plus a sweatshirt, each marked with your number. Don’t lose them.”

  Stumbling around the screen, I reached for the hem of my tee, but my fingers stilled when one of the guys moved so he could watch. His gaze met mine, and a growl rushed up my throat. The guy jumped and stepped backward, banging his hip on the wall.

  “I’m not putting on a show for him,” I said in a tight voice.

  “Go,” the woman said with a heavy sigh.

  The creepy one stepped forward. “But she might—”

  “Go!”

  “Thanks,” I said after the door banged closed.

  “I didn’t do it for you,” she said. “Jerk didn’t deserve a treat. He ditched my sister two months ago. If he wants fun, he’ll have to work with a different keeper.” Her glare fell on me again. “I said strip.” She smirked. “Because I’m feeling generous today, you can also leave your skin on.”

  I dug through the bin behind me, grateful that the clothing, while showing some wear, appeared clean. Pulling out a pair of jeans about my size, I tossed it over the top of the screen, then lifted the tee. White. A patch on the right sleeve that must be the Wadsworth emblem, and the number 28179A.

  Spinning, even though I was confident no one was watching, I yanked off my tee. My fingers brushed against the band of metal around my neck. “Why am I wearing a collar?”

  “We can’t let you use magic, now can we? You’ll wear it until you’re released.”

  When would that be? I didn’t dare ask. Did it really matter?

  “It’s blue,” she huffed out.

  “
Why blue?”

  “You’re a halve, a mix of shifter and witch, though they wear green and silver. There’s a hierarchy here, and you’ll do best if you stay with your group.”

  “I…what happens if I don’t?”

  “You don’t want to find out.” Her low, deep chuckle made the hairs on the back of my neck stand at attention. “The fey, in gold, will keep you in line.”

  I definitely didn’t want to anger the fey. Powerful, elite, and dangerous, they’d rip me apart in seconds.

  “Anyone else I need to be worried about?” I asked, wishing my voice didn’t crack.

  “Sorcerers are in purple and vamps are in,” she laughed again, “red. Ironic, huh?”

  “Yes, I—”

  “Hurry up!”

  I jumped, but shut up. As I slipped my arms through the Wadsworth tee’s sleeves, my skin prickled. Shivers wracked my frame. Curling forward, I tried to hide my body. Despite the screen, changing like this made me feel exposed. Vulnerable. A sob burst past my clenched teeth as I undid the button on my pants, but I dragged them down over my hips and stepped out of them.

  Cold. The AC must be on high. Goosebumps erupted all over me, and I hunched forward, my chest on fire with pain and sorrow.

  Who cared about any of this? I should be dead inside. But nothing made a girl feel more vulnerable than standing almost naked in an unfamiliar, frigid room, not knowing where she was going next.

  I hauled on the jeans and buttoned them, then smoothed the t-shirt hem over my hips, as if my appearance mattered.

  “You can keep your socks,” the woman said.

  With two thuds, a pair of white, yank-on sneakers that looked vaguely like Vans but were not landed on the scuffed tile floor by my feet. I picked them up and left the screened area to sit in the metal chair in the corner and tug on the shoes.

  “Follow me,” the woman said without a hint of emotion in her voice. Opening the door, she stepped out into the hall.

  We turned right, and I hustled to keep up with her long stride as she took me down a series of cinderblock corridors. They’d been painted white. Maybe. Grease stains from what looked like multiple generations of grimy resident hands stained the walls. Juvie graffiti. It might be the only kind allowed in this place.