Chapter One
Who the hell builds a school on top of an inaccessible cliff?
Whoever built Derleth Academy, my new school.I answered my own question as the car’s wheel skidded over the rough gravel on the way up the steep peninsula. A scream escaped my lips as the car lurched toward the edge of the cliff, one wheel spinning completely free.
Muttering under his breath, the driver for the school slammed the car into reverse and backed us onto the road before slamming on the gas again. We continued our wary climb along the narrow gravel path.
Surely the Academy can’t becompletelycut-off.The school had to bring up food and supplies. Parents must visit on the weekends. My driver was certainly giving it his all, tearing around the corners like he was on a Formula 1 racetrack and not a goat path hugging the side of a mountain. I gritted my teeth and gripped the back of the seat as rocks rolled from beneath the wheels and clattered over the sheer drop into the raging waters below. One wrong move, and we’d tumble down a two-hundred-foot cliff and be dashed against the cliffs so hard and fast that boats would mistake our remains for rock paintings.
Not the way I ever imagined I’d go.
We passed into thick vegetation, the cliff and ocean on one side giving way to looming trees that blocked out the grey sky. I let out the breath I’d been holding. Branches scraped the sides of the car, and my phone beeped with protest as we moved out of cell range.No contact with the outside world,the school brochure read.At Derleth Academy, we foster a competitive academic program requiring the full attention of our students. Distracting technology or personal items will not be tolerated.
In other words, I couldn’t call for help. It was the opening sequence to every horror film, ever.
Not that I had anyone to call. Not anymore.
“Almost there,” the driver said, swinging the car around a hairpin corner and launching my stomach into my throat. It was the most words he’d spoken to me the entire trip. “You can see the school through the trees.”
I squinted into the forest, trying to make out some kind of building that might pass as a school. But I couldn’t see a thing. We rounded another corner and—
Well, that’s terrifying.
We rolled between two towering stone pillars obscured by creeping vines, past an ornate sign that read DERLETH ACADEMY. A wide, pristine concrete drive flanked by an avenue of towering trees and wide, manicured lawns led up to an imposing stone building, stretching in all directions with narrow arched windows, spiky towers, and a row of leering gargoyles along the roof.
What is this place?It looked more like Dracula’s castle than a prestigious preparatory school.
I couldn’t believe the wealthiest people in the country sent their children up that winding road to get educated.Who’s the headmistress, Morticia Addams?But according to the brochure, that was exactly what they did. In droves. Derleth Academy had a waiting list a mile long, and you couldn’t even pay to get in. You had to beinvited.
Somehow, I, Hazel Waite – an overachieving orphan from the wrong side of Philly – ended up on their radar.
I flashed back to the day two weeks ago, when a banging on the door of my dingy apartment dragged me from a deep slumber. A woman with coiffed hair and a designer suit that cost more than a car staggered backward in surprise when I glared at her through the chain wearing only my pajamas and what must have been a terrifying scowl. Well,shewasn’t the one being dragged from a pleasant Jason Momoa sex dream during the four-hour reprieve between night shift at the diner and cleaning rooms at a retirement home.
“Are you Hazel Waite?” she asked, her brown eyes wide and curious.
“No. Piss off.” I glowered, slamming the door in her face. She was probably from CPS, trying to force me into foster care. Fuck that. I only had seven more months to survive before I turned eighteen. No way was I going to spend it in the hell that had killed Dante.
The woman didn’t go away. She sat out on the road in her sports car and waited me out. I had to leave for work or I’d lose my job, and it wasn’t easy to find work when you were underage and using an obviously fake ID. As soon as I left the house, she ambushed me.
“I’m not here to hand you over to the authorities,” she said hurriedly, shoving a thick envelope into your hands. “I’m a scholarship administrator from Derleth Academy in Arkham, Massachusetts. Your current school put you forward for one of our four senior scholarship positions – a fully funded year at a first-class prep school, where our students go on to attend the top colleges in the world. I know the first quarter has already started, but it’s taken me this long to track you down. You’ve only missed a week so far.”
I stared at the envelope in my hands, at the red, black and gold school crest – a crooked five-pointed star inside a shield with some kind of Latin phrase beneath it.This has got to be a joke.
“I know what you’re thinking,” the woman said. “It’s not a joke or a trick. I promise you that it’s not. If you come to Derleth, we will assume guardianship duties until you turn eighteen. You’ll be housed, clothed, and have all your schoolbooks and other needs met, as well as receiving a first-class education. You’re a promising student, Hazel, and I know you’ve been dealt a cruel lot in life. This could be where you turn everything around. Don’t answer me now. Read over the paperwork, and I’ll return tomorrow for your decision.”
And now, just ten days after I signed my soul over to this school in exchange for paid tuition, room, and board, I stared up at the imposing facade and wondered if I’d made a terrible mistake.
Sure, my life was miserable. I was drowning in grief, and even working two jobs I could barely pull in enough money to survive. College was out of the question, because I couldn’t finish high school without going into foster care. But at least all that was familiar territory. That was the world I’d grown up in – the world of pain and struggle and loss. Derleth Academy was the exact opposite. Every element of this building screamed wealth and privilege andyou don’t belong here.
The driver pulled to a stop on the wide circular drive beside a towering stone fountain. A black woman in a drab grey smock darted out of the shadows of the porch and approached the car. I held my hand out to her. “Hello, I’m Hazel Waite—”
The woman ducked her head, avoiding me. She popped open the trunk, hauled out my heavy suitcase and bookbag, and hurried off to the house with them before I could offer to help.
Weird much?I swiped a dreadlock off my face. My friend Dante’s foster sister had done them for me last year, back when things were perfect and the most I had to worry about was whether my mom would ground me for getting dreadlocks.
An awful feeling twisted in my gut. I wished Mom was here, hating my dreads, right now. But she was gone, gone, gone, and so was Dante, and it was just me and this terrifying school and no other options.
Three figures descended the grand stone steps toward me: A woman with translucent skin and a flowing black dress, flanked on either side by two students wearing the Derleth uniform. Fallen leaves skittered away from the woman’s hem, and she moved with such poise that she appeared to float over the steps. With her severe features and a gauzy black ribbon pinned in her hair, she looked more like she was attending a funeral. Behind her, the two students – a guy and a girl – glared at me, distrust emanating from their every pore.
