Dahlia

  By night, the academy was an eerie, quiet place. No one wandered. No one socialized or stayed out to enjoy the cool night air. Besides the occasional guard on rounds, the place was devoid of students and older Predictors alike. And as I approached the rear fence line where the council building sat on the far edge of the grounds, I was again struck by just how different the compound was from the rest of Firen.

  Firen was full of life and color, even at night. The compound was devoid of it, especially at night. While the buildings in Firen were painted in every color one could imagine and flowers and paintings hung from every inch of fence, wall, and windowsill, the Predictors lived in a bleak, colorless world broken up only by the vivid colors of their robes.

  The buildings were made of dark stone and brick in similar shades of gray. The signs on the buildings were etched into the stone and painted black. There were no flowers or art along the windowsills. There were no brightly-painted doors on any of the buildings. The cobblestone courtyard was not conducive to growing plants, nor were there planters like people used to decorate the cobblestone streets in the city. The fence around the grounds was made of metal rods that sharpened to points along the tops, and the groundskeepers took great care in ensuring nothing grew along the inside of the fence. And while there were trees between the buildings, they did little to add color to the place.

  By night, the grounds were so unwelcoming that I felt a chill as I looked upon the cellar I’d come here to explore. This place was a dead spot in one of the liveliest cities in all the worlds. But Redmond compound wasn’t really devoid of life—it only seemed that way compared to the rest of the city. Even now, I could hear the sounds of people talking from within the cellar as if in confirmation of that life.

  Without giving myself time to question my plan, I leapt up onto one of the stone pillars along the fence line and slipped over it to the other side, where I dropped soundlessly to the ground below. I paused to listen for footsteps and, hearing none, I approached the cellar doors slowly—cautiously—until I could make out what the people within were discussing.

  “—disobedience here. That’s what happens when you tempt young people with so much knowledge. They want to share it with their mindless little friends,” said a woman with a voice that grated on my ears. She sounded as though she had something stuck in her nose.

  A man with a tenor’s voice laughed, “Did you see the look on her face when Cara called her name—and how terrified the others were? Never gets old. I just wish she had begged for her life. I like when they do that.”

  Was this how they talked about the dead? About their victims? I was forced to clench my fists to stop my hands from shaking. They were sick.

  The woman’s laughter echoed through the night as a third man said, “At least this one didn’t shit herself like the last one. I had to throw out my boots last time.”

  “You’re sure she didn’t talk to anyone?” the man with the tenor voice asked, “There’s no one else to track down?”

  “She didn’t—not yet, at least,” the woman replied, “We got to her before she could reveal anything.”

  “You’re certain?” the man pushed—clearly hoping for more victims.

  The woman didn’t like being questioned. She snapped, “You think I don’t know how to interpret my predictions, Allant? I’m so fixated on this mission that I don't see anything else in my predictions anymore—nothing of the Crossroads itself, even. This is my sole purpose now.”

  I leaned in—recognizing the Crossroads from Carmen’s letter. I’d never heard it before—not until now.

  “I didn’t mean—” the man began, voice nervous now.

  The other man cut in, “What were the chances she would tell someone about the Crossroads?”

  “Hmm,” the woman considered this, “It’s hard to tell, but we’ve killed students with worse odds.”

  I stilled. Were they killing Predictors based on chance? So, any Predictor with a chance of speaking about this Crossroads to others would face death at the hands of their peers? But if that was true, how was Carmen still alive? She’d sent me that letter. Did the Predictors simply miss this? Had Carmen somehow gotten around their Predictions? Had Mathy been right to warn me to open the letter in the dark?

  It seemed unlikely, but what did I really know about how predictions worked? I only knew what I’d heard in passing—the rehearsed explanations given to us in school. Maybe they just missed the letter entirely. Alone, predictions weren’t perfect—it took collaboration among many Predictors to actually understand the future. What that collaboration looked like, I didn’t know.

  “Who is next on the list?” The tenor asked—yawning mid-sentence, “Maybe we can wait to burn this one until the next body is ready—save us some time.”

  “We have time,” the woman replied, “Weeks, perhaps.”

  The men both groaned, and I heard what sounded like chairs scraping across the cellar floor—echoing throughout the room as one of the men groaned, “Let’s get to it, then. It’s late enough, and this bitch won’t bury herself.”

  I wasn’t sure what to do about these Predictors. If I stopped these three, would that stop the killing? Somehow, I didn’t think so, but I sensed that this woman was instrumental in the Predictor efforts to cut down anyone who didn’t comply with their orders to keep quiet about the Crossroads—whatever that was.

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  So, as I stood listening to the Predictors prepare the dead woman’s body for transport to the burial site in the woods, I faced a difficult choice—kill these Predictors in the hopes that I could impede their efforts to again or let them go knowing I’d only slow down the inevitable deaths of anyone the Predictors deemed a risk to their secrets.

  But I’d never killed anyone before, and I didn’t want to start with humans—or at all, if I could help it. My stomach churned as the Reaper’s words entered my mind. Maybe I really was a coward. I couldn’t kill these people even if they deserved it. And what good was a moral code if the villains got ahead—if people got hurt? What if the Reaper was right?

  I shook away the thoughts. Now wasn’t the time to question everything. It was time to leave before someone noticed me.

  I’d just started backing away from the cellar when I heard the woman speak in an airy Predictor voice, “Wait. I just saw that boy again—that first-year apprentice. He snuck into the library.”

  My heart stopped.

  “Which boy? Muri?” the tenor asked, “When will it happen? Soon?”

  “Yes—that’s the one,” the woman agreed before adding, “Soon enough. We need to act tomorrow—get approval in the morning, Allant. Tonight’s burial can wait.”

  “You’re certain?” The other man sounded excited—whether from the prospect of killing another person or because he didn’t need to bury anyone tonight, I didn’t know, but it didn't matter.

  “Yes,” the woman replied—her obnoxious voice back to normal now, “He knew what he was doing too—it was way too easy. He’s snuck in before—I’m sure of it. We must have missed him.”

  “Let’s kill him early,” the tenor decided with a laugh, “Let the students sit through the rest of their classes with his death fresh on their minds.”

  Fury filled my veins and overwhelmed my senses. They were cruel—repulsive, even. I couldn’t let the Predictors hurt this boy—this poor boy whose only crime was sneaking into a library. It was disgusting. Abhorrent. And I couldn’t let them get away with it. Fuck my moral code—these people didn’t deserve to live.

  So, with shaking hands and a racing heart, I drew both swords and approached the cellar doors where I waited for them to appear. In seconds, the doors flew open as the three Predictors entered the dark night—none of them seeing me as their human eyes adjusted to the dim light.

  But they didn’t need to see me.

  They didn’t need to know who had come to end them—didn’t deserve to know.

  Without a moment to rethink my decision, I stepped forward and let my Sight guide my swords as I slit the throats of all three murderers in quick succession—my mind blocking out the feel of each blade slicing through their soft flesh and the warm spray of their blood on my face and neck.

  It wasn’t until I heard three bodies hit the ground in quick succession that I truly became aware of that moisture on my face. And something about the realization that I was covered in blood, coupled with the sight of that same blood on my blades and the bodies on the ground, made my mind reel and my adrenaline spike.

  I’d killed them—humans. They were terrible humans, but they were still humans—mortal. And I’d killed them.

  I stood frozen to the spot as I stared down at their lifeless bodies—not sure what to do now. But then I heard distant voices in the courtyard—spooking me into moving. I sprinted back where I came from and navigated the fence with ease before dashing across the street and into a dark alleyway.

  I kept myself moving—my panic driving me forward. I wasn’t thinking clearly, but I kept to the shadows as much as possible as my mind kept turning back to the image of three dead bodies slumped against the cobblestone ground. As my mind wandered and my panic grew, I wasn’t careful enough—wasn’t paying attention enough. I was too focused on getting away quickly.

  And I screwed up. I exposed myself.

  “You! Stop!” A man’s voice called out in an undeniably Imm accent.

  I’d know their haughty voices anywhere.

  Another Imm voice joined his, “We order you to stop!”

  I spun around to find a full team of Imms—six in all—sprinting down the street towards me. Or maybe they were a squad. Or a unit. Hell, I didn’t know anything about how Imm teams operated. I just knew that six Imms could easily take me down.

  I swore under my breath and took off in the opposite direction at full speed—not caring that this would reveal me as something not entirely human. It didn’t matter now. After all, I was covered in human blood. Even if they didn’t think I was a Halfling, I was a murderer now, worthy of death in their eyes and the eyes of the Crimson Council.

  My only hope now was to outrun these Imms..

  But that hope was fleeting. I didn’t have enough of a head start. Sure, I was as fast as most Imms, but some Imms were faster than others. This team happened to have two of those creatures. It took only four blocks for these men to catch up with me, and I barely had time to turn and defend myself before one was swinging a sword at my head—clearly intending to behead me.

  I stopped the blade with my own—directing it towards the ground as the other Imm threw himself at me. His weight hit me, and it felt as though I’d been hit by a boulder. As his body struck mine, the air left my lungs in a sudden whoosh that left me entirely breathless. I couldn’t even gasp for air as the Imm turned me over and hissed, “Got you, Reaper.”

  I couldn’t even deny it—all the air was gone from my lungs, leaving me with no way to speak. I thrashed under his grip, but without breath, I was far too weak to fight him off. Hell, even with breath, this man was far too strong for me to throw off.

  The sound of footsteps distracted me for a moment as the other Imms joined us. One called out with a joyous whoop. “So, the Reaper is a woman!”

  I shifted just enough to look at the others and felt a strange sense of relief when I confirmed that I didn’t know any of these Imms. I couldn’t bear dying at Simon’s hands—or even Hawthorne’s, for that matter. And if Bennett was here, I didn’t doubt he would torment me just for the fun of it.

  One of the Imm men handed a blade to the man holding me down and said, “End her.”

  The man took it with a smile, the blade gleaming in the light as he transferred it to his dominant hand, “With pleasure.”

  I watched with wide eyes as he raised the blade, the dim light flashing on the blade as he lifted it above his head, but before he could bring it down to tear into my flesh, I heard a strange gurgling sound nearby followed by a thud. The man holding me whipped his head to search for the source of the sounds, but he couldn’t turn all the way around before a blade sank deep into the back of his neck—exiting his flesh through his throat and spraying me with his blood.

  His attacker pulled the blade free, and it made a sickening squelch as it came loose.

  I finally sucked in a breath as the man collapsed on top of me. With some effort, I heaved his limp body off me and rolled to the side before scrambling to my feet—spitting out the coppery blood onto the ground as I tried to find my bearings. My eyes widened at the sight of all six Imm bodies on the ground—none of them breathing, but I didn't have time to examine their injuries closely.

  Beyond them, a familiar figure stood with a bloody blade in hand as he watched me with dark eyes through the slits in his mask.

  The Reaper. He had come for me.