Initiation

A dreamer must dream

A storyteller must tell

I dream to tell

For Lauren

T
rust No One
. The wooden plaque hanging over the bed couldn’t be any more in-your-face. As if I could ever forget one of the three Golden Rules.

After I dumped my suitcase on the crisp burgundy comforter, I picked up the envelope I spotted lying on my pillow and sat down to check out my new room.

The room was much bigger than the one I had last year. It even had a breakfast table with two padded chairs–one of which I was sitting on–and a sofa bed for guests. Cool. That would come in handy for sleepovers. All the East Tower bedrooms, including mine, had been rebuilt after the fire. They had been restored to their previous condition, as if the fire had never happened. Whoever had been in charge of the restorations had even managed to replace the old burgundy towels. However, as I breathed in the air, I noticed that the old familiar smell had been replaced by a new one–the odor of newly painted walls, laced with a hint of orange from the freshly polished wood.

It was hard to believe that the entire wing had gone up in flames just three months ago. The rest of the school hadn’t escaped the fire and smoke damage either, causing Bonfire Academy to close its doors for the first time in its history.

Bonfire Academy, hidden in the outskirts of the luxury ski-resort town of St. Moritz, Switzerland, is an exclusive school for paranormal preparation. The small, but chic town caters to those who enjoy a champagne lifestyle. It’s legendary for being the playground of the rich and famous. So, naturally, the school caters to the offspring of the upper crust of paranormal society. The thorough vetting process and annual tuition costs make sure of that. Students come here from all over the world–and beyond.

After the fire, all of the students had to be sent home, apart from the newbie vampires, who were sequestered in the basement during the restoration. Apparently, that had been a total nightmare. Still, the fact that they were able to reopen in such a short time was amazing. I was glad to be back for my third year.

There would be plenty of new rules, of course. The twins had made sure of that. But Jacques and Mariel, the infamous twins, weren’t returning to the Academy. They had been legends long before they decided to turn the place into a giant firecracker. So after six years at the school, they had been crowned the first non-graduates ever.

I tore open the wax-sealed envelope embossed with the official BA insignia. Sliding out the parchment-like sheet, I read the handwritten note. It was a short message from the student council president asking me to come to his office. I had heard rumors that it was a guy this year, though the identity was kept a secret until the school year started. Anyhow, a meeting? Ugh. That couldn’t be good. A meeting with the president was so rare that most new students thought he was a myth made up by the school to keep us in line–an imaginary creature painted in colors of fear. I knew better, of course, but the thought still made me uncomfortable. Why would he want to see
me
?

I was beginning my third year at the Academy, a purely voluntary year reserved for self-development enrichment, where we were allowed to choose our own course of development. Many chose to mentor incoming students; others chose to spend a year further developing their skills. I wanted to concentrate on tennis. Plus, my boyfriend was staying on for another year, and I wanted to stay close to him.

I couldn’t for the life of me understand why the student council president had summoned me. Suddenly feeling a bit anxious, I stood and tried to get a handle on my churning emotions. Jeez, it was just another student, not a monster! And even if he was, he’d be no match for me, of that I was sure. So why did I feel sick? Maybe it was just something I ate on the plane.

I decided to check out the view through the window to calm my nerves. As usual, the snowcapped peaks of the breathtaking alpine mountains transported me to a place of peace and calm. I felt my stomach begin to relax, and I put my nose against the window, letting my breath form cloudy patches on the glass.

I looked down at the note again and decided I better just suck it up and get over there. The message had asked me to come as soon as I could. I twirled around for a quick once over in the mirror. If I was going to see
the president
, I better look presentable.

I didn’t look bad at all, and certainly not as though I had been traveling. Although, the trip from Paris in my dad’s private jet hadn’t exactly been tough. My straight blond hair, which I had highlighted with red streaks during the break, just needed a quick run-through with my fingers. After straightening my red-and-orange striped tie, I ran out and up the stone steps toward the student president’s room.

By the time I got there, my stomach had turned to mush again and was making the most embarrassing gurgling sounds. What the heck was wrong with me?

I just stood outside the metal door, my knuckles refusing to make contact. The pink-tipped nails of my right hand trembled as I willed my hand to knock. But I just couldn’t make it.

Five minutes later, I had come up with an awesome collection of reasonable excuses to ignore the note altogether–the top one being that I hadn’t seen it in the first place. Relieved and pleased with myself, I spun around to go back to my room.

I needn’t have bothered.

The door flew open, and my jaw dropped in shock. Goosebumps formed over my arms as a chill enveloped me. I looked up and stared into a pair of cold, silver-gray eyes.

I held his gaze, locking into it for an uncomfortably long time. My heartbeat quickened as I fought to maintain control, finally managing to disengage my eyes from his. I couldn’t help but notice the shine from his freakishly white hair, which bristled like spines atop his head. He arched his dark eyebrows and smiled, relaxing his angular features. I melted into his gorgeous eyes, which were framed in dark lashes, and smiled back, letting my defenses drift away.