Chapter 22: Candy-Coated Secrets
The group of Meisters still hadn’t returned after three days.
Angel paced the hallway outside her Soul Anatomy class, the worn stone smooth beneath her boots. She’d gnawed her thumbnail to the quick, the coppery taste of blood a familiar tang on her tongue. Each silent hour stretched like a wire, tightening around her ribs. She tried not to think about how Maria Vasquez had departed the morning after the main party, a late reinforcement. More alone time she’d have with Crow. The thought was a small, sharp stone in her shoe, impossible to ignore.
“Shadow world to Lina.”
Angel looked up. Alyce stood there, her blue-flamed hair seeming dimmer, dark smudges like bruises under her eyes. She looked exhausted. Angel could only blame herself. The academy had been assigning more students to patrol the city and enforcing a strict curfew since the escape of the kishin Asura. The witch population had grown anxious, skittish, requiring more Meister students to patrol both Death City and the mortal realm’s trouble spots. In a desperate attempt to relieve her own churning strife, Angel had been selfishly signing up for almost any mission she could with Alyce. Poor Alyce just went along with it, kind of picking up on why she needed the distraction, the physical exhaustion to quiet the mental noise.
“Sorry,” Angel mumbled, adjusting her glasses. “Spaced out.”
“Yeah, no kidding,” Alyce yawned, leaning against the wall. “If you volunteer us for one more midnight ghoul sweep in the sewer tunnels, I’m transforming in your sleep. See how you like a scythe in your—”
A bell chimed, a clear, resonant tone that cut through the hallway murmur from the loudspeaker. A synthesized voice followed. “Angelina Delacroix, Amberlynn Claudius-Delacroix, Alyce Kingston, and Leonardo Ouranos. Report to the Headmaster’s office immediately.”
They exchanged glances. Summons to Death’s chamber were never casual.
The Endless Graveyard—Headmaster’s Throne Room was exactly as foreboding as its name. The air hummed with the low-frequency echo of forgotten wars, pressing against Angel’s eardrums. The walls, veined with pulsing silver light, throbbed like the interior of some colossal, fossilized heart. The floor was a treacherous mosaic of shattered weapon fragments; a dropped pen would probably clatter for ten seconds.
Headmaster Death’s throne, a grotesque masterwork of fused Meister bones, seemed to absorb the light. He perched on it, his skull mask fixed in its perpetual grin. As they entered, he waved a hand adorned with overly large rings.
“Girls! And Leo! So punctual.” His voice was a radio-dial croon. From a small, ornate bowl on the arm of his throne, he produced two lollipops. They weren’t ordinary. They glowed with a faint, internal light, and a faint, harmonic humming, like trapped whispers, emanated from them. He offered them to Angel and Amber. “Eat up, girls. While I explain the good, long awaited news of your promotion.”
Amber took hers with a wide, eager smile. Angel accepted hers more cautiously, holding the cool, vibrating stick between her fingers. She didn’t put it in her mouth.
Kilson was watching from a shadowed corner, his massive arms crossed over his chest. Another subject of Angel’s careful avoidance. A nervous-looking academy clerk stood nearby, clutching a data tablet.
“Now then,” Death said, steepling his fingers. The neon hues from the chamber’s strange lights played over his robe. “Let’s make it official. Amberlynn Claudius.-Delacroix”
“Present,” Amber said, popping the lollipop into her mouth. Her eyes widened further at the taste.
“Leonardo Ouranos.”
“Here, sir.”
“Alyce Kingston.”
“Yeah,” Alyce said, lacking ceremony but standing straighter.
Death’s mask tilted. “And Angelina Delacroix.”
The name hung in the thick air. Delacroix. The same last name as Amber and the man in the corner. It still sounded strangely foreign to her ears, a costume she hadn’t quite grown into. She gave a short nod.
“By the authority vested in me by the Council, and in recognition of exceptional service and confirmed kills—specifically the coordinated elimination of the powerful witch Arachne and her nest—you are hereby promoted from the rank of One-Star to Two-Star Meisters and Weapons. Your operational clearance, soul-damper allowances, and mission pay grades are adjusted accordingly. Congratulations. You are no longer merely students. You are hunters.”
The clerk stepped forward, passing out sleek new ID cards. Angel took hers. The plastic was warm. Her face looked back at her, her orange curls a wild frame. ANGELINA DELACROIX, it read. Not VALE. Two small, embossed stars sat beside her rank. A tangible proof of the madness her life had become.
Amber was vibrating with excitement, grabbing Leo’s arm. “Two stars! Do you know what this means? We can get authorized for the good cafeteria! And request solo apparitions to the mortal world!”
“It means more paperwork,” Leo chuckled, but he was smiling too.
Kilson stepped out of the shadows, a strained, paternal pride on his face. “Congratulations. To all of you. Amber… Angel. Your mother would be…” He trailed off, emotion making his voice thick.
“Thanks,” Amber said, the word clipped, her smile fading into something polite and distant.
“Thank you,” Angel echoed, equally awkward, her eyes already scanning for the exit.
Kilson opened his mouth again, directing his gaze at Angel. “Angelina, I was hoping we could perhaps—”
“We should go celebrate!” Angel said, too brightly, turning her back to him and linking her arm through Alyce’s. “The good cafeteria, right? Lead the way, Amber.”
She felt his wounded stare between her shoulder blades but didn’t look back. She propelled her friends out of the oppressive throne room, the humming lollipop still clutched, untouched, in her hand.
The “good” cafeteria was mostly empty, the afternoon lull between classes. They commandeered a corner booth, Amber spreading out their new IDs like a winning hand of cards. Leo returned from the counter with a tray of fries and fancy milkshakes that actually had real fruit in them.
“To not being cannon fodder anymore,” Alyce said, raising her shake. They clinked cups.
Angel managed a smile, trying to soak in their happiness. The promotion was real. It was an achievement. But the victory felt hollow, a trophy won in a race she couldn’t remember starting. Her mind kept drifting to the silent comms channels, to a textile mill on the east side, to the easy way Maria Vasquez had hugged him.
She was picking at the peel of her lollipop when the academy’s emergency alarm split the air—a different, sharper sound than the summoning bell. It was a rapid, two-tone pulse that froze everyone in the cafeteria.
The main doors slammed open. A lower-year Meister, face pale, sprinted in. “Portal breach! West Garrison! It’s the response team—they’re back!”
Chaos erupted. Chairs scraped. Angel was on her feet before she knew it, her heart a frantic drum against her ribs. They’re back.
The four of them ran with the stream of bodies flooding into the main entrance hall. The grand, gothic space was already crowded, a buzz of panicked noise echoing to the vaulted ceiling. In the center, shimmering with unstable energy, was a large, ragged transportation portal. It wasn’t the clean, official sort. This one bled dark smoke and spat sparks.
Figures staggered through.
First came Jack Death, his immaculate black suit torn and smeared with greenish ichor. He supported Elis Bacardi, who was limping badly, her long chestnut hair matted with blood. Sari followed, her short blonde hair singed, cradling one arm against her body.
Then came Maria Vasquez. The golden-haired war hammer moved under her own power, but her face was a mask of grim concentration. She was dragging someone.
Crow.
He was conscious, but barely. One arm was draped over Maria’s shoulders, his other hung at a wrong angle. His silver eyes were glazed, scanning the crowd but seeing nothing. His tattoos seemed to writhe against skin that was too pale, and from the torn fabric of his shirt, inky, vein-like tendrils of the Madness spread visibly across his collarbone, pulsing faintly.
Behind them, the portal collapsed with a sound like a dying breath.
Headmaster Death’s voice, amplified and devoid of its earlier cheer, boomed across the hall. “Medics! Now! Clear the hall! All non-essential personnel, to your quarters!”
Angel stood rooted, the celebratory milkshake taste turning to ash in her mouth. Amber was gripping her arm, saying something she couldn’t hear. All she could see was Maria, strong and capable, bearing Crow’s weight as she helped the medics guide him onto a stretcher. All she could see was the dark corruption crawling on his skin, worse than she’d ever seen it.
Maria leaned close, saying something to him, her hand brushing hair from his forehead.
Angel’s new, two-star ID card dug into the palm of her hand. The promotion meant nothing. The fear crystallized into a cold, hard certainty in her gut.
He was back. And he was being consumed.
The medics rushed Crow away on the stretcher, Maria keeping pace beside him, her hand still on his arm. The crowd in the hall began to disperse under the grim commands of senior staff, the excited buzz from their promotion now completely swallowed by the somber reality of the returned team. Angel stood frozen until Amber tugged hard on her sleeve.
“Come on,” Amber said, her earlier joy evaporated. “We have to go. They said quarters.”
They were herded with the rest of the non-essential personnel. Amber and Leo split off toward their shared apartment in the upperclassmen wing. In silence, Angel and Alyce walked to their cramped dorm room. The door clicked shut behind them, sealing them in a quiet that felt heavier than the noise.
Laid out on each of their beds were new uniforms, crisp and dark. The two-star insignia was embroidered on the lapel in silver thread. Alyce picked hers up, running a thumb over the emblem. “Huh. It’s nicer fabric.”
Angel just stared at hers. She couldn’t feel pride. The tailored jacket looked like a costume for a role she suddenly didn’t want. All she could see was the inky tendrils pulsing under Crow’s skin, the vacant shock in his silver eyes. Worry was a cold, solid weight in her chest.
Classes were cancelled for the day. The academy moved into a locked-down, waiting rhythm. The little news that trickled down to the student quarters was grim. The recon mission had been a catastrophic failure. The kishin, Azura, had escaped again. He’d consumed every soul in that mill before they’d even breached the perimeter. They couldn’t save a single one.
Crow had taken the brunt of it. He’d been on the front end, attempting to fight the kishin directly alongside Maria. The official report suggested he’d pushed too far, too fast, trying to draw Azura’s attention away from the trapped souls. It hadn’t worked. It had only let the Madness in deeper.
Night had fallen. The large crescent moon, with its perpetual, weirdly smiling face, hung high in the ink-black sky over Death City. The official decree buzzed on everyone’s student pads: no unauthorized wandering on campus or in the city due to recent activity and elevated threat levels.
Angel lay in her bunk, listening to Alyce’s soft, exhausted breaths from across the room. Each breath she tried to take felt shallow, caught in the cage of her ribs. The walls were closing in. She needed air that wasn’t recycled through the academy’s ancient vents.
She slid from her bed, moving with a quiet precision she’d learned from him. She pulled on her normal training clothes—loose pants, a soft tank top, no stars in sight. Alyce didn’t stir. Angel slipped out into the empty, dimly lit corridor.
The night air outside was cool and carried the distant electric hum of the city below the cliff. She started to jog. It was the normal path, the punishing five-mile loop Crow had her run almost every morning. Her shoes slapped the packed earth in a steady, solitary rhythm.
She pushed harder. The burn in her lungs was a welcome distraction, a clean pain. Her knees began to scream in protest on the steep inclines. She looped once, twice, a third time, until the physical sensation overwhelmed everything else.
She finally collapsed against the cool rock of the cliffside, gasping, sweat tracing icy paths down her spine. The city lights sprawled below like a spilled galaxy. Then she felt it—a presence materializing beside her with utter silence. She scolded herself internally for not keeping a better eye on her surroundings. Basics 101.
A puff of cigarette smoke cut through the clean scent of night pine.
She turned her head. Crow leaned against the rock a few feet away, smoking. His left arm was freshly bandaged from bicep to wrist. “You aren’t supposed to be out here this late at night anymore,” he said, his voice rough.
“When have you ever known me for a rule follower?” she shot back, trying to keep her tone light. He chuckled, a low, tired sound.
Her eyes went to the bandages. “Are you okay?”
“Of course I am,” he said, taking a drag. The ember briefly illuminated the sharp planes of his face. “You think a little kishin can take down the great Kaelen Drusus?”
Angel laughed, but it was thin. In the moonlight, she could see it. The Madness wasn’t just under his skin now; it swirled in the depths of his silver eyes, a storm of obsidian filaments clouding the mercury. His jaw twitched, a muscle jumping under the skin. His gaze dragged over her, taking in her heaving chest, her damp tank top, with a famished intensity that had nothing to do with physical hunger.
He shook his head sharply and looked off to the city below, as if breaking a spell.
She didn’t think. She just leaned into him, her shoulder pressing against his arm. She didn’t know why. It was an instinct, a pull as fundamental as resonance. He didn’t pull away. His body was rigid, a statue holding back a quake.
Tentatively, almost afraid, she pushed her soul wavelength into him. It wasn’t an attack or a bond. It was an offering, a cool, clear stream against the oily, chaotic fire of the Madness. She imagined it lapping at the edges, washing some of the corruption away.
He started laughing. It wasn’t his normal chuckle. It was a low, manic sound that grated against the quiet night. She didn’t pull away. She clung to him, her soul stubbornly pushing against the darkness, a small dam against a torrent.
The laughter shuddered out of him slowly. The terrifying swirl in his eyes receded, just a fraction, just enough to get by. He took a deep, ragged breath, the first that sounded truly full all night.
They stayed like that for a while, leaning into each other in silence, her soul gently braided with his, holding the line. The moon watched with its crooked smile.
He moved first. He reached down, his fingers gentle as they tilted her chin up. He studied her face for a long moment, his eyes clearer now, but full of a weary, complicated anguish. Then he kissed her softly. It was nothing like the infirmary. It was a question, a thanks, a surrender. It tasted of smoke and midnight and a fragile, hard-won peace.