Shadowspell Academy: The Culling Trials: Books 1-3 Omnibus Read online

  “Why?” I inched forward, Tommy’s smile infectious. “What is it?”

  “It’s…” He shook his head and reached forward to gingerly touch the envelope, clearly caught up in the moment and unable to get the words out.

  “What?” I chuckled and stood beside him, anticipation filling me.

  “An invitation to the trials,” my father said softly. “To school, if you pass.”

  A strange heaviness dragged at my father’s words, threads of fear and hope mingled tightly together.

  “School?” I asked. “But…I thought we couldn’t afford it?”

  “That’s the thing, Wild.” My brother beamed. “The envelope has—”

  “No.” My father stood and pulled the envelope with him. He pinched the flap closed. “No, Thomas. You are not to discuss the contents of the envelope with anyone but me. Your mother…” My father’s jaw set in that stubborn way I knew from when my mother was alive. He hadn’t said no to her often, but occasionally, when she tried to enforce something he didn’t agree with, he’d dig in his heels as hard as any of the thick-headed longhorns in the pasture. I wondered what in that envelope had set him off.

  “We’ll talk about it, Thomas, just you and me,” he said, turning away. “We’ll see what they have to say. I’d hate to pass up an opportunity because of old superstitions.”

  Tommy shrugged at me, as confused as I was, apparently, his eyes glittering with excitement before he followed Dad from the room.

  Three years later, I stared down at an identical manila envelope, curiosity eating away at me. Just like before, there was nothing written on the envelope, no name, no do not open, but I knew. This envelope was for my little brother, Billy. The stranger had asked for him by gender if not by name. And even if he hadn’t, I would have known anyway, as certainly as I’d known my father would let Tommy run off to that prestigious college.

  Whoever had sent both envelopes was trying to poach the boys of this family, one by one.

  This time, though, I had the power to stop it.

  “Dad?” I called, still staring at that envelope like I might a hornet trapped in an outhouse with me.

  “In here, Wild,” he called from the living room, easy to hear in our small house. “I’m just taking a break for a minute.”

  “Did you hear anyone in here earlier?” I asked, my hands shaking.

  “Do you mean the twins?” He paused. “Isn’t it early for them to be home?”

  I shook my head, frustration eating at me. First, the stranger had shown up without my noticing, then he’d vanished on the way to the driveway, and now this? Why had he cleaned my kitchen, and how had he done it quietly enough not to bother Dad?

  “Dad, you need anything?” I yelled louder than needed.

  “No, Wild, I’m good. I’ll just take another minute, if you don’t need me.”

  That minute would last the next few days if he held to the usual pattern of recuperation. My old man was too proud to call it like it was.

  “It’s fine, Dad.”

  I snatched up that envelope and reached for the knife hanging at my belt. What I knew of the school was very little. My brother had passed the trials, whatever those were, and been admitted into the academy. My father had been ecstatic in one beat and strangely guilt-ridden the next.

  Tommy had thrived in his first year, jumping to top in his class (like always). He’d had whatever my dad lacked—according to my dad’s mumbling one night after a few glasses of celebratory Scotch. All was going great…until, without warning, our lives were turned upside down.

  A notice was left on our doorstep that Tommy had died in a freak accident. The details were classified, they’d said, although no one cared to explain why. When my father pressed, he was stonewalled. Ignored like a stranger. They didn’t even send Tommy’s body home. Sure, they’d sent a pine box, but it had been empty. For some reason, my father didn’t raise a fuss about that. When I pleaded with him, he cut me off in much the same way he would when asked about The Sickness. The topic was closed for discussion. End of story.

  No one from the school had attended the funeral. We’d received no condolences. Hell, even Rory, our lifelong family friend—nearly a brother, we were so close—hadn’t bothered to come home. Hell, maybe he didn’t know. The only address I had for him was from a postcard he’d sent. We were alone in our grief, in the dark about the cause and completely powerless to do anything about any of it.

  After the funeral, my father never mentioned the school again. He’d kept on hoping for a better life, acting as though someone would ride in and rescue us. As though something might come of all his dreaming. Which had left me to carry the weight of Tommy’s loss these last two years.

  And here we were again. This accursed envelope. This death threat tolling Billy’s name.

  The heavily worn handle of my knife, made from a longhorn, was comfortable against my palm. My parents had made it for me ages ago, back when I was starting to help out on the land. Back when the family had been whole and happy.

  Back before freak accidents like the one that had taken my mother, and phantom schools that didn’t allow an investigation or offer an explanation when one of their students died mysteriously. Back when life had been good.

  I slipped the gleaming edge into the opening. I slid it through the top of the envelope, the paper cutting clean with a sharp tearing sound.

  A deep breath and my knife firmly in my hand in case something nasty fell out, I grabbed a corner and dumped the contents of the envelope onto the worn wood. Metal trinkets clattered across the table, followed by a silver envelope and gleaming new smart watch. Finally, a wad of cash bound with a thick rubber band. The bill on top made my eyes widen. A quick flip through the stack and I could barely breathe.

  Hundred dollar bills. All of them.

  No wonder my brother had nearly peed himself with excitement when he’d gotten his envelope.

  My lip curled in distaste.

  They intended to bribe my younger brother in the same way. To entice him to his death, just like Tommy.

  Fat freaking chance.

  Memories filtered through my mind, unbidden. The Costco run that had filled our pantry, cabinets, and storehouse with staples that would last for the year. The clothes my brother had claimed Rory had helped him steal from a big store in Dallas. I remembered Dad muttering about a gift horse and the full-ride scholarship, cloaked in guilt while simultaneously beaming in pride.

  I hadn’t really understood the conflicting emotions rolling off our father in waves. At fifteen, I hadn’t had the wind knocked out of me yet. The twins had been old enough to enjoy the windfall of good fortune but too young to make sense of it.

  Finally, one last memory filtered through as I stood in front of more money than I’d seen in my entire life.

  Tommy, Rory, and I had been sitting underneath the weeping willow at the far end of the acreage on a sweltering late summer day, not unlike today. Tommy was supposed to leave for the academy the following morning, and this was our last goodbye. Rory had leaned forward to look Tommy square in the eyes and said, “Never trust someone that throws money at you, Tank. People like that have more money than sense, and more sense than morals. Think fast, and make friends slow, or not at all.”

  It had been good advice. Advice Rory was probably following, wherever he was.

  A familiar sadness washed over me. A year after Tommy left, Rory had headed out west without even a proper goodbye. He’d stuck a note to the outside of my window, the way he’d done for years, only this one wasn’t “meet me in the apple orchard” or “I found a stack of fireworks.” This one had crushed me.

  “Off to the West Coast. Chasing dreams. Be safe, Wild.” That was all it had said, signed as always with the slash of an R. Aside from an occasional postcard, I hadn’t heard from him since. Clearly, he’d moved on from this nowhere town and his hard life.

  I heaved a sigh. At least he was alive. He’d better have been, at any rate, though his
dad would never let us know if something had happened.

  I lowered myself onto the chair in our kitchen, the contents of the envelope spread around me, and leaned my elbows heavily on the table. Then, unable to help myself, I set my hand up beside the stack of money for a quick measurement. Just over four inches or so.

  I thought back to Tommy’s first year at the academy. To the windfall that had given us a year’s worth of supplies, clothes, and improvements. Given what I knew of finances from my few years of handling the farm without much help, I could only guess how much money sat in that stack. All told, it had to be nearly forty grand. Maybe more, but I’d have to count it and I didn’t have time for that before the twins got home.

  As if my thoughts had summoned it, the clock above the kitchen door chimed three times and I jumped. I let my breath out slowly, trying to calm my nerves. Three already? I was way behind.

  With shaking hands I tried to ignore, I grabbed the watch and a shiver rolled over me, cold air whispering up my arm to my shoulder. I shoved it into the envelope, followed by the money that threatened to cling to my hand. Everything inside, I rushed the whole package upstairs to my room on the third floor, the only room up there. I needed to talk to my dad about all this, alone, and with the twins due home any minute, now wasn’t the time. It would have to wait until tonight.

  A loose floorboard under my bed used to be my favorite stashing spot, but the twins and my dad knew it and they regularly snooped to see if I’d put aside any good chocolate. I did a slow turn. My room wasn’t big and I didn’t have a lot of choices.

  “Closet,” I said and shoved the package into an old backpack. That would have to do for now.

  Ten seconds later, the thundering of feet on the floorboards downstairs, followed by a stampede up the stairs, announced the twins’ arrival.

  “Slow down before you bust a plank!” I yelled from my room.

  “Hey!” Sam stuck her head into my room, wild red curls spilling in every direction as if they were a living creature on her head. “What’s for dinner?”

  I shook my own head, a few dark strands loosening from my ponytail, and hurried toward the door, brushing past her. “I don’t know. It’s been a busy day.”

  Billy met me on the stairs as I headed down, his hands lifted in the air, shock written all over his face. “What do you mean, you don’t know?”

  “I’m leaving it up to my first and finest cooking pupils.” I put my hand on the wall to scoot around him, jumping over the last step that was dodgy on the best of days. It needed to be replaced—I just hadn’t gotten around to it.

  “You’re teaching people to cook?” Billy ran down after me, stopping in the kitchen doorway. “But you’re not any good at it. How can you teach anything other than how not to burn stuff?”

  “Then I look forward to the students outperforming the master. Step right up, you heathens, and let’s learn some stuff!”

  Billy’s eyes widened as understanding dawned. “I have homework,” he shouted, backing away. “Lots of homework. Summer school is really all about the homework.”

  “I do too,” Sam said, crashing into Billy’s back before she could stop herself. “And chores.”

  “And chores!” Billy chorused.

  I grinned as I grabbed a pan out of the cabinet.

  “Are you sure you don’t want to help me? You can plan the whole menu if you do.” I turned my back so I could school my features. If they knew I was upset, they’d start asking questions. As it was, they were always on high alert for the next bad thing to happen. I couldn’t blame them really. At nearly sixteen, they’d experienced more heartache and loss than most middle-aged people. “Just think, you could plan out the entire week ahead of time, so you’d always know what would be for dinner. What a relief that would be, huh?”

  Billy scratched his head, his unruly hair as dark as Sam’s was red. They might have been twins but they couldn’t have been more opposite. “I think I’d rather a surprise every night.”

  “I’d much rather a surprise,” Sam agreed with him, ganging up on me yet again. “Wild, listen to this. Remember that boy—”

  “Jaaaaysus, not this again,” Billy drawled, and I promptly forced out a laugh. Another day, I would have laughed for real.

  Sam frowned and then her hand shot out, a mere blur as she smacked him upside the head. “At least I can talk to my crush face-to-face. All you’ve seen of Miss Gothic lady what’s-her-face is a few pics and words on a screen! How’s that chat group, anyway, grandpa?”

  Billy’s face turned red. “You’re just jealous that I have more Facebook friends than you do.”

  “Facebook is for old people.”

  “I wish I had a phone instead of that crappy ol’ library computer so I could do Snapchat,” Billy muttered.

  I twisted my lips to the side in unease, wishing I could buy them flashy new devices—or even an old used one. We didn’t have any cellphones or computers to our name—we couldn’t afford it. Anything online needed to be done at the library or the high school, including their social media presences, something I didn’t even have. Not that it mattered. I had no friends anymore to hook up with.

  “I’m going to marry that boy one day,” Sam said. “He’s going to be your brother-in-law.” She lifted her nose and stared down it at her twin. A dare for him to speak if I ever saw it.

  “Marry him tomorrow so I can have your room too.” Billy grinned as he swiped an apple off the counter.

  “She’d probably ask to move him in here, then you’d be out of a room altogether,” I said, badgering him.

  Sam’s scowl deepened until I wasn’t even sure her eyes were open. They paused for a moment, like two cats eyeing each other up, and then they tore out of the house, Billy leading, Sam close behind, screaming at him not to be a jackass.

  “Language!” I yelled after them, not that it did any good, or that I ever expected it to. But Mom had attempted to raise us as well-behaved, softly spoken, non-swearing children, and she’d want me to take up her mantle.

  I was doing a terrible job. But then, she’d done a terrible job, too, if I was any proof.

  Reality seeped back in and my grin slid from my face. I leaned against the counter. I had to focus on one thing at a time. Dinner. I had to get dinner ready. We didn’t have much, but we had livestock and a few green thumbs between us. We’d put one of the older cows—Annabelle—in the freezer the month before, which meant we ate better than most this far below the poverty line.

  I cooked on autopilot as my mind worked over just what I was going to do.

  “Dad?” I called as I flipped the steaks in the frying pan with the dip in the middle. With the twins out of the house doing their afternoon chores, this would be a good time to talk to him alone. Maybe the only time before he turned in early as was his nightly schedule.

  “Yeah, Wild?” he called back in a thick voice. I knew full well he was napping, another routine part of our days, but this couldn’t wait.

  I moved the steaks off the heat and washed my hands quickly before snagging a tea towel to dry them. I wound the towel around my hands, worrying the material as I walked to the TV room at the front of the house.

  Dad was leaned back in his recliner, legs propped by a cushion, his head supported by a pillow. “I was just going to get up,” he murmured, his eyes at half mast, but he didn’t make a move. The lie was one he told often enough that we all just acted like it was truth.

  I swallowed and nodded. Crap, this was harder than I’d thought it would be.

  “You going to strangle me with that?” He lifted a trembling finger and pointed at the tea towel I’d stretched between my hands.

  “I’ll wait until your back is turned. It’s easier that way.” I grinned to complement the joke but knew it didn’t reach my eyes. I took a breath and dove in. “Listen, I was thinking ‘bout Tommy. Thinking about that scholarship—”

  “No, we don’t talk about that,” he said.

  “We have to,” I said
softly. He wasn’t the only one hurt by the loss of Tommy, so I tread lightly. “I know you don’t want to, Dad, but we have to. I’m not a child any longer.” The urge to take his hand swept over me and I pushed it away. Not because I didn’t care, but because of the tension in his frame. He did not want to tell me what had happened.

  “Why now?” He frowned. “Why do you say we have to?”

  “Can you trust me? Just tell me what happened to Tommy, about how the scholarship worked.”

  I thought his face paled, but he shook it off. “I’m not supposed to talk about it, Wild. Not just because I don’t want to relive it.” He rubbed a hand over his face and a good minute went by before he spoke again.

  “All right, I’ll tell you what I can.” Dad swallowed hard and the tension in him went from caged fear to pain in a split second. “I should never have let him go,” my dad whispered, the grief in his voice like an arrow straight through me. He closed his eyes. “Your mother was right all along, God rest her soul. I was blinded by pride and hope. That was the worst decision I’ve ever made. Believing he would be safe. That he’d be the one to defeat the system.”

  My heart beat faster. My father had known Tommy would be in danger?

  “Did…did he get money for going?” I asked, wanting to be sure. “And a watch, and a few…trinkets?”

  “Money wasn’t worth his life. Money wasn’t worth losing him. But it wasn’t just the money. It was vanity, Wild. My boy was offered something I’d only ever dreamed of… I wanted to live through him.” His dark eyes pleaded with me in the dim light of the room. “I wanted him to be more than his old, broken man. More than this crippled sack of bones. I wondered if he’d be like his mother. If he’d wield that kind of power. She was so damn majestic. I hated that she had to give it up because of a rumor about that curse. Because of the bleating of an—”

  His lips thinned and he shook his head again, deflating. “But she was right all along. If I’d only listened to her. If I’d only acted on what she’d made me promise, Thomas would be safe. We’d still have him here, safe with us.”