Solomon Academy 1: Della

It’s Halloween, and I’m nearing the end of my shift. I hand over the drinks to the men at the bar, my smile as fake as a three-dollar bill, and they reward me with a five-dollar tip. How thrilling!

A woman saunters up wearing a figure-hugging red dress. She’s beautiful, but I can tell it’s only skin deep. Her aura, a mix of red and pink, is tainted with tantalizing black wisps.

“Vodka cranberry,” she orders, her voice dripping with disinterest.

She gives me a knowing smirk, her eyes half-closed. I guess I overdid the physical contact. I flash her my best customer service smile and turn away nonchalantly. I hear her huff as she walks off. Thank goodness!

After serving a few more customers, I’m finally off duty. I check my phone and see a message from Lily. She wants to go out tonight. That means alcohol. No thanks. I’ve seen the damage alcohol can do, both at work and in my own life. Hell, I still bear the scars. Besides, I like my inhibitions right where they are—intact. It’s safer for everyone that way.

I send a quick “no thanks.” With or without alcohol, I’ve had my fill of watching costumed partying for the night, and I just want to go home.

I made good tips, so I decided to stop at the drugstore and treat myself to a box of hair dye in my favorite shade of blue. I stroll through the cool night air, picking at the black wisps from the people I pass. They don’t notice me snacking on them, but no one ever does.

I’ve never met another person who can see auras the way I do, let alone anyone who can feed on parts of them. Sometimes I wonder if I’m the only one. Or maybe my parents were right and I really am just crazy.

They would probably approve of my current home…if they ever found out where I live.

I smile fondly at the silhouette of the asylum as I walk toward it. It has been abandoned since the seventies. What was once a place of torment for many is now my haven. There’s a certain poetic justice to that. The crazy girl finding sanctuary in an old asylum. You can’t deny the symmetry of it all.

I make my way inside and head to the room where I keep my belongings. It used to be a solitary cell. It’s the most comfortable room in the building. The padded walls and floors are much more comfortable than any of the thin, torn mattresses left behind in other rooms. Unfortunately, I had to remove the lock on the cell to get in, but after that, it was home sweet asylum.

I grab the box of hair dye and my flashlight and walk down the shadowy hallway toward the row of abandoned bathtubs.

I head to bed and spread my new blue hair out across the padded floor as I snuggle up with my blanket and drift off into a peaceful sleep.

I’m lost in fog again. This dream has been recurring more frequently, so I know what’s coming next. Three silhouettes approach me. They don’t say anything. They just keep walking toward me, never getting any closer.

But this dream is different. There’s something else in the fog—a castle looming behind them.

I take a step forward.

Suddenly, I’m jolted awake by loud voices and the sound of breaking bottles. Maybe I should have gone out with Lily after all. I grab my knife from my jacket and huddle in the corner next to the door, praying no one finds me.

“This is fucking crazy!” a guy shouts. I hear his footsteps in the hallway outside the door. There’s no way a drunk guy and his buddies will pass up the chance to jump around in a padded cell. Shit.

I start packing my bag, hoping I can slip out unnoticed. It’s a long shot, but a girl can dream. I stuff my blanket into my backpack and put on my leather jacket.

I hear the voices near the bathtubs. Good. I can take another route to the stairs and leave until they’re gone.

I sneak out of the cell and walk straight into the chest of the most terrifying man I’ve ever seen. His aura is pitch black. It’s so thick it should be suffocating him.

I look up into cold, dead blue eyes and a twisted grin. I step back into another chest. His aura is the same. What does a person have to do to become like this?

“Well, well. What do we have here?” the first guy asks, adjusting his skeleton hoodie.

“I wonder what she’ll give us if we say ‘trick or treat’?” the other guy says, leering down my shirt from behind me. Oh, hell no. The guy behind me slides his hands over my hips, pinning me to him. I can feel his arousal pressing into my back.

This isn’t happening. I’ve been through too much to just take this shit.

“Let go of me,” I demand.

“Ooh…feisty. I love it when they put up a fight.” Bone Boy sneers down at me. He grabs my wrists, his grip painfully tight.

I struggle against their hold, fear getting the better of me. Then I feel it. That familiar pit in my stomach. The one I used to fear. The one I nearly starved to death resisting. I’ve learned better since then. I let the pit open up and take over, protecting me.

My fear melts away and I’m suddenly ravenous. These boys are going to be a feast. I usually just take the little black wisps from people, but these guys are all black wisps and dark sludge.

They smell so good. Like a steak in front of a starving tiger. I lean in toward the one in front of me.

Bone Boy seems to notice the change in me, but he doesn’t realize my eagerness isn’t for sex. He steps closer and leans down, right into my trap.