CHAPTER 2 || Phantom

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I took a seat in the back of the classroom, next to a window. I settled down and brought out a small sketch pad. I was never an artist, but I liked doodling fantasy places I dreamed of traveling or teleporting to. Sometimes I dreamed of horror places, too – places from my nightmares. I had a lot of those – nightmares, I mean. They didn't always make sense to me.

My imagination led my pencil across the paper and sketched a simple circle onto the drawing pad. I surrounded the circle with bars, like the kind you would find in penitentiaries. In the centre was the dark silhouette of a man, angling his face upwards and screaming. This was the weird part: the man had a shadow for a face, and the only part of his head that was visible was his wild black hair and screeching mouth filled with pointy, monstrous teeth.

I studied the drawing and tried to make sense of the nightmare, but to no avail. My dreams were usually nonsensical and strange, as are most fantasies conjured by the mind.

"Your in my spot," said a cold, emotionless voice.

I looked up and locked gazes with a dark-haired boy blessed with soul-shaking emerald green eyes. I recognized him as Kace Moretti – Luke had told me about him during the little tour he'd given me. "Hi, I'm Elora."

"I know," was all he said. His abnormal eyes were gazing not at me but at something above my shoulder. When I looked back to see what he was staring at, I was met with blank nothingness. "My friends told me about you."

There was something odd about this boy: he had a quiet, detached air to him, almost as if he belonged to another world. His emo-cut hair was falling into his eyes – not that he seemed to care. Mysterious symbols and seemingly meaningless doodles were covering him arms and hands in black pen ink. There were some words, too:

The King shall not be ended by any mortal but those prophesied.

Scars bring forth the Circle.

Poisonous godly blood to the tainted flesh of shadow-hearted demons.

NEVER LEAVE THE CIRCLE.

CANNOT EVER LEAVE.

I frowned at those words – they appeared to be like prophecies of some sort – but redirected my gaze to Kace's face. "Your friends?" I questioned casually.

He fixed me with a haunting look. "Those imprisoned in their consciousness." After he spoke those words, something flickered next to him. I focused my eyes on the area surrounding him, and in a small fraction of a second, an image appeared. Tilted heads and hollow eyes. Bloody mouths and decayed flesh. Mouths frozen in silent screams, blood dripping from their hovering feet, endless black holes for eyes –

I gasped and reeled back in shock and terror. "What–"

"You can see them, too," he asserted, his voice monotonous. "I supposed the blood of a goddess does that to you." He inclined his head downwards and stared at my drawing. A sliver of expression crossed his eyes — recognition, surprise maybe? — and he opened his mouth to speak again. "Nice drawing."

"Thanks," I said, still a little shaken by what I'd seen. I wasn't used to seeing ghosts. "Oh! I was in your seat, right?" I started to stand up. "I'll just — move over here — sorry..." I trailed off as I stumbled over the chair before landing in the seat next to him. Jesus Christ. Why was I always humiliating myself?

Kace kept watching me with no amusement whatsoever, before returning his attention to my drawing. He seemed oddly fascinated by it.

I struggled to find ways to break the ice, but I was at a loss for words. Thankfully, I was saved the effort when the teacher entered the class.

He was interesting, to say the least. With glowing orange-yellow irises and pupils slitted like a cat's, he seemed almost predatory. His hair was coloured a stunning shade of orange, and he dressed professionally in a sleek suit. His vibrant attire was accessorized with a pair of skull earrings – quite punk-looking, in my opinion – and metallic cuffs around his wrists.

"Hello, class," the man began in a smooth, velvety voice. My ears picked up on his thick accent – Italian, perhaps – and the eccentric way in which he emphasized his syllables. "Today we are welcoming a new student to Darcey Blackwater High. Miss Hawksworth, if you would introduce yourself?" He said evenly, his demonic eyes landing on my awkward, scrawny self.

I'd rather not. "Um... well, my name's Elora and I'm sixteen," I started shakily. "Obviously I'm in grade eleven, like everyone here. And, uh, I like drawing and playing car racing games. I also like reading books..."

Fuck my life.

"Thank you, Miss Hawksworth." Still fixing me with those intense and unnerving eyes, he added, "However, when we introduce ourselves at Blackwater, we usually state our nature or abilities. I am Mr. Firetto, fire demon and warlock. Who are you, Miss Hawksworth?"

I straightened my back in a desperate attempt to appear confident. From across the room, I locked eyes with Luke before swallowing anxiously and finally speaking. "I am Elora Hawksworth," I repeated. "Daughter of the goddess Lucille."

The students in the room all sucked in their breaths sharply in a weirdly synchronized manner. Mr. Firetto smiled. "A demigod in Blackwater... how peculiar."

I sat down and tried to ignore the stares piercing into my head. Soon the lesson commenced, and I was careful to listen to each word Mr. Firetto spoke, mostly because I was late on this subject due to my abrupt school change. Halfway through the lesson, I glanced out the window and saw a flash of white. I squinted, trying to distinguish the figure. I started seeing the outline of a thin girl, moving gracefully around in the garden. She wore a long, flowing white gown, and her pale blonde curls were tumbling loosely over her bony shoulders.

"Who is she?" I whispered to Kace.

The green-eyed boy followed my gaze. "Her name is Waverly."

I watched the girl as she approached the window. I noticed that her eyes were a muted, almost clear shade of gray. There was a lost look in them as if she couldn't find her way somewhere. "Is she dead?"

"You catch on quick," said Kace. "Waverly died at fifteen. She claims her killer was the spirit of Darcey Blackwater, gone insane after years of aimlessly wandering the halls of this school. Spirits who lose their minds become powerful," he told me. "Some become poltergeists."

"Why is she still here? Why doesn't she, you know, pass on?"

"Waverly doesn't want to leave," replied the necromancer. "Besides, her presence is beneficial for the school since she's an important source of information."

"Information for what?" I had begun leaning forward in my seat, my interest getting the better of me.

"Crimes, rule-breakers, and other kinds of problems," he explained. "She knows just about everything. Whenever Blackwater has an issue, the school turns to her for help."

Waverly had approached the window, so I could see her more clearly and didn't need to squint anymore. Her exposed arms and neck were littered with white scars and ugly bruises, indicating a brutal fight. The pure white colour of her gown was tainted by the red blossoming from her chest, and there was a bald patch at the back of her head sticky with blood – the hair had been yanked from her scalp.

"What happened to her?" I asked, feeling pitiful for the ghost of this poor girl.

"Darcey was insane and spent his free time roaming the school and tormenting students. One of his victims was fifteen-year-old Waverly Castell. He beat her, threw her around, before plunging a dagger into her heart."

"That's horrible," I exclaimed, aghast.

Kace didn't reply and returned to scribbling gibberish on the back of his notebook. I continued taking short glimpses of the broken spirit of Waverly, frowning as I imagined the many scenarios of her demise.

The dead girl planted her face against the window, staring at me with big, pale eyes. Her lips parted, and she seemed to be saying something. I couldn't hear her — I'm no necromancer, unlike Kace. The boy looked at Waverly, then sighed. "She can't hear you, Waverly."

The phantom appeared bummed. She said something more, to which Kace replied, "I know, Waverly. Please don't start screaming again."

The girl's eyes widened, and a look of horror washed over her ghostly features. Her mouth opened wide as she started wailing silently. Kace slammed his hands over his ears. "Stop it, Waverly."

I looked at the spirit and the necromancer, wondering what was going on. "Is she screaming?"

Kace nodded. "She always does this. I don't like it, but it's better than what the other ghosts do to me." He squeezed his eyes shut until Waverly's image gradually faded away.

"What kind of screaming?" I asked, a small smile playing on my lips. "If it's the heavy-metal kind, I wouldn't mind," I said jokingly.

Kace raised his eyebrows. "You listen to heavy metal?"

I nodded. "What else would I listen to?"

"Pop, hip-hop, rap..." He shrugged. "I don't know."

"All those music styles are perfectly fine," I told him honestly. "I just can't stand it when the radio plays a song way too many times because it makes me start hating it, regardless if it's actually a good song."

Kace furrowed his eyebrows, a look of confusion seeping into his emerald orbs. "That's interesting."

"How about you?" I asked. "What do you listen to?"

"Metal. Hard rock. Anything loud that can bring me to another place and block out the noise."

"Any favourites?"

"Metallica, AC/DC, Led Zeppelin, Iron Maiden..." He grinned. "The list goes on."

"I love those bands!" I exclaimed in excitement.

"They are amazing," he said, nodding at me.

"Do you listen to anything other than metal?" I asked him. "Like alternative?"

He stayed quiet for a while, thinking. "Depressing stuff. Sometimes I listen to slow music, too, but it's rare for me."

I grinned. "I went through an emo phase when I was thirteen, and depressing music was literally all I listened to. I was obsessed with screamo and bands like My Chemical Romance or Fall Out Boy." I laughed. "I had this internal rule of 'listen-only-to-freaky-music'."

He smiled at that, and I took note of the way his face went through a drastic face change. When he smiled, emotion crept into his eyes and his pale cheeks took on a cute, rosy hue. He seemed younger, more carefree

"You're not so bad after all," Kace said to me. "No offence, but I kinda pictured you as a bitch."

I placed a hand over my heart in mock offence. "Why would you think that?"

He shrugged, chuckling. "Most demigods are like that."

I quirked an eyebrow at him. "Have you met many demigods?"

"Only a few."

I turned my attention back to the lesson and hoped I hadn't missed much. The lesson sped by quickly, and I found myself in awe at Mr. Firetto's teaching skills. He captured everyone's attention while educating them about the topic, and I was amazed at how each and every student listened attentively to the lesson, genuinely respectful towards their instructor.

After the bell rang and the students piled out of the classroom, I momentarily panicked when I realized that I'd forgotten where the gymnasium was located. My next class was PE, and I had less than five minutes to get there. Kace was long gone, so there was no one I knew who could help me find my way.

I had a strong dislike against making an effort to socialize with people I didn't know. I hated asking strangers for help, which was why I was extremely grateful when I spotted Blake among the crowd. I immediately walked over to him and displayed what I hoped was a friendly smile.

"Hi! Blake, right?" I said. "I'm Elora, and I was wondering if you could help me get to the gymnasium." I smiled sheepishly. "I'm new here."

His fiery eyes were narrowed at me, and I almost shrunk under his skeptical stare. "You're the one Luke was showing around." After a moment's hesitation, his doubtful expression was replaced with an amicable smile. "Hey, you're Amelie's roomie, aren't you?" I nodded. "Come along, then. I have gym class too."

"If Luke actually made an effort to tolerate you, you're probably a nice person," he told me as we walked together.

"Why does everyone say that?" I said as I hurried to catch up with his quick pace.

Blake let out a short laugh. "Luke isn't exactly the friendliest guy in school. In fact, he's kinda cold. Literally." I'm pretty sure that was meant to be a joke, but I sadly didn't understand it – it was most likely some supernatural inside joke. "He never speaks to anyone outside our group, if only to cuss them or give him his greetings from hell." He grinned, and I was almost blinded by his straight row of pearly whites.

"He was nice to me," I said.

He only shrugged at that.

If there's anything I learned from my first day at Darcey Blackwater High, it's that people like to start a conversation about their 'abilities'. So, building up my inner confidence and summoning my friend-making skills (usually nonexistent, but apparently I do well with supernatural kids), I told him, "You're part fire demon, right? Luke told me about you."

He nodded. "That's right. My dad was a fire demon and my mom was just an ordinary human." His gaze dulled. "She died at birth – demon babies are difficult to give birth to."

I felt sorry for the guy, but I knew better than to apologize. "That's terrible," I said. "What happened to your father?"

"He couldn't raise me," he said, shrugging. "He's a demon after all. They're all-powerful creatures who don't have the time or patience to stick with one woman and raise a child." Then he added, "That's when I came here. Mrs. Stanley had a cousin who raised me for my first years, homeschooled me until I was old enough to attend Blackwater."

"I guess we're similar in that way, then. My mum left my dad to take care of me for the first sixteen years of my life. It was hard for him, you know? Being a single dad with an average salary, a magical daughter and a ton of responsibility is hard." I smiled at the thought of my father. I respected him way more than I could express. "My mum was kind of a bitch like that."

"Your mother's a goddess, right?" Blake said. After seeing my surprised expression, he added, "Word travels fast. The new demigod in school is now at the top of all gossip."

I groaned. "I hate gossip."

"Don't worry, the people here get tired after a few days. Soon enough they'll find something new to talk about," he told me reassuringly.

We rounded a corner, and voilà, two huge double doors stood before us in all their mighty glory, a crinkled paper taped onto one of them with 'GYMNASIUM' written in big, bold, all-caps, sans-serif letters. "Thanks for getting me here," I said to Blake.

"It's nothing," he said, then grinned. "Come on, Coach told us we'll be playing volleyball this time."

"Volleyball?" I repeated, fearing the worst.

"Volleyball with supernatural teammates is epic," he said. "Trust me."

Then he stepped through the doors, leaving me to dwell on my thoughts of utter loathing towards the cursed sport that is volleyball. I gulped, knowing that gym class would be torture for me.

I hate volleyball.

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