Halloween Trial Read online

  Halloween Trial

  Ironwood Academy Book 1

  Copyright © 2019 by Casey Morgan; All Rights Reserved

  I write super steamy shifter paranormal romance and urban fantasy reverse harem romance. My goal is to fulfill all your fantasies at once!

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  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Epilogue

  Here’s a preview of Sold to the Wolves

  Chapter One

  There was a large brown box on the kitchen counter. The sides were scuffed. The paper covering the carboard was stained with what looked like motor oil and perhaps some other type of oil —probably from French Fries because it was also covered with dark fingerprints.

  “Yuck,” I muttered, glancing at it and then around the kitchen to find something to put over my hands so I could move the gross thing. I really did not want to touch it.

  However — to my horror — there was my name, written in neat script, on the address label. The disgusting package was for me. From the postmark, I could see that it had been sent around my birthday, in May. It was definitely not May anymore, it wasn’t even close.

  “When did this package come?” I yelled to my stepfather.

  He was halfway through a six-pack of wine coolers and taking over a good bit of the couch in the living room. The game was on, so he ignored me.

  “Jim!” I yelled, feeling the bloom of heat in my chest that signaled that my temper was rising. “When did this package come?”

  We had agreed that he would give me my mail on time and that he would not open it or steal the money out of it. Not that I got a lot of money in the mail, but after one paycheck from my former job went missing, my stepfather and I had a stern talk.

  Jim and I had also agreed — or rather, I lectured him on keeping the kitchen clean and not letting the dirty dishes pile up, or mold grow or milk sour while sitting out on the counter. I knew my efforts were futile. Jim didn’t listen to me. He barely acknowledged my presence since my mother passed away when I was fifteen.

  Today, the fact that he was ignoring me was really getting on my nerves. “Jim!” I yelled as loud as I could.

  There was a clatter of bottles as he shifted to sitting on the couch. I looked back at him, just in time to see a deep scowl cover his face. I was pretty sure that Jim hated me.

  “What does it matter when it came?” he grumbled. His eyes were lined with red and bloodshot. It was likely that he was up most of last night drinking at the local bar. It was also likely that he had a wicked hangover.

  “It matters,” I continued as loudly as I could, delighting in the way he winced at my words, “because we agreed to give each other our mail on time!”

  “Fuck that!” he yelled back. “Make me a sandwich and shut up. You have it now, right?” As I glared at him, he turned and slipped back down onto the couch.

  Ignoring his stupid request — like there was anything in the house to make a sandwich out of — I turned back to the package. If the stains and scuffs were any indication, it probably spent the last few months in the backseat of my stepfather’s car. I looked over all sides, trying to figure out which part of the brown paper covering it was the least gross and picked a spot. When I pushed my finger into the fold of the paper, it squished.

  “Eww! Eww! Eww!”

  I jumped up and down, looking at my finger that was now covered in what was hopefully chocolate. I washed my hands and grabbed a butcher knife. With the sharp blade, I had the tape gone in seconds, and the flaps open.

  Inside, wrapped in old, yellowed newspapers, was a large jewelry box. It looked like it might be an antique. The cherry wood stain was dimmed so that it was a deep red. The latch and handle were tarnished gold. On the top was a golden flourish, set with clear stones, or more likely, glass. Overall, it wasn’t exactly my style. I’ve always considered myself a more modern type of girl, but I wasn’t going to be ungrateful.

  Honestly, besides a few well wishes from my small friend group, my eighteenth birthday had gone pretty much unnoticed. Even though this was given to me almost six months late, it was the only present I had received. Well, other than my stepfather telling me that he was giving me a year to get out of his house.

  I pulled the jewelry box out of the box and opened the lid. It looked to be empty, except for a small folded pink piece of paper. The penmanship was immediately familiar. I was overwhelmed with emotion and had to sit down to read the note. The box was from my grandmother.

  Grandma Rose was the last person I had had in my life who really cared about me. She had died around my fifteenth birthday in the same accident that took my overly distant mother from me. Even as a small child, I had always wanted to stay with my grandmother. Her home was full of flowers, warmth, and the smells of freshly baked cookies. The small house my mother and stepfather had was cold in comparison and lonely.

  Before reading the words, I held the paper to my nose and inhaled. It was light, but Grandma Rose’s violet perfume was still on it. The smell brought tears to my eyes. I was somewhat used to being alone, since my upbringing was so isolated, but at least when Grammy was around, I had someone I could call. And now, somehow, she had made plans to give me a gift, all these years later. It was unbelievable.

  Jim stomped into the kitchen as I looked over the letter. Loudly, he swung open the door to the fridge and got out a beer. “What’s it say?” he asked as he used the edge of the counter to pop off the bottlecap.

  I had read the words, but I didn’t understand them. “It says here that Grandma Rose paid my full tuition, and room and board, so I can attend an academy called Ironwood in Love’s Hollow, New York.” I looked up at him. He was guzzling the beer at an alarming rate. “I’ve never even heard of Love’s Hollow. Have you?”

  My stepfather shrugged. He leaned towards me and let out a large belch. The scent of stale beer and nachos filled the small space between us.

  I coughed and waved the paper in front of my face. “I guess I don’t know what this means.”

  Jim leaned on the counter. His lips curved in a slight sneer. “It seems to me that that little paper is saying that you have somewhere else to go.” He raised his bottle of beer slightly and pointed it at the door to the outside.

  I sat back a little in my chair. I knew that my stepfather resented the fact that I was still in his house. He was never shy about telling me how much he hated being my legal guardian after my mom died. In fact, he constantly complained about how much it cost him to keep me there.

  “Jim,” I said calmly, trying my best to keep my temper in check. “You said I have a year before I have to move out. It’s only been a few months.”

  He nodded while taking another swig of beer. “Now this letter changes things. You have somewhere else to go. Get out, bitch.”

  I felt the heat in my chest, and my lungs tightened. I wanted to slap him, but I knew if I did, he would do something worse to me. Instead, I clutched the little piece of paper from my grandmother tightly in my hands, looking over the ink and reading the name of the academy over and over — Ironwood. Anyplace had to be better than here, even if it was someplace I had never heard of.

  Jim gave me one last nasty look, then he crossed back into the living room. “I’m ser
ious,” he said from over his shoulder. “Be out by morning, Ruby, or I will make you get out.” After that, he slumped back onto the couch and turned the TV up louder.

  So, this is it then, I thought. I had to admit that there was a tiny hint of sorrow mixed in with my rage. This was the only home I had ever know after all, even if it was a cold one. Maybe Ironwood Academy would be more welcoming. I had always liked school. There were many times that I had wished that there was money for me to go to a university. But, I guess, my grandmother had planned for me. She had cared enough to make sure I was going to be okay.

  I sighed and picked up the jewelry box, shifting it to look over the insides. As I twisted one of the corners up, a necklace slipped out of the grove between the side of the box and the velvety interior. It was a delicate thing, just a thin silver chain with a small round pendant. Grabbing it between two fingers, I looked at the stone. It was white, milky, and vaguely familiar. My grandmother had a ring of the same material. I remembered that she called it moonstone. The necklace wasn’t worth much money, but along with the jewelry box, it was the nicest thing I owned.

  “Thanks, Grandma,” I whispered, before giving the stone a quick kiss and then hooking the chain around my neck. I made sure that it was tucked into my shirt before Jim caught sight of it and made me sell my only present.

  Picking up the box, I headed to my bedroom to pack. I had just enough money from my last job saved up to buy a bus ticket. Now all I had to do was figure out where Love’s Hollow was.

  Chapter Two

  Ironwood did not look like a school. It looked like a mansion or the estate of some very rich and very snooty family. The grounds were pristine and covered with wide, freshly cut, green lawns punctuated by little groves of mature trees. There were no leaves littering the ground, and even the drive I walked down seemed oddly free of dirt.

  The buildings — there were about five, that I could see, and all connected by glassed-in walkways — were brick of the darkest red. There was a slight contrast with the tiles that covered the roof, which were black. It was not an inviting looking place. It just looked cold and ominous.

  I sighed and headed towards the obvious entrance that had three long steps leading up to large, darkly stained double doors. As I got closer, one of the doors opened slightly. A very tall and very thin man exited to stand just to the side of the door. I figured he was waiting for me. He was older and dressed in a dark navy suit. I waved, but he kept his hands held behind his back and didn’t acknowledge me at all. It was not a good sign.

  When I got close enough, he didn’t greet me. He just opened the door and gestured for me to go inside. I did, turning my head back to tell him, “I’m Ruby Thrushmoor. My grandmother, Rose Green, paid for me to attend this school.”

  The tall, thin man didn’t reply. He just got in front of me, leading me through a large foyer to an office. The office he led me to was overly brown, with lots of dark wooden shelves and darkly colored trinkets. It didn’t help that shelf after shelf was filled with old dusty books in leather bindings. I found myself eyeing the titles of the books — most of them in gold lettering — and not understanding them one bit. They must have been in a different language, maybe Latin, they looked old enough.

  “Ms. Thrushmoor, please sit.” After taking a seat behind a large desk, the skinny man held out his hand and gestured to the chair in front of his desk.

  The leather chair looked uncomfortable with it’s back so straight and high, but I slid into it anyway. The angle of the back of the chair was so harsh, it pushed me forward slightly. Not wanting to appear like I was bowing, I scooted up until I was perched at the edge.

  The man before me looked expectant, so I started telling him my story again. “Well, I got that letter from my grandmother, as I said. She indicated that she paid my tuition here at Ironwood for four years, and well, I would like to take advantage of that, sir.”

  “Headmaster.”

  “Huh?” I could tell that my mouth was hanging open slightly, so I shut it quickly and straightened my back to look as proper as possible. This wasn’t the type of place to relax.

  He rubbed a large hand with long spindly fingers over his forehead and eyes, slightly mussing his jet-black hair. His facial expression gave me the impression that my presence was a nuisance to him.

  The shy part of my brain told me to leave and never bother showing up here again, but the other part — the smart part that knew I had nowhere else to go — held fast. Grandma had paid good money. I deserved to get what she paid for.

  “You are to call me Headmaster while you attend school here,” the man grumbled. His frown was so deep the edges of his lips seemed to fall past the line of his jaw. “Ms. Thrushmoor, are you even aware of the concentration of this school?”

  I found myself flushing slightly. “No,” I admitted embarrassed. “Before yesterday, I had never even heard of Ironwood or the town of Love’s Hollow. Honestly, I don’t think this town is on any of the maps. I’ve lived in upstate New York my whole life and never even knew all this was here.”

  “There’s a reason for that,” the headmaster mumbled under his breath. “You see, I just don’t think you will fit in here.”

  Surprised, I found myself leaning back some. “Can you tell me why?” I asked coldly, feeling my temper rise. Sure, I wasn’t the smartest girl in the world, but I had gotten decent grades in high school.

  The tall man sighed exaggeratedly, leaning his head to the left and rolling his deep-set brown eyes like I was a disobedient toddler. “What you don’t understand, Ms. Thrushmoor is that most of my students have been studying to come here for all of their lives. Here at Ironwood, we are a very specialized campus. I do not think you will be able to catch up since you are starting at nothing.”

  The headmaster’s attitude was starting to get to me. That, mixed with the desperation of my situation, pushed my next words from my mouth. “My grandmother paid for the years. You have to let me try, even if I flunk out.”

  He sat up a bit, probably not used to the harshness of my words. Student’s probably groveled around here. We stared at each other in silence, then little by little, his thick, flabby lips pulled up into a smile. It was horrifying, and I found myself preferring that the headmaster frown all the time.

  “So, you are insistent that I allow you to attend classes here?”

  I could hear the challenge in his voice. I straightened my back, folded my arms in front of my chest, and glared at him. “I just want what I am entitled to.”

  Grinning still, he nodded. “And you agree that what you are entitled to is a chance to pass or fail?”

  I let my head lean to one side and looked over the tall man’s face. He was manipulating me, changing my words, but I wasn’t sure how.

  “Yes, I think I am entitled to that.”

  He clapped his hands loudly, disturbing the tension in the room, and making me jump slightly. There was a harsh, gleeful light in his eyes, and I didn’t like it one bit.

  “Excellent. I will allow you to start classes here, Ms. Thrushmoor. However, there are conditions. Our first exam is in two weeks on Halloween night. If you fail that trial, you will be expelled.”

  I hissed in a breath and raised my eyebrows. “Expelled, after just one test? That hardly seems fair.”

  The frown was back. Ignoring me slightly, the headmaster pulled a file from one of his desk drawers. It was old and dusty. He flipped through a few handwritten pages, found one he wanted, and then ran a finger down it. “It says here, on the receipt for your grandmother, that she paid the appropriate tuition for the nineteen fifties. The cost of attendance at Ironwood has risen three-fold since that time.”

  I felt myself trembling slightly. This was my only chance. I didn’t even have enough money for the bus ride home. Not that my stepfather would let me move back in any way.

  “But—”

  The headmaster waved one of his overly large hands and silenced my words. “In honor of your grandmother, who was one
of the finest students this school has ever seen, I will let you attempt to make a place here. If you fail the trial on Halloween, then you will leave. That is my only deal, Ms. Thrushmoor. Do you take it?”

  It was the only thing I could do. I dropped my head feeling defeated. At least I had two weeks to figure out another plan, or if by some miracle, I could pass an exam on something I knew nothing about, then I could stay. “Yes, headmaster. I agree.”

  “Very well.” He picked up a bell on his desk and rang it. Less than a minute later, there was a soft knock at the door. “Come in, Ms. Birch.”

  The door opened, and a small, blonde-haired girl shuffled, shyly inside. “Yes, Headmaster Thorn?”

  There were two things that I immediately noticed about the girl. One, she was wearing a black and white school uniform — complete with matching knee-high socks. The fact that Ironwood had a uniform bothered me. To my mind, it seemed like only conservative universities would still have a uniform in this day and age. Plus, this particular uniform was obviously sexist. It was like a catholic schoolgirl costume on steroids. The skirt was too short, and the blouse was cut way too low. Obviously, modesty was not on the Ironwood agenda — at least not for girls.

  The second thing I noticed was that the girl standing in the doorway was shaking. She never looked up at the headmaster, in fact, she didn’t take her gaze off her highly polished leather flats.

  Thorn gestured to me — not that the new girl was looking. “This is Ms. Thrushmoor. Ms. Thrushmoor, Ms. Birch is my assistant this semester, although she is doing a poor job of it.” The shaking girl hunched her shoulders, trying to make herself even smaller. “She will show you to the girls’ dormitory and help you get fitted for a school uniform. Return at three PM sharp. I will have your class schedule ready for you by that time.”

  Okay, so this is really happening then. I stood up slowly, grabbed the handle of my small suitcase, and prepared to follow the girl. One thing bothered me, though.