Page 21 of Angel Lost (Fates Academy #3)

Chapter Twenty-one: Lorelei

I scrape my fingernail absently along the hard wooden bench outside the dean’s office. My whole allegiance sits with me, but the weight in my stomach is mine alone. Why are we here?

Risking a glance at Farrell, I catch his eye and open my mouth. But he shakes his head, nodding to the lingering secretary, to the hada. He’s armed. A telltale bulge at his waist, a potions bottle sticking out of a pocket. Feigning a yawn, I stretch and peek at Chano. The same. They don't even know the whole story and they're still worried. Naeve’s dagger sits heavy in my jacket.

The door to the dean’s room looms, sleek and reinforced, a new security shutter folded neatly above it. Everything’s different. The whole place. Like we’ve stepped into someone else’s world.

“Enter,” the dean calls.

I swallow hard and follow the others in, my eyes fixed on the elegant tile floor. I barely register the instruction to sit, only moving when the others do. The chairs are small, intentionally dwarfed by the towering glass desk veined with silver.

Dean Emrick watches from a high-backed Gothic chair so grand it could belong to the king. Behind him, bookshelves stretch across the wall, crammed with ancient leather-bound tomes alongside sleek modern volumes. A candelabra flickers, casting blood red light across his sharp features .

All new. The furniture. The security. And I know who paid for it. But no soldiers lurk in the corners. No P.I.G.

I force my shoulders to relax.

“Miss Bal, certain matters have been brought to my attention,” he says, his voice smooth but heavy.

I open my mouth to argue but the words freeze in my throat. My whole allegiance has been summoned. Why?

My heart slams against my ribs. The Angel King. He knows. Farrell’s father must have broken, told him something—enough to connect us to the rebellion. We're screwed. No amount of knives of potions will save us from the king.

A soft flap of wings announces a hada’s arrival, dragging me from my spiraling thoughts. The tiny fairy dips into a bow in midair. “Pardon the interruption, Dean Emrick, but a secure call has come through from the royal court.” The hada’s voice drops slightly. “They insist you take it immediately.”

A wave of cold rushes through me.

A call. Now?

The dean exhales sharply, already rising. “Stay put,” he orders, straightening his robes before sweeping toward the door. It slams shut behind him.

The moment he’s gone, I turn to Farrell, my voice barely above a whisper. “Your father. He must have told him.”

Farrell’s head tilts slightly, his brows knitting. “Told who?”

I swallow hard. “The Angel King.”

Stillness. A heartbeat of it. Then his pupils contract to razor-thin slits of gold. “Explain.”

The single word is low, dangerous.

I force my voice to stay steady. “The Angel King moved your father to the royal prison. ”

Farrell doesn’t move, doesn’t breathe. Then, a puff of smoke curls from each nostril, the scent of char thickening in the air. When he speaks, his voice is sharp as a blade. “How long have you known?”

I hesitate. A moment too long.

Fire flashes in his eyes. “Lorelei.”

“Since my aether trial,” I admit.

His breath hisses out. A small sound, but it might as well be a bellow. “Since your trial?” His voice rises, smoke curling faster, hotter. “You knew my father was in that bastard’s hands and didn’t warn me? Warn the rebellion?”

Heat rolls off him in waves, his face hardens, morphs, and suddenly the dean's summons isn't the most intimidating thing I'm facing.

The door swings open, and Dean Emrick strides back in, his expression carved from stone. His gaze sweeps over us, lingering on Farrell—on the faint embers still glowing behind his slit-pupiled eyes—before settling on me.

My stomach twists.

Chano tenses beside me, his fingers tapping against his chair in a slow, deliberate rhythm. Zephyr’s usual glow strains a little brighter, a little whiter. Farrell doesn’t move at all, but the air around him is still heavy with residual heat.

The dean’s hands clasp behind his back. “You’ve had a poor start to the year, Miss Bal.”

The tension in my chest snaps. That’s it? Not execution orders? No king’s guard? Just a poor start?

I let out the breath that was strangling me. Zephyr exhales too, his glow dimming just slightly, and Chano rolls his shoulders. But Farrell stays rigid, his jaw tight.

“I know,” I say quickly. “I’m sorry. My Aeternum’s little sister— ”

Dean Emrick coughs pointedly, cutting me off. “You left Gifted early then went gallivanting off campus. Your allegiance here need to understand they can not distract you like this.”

“Dean Davina was understanding. She granted me permission, sir.”

I flash him my most winning of smiles, letting my incisors slip slightly over my lip. Give a fellow vamp a break…

He sighs, peering at me over the top of his glasses. “Fine. But your lessons still need to be completed. Assignments handed in.”

“I’ll work all day Sunday and catch up with the rest next week. I promise.”

“The problem with that, Miss Bal,” he says, voice drier than dust, “is that it is already Sunday.”

Is it? Shit.

Zephyr presses his knuckles against his mouth, restraining a laugh. Chano smirks outright. Farrell, though, won’t look at me.

The dean’s stare lingers a moment longer, then he straightens. “Since the Angel King wants you to have a fair chance at attending both schools, so be it.” He flashes his fangs, something almost amused behind his otherwise flat expression. “He has been most supportive of this institution. And I trust his high opinion of you, of course.”

My mouth tastes like ash.

“Do not disappoint either of us, Miss Bal.”

He waves a hand, and my chair scrapes backward toward the door under his magic.

Zephyr rises, flicking a stray lock of his silky hair over one shoulder with lazy elegance. Chano follows, removing the knife from up his sleeve, tucking it back into his belt loop as he goes. Disaster averted. Farrell stands last. The heat has faded from the air, but when I glance at him, his golden eyes are still burning.

And they are locked directly on me.

I roll my head, then drag my leaden legs out from between the sheets. In the mirror, bloodshot eyes stare back as I pull my robe over my swimsuit. I tried. I really tried to get all my Fates work done, but there just wasn’t enough time. And Farrell still won’t talk to me. I set my jaw and flick my tired reflection the V. My reflection winks and I start. Holy hags, I’m hallucinating, I need coffee. And more sleep. I’ll catch up eventually. We won’t always be chasing down Chano’s sister.

Lottie.

What did you do? Just because you think I threaten your spot in the Maveriks? A gang I don’t even want to lead. Remembering Chano’s heartbreak, I groan, leaning my forehead on the cool of the mirror. My reflection takes a moment too long to lean in opposite me. Screwing my eyes tight shut, I shake my head.

Move. Coffee. Then go get in the water, like a good aether student.

I trudge down to the lakeside, eyes on the ground, slightly unfocused. A sliver of red thread floating in the air catches my eye, then another, and another. They twist and ripple, catching the pale dawn light, trailing into the slapping waves, winding around the students already swimming.

I bite my lip, hiding a grin as the scowling students arrive behind me. I’m getting this ley line shit, finally. I curl my lip in a snarl as they hustle past. No need to be pissy. I dip a toe into the icy cold of the lake and wince. I’m not swimming. No way. But I’ll paddle at the edge. It’s enough to keep the professors happy. I can’t get thrown out. Not from Fates or here. Not when I’m just getting the hang of things.

Breakfast is weird. Not one even deigns to look in my direction. I slam my coffee down on the long wooden bench, and it slops over the sides. The student closest shuffles away slightly. What’s their beef? That I get special treatment? That I can walk off campus while they’re stuck here? Suck it up. I focus on the oatmeal in front of me, dolloping a big glob of jam on top and sloshing a generous portion of full fat milk into the bowl.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see red. Red threads floating in the air, tangled around every student. I glance down at myself. Nope. None for me. Weird.

I’m late for the dean. We have a one-on-one session and somehow I’ve taken more than half an hour to eat my breakfast. Distracted by shiny threads. Satyr shit.

I shove along the corridors, pushing past a group of students huddled just outside the spirit room. I heard a hiccuped sob from the center of the group, and I glance back. They shuffle closer to each other, shoulders hunched. Only Reye spares me a glance, and it’s not friendly.

Scrabbling to a halt in the reception, I shove my phone deep into a ley line, tug the strands back over, and heave a breath. At least I can still do that, even when I’m exhausted.

The receptionist gestures me through.

“You’re scheduled, dear. Just place your hand on the biometric panel—the building will recognize you have an appointment and let you in.”

Fancy.

I step into the dean’s office, only a couple of minutes late. She’s already set herself up on the stone loungers looking out over the lake. I slide awkwardly into the seat beside her, the warmth immediately creeping into me, easing my tired muscles.

“This is your session, Aether Lorelei. I will let you lead.”

My mouth hangs open a few seconds before the dean taps my chin with a finger and I shut it.

“Manners, aether.”

“Sorry. I-I’m just not used to having so much say.”

She smiles, flashing super-white teeth.

“I’m catching up slowly. But I’ve noticed some things here I don’t understand. ”

Dean Davina stiffens, nodding her head for me to continue.

“I’ve learned to see the ley lines, manipulate them a bit. But I keep seeing these red thready things. Most of the students have these tangled red balls of energy around them. And—” I narrow my eyes. “—the threads all seem to lead to you.”

“Oh, my dear, you are coming along so quickly.” Dean Davina places a cool hand over mine. “But how your growth was stunted before. Tragic. It will take some time for you to understand everything.”

I finger the knife at my belt until she slaps my hand away.

“No fidgeting. Ladies don’t fidget.” She frowns. “Aether Lorelei, we shall have to increase your etiquette classes, I fear.”

I force what I hope passes for an agreeable smile. “As you wish, Dean. The threads…”

She watches me for a few long moments before staring out over the lake. “The threads show ties between people. As a guide to all these students, I develop a connection to them.”

“But we don’t have a red connection…?”

“Don’t be too disappointed. You’ve barely started here, dear. Don’t beat yourself up. We’ll develop a connection.” She sends me a sly smile. “You don’t really trust me yet, do you? I don’t know what Kai’s been telling you, but that might be a teeny tiny barrier.” I start to protest but she interjects. “I expected it. Just remember—if you look through someone else’s lens, the view is always distorted.”

I nod, chewing my lip. I trust Kai. I do. But maybe his view of his stepmom is colored by his childhood.

Dean Davina clicks her fingers and the lights in the room dim. A cello quartet plays softly in the background. “Aether Lorelei, when big events happen our bonds pull us together. You’re seeing the threads now, not just because your skill is growing, but also because while you were gone there was a rip, right here on the grounds. ”

I sit bolt upright in my chair, staring at her, recalling the strained faces, the crying in the corridors.

“We dealt with it, but another strong supe, however untrained, would have helped. We might not have lost Aether Melanie.”

I clap my hand over my mouth, registering the black band tied around the dean’s arm for the first time.

“I-I’m sorry.”

“You had your own battle to fight.” The dean smiles wanly. “Some of the students might not see it like that though. Give them time.”

The meditation class is dimly lit, with soft lighting casting a warm glow over the sleek marble floors. As I slip in, late again, the glowing runes on the walls pulse gently. All eyes snap to me as I pad barefoot toward the circle. The air is heavy with lavender and chamomile, and the atmosphere heavier. I sit cross-legged on the last of the plush velvet cushions, and the professor coughs. The students half close their eyes again, hands resting on their knees. An ethereal melody drifts through the room, guiding our breathing and focus.

The professor moves to the center of the circle, his robes billowing as if caught by a breeze. His presence exudes calm. Slowly, the sideways glares lessen. The prof raises his hands, the flickering candles brightening, dancing in sync with his movements. His voice is soothing as he leads us in an ancient meditative chant—a chant for the dead, for life, for letting go.

I’m grateful for the session. Some of the guilt inside me for Lottie eases. The guilt for the dead student, the need to have been here, to have helped, it releases slightly. The other students feel it too. There’s only one problem…it’s a small group. The rest of the school still blames me. And I get it, I really do. One extra pair of hands in a fight can tip the balance, es pecially from a strong supe. Even if they think I’m only a second aether, that’s stronger than most here.

I hurry from my last class of the day. I didn’t know Aether Melanie. I have no right to feel this grief. My thoughts turn to Naeve. To losing her. And I mourn them both.

The dinner queue is bad. Really bad. With all the glares and muttered barbs, you’d almost believe I killed Aether Melanie. Hecate, by the time I’ve stood in line and collected my food I almost believe it. There’s no point in hanging around, I’m clearly not wanted. I plod back to my room with my cooling plate. Somehow the roast veggies don’t look so appetizing once I’m holed up. Alone.