Flynn Nightsider and the Edge of Evil: Flynn Nightsider

By Mary Fan

Break the enchantments. Find the truth. Ignite the revolution.

A century ago, the Enchanters defeated the evil Lord of the Underworld, but not before he’d unleashed his monsters and ravaged the earth. The Enchanters built the Triumvirate out of what remained of the United States, demanding absolute obedience in exchange for protection from the lingering supernatural beasts.

Sixteen-year-old Flynn Nightsider, doomed to second-class life for being born without magic, knows the history as well as anyone. Fed up with the Triumvirate’s lies and secrecy, he longs for change. And when he stumbles across a clue that hints at something more – secrets in the dark, the undead, and buried histories – he takes matters into his own hands.

Before long, Flynn finds himself hunted not only by the government, but also by nightmarish monsters and a mysterious man with supernatural powers … all seeking him for reasons he cannot understand. Rescued by underground rebels, he’s soon swept up in their vision of a better world, guided by a girl as ferocious as the monsters she fights. But as the nation teeters on the brink of revolution, Flynn realizes three things.

The rebellion is not what it seems.
Flynn himself might be more than he seems.
And the fate of the world now rests in his hands. 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Crazy 8 Press
• Release date: May 15, 2018
• ISBN: 9781386250296

Book preview

Prologue

Moon.psd

87th Day of Glory

The Triumvirate of North America

Gunfire rang out in deafening bangs, and muzzle flashes lit the night with bursts of yellow and orange. The noise was too much for Flynn’s ten-year-old ears, and he covered them as he dropped to the ground. You were supposed to duck when people started shooting, right?

The metallic smell of gun smoke wafted toward him. He could barely see anything but the dark pavement under the dim streetlights. Who was fighting? Maybe the rumors saying a violent anarchist group would attack the Capital that night, on the biggest holiday of the year, had turned out to be true.

Confused and terrified, Flynn looked up. To his relief, a shimmer of silver, barely visible against the blackness of the sky, glowed above. That meant the Capital’s shield enchantments were still in place, keeping the dangers of the Underworld away. Beyond it, a flock of deadly razorbirds screeched as their efforts to enter the city were thwarted. Their knife-sharp black wings reflected traces of moonlight.

Flynn suddenly recalled that those protective spells were meant for supernatural creatures, not humans wielding dark magic—such as the anarchists. According to the government, they drew their power from the Underworld, just like the monsters. If they were the ones attacking, what was he, alone in a strange part of the city, supposed to do? Despite his mom’s warnings about how breaking the government-mandated curfew was a crime, he’d secretly followed her out that night. He needed to know why she so often snuck out after dark, when he was supposed to be sleeping. What was she doing that left her exhausted—and sometimes injured—the following morning?

It had to be something dangerous, or she wouldn’t get such a nervous look in her eyes every time he asked. What if she was in trouble? She was the only family he had, the person he loved most in the entire world. So that night, he’d made the split-second decision to follow her and find out what was going on.

Flynn had known it would be risky, especially since it had meant leaving the Fourth Ring, the zone designated for the Norm caste of ordinary, non-magical humans like him. If one of the patrolmen—non-magical law enforcement officers who policed the streets—caught him, they would lock him up for ages. Still, he’d never imagined he’d get mixed up in an attack with the sound of guns thundering in his ears.

The shots stopped. A cacophony of voices, muffled through his hands, filled the air. But something didn’t seem right. Flynn uncovered his ears. The voices weren’t screams. They were cheers and laughter—people shouting things like Great Day of Glory! and What a show!

Show? A realization hit him. An all-guns salute, of course! He’d never felt more stupid. The shooting hadn’t been an attack but a staged ceremony, where people shot firearms into the air—just another bit of Day of Glory revelry.

But his relief was short-lived. Even though he’d been wrong about the anarchists, he still had the patrolmen to worry about. Now that the sun had gone down, he and the other kids were supposed to stay at home and let the grown-ups have fun on the one night a year there was no curfew for them. Hopefully, the abundance of holiday activities would keep the patrolmen too busy to notice one kid.

Tonight, everyone was celebrating the anniversary of the Triumvirs’ triumph over the Lord of the Underworld, who had all but destroyed the world of humankind when he’d escaped from his dark dimension almost a century before. With his monsters, the Lord had overrun the earth, wiping out entire nations. But after years of fighting, the Triumvirs had led the Sentinels, an elite group of Enchanters who safeguarded the nation, to victory, defeating the Lord once and for all.

Flynn had spent the better part of the day at his neighborhood’s Day of Glory fair, pretending to celebrate the great nation’s greatness like everyone else. But he’d heard his mom talk about the dark side of the government too many times to believe the hype anymore.

Just because they’re in charge doesn’t mean they’re right, she’d said.

Another series of bangs rang out, but this time, Flynn recognized the sound of fireworks. The sky sparkled with bursts of color. Still annoyed at himself for having been so easily spooked, he scurried down the narrow street. At least his momentary distraction hadn’t caused him to lose sight of his mom, who he’d been close behind until then. Her slender silhouette grew smaller in the distance, and he picked up his pace.

She started to turn around. Alarmed, he slipped between two nearby dumpsters, wrinkling his nose at the foul smell of garbage. Being small for his age had its advantages. Mom would kill him if she knew he’d followed her. Getting caught by her would be better than getting caught by the patrolmen, but not by much.

He held his breath and listened to her approaching footsteps. What would he do if she found him? Come up with an excuse? Demand to know what she was doing? Start saying sorry right away?

The footsteps moved away. He exhaled—more out of a need to release the air than from relief. Mom’s footsteps continued moving, although they didn’t seem to get much closer or farther away. He realized she was pacing and wondered why.

A man’s low, resonant voice shot out of the darkness. Vivian! This way!

Who’s that? He had to be someone Mom knew, since he’d addressed her by her first name. Flynn poked his head out, hoping to catch a glimpse of the man, but all he could see was his mom walking toward the intersection.

There you are. She broke into a run and turned left, disappearing from sight.

Flynn dashed out of his hiding spot and rounded the corner after her. Maybe if he got closer, he could hear what they were saying and figure out what was going on. To his dismay, the long alley he faced was deserted. Straining his eyes, he searched the shadows and corners for his mom. Maybe she was there, and he just couldn’t see her in the darkness.

Someone set off a firework. With a pop, a red bloom of sparks lit the alley, accompanied by a boom-crackle.

Still no Mom.

Dang it! Where’d she go? Flynn sprinted forward again, wondering how Mom had vanished. No doors stood along the buildings lining the alley, so she couldn’t have ducked into a house. And he hadn’t been that far behind.

He couldn’t help wondering if she’d used some kind of abracadabra to disappear so quickly. Norms weren’t allowed to use magic, though. She wouldn’t break the law like that, would she? Even if she would, the non-magical were physically unable to cast enchantments—they could only activate existing magical devices or concoct potions. Did a magical device or a potion that could transport people even exist?

Raucous voices filled the air—men and women singing an off-key rendition of a Day of Glory carol. The sound came from an open window some distance ahead. Flynn ran toward it, thinking maybe one of the partiers might have seen his mom run by, then froze. If they turned out to be the less-than-friendly type, they might call the patrolmen on him.

The need to know where his mom had gone itched in his mind, urging him forward. What if she really was in trouble? So despite his sweating palms, he marched toward the window.

As he drew closer, he recognized the carol they were singing as being about how the Sentinels, led by the three Triumvirs, had vanquished the Lord of the Underworld. Funny, how the lyrics made the current world sound like the sunny ending to a Triumvirate fairy tale. The war had left the earth a blasted shadow of its former self, plagued by creatures of the Underworld that lingered long after the Portal to their dimension was sealed. Leave the protection of the Triumvirate’s cities, and you’d be lucky to last a week before something ate you. Stay, and you had to do whatever the Sentinels said while being treated like crap for being born non-magical, even though there were far more Norms than Enchanters.

And if you broke the Triumvirate’s rules by, say, being a kid outside his zone after curfew, they’d find horrible ways to punish you. Some happily ever after.

Flynn stopped by the open window, aiming to ask if anyone had seen a slender woman with a fair complexion and sandy hair like him. Inside, festively dressed people filled a small room. Snack foods and half-empty bottles of colorful liquids littered the tables.

Hello? He’d meant to shout, but his throat was so tight, the words came out as little more than a squeak.

No one paid him any attention. They kept laughing and singing, their words slurring and their pitches rising in discordant peaks. Their cheeriness seemed to mock his frustration, and he wondered what the Day of Glory was even celebrating. The apocalypse had come and gone, and everyone had lost. The Lord may have been destroyed, but his monsters had flooded the earth. But from the way the people in the room were acting, you’d think the world was one giant party.

Annoyed, he forgot his fear and cupped his hands by his mouth. Hey!

A voice shot toward him from behind. You!

Flynn whirled, and his heart stopped. Though the streetlamps silhouetted the man running toward him, Flynn recognized the square shoulders and brimmed hat of a patrolman’s uniform. Flashes of gold piping along the man’s pants and jacket confirmed Flynn’s fears.

Alarmed, Flynn bolted and rounded the nearest corner into a dark alley.

Stop where you are! The patrolman’s command nearly disappeared under the boom-crackle of a golden firework.

Flynn ran blindly, not caring where he was going, as long as he escaped. He was the fastest runner in his class—surely he could get away. Even if the patrolman had glimpsed him, Flynn couldn’t have been the only blond-haired, blue-eyed white kid out that night, right?

He pushed through a crowd, ignoring the indignant shouts. Was this the kind of fear his mom faced each time she snuck out? What could be important enough to risk so much danger? The punishment for adults out after curfew was even worse than for kids, since at least kids were released eventually. Many adults never returned after being arrested.

He flew down another block then glanced over his shoulder. No one was following. The patrolman must have given up. Breathing hard, he stopped and wiped the sweat from his forehead. But he was too disappointed to feel much relief in escaping. He’d never find his mom now. She might as well have vanished into thin air, and he didn’t even know where he was anymore.

Failure filled his stomach with a sinking feeling. He’d been so close. In a way, he’d let his mom down because he couldn’t help her if she was in trouble or make sure she was okay if she wasn’t.

He didn’t have time to stew about it, though—not out here, where someone might catch him. Though he didn’t want to give up, he didn’t know where to begin looking for her. The city was enormous.

The weight of disappointment sat like rocks in his chest as he looked around, trying to figure out exactly where he was. A colorful window sign advertising spell books told him he’d wandered all the way into the Second Ring, which was reserved for Enchanters. The area was lit with dim electric lamps instead of the magical lights you usually saw in the Enchanters’ territory, so he was probably in a humbler part of the sector, near its outer border.

He had to get out. Trespassing on the Enchanters’ turf was the worst thing a Norm could do, short of actual treason. The street ahead looked brighter than the rest. Hoping it was one of the Spokes—the streets that ran in a straight line from the Palace of Concord to the edge of the Capital—Flynn picked up his pace. If it was, he could follow it straight back to the Fourth Ring and at least be in his zone.

The Capital was laid out like a giant wheel, with the Palace of Concord, the Triumvirate’s seat of power, in the center and the four Rings around it. The First Ring, the innermost zone that directly surrounded the palace, was reserved for the most important citizens of the nation, the Sentinels. And the Fourth, which was at the outermost edge of the city and by far the largest, was for Norms like Flynn.

When he reached the end of the block, he saw, to his relief, that he’d been right. Tall silver lamps decorated with intricate swirls lit the wide street, and angular white lanterns floated between the high buildings, as though suspended by invisible strings. White stone glowed pale blue under the enchanted illumination—a sure sign that this was a Spoke in the Enchanters’ part of the city. The brightness was startling compared to the flickering yellow streetlights of the Fourth Ring. Everything in the Enchanters’ part of the city looked so much nicer. Not that it was a surprise since they got the best jobs, the best schools—the best lives—just for being born with magic. But beautiful as the lights were, they made Flynn nervous. Any patrolman within eyeshot would have an easy time spotting him.

A flash of bright blue caught his attention, and he gasped at the sight of the Palace of Concord. Even in the distance, its sharp silver peaks, surrounded by a high wall of white stone, appeared majestic and intimidating. Long ribbons of colorful sparks twisted around the palace’s angular structure in elaborate patterns, and the light glinted off its reflective walls. The building reminded him of a cluster of daggers with the ones in the center rising above the rest as if aiming to stab the sky. The rest of the city glittered with spurts of gold and swirls of green from the people’s fireworks, but they seemed like pale flickers compared to the dazzling explosions flaring over the Palace. Within those walls, the three Triumvirs made the decisions that affected everyone. Flynn wondered what it must be like to have so much power.

Mesmerized, he momentarily forgot his nervousness. But he didn’t have time for sightseeing. He tore his gaze away. Keeping his senses sharp for any sign of the patrolmen, he broke into a sprint.

The overpowering stench of decay suddenly filled the air, strong enough to make him gag. Ugh! Where’s that coming from?

An enormous man—too colossal to be human—emerged from behind one of the buildings onto the wide, brightly lit street.

Flynn’s blood froze, and he stopped in his tracks.

The top of the giant’s head almost reached the tenth floor of a stone structure with towers and turrets. Flynn stared, shocked, at the monstrosity before him. Not only was it humongous, but it looked… dead. Stringy black hair fell across the rotten gray flesh of its bony face, and the bluish-white light of the floating lanterns threw the jagged hole where a nose should have been into sharp relief. The creature curled its blackish, crumbling lips, revealing an uneven set of decaying teeth. The torn skin on its bloody shoulders looked like it had been peeled off, exposing the white bone underneath, and flaps of gray flesh swayed as the giant moved.

What in the world? Flynn’s heart pounded so hard, he wondered if the giant could hear it from a block ahead.

The thing—whatever it was—stopped and turned its empty white eyes toward him. Flynn’s breath stopped in his throat. It sees me.

For several seconds, neither of them moved.

The giant trundled toward him, bringing the rancid odor of rotting flesh. Flynn did the only logical thing you could do when an undead monster came at you: he bolted.

He raced down the street, fear coursing through his blood. He’d heard rumors of dark magic being used to raise the dead, and the giant looked like a rotten corpse come to life. But he’d never thought they were true.

The ground shook with the monster’s heavy footsteps. Flynn careened around a corner, hoping to throw it off course. How could such a thing even exist? Using dark magic, especially on the dead, was forbidden, even for the Triumvirate’s most important citizens. He recalled hearing of a prominent Sentinel getting exiled for experimenting with that kind of devilry.

Though he couldn’t hear the footsteps behind him any longer, he wasn’t about to give the monster a chance to catch up. Gold light from above caught his attention, and he glanced up. Five Sentinels soared across the sky in an X formation, their gilded capes trailing behind them. His lungs burned from running, and his legs were starting to feel wobbly, but he couldn’t stop. If the Sentinels were involved, the situation was even more dangerous than he’d thought.

Frightened screams pierced the air. Flynn changed direction abruptly, thinking he could cross the street and get away from the thing chasing him. But a gold-and-white patrol vehicle zoomed to a stop in the street ahead of him, forcing him to halt.

Someone grabbed his shoulder. Startled, he cried out and held up his fists. He dropped them when he realized who it was. Mom?

What are you doing here? Mom’s blue eyes betrayed fear.

I was just— He broke off and gasped in horror.

The undead giant seeped through the wall of the building behind Mom, passing through the concrete as though it were made of mist. The stench of putrid flesh filled the air. The giant turned its white eyes toward Flynn.

Mom glanced over her shoulder. Flynn, run!

Flynn turned and sprinted down the alley, doing his best not to choke on the thick stink. A burst of gold light flashed through the darkness, and the five Sentinels appeared above, flying toward the creature with their wands out. They passed over him with a whoosh, and a bit of relief trickled through him. They’ll stop the monster.

A high, piercing scream tore through the night.

He whirled. For a moment, he couldn’t understand what he was seeing. His mom lay sprawled on the concrete, faceup, her limbs bent at unnatural angles and her neck twisted to the side.

"Mom! He raced toward her, horror flooding his veins with ice. Why wasn’t she moving? Why was her face so still? What happened? He knelt by her side, grabbed her shoulders, and shook her. C’mon, Mom! Get up!"

Through the chaos in his head, he became aware of the sounds of wand blasts and flashes of red light above him. The giant’s heavy footsteps made the ground tremble, but he barely noticed. He stared into his mother’s eyes, which were as lifeless as glass.

Somewhere distant, a woman’s voice rang out. Patrolman! Get that kid out of here! It had to be one of the Sentinels, since the sound came from above, but Flynn might as well have been deaf for all the impact those words had.

The rest of the world—where he was, what was happening—didn’t matter anymore, not with his mom lying here. Her face, whose smiles had brought him comfort when nothing else could and whose scowls had taught him the difference between right and wrong, lay completely slack. Blood seeped from beneath her broken body, darkening the concrete. Flynn hugged her close, seeking a breath, a pulse, a movement, anything. Surely, his mind was playing tricks on him. Surely she would snap out of her daze if he could only get her attention.

But she was limp in his arms, and no matter how he searched, he couldn’t find any sign of life. No, no, no…

Mom! Tears streamed down his face.

A hand clenched his arm, and he looked up with a startled gasp. The first things he saw were the Sentinels flying around the undead monster, firing bright-red spells at it with their wands. But if the blasts had any effect on the giant, he couldn’t tell. Each disappeared into the decaying flesh.

Flynn’s gaze moved down to see who had grabbed him. A black-clad patrolman.

Let me go! Flynn tried to twist his way free, but the man dragged him toward the patrol vehicle parked a few yards away. He had to get back to his mom—she needed him. She couldn’t be dead. People didn’t just die like that, not when they were supposed to be safe within the Capital’s borders.

Quit it! the man shouted. I’m trying to help! You wanna get killed too?

I don’t care! Flynn cried, but his flailing did no good. "Mom! Mom!"

A small voice in the back of Flynn’s head told him he should be worried about his own survival, with the monster still just a few feet away, but he didn’t listen. He couldn’t leave his mom alone out there. He had to get to her… Had to save her…

But he was no match for the grown man dragging him away. With a shove, the patrolman threw him into the back of the vehicle. Flynn fell facedown onto the black seat, the force of the impact knocking the wind out of him. He scrambled to get up. Before he could escape, the door slammed shut.

Flynn yanked desperately at the handle, but it was locked. Through the window, he stared at his mom’s unmoving body. Her head was twisted, her eyes empty. He couldn’t deny it anymore. The monster had killed her when he’d had his back turned, and he’d done nothing to save her. How could a split second be the difference between life and death? His world collapsed all around him. Everything he knew, everything he loved, shattered at the sight of his lifeless mom.

The giant stood by her body, holding up its rotting arms to shield itself from the red blasts bursting from the Sentinels’ wands. But Flynn barely noticed the battle through his tears. His heart ached as if a pair of claws had slashed it to pieces.

I shouldn’t have run. If he hadn’t turned away, maybe he could have saved her. Was it his fault that she was dead? If he hadn’t followed her out, she wouldn’t have run into him right when the monster was attacking, and she might have found a way to escape. I’m so sorry…

Guilt burned in his heart, and a fresh wave of sorrow broke over him. He gasped for air as sobs shook his chest.

Meanwhile, glittering fireworks lit the sky. The rest of the Capital celebrated on, oblivious to the fact that Flynn’s world might as well have just ended.

Chapter 1

A Voice from the Past

Moon.psd

Six Years Later…

Hours had passed since Flynn had woken up in a cold sweat, but the remnants of his nightmare, in which he’d relived the night his mom died, lingered in his mind. No amount of time could erase the pain of that memory, especially when its anniversary fell on the Triumvirate’s biggest holiday. So far, the 93rd Day of Glory seemed determined to be the most miserable one yet, other than the 87th, of course. He’d changed a lot since he was ten. His face had developed prominent cheekbones, making him look a bit older than his sixteen years, and his sandy hair had darkened somewhat. Also, he had, thankfully, grown to a decent height. But each time Flynn relived his mom’s death, he felt like that scared little kid again—alone, helpless, and guilt-ridden over having failed the only family he’d ever known.

Sorrow enveloped him, and a shiver ran down his spine. Though he stood inside the auditorium of the Academy of Supernatural Defense, safe behind the Capital’s enchantments, the memory always brought a strange, disturbing sense of foreboding… as if that undead giant—which he now knew was called a draugr—might seep through the stone walls and kill him too.

But that was ridiculous. Even if the dark-magic-wielding anarchists attacked the Capital again, he was too insignificant for them to target—just another Norm, practically invisible.

Flynn sighed and tried to bring his mind back to reality. He was supposed to be setting up for a Day of Glory ceremony that would be taking place at the school that evening, and mulling over the past wouldn’t get the work done. He glanced down at the table he’d been standing by for the past several minutes, regarding the tall stack of paper he was supposed to fold into programs.

Hey! Did you hear me? A silvery male voice with lazy vowels called to him.

Flynn glanced up at the auditorium’s wide black stage, where his friend Brax leaned against a large broom. Bright hazel eyes twinkled against his mahogany complexion, features he attributed to a mixed heritage. Depending on his mood and who was asking, he’d vary where he said his ancestors were from. But the truth was, he had no idea who his family was—something he’d confided in Flynn years back. Though Brax was by no means a small guy, he looked tiny compared to the giant backdrop featuring an image of the Palace of Concord. The dull ceiling lights made the setup look colorless, but that would change once in the theatrical lighting for the Day of Glory ceremony.

What did you say? Flynn asked.

Brax shook his head of tightly cropped black hair. You’re having a spacey kind of day, aren’t you? I said: You’d better get moving before someone catches you sleeping on the job. Those programs won’t magically fold themselves.

Flynn found it funny that Brax was the one telling him off for slacking. Usually, it was the other way around. Why not? he asked, only half sarcastic. Why do the Powers That Be need us to do this crap when they can wave their wands and make it happen?

It’s their way of reminding us we suck. Brax swept the stage in floppy, half-hearted motions. As if we’d forget.

Flynn made a derisive noise. That’s true. He and the other Secondstringers—as the orphans under state guardianship at the Academy were called—may have been called students, but they weren’t the Academy’s real pupils. Those were the Scholars—the children of Enchanters who were studying to become Sentinels—and the Cadets—specially selected Norms training to become the Defenders who assisted the Sentinels in combating supernatural dangers. While the school offered several monster-fighting and magic-training classes, the Secondstringers were prohibited from taking any of them. So they could only take the same boring classes—like math and history—they would have at any other school. But they had it tougher at the Academy, since the Triumvirate had sent them here to be janitors and servants to the higher-class students. Still, with no living relatives on his mom’s side and no clue as to who his dad was, Flynn could have ended up a lot worse off than being claimed under government guardianship and attending the Academy on a work-study program.

Work-study? Yeah, right. Flynn shook his head. People choose to attend work-study programs. None of us had any say.

At twelve, Flynn had been sent by the state to the Academy. Here, he was told, he and the other orphans would learn to lead productive lives and train to serve their nation in whatever way the government saw fit. With nowhere else to go, accepting his place at the bottom of the school’s—and the world’s—hierarchy was the only choice Flynn and the others had. He wouldn’t have been able to find work without a government job license, which he could only get by graduating from their program, so it was obey or wind up homeless. Then get jailed for being homeless, since by law, you had to have a permanent address to reside within the Triumvirate’s cities. Or dead from trying to live outside a city, since no one lasted long against the monsters.

There were two types of people in the Triumvirate: the magical and the non-magical—Enchanters and Norms. Among the Enchanters, the Sentinels were a special, elite group who held positions of power. Among the Norms, the Defenders had higher statuses. Defenders were even allowed to use magic devices to combat the supernaturals, though they were still considered inferior to the lowest Enchanter. Sentinel, Enchanter, Defender, Norm—that was how the hierarchy went in the Triumvirate, and at the Academy, it was Scholar, Cadet, Secondstringer. As a Norm orphan, Flynn was the lowest of the low, and the Academy reminded him of that every day.

A sudden snap reverberated through the auditorium, startling Flynn. On the stage, Brax waved his broom in the air. Helloooo! Flyyyynn! You zone out on me again?

Sorry, Flynn said. Was just thinking about how messed up everything is. Why does the Triumvirate make us attend this academy if we aren’t allowed to take the classes that make it a school for supernatural defense? Why not send us to a regular school in the Fourth Ring?

Brax tilted his head with a dry smile. To remind us that we suck.

Flynn let out a cynical laugh. The Academy seemed to have come up with an unlimited number of ways to remind the Secondstringers that they didn’t belong to the same caste as the Scholars or even the Cadets. Flynn found it infuriating. It wasn’t his fault he’d been born without magic, so why should he be treated like garbage for it? And the lengths to which the Academy would go in order to segregate the student body were downright absurd—like forbidding the Secondstringers from reading the books in the Scholars’ library and like ordering Flynn to fold programs when an Enchanter’s spell could get the tedious task done in a fraction of the time. At least that beat cleaning up after messy monster-fighting demonstrations. And anything beat tidying the Scholars’ dorm rooms, since the Scholars seemed to think it was okay to order Secondstringers around like slaves. Which we kind of are.

Flynn glanced around at the auditorium, gauging exactly how much work there was left to do. Not much, by the looks of it. Over the past few weeks, the seats had been reupholstered with gleaming gold cloth, the granite walls scrubbed clean, and the electric lights replaced with brighter bulbs—all in hopes of creating the perfect theater for when the Gold Triumvir would honor the school with his presence that evening. The high ceiling looked empty since the old chandelier had been scrapped, but the magical lanterns taking its place would more than compensate for its absence.

All that was left were the finishing touches, like folding the programs and giving the place one last sweep.

From the stage, Brax glanced down at Flynn and knitted his thick brows. Okay, something’s eating you. What is it?

Flynn shrugged. Just the Day of Glory.

Ah. Brax’s expression turned sympathetic, but he looked away. No doubt, he was hoping Flynn would stop right there instead of speculating about Vivian Nightsider’s death again.

Don’t worry, buddy, Flynn thought dryly. I don’t want to hear myself go on about it either.

His tragedy didn’t make him special. Not here. Almost all his peers had lost their families to creatures of the Underworld, either because the monsters had breached the Triumvirate’s safeguards or because they’d been foolish enough to venture outside the perimeters. Though Brax had been nice enough to listen when Flynn had talked about it in the past, even he didn’t really understand why Flynn needed to know what his mom had been doing that night.

The official story was that a group of anarchists, using the powers of the Underworld, had unleashed the draugr within the Capital’s protective perimeter. The monster was supposed to attack the Palace of Concord, and if the tale had ended differently, Flynn might have found himself rooting for the one group with the guts to stand up to a government that strangled freedom. But they’d lost control of their undead creation, and Vivian Nightsider had been in the wrong place at the wrong time. She’d hardly been their first victim. From what Flynn had heard, they used violence and dark magic to attack at random, leaving a trail of dead citizens—innocent bystanders like his mom—in their wake. Seemed like the only things worse than the Triumvirate were those who fought it.

Flynn ran his finger along the crease of the program he was folding, wondering what would happen if he didn’t finish in time for the ceremony—something really bad, maybe even expulsion bad, since Gold Triumvir Salvator himself would be making an appearance. Every year, Salvator, the most powerful of the nation’s three rulers, picked a place of the people to use as the backdrop for his Day of Glory speech, and this year, it was the Academy’s turn to host. The previous day, a special courier had dropped off the Eye Stone, the magical device with which Salvator would broadcast his speech. Eye Stones were among the most closely guarded objects in the nation, since each one was connected to thousands of Procul Mirrors that displayed what it saw. That meant anyone who got his hands on one could send a message to the entire nation, and the Triumvirate, which so closely controlled communications, couldn’t allow that. This one’s presence put the entire faculty on edge, since they would be blamed if anything happened to it. So they’d have no patience—or mercy—for a Secondstringer who didn’t do his duty.

As much as Flynn disliked the Academy, he had no desire to end up on the street, especially not for something as stupid as failing to fold paper fast enough. So he picked up his pace and added a program to the slowly growing pile.

A brassy voice shot through the door. Flynn! Mrs. Miller, the Secondstringers’ short, full-figured supervisor, bustled through the auditorium’s arched doorway. Her grayish-brown hair looked ready to fall out of its loose bun. The Gold Triumvir’s staff will arrive in less than an hour. I thought you’d be finished with the programs by now!

If you wanted them folded so badly, maybe you shouldn’t have made me spend all morning polishing lanterns. Flynn resisted the urge to speak the words out loud, not wanting to earn himself any extra shifts.

Mrs. Miller turned her attention to Brax. And this stage is a disgrace!

Brax slowed his sweeping to a barely moving scrape. So get some Enchanter to cast a spell, and make it all pretty.

Mrs. Miller put her hands on her wide hips. Magic is not meant for menial, everyday labors! It is a craft meant to be practiced for the defense—

—and peacekeeping of humanity against the dark forces of the Underworld. Flynn finished Mrs. Miller’s often-repeated line. That’s a bunch of bull. Scholars used magic for frivolous crap all the time. Flynn knew for a fact that the Gold Triumvir’s son used it to color his hair. He gave Mrs. Miller a fake smile. We get it.

I don’t think you do! Do you understand what an honor— She broke off as the electric lights on the auditorium’s high ceiling flickered.

Flynn glanced up. Weird… The bulbs shouldn’t have been faltering. They were brand new.

The lights went out completely, leaving him in total blackness. He looked around, but his eyes might as well have been closed for all he saw. Great. Another one of the Academy’s pet supernaturals got loose. It would hardly be the first time one of the school’s captured monsters or summoned spirits escaped and disrupted the electricity. A few years ago, such an incident might have scared him. Keeping the creatures on Academy grounds didn’t make them less lethal than the ones in the wild. But after four years at the Academy and a lifetime hearing about supernatural attacks, he’d grown somewhat numb to the danger. Part of him knew that someday, he’d join the thousands who died from such incidents each year. Just like his mom. Just like the parents of nearly all the Secondstringers.

For heaven’s sake! Mrs. Miller sounded exasperated. Professor Williams must’ve summoned another specter for that class of his. I told him not to— She stopped abruptly as a piercing alarm—the kind reserved for monster attacks—filled the auditorium. The mechanical shriek tore through the air with a rhythmic pulse.

Flynn cringed. A blast of icy wind blew past him, accompanied by an eerie whisper that seemed to say, "Quickly! Quickly!"

Definitely a specter—a malevolent spirit of the dead—judging by the ghostly voice and the lack of electricity. Probably Class C, since the instructors rarely summoned anything more serious than that for practice. Class C specters were the least powerful of their kind— but still dangerous. Deadly. And they delighted in tormenting the living.

Flynn shuddered. Though specters weren’t rare, he’d never directly crossed paths with one. He imagined Brax was shrugging at the situation and tried to match that offhand attitude in his own mind. The teachers would recapture or banish the specter soon enough, as they always did.

A bolt of fear shot through his chest as he realized something: It’s the Day of Glory. There are no classes today.

That meant it wasn’t an escaped classroom specter that had flown past him. It was one that had breached the Capital’s perimeter.

A flickering yellow light appeared from the direction of the doors, and footsteps pounded through the hallway outside. Flynn’s nervousness grew as a dozen patrolmen holding flaming torches rushed into the auditorium. Something was definitely up. But patrolmen had no magical abilities and would be useless against a specter. Why had they come? Defenders should have been called.

One of the patrolmen grasped Flynn’s collar, holding him so tightly he felt like he was being strangled. Up against the wall, kid!

Let me go! Flynn grabbed the patrolman’s wrist and yanked it, freeing himself.

The patrolman pulled a gun from his belt holster. You gonna cause trouble?

Flynn widened his eyes and held up his hands. No, sir. Sorry.

The patrolman grabbed Flynn’s collar again and dragged him toward the wall. Flynn resisted the urge to fight back. The patrolman could very well shoot him for nothing, and no one would give a damn. The law always sided with the authorities, and Flynn was nobody in the eyes of the government. No justice for nobodies.

The man let go of Flynn’s collar, shoved him forward, and sent him flying into the wall. Flynn turned around and clenched his fists, wishing he could sock the jerk. That kind of treatment at the hands of Triumvirate law enforcement was typical, but he never got used to it. He wanted to shout that it wasn’t okay to push someone around just because you wore a government uniform, but he gritted his teeth to keep from speaking. He’d seen people get arrested for words like those.

The patrolmen spread out through the auditorium. The yellow flames of their torches danced, their illumination barely breaking the shadows. Glancing around, Flynn noticed Brax standing against the backdrop on the stage with an edgy look in his eyes. But there was no visible sign of a specter. While this was technically a good thing, since it meant the spirit wasn’t strong enough to materialize yet, Flynn still wished he could see something that would tell him where it was.

The specter’s eerie voice floated through the air again, repeating the word, "Quickly!"

A sudden flash of gold light filled the auditorium. Three Sentinels, two women and a man, appeared on the stage, their gilded capes glowing. The man flew toward the control room at the back of the auditorium, while the two women rushed into the stage’s wings.

Flynn’s heartbeat quickened. Sentinels only got involved with major supernatural threats—like the draugr attack on the Capital six years ago. His mind flashed back to those horrible moments—the undead giant seeping through the wall… his mom’s scream… her twisted head…

Flynn inhaled sharply and tried to pull his mind out of the past. Somewhere nearby, a specter lurked—an especially dangerous one that required three Sentinels to banish. Its haunting presence surrounded him even though he had no idea where it was. The Sentinels didn’t seem to either because they scattered through the auditorium, holding their glowing wands out in front of them.

Everyone abort! A low,