Courts and Cabals by G.S. D'Moore (classic novels to read txt) 📗

none of our students,” the school’s dean replied proudly from where she stood watching the process.

“Yes, ma’am. It seems not,” Vernon replied with a sad smile. “Since it was not a student, I now need to interview all teachers and staff with any magical ability. Inspect the site of the incident, and tour the campus. I’m afraid I’ll have to impose on you for at least another twenty-four hours.”

The dean’s triumphant expression soured, but it looked like she swallowed her retort. “We’re at your division’s service,” she said through gritted teeth.

Wood didn’t look any happier. “I guess you’ll need a hotel room for the night.”

No one liked more work to do on a Friday night.

***

Friday night lights, and the instinctual thrill of American football infected even the supernatural students of St. Vincent’s. Since I didn’t want to be anywhere without dozens of witnesses, I ran for the football stadium. Jerome met me there. Makaylah wasn’t into to brutish man-sports, and Brad was called away for something; so, I was left with just my best friend to tell my tale.

“I call bullshit,” Jerome scoffed when I finished explaining how I’d left a succubus in sex-shock on the floor of a janitor’s closet with nothing but my spunk.

“I’m fucking serious,” I held up the beaker as proof. “She tried to bottle it up and do gods know what with it.”

“That’s nasty, dude,” Jerome backed up as much as he could. “Did you just jerk off in the chemistry lab in order to get me to buy this?”

I would have been embarrassed by the statement if anyone heard it. Instead, the stands erupted in cheers as our running back ran for fifty yards and a touchdown. Sports had specific rules about supernaturals competing; mostly, you could only have a certain number of a certain classification as approved by the High School Sports Association, the NCAA, or whatever major league you were watching. I hadn’t paid much attention to the rules because I had no place trying to play a contact sport with someone the size of Sam Little, or shifters like him. I’d take bets for or against them, but no way I’d step up to the line of scrimmage.

“No, I didn’t jerk off into this!” frustration was written all over my face, but Jerome didn’t care. My best friend was full of good intentions, but I was human and Lilith was a succubus, so there was no way in hell what I claimed had actually happened.

“Fuck it,” I threw my hands in the air. I had shit to do, and I could kill two birds with one stone. I needed to stay away from Lilith and make things right with Aveena. I could accomplish both of those by escaping into town until curfew.

Vincent’s Hollow was the textbook definition of a one-horse town. There were maybe six hundred people living there, and two thirds were employed by the school. The rest were families and those that provided the essential services of the town. Getting down from the school to the Hollow – as everyone called it – was easy. It was an urban myth that there were motion sensors and cameras covering the entire perimeter of the fence. The entrances and exits were covered, but most of the wall wasn’t.

Despite the darkness, I made my way to the wall by memory, and found the heavy carpet I kept under a bush near the base of the ornamental fortification. The wrought-iron might just be for show, but that shit was sharp. I threw the carpet over, climbed up and over in a practiced motion, and grabbed the carpet before it could slip. I stowed it under another bush on the Hollow’s side of the fence. From there, it was a hundred-meter walk to the outskirts of town.

Outskirts meant two blocks worth of houses not sitting directly on Main Street. A minute later, and I was on Main Street itself. I wasn’t wearing the school’s uniform, so I blended with the other kids out and about on a Friday night. Being in bum-fuck nowhere, there wasn’t much to do. There were two pizza shops and a drive-in movie theater running movies six months behind the blockbuster releases. That was where the good kids hung out. The more rebellious ones threw parties in the woods, went cow-tipping – yeah, that’s actually a thing – or went to Make Out Peak. Half the kids in town had been conceived at the scenic spot with commanding views of the valley. The view at sunset was a literal panty-dropper.

I knew all this because I’d grown up here. I knew who to call to find out where the parties in the woods would be. Hell, I brought beer to most of them for the right price. I knew who had their hands on the latest bootlegged copy of whatever movie was all the rage at the time. I didn’t need to ask where the local dealer was, because Jerome handled that on the weekend; but most importantly, I knew how to find Creepy Kevin.

Creepy Kevin was the guy who sold elicit magical items out the back of his Astro van. I’d known him long enough I could call him Creepy Kevin to his face, but most other people didn’t. Tonight, he just happened to be parked in a field just outside town. Not on the edge of the field, right in the middle of it. I was surprised no one had called the cops yet.

I banged on the rusted metal to demand entrance. “Come on, Kev. Open up,” I yelled when there was no answer.

“Cam!” the door was flung open, and I came face to face with a guy who looked like Hollywood would cast him to play the grim reaper; pale, thin, and super creepy. Thus, the nickname.

My eyes scanned the darkness for threats as I hopped in and