The Academy

  The Central Series

  The Academy

  The Anathema

  The Far Shores

  The Outer Dark

  The Church of Sleep

  Other Books by the Same Author

  Unknown Kadath Estates: Paranoid Magical Thinking

  Copyright © 2011 by Zachary Rawlins

  Cover photograph copyright © 2009 Claudio Arnese

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Published by ROUS Industries.

  Oakland, California

  spook_nine@yahoo.com

  978-0-9837501-0-9

  Cover design by Dahlia & Poppy Design

  First Edition

  For Chloe,

  for everything.

  Table of Contents

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty One

  Twenty Two

  Twenty Three

  Twenty Four

  Twenty Five

  Twenty Six

  Twenty Seven

  Twenty Eight

  Twenty Nine

  Thirty

  Thirty One

  One

  The yellow moon hung above the city, fat and sick, but the wolves took no notice, at least not that Mitsuru could see. Squinting through binoculars from the rooftop across the empty street she frowned, her hand absently seeking the bag at her feet as if to reassure her that it was still there, within reach. The restricted field of view and the necessity of refocusing were unfamiliar and frustrating, but she was reluctant t o try and use a surveillance protocol. It was the day before the full moon, and the Weir would be extraordinarily sensitive to such things.

  Mitsuru shifted slightly, trying to take the pressure off her sore left knee, which had been bothering her ever since she scaled the building. Through the lenses, she could see the pack at the edge of the deserted park; a half-dozen grey shapes, tongues lolling out, sitting patiently. Mitsuru was disturbed by this behavior.

  When the moon was full, Weir hunted. They were as much slaves to the lunar cycles as the tides. Four days of the month, Weir were trapped in their bestial form, almost berserk with bloodlust. Weir were always dangerous, and became even more so during a full moon. But, they were also terribly predictable.

  They hunted in packs, roaming the land at night, tearing apart anyone foolish or unlucky enough to cross their path, in constant, lethal motion. Like all wolves, they would deliberately seek out the weakest possible prey; the old, the infirm, and the very young. Even at the height of their powers, even under the sway of the dictatorial moon, they would avoid anyone who looked like they could put up a fight, unless starvation or necessity dictated otherwise.

  What they did not do, to the best of Mitsuru’s knowledge, was lay in wait. Particularly during the monthly spells, the Weir would roam about in their long, loping stride, endlessly hunting. These particular Weir had watched five pedestrians walk past the entrance of the park in the last two hours, none of them posing even a vague threat to the pack, but they had made no move to pursue or attack. They sat patiently under the trees or nestled in the brush, barely visible even to Mitsuru. They did not stalk, or fight amongst each other, or even move to relieve themselves. They sat as patient as guard dogs, eyes reflecting the yellow of the moon back into the night, muzzles laying on forepaws.

  Weir were capable of many things, but planning an ambush was not among them.

  Mitsuru considered consulting Central; for advice, or backup, or both. She would sorely need it, if she decided to intervene. There was no way for her to deal with the six Weir she had seen so far, and there was no guarantee that there weren’t more, hidden in reserve. This wasn’t normally a consideration with Weir, but everything about the night seemed off.

  She decided to wait and watch – she was too close to the Weir to open an Etheric connection without them noticing, and she would have to retreat some distance to do it and escape detection.

  Even without the benefit of the Analytical pool, Mitsuru was certain that the Weir were being run by an outside party. Someone with the kind of power to coerce or intimidate a pack of Weir into working for them, no easy thing. And it could only be a hit – Weir weren’t good for anything much more complicated than killing. But they were, she knew, very good at that. Mitsuru wondered, not for the first time, whether there was a Witch in the vicinity, and worried.

  Mitsuru shifted her cramped leg, leaning her waist against the concrete barrier that skirted the edge of the rooftop. The jacket and Capri pants she’d worn had seemed heavy enough when she left Central, as the night was mild, but standing motionless on the rooftop for so long had chilled her, and the cool wind was beginning to worm its way inside her clothes. As a concession to the weather, she tugged the jacket hood up over her ponytail to sit awkwardly across the top of her head. While she was trying to adjust the too-short hood to accommodate her long, black hair, she saw the boy.

  There was nothing remarkable about him – teenaged, slim and rangy, dark brown hair that needed trimming. He was dressed in a scruffy hooded sweatshirt and blue jeans. Even from a distance, Mitsuru could tell that his mind was elsewhere – his eyes on his feet, his pace slow and aimless, headphones over his ears. No different from half the pedestrians that had passed the park that evening.

  No different, except to the Weir.

  Panning her binoculars, Mitsuru saw the pack stretching, yawning, and grimacing, fanning out across the brush on the eastern side of the park, near the entrance where the boy stood, oblivious. Unaware of how many eyes were on him at that moment, and how hungry some of them were.

  Mitsuru was not an analyst. But she knew that all of her options had just been exhausted – there was no way for her to remain concealed, unless she wanted to watch the boy be torn to pieces. Anyone important enough to merit corralling a pack of Weir was too important for her to let die. But, without support from Central, there wasn’t much Mitsuru could do to prevent it.

  There was nothing for it. Mitsuru sat down, leaning her aching back against the barrier, and then let her eyes roll back in her head. Under the best circumstances, Mitsuru estimated that she could handle two Weir under moonlight in close combat, certainly no more than three. And these were hardly the best circumstances. If there was no help from Central, then intervening would almost certainly be fruitless.

  Part of her mind registered the howling of the Weir, but there was no time to worry about it as she forced her way through the blue-grey currents of the Ether, following the red thread she’d left spooled behind her as a guide, back toward the pulsating core in the depths of the fog, the brilliant and distant lights of Central. The Ether was frigid, and Mitsuru felt her body reflexively shudder, the pain of the cold knifing its way through her brain, a calculated agony. She pushed along with the current, upwards, toward the light, along the red string, the subtle and oppressive weight of the Ether pulling against her. For a moment her world was nothing but the rushing grey currents. And then
, at the edge of her consciousness, a light touch. Contact.

  Central…

  Echoes, across a grey vastness that encompassed her being, that her being encompassed.

  Mitzi?

  The response was delayed only slightly. The voice was small, as if it came from high above her, but still perfectly clear through the roaring in her ears. It was Alistair, her mentor, and the originator of her ridiculous nickname. It was probably an American thing.

  Central, prepare for upload…

  Mitsuru sent the tendrils of her thoughts toward Central, following the red string upwards to the light, mooring, attaching her to the glow. The roaring of the Ether subsided a bit, then, within the halo of Central’s influence, the muted currents passing through her being effortlessly.

  Ready when you are, Mitzi.

  His reply was prompt, but it held the hint of a question. Normally, field reports were delivered after that fact – it took more effort for an Operator to upload directly from the field. But, Mitsuru had no time for explanations, so she simply composed her mind, reviewing the events of the last few moments until she had what she hoped was a clear narrative, and then reached for the tendril of light that had extended down out of the halo of Central, allowing it to touch her mind.

  The union was invasive, a momentary sense of the alien, and a passing shudder of revulsion. The pain was sharp and sudden, and over so quickly that she had no time to scream. Somewhere far beneath her, on a windy rooftop, her body convulsed in sympathy, in memory of pain that she had already forgotten.

  Alistair was a powerful telepath and a remarkable handler; there was virtually no lag while he processed the data through Central, queried various databases, and then hit the analytical pool up for the local probability lines. His response came down, cool and authoritative, only moments after she had completed the upload, speaking formally for the record.

  Operator Aoki, you are cleared to engage at your discretion. We have backup en route to your position, estimated time of arrival is between three and five minutes, should you choose to intervene.

  Mitsuru was surprised. There was no way that Central would attempt to open a route through the Ether, not to suppress a single pack of Weir. Operators who could perform apport protocols were in short supply, and they always seemed to be needed elsewhere. That meant that there was an Operator somewhere nearby, close enough to intervene. The chances of it happening by coincidence were miniscule.

  Clarify, Central. I need a situational analysis.

  Another brief silence on the line, while Alistair consulted the Analytical pool.

  Operator Aoki, according to our projections, if you hold the Weir back from their target for a minimum of three minutes, the chances of a successful intervention are well within operational tolerances. If you do not feel you can meet or exceed this standard, then we suggest limiting your involvement to observation.

  Mitsuru paused for a moment, taking stock of her remaining strength. She was uncertain whether she could hold off the Weir even that long, but there was a sense of urgency in Alistair’s thoughts that made her think this was something big.

  Whatever was going on here, she decided, it was important. Important enough, in the eyes of Central, to merit the risk. Important enough to the Weir that they acted in this highly abnormal manner. And whatever else was true, Mitsuru decided, she needed an important success if she was going to continue to work in the field. For her own sake, and for the sake of her mentor.

  I will engage, Central. But it’s unlikely that I can hold out for three minutes.

  His promise was immediate and reassuring, because it was Alistair.

  I’ll do what I can to expedite, Mitzi. Do you require any protocol downloads?

  Mitsuru was surprised again. Clearly, she thought, there was more going on here than she’d realized, if Central had authorized unlimited protocol downloads for a field operation.

  Negative, Control. Engaging.

  She was already falling back down, away from the halo, through the grey currents, following the red string back to her body, back to the rooftop, to the boy and the wolves.

  Good luck, Mitzi…

  Mitsuru heard the concern in Alistair’s voice, before it was obliterated by the rush of sensations as she was jolted back into her body, the sheer nausea and tactile euphoria of a physical body.

  Two

  Alex walked with his head down, his eyes on his feet, not thinking too hard about where he was going, as long as it was away from school. His headphones were deafeningly loud, and it gave the world a surreal and almost cinematic feel, somehow. He took a certain satisfaction in that. The streetlights bled yellow light, yellow like the moon, and Alex threaded a path between them, trying to stay in the puddles of dark in between the sulfur light.

  He kept walking, simply because he had nothing else to do. One more absence from afternoon class wouldn’t make a whole lot of difference – as a matter of fact, his chances of joining the rest of his class as a senior next year were kind of up in the air, due almost entirely to lack of effort on his part. Not because of his grades, of course; he’d been careful to always be an average student, no matter the subject. But his attendance had slipped from ‘barely acceptable’ last year to ‘frequently absent without reason’ this year, and he’d been placed on academic probation for it. At the very least, that meant summer school. And Alex did not want any more school than he had already.

  It wasn’t so much the classes that he wanted to avoid, he thought, glancing at the windows of a used clothing shop he passed, oddly fixated on the way they caught and reflected the jaundiced light. Mostly, he wanted to avoid the people.

  For as long as he could remember, Alex had wanted to go someplace where no one knew him; no one knew about his parents, no one knew the whole ugly story. After his grandmother had died last year, he’d almost done it, too. He’d even bought bus tickets to Los Angeles, and spent several evenings trying to figure out how to fit his meager possessions into a single duffel bag. It had been comforting, puzzling through what he would need and what he could do without, a little bit like freedom. But he’d known, even at the time that he wouldn’t go through with it.

  It was alright, Alex decided, kicking the crushed remains of an aluminum can into the gutter, to admit it – he was afraid to leave. This town – a wretched little suburb in the orbit of Bakersfield – was the only place he’d ever been, unless you counted the places where he’d been locked up. The idea of going somewhere new, where no one knew him, was something that Alex played with on the bad days, a comforting fantasy. The reality of it terrified him. Outside of being alone all the time, Alex figured, his life right now was pretty comfortable. And he’d spent the better part of the last eight years alone, which was nearly long enough for him to convince himself that he didn’t mind it.

  He was surprised to find himself at the entrance to the park. Alex figured that his body had brought him here, the park where he often slept when ditching school, on some form of auto-pilot. He’d found it while wandering around the area, cutting class one day, in an anonymous neighborhood at the end of a cul-de-sac. He didn’t even know what the park’s name was, if it even had a name. It wasn’t the worst destination he could have picked, actually, as the park was deserted and he wanted to sit down somewhere. He turned off the music, but left his ear buds in, as he headed through the park gates.

  He trudged along the muddy sidewalk bordering the lake, careful to keep his grey sneakers dry, not entirely sure why he bothered. He reached the play structure and sat down, leaned his back up against it, closed his eyes and tried not to think about anything. The important thing, he knew, was not to think about what he was going to do next, once he graduated, once school was over with.

  Because then he would panic. After all, he didn’t have a clue.

  The lake smelled awful; a marshy, rotten-egg stink that was probably the reason Alex had the park to himself. It didn’t bother him that much. He had low expectations in general, and life h
ad been obliging in meeting those expectations. The important thing was that the park was empty, not the smell of the bird shit saturated water. Alex tried not to wonder. Tried to not think. It was a skill, one that he had honed through years of confinement and observation, when he couldn’t sleep anymore, and he’d gotten good at it. Normally it was easy for him to empty his head, but tonight it didn’t seem to be working. The more he tried to quiet his mind, the more it tried to wander.

  Alex looked out at the foul water, the few stars peaking reluctantly through the smog, the cluster of bare branches and tangled briar that edged the park, and felt sorry for himself. He spent much of his time here sleeping and feeling sorry for himself, but he wasn’t tired enough to sleep right now.

  It wasn’t a sound that startled him. It couldn’t have been, because they made no noise. But something snapped Alex out of his reverie, made him open his eyes, and then made him take a second, harder look, after the first revealed nothing.

  At the edge of the park, something was moving out of the brush; actually, Alex realized that it was a number of something’s. Large and long-limbed, too big for dogs, but moving on all fours. Silent grey shapes moving out of the scrub and across the mud and dead grass, their eyes shining in the long shadows of dusk, reflecting the yellow moon.

  He was surprised to feel no fear whatsoever, only a vague sense of ridiculousness. So this is it, world, he thought madly. Mauled by… are they wolves? Wolves in a city park, in the early evening, wearing grey sneakers that he’d bought online and still wasn’t totally sure that he liked. He could imagine the gossip the next day. Oh, Alex Warner, you know, that fucked-up kid, did you hear? Eaten by fucking wolves.

  He could not tear his gaze away from the lead grey form, with its terrible burning yellow eyes, as it moved toward him with what seemed like deliberate slowness. It crossed the distance between them with a graceful, compact stride, pink tongue lolling out of the side of its mouth, across a row of sharp white teeth.