Newcomer (Elmwick Academy Book 1) Read online

  NEWCOMER

  ELMWICK ACADEMY

  Book 1

  While every precaution has been taken in the preparation of this book, the publisher assumes no responsibility for errors or omissions, or for damages resulting from the use of the information contained herein.

  NEWCOMER

  First edition. September 19, 2020.

  Copyright © 2020 Emilia Zeeland.

  Written by Emilia Zeeland.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Chapter 1. Cami

  Chaper 2. Mason

  Chapter 3. Cami

  Chapter 4. Mason

  Chapter 5. Cami

  Chapter 6. Mason

  Chapter 7. Cami

  Chapter 8. Mason

  Chapter 9. Cami

  Chapter 10. Mason

  Chapter 11. Cami

  Chapter 12. Mason

  Chapter 13. Cami

  Chapter 14. Mason

  Chapter 15. Cami

  Chapter 16. Mason

  Chapter 17. Cami

  Chapter 18. Mason

  Chapter 19. Cami

  Chapter 20. Mason

  Chapter 21. Cami

  Chapter 22. Mason

  Chapter 23. Cami

  Chapter 24. Mason

  Chapter 25. Cami

  Chapter 26. Mason

  Chapter 27. Cami

  Chapter 28. Mason

  Chapter 29. Cami

  Chapter 30. Mason

  Chapter 31. Cami

  Chapter 32. Mason

  Chapter 33. Cami

  Chapter 34. Mason

  Chapter 35. Cami

  Chapter 36. Mason

  Chapter 37. Cami

  Chapter 38. Mason

  Chapter 39. Cami

  About the Author

  Chapter 1. Cami

  Elmwick is a town like any other.

  To the untrained human eye, it’s unimpressive and dull. For a legacy like me, it’s the safest hideout. A place to live peacefully, tucked under the haze, instead of on the run. That is, if I can forget why my family left ten years ago.

  Technically, Elmwick is my home.

  The sign we blow past reads, “Population 2463”. Make that 2465 now.

  I turn back in my seat, the seatbelt pressing on me. I don’t spot any trace of the haze at the town’s border. Impressive.

  Dad’s hands tighten in his two-and-ten grip on the wheel. “Are you all right, Cami?”

  I give him a forced smile. He has been handling my legacy gracefully for a human, even now that I’ve started manifesting in the weeks before my seventeenth birthday.

  Through the window, I focus on the heaps of snow gathered by the side of the road.

  I can already hear them. Voices mutter over each other in a low hum, like a melody.

  “You can talk, you know, even though we’re here,” Dad says. “Your mother used to.”

  “I know.” My voice is but a whisper.

  In five minutes, we reach Town Square, marked by a small church, an unimposing statue, and a few shops. My eyes are drawn to the statue—a man and a woman, carved from a bronze-tinged dingy old metal. A wolf stalks by the man; a lion by the woman. And a snake slithers at their feet. A half-dome cradles the five of them from the wind. Or at least that’s how the humans might interpret the detail representing the charmers’ haze.

  I focus on the candle in the woman’s hands and smile at the token of the rarest legacy. Mine.

  We drive by on our way to the north end of the city, at the foot of the forest. The streets are empty and covered in deep snow.

  After ten years in the city that never sleeps, this town—stranded in the mid-west, separated from civilization by miles of forest in every direction—couldn’t feel more foreign. No crowd to get lost in. No dizzying lights and maddening rush to distract people from focusing on me for too long. No glancing over my shoulder out of fear that a hunter might have picked up my trail.

  We slow down on a familiar street. Even though it’s been a decade, I remember the houses well. All have a similar two-story structure with a garage on the side and a lawn covered in snow up front. That’s where the similarities end, though.

  The first two we pass are the lions’ and wolves’ houses, left and right. Their houses seem the most normal. Christmas decorations hang on the front doors, and lights in all colors frame the windows.

  Next are the other two extremes—vipers and charmers. Glossy black paint gives the vipers’ house an ominous vibe. Somehow, even the snow covering it seems tinted—darker under the shadow of an ancient walnut.

  Across the street, sparkling snow covers the charmers’ ginger brown house like icing. The swing seat on the porch looks cozy with a pile of chunky knit blankets on it. I stare at it for what feels like an eternity before I realize we’re stopping.

  Dad has pulled up in front of our old house. White sheets cover the windows, though they’ve turned a smeared gray with dust. The house’s eggshell paint has peeled off in patches, revealing the ash wood beneath.

  We never once rented out this property during the ten years we’ve been away. None of the other families would let humans move in. This quarter is for legacies only. The nearby streets are all vipers, charmers, wolves and lions, with the occasional mixed marriage between a legacy and a human.

  Some cold ones still live here, though not as many. Dad told me most of them fled to a derelict castle out in the woods after the War of Powers.

  Entire families of legacies live here, but there’s no one quite like me.

  I squeeze my eyes shut for a second. The voices are intelligible now—fighting, joking around, murmuring to themselves when they think no one could be listening. A swish of icy air snaps me out of it.

  Dad has opened the trunk. “Care to give your old man a hand?”

  I put on my mittens and get out of the car. A deep breath releases into a cloud in front of me.

  “I hear them already,” I say sullenly.

  “It’s normal.” Dad sounds nonchalant. “And you’ll only be growing into your powers more.”

  We go back and forth, bringing boxes to the front porch. My nose starts running in this cold. I shudder, imagining how freezing it would be inside.

  When Dad gets the door open, I realize I’ve been wrong, though. The air inside feels warm. I must be more sentimental than I realize, but I feel at home. I lift the white sheet covering the couch, desperate to make the space look as cozy as it suddenly feels to me.

  A piece of our old home comes alive with every dusty sheet I remove. I don’t stop until all the furniture—from the two couches and coffee table, to the pouffes and vases—is free from its cover.

  The only sheet still hanging hides the old portrait over the fireplace.

  I steel my spine and approach it. Gently, I undo the tape at the painting’s corners with fingers turned stiff and white from the cold. When the dusty sheet falls, Mom’s circle of six looks at me from the canvas.

  She’s front and center, sitting on a plush couch between two girls. The sight of her—pale skin, bushy honey-blonde hair and knowing, mysterious eyes puts a spear through my heart. I’ll never get used to seeing her like this—a mere remnant of the vibrant woman she was.

  So, I focus on her circle.

  On Mom’s right is a regal beauty, her blood-red lips painted perfectly and pearls gracing her thin, bone-white neck. The deadly cold one is Allegra Gianni.

  On Mom’s other side is another enigmatic woman with high cheekbones and perfect eyebrows—Amynta Hawk, the lioness. Luscious, glossy black hair falls straight on the sides of her tawny face. Her dark brown, hooded eyes seem to follow me.


  Standing behind the three ladies are the gentlemen of the circle, dressed in old-fashioned suits, a size up from what they should be wearing according to current trends.

  The wolf, Bleiz Valtyk, has messy sandy hair, a grin that gives away his nature completely, and striking icy-blue eyes. The charmer, Eddie Rendall, is the bulkiest of them—broad shouldered and tall. Even though the artist has captured the glow of his deep bronze complexion, Eddie’s beetle-black eyes carry a sadness. Was this painted before or after the hunters caught his wife?

  I press my lips together, my eyes moving to the last one of the circle—the viper. Sal Rivera, his black hair pulled back into a bun, looks a year or two younger than the rest. While his clothing matches the others’, there’s no hiding his specific style. With the top buttons of his shirt undone, a thick golden chain glimmers against his olive skin, and multiple rings cluster on his fingers.

  Mom is glowing with the lot of them surrounding her, her freckled face turned peachy at the cheeks. I doubt that will be me with their children at school tomorrow.

  Forcing myself to go back outside, I reach for the boxes on the porch. I wish I could feel the crisp quiet of winter, but I’m jolted by a bang instead. At least it sounds like a bang to me. To a normal ear, it’s just the dull thump of bouncing a ball.

  My eyes dart in the sound's direction. A house as big as three of the others blocks our street into a one-way. The make-do basketball court in front of it has been shoveled from the snow. A girl about my age and her older brother are playing a fast-paced game. The sound of the ball slamming into the wet ground and their shoes scraping against the pavement makes me want to scream.

  And if I do, my hopes of a quiet, inconspicuous return to town would be squashed.

  “Those must be the hunter kids,” Dad says from behind me.

  I try not to cringe when the ball goes in the hoop, ringing in my ears. “I don’t remember them.”

  “Their parents had taken them out of town for a few years, through the worst of it. They didn’t want them to remember the War of Powers.”

  My hands reach for another box, but my gaze remains fixed on the basketball court. “And you’re sure they don’t know that the legacies exist?”

  “Their parents didn’t want them to, now that there’s peace.” Dad takes the box from my hands with a placid smile. His endless patience baffles me more than all the supernatural talents of the legacies combined. “In fact, that was the first of Fowler’s terms of peace. The legacies had to swear never to reveal themselves to his kids.”

  A bird takes flight into the twilight sky, sprinkling snow from the nearby tree branch.

  I mull over his words in silence, but Dad has guessed my concern.

  He lets out a breathy, low laugh. “They won’t find out. The charmers have stitched the haze through and through since we left. The vipers’ curse is in place. You have nothing to worry about.”

  While I nod, I remain unconvinced. Hunter instincts are unpredictable—some as weak as any human’s, some unnervingly strong. Perhaps even strong enough to see through the haze—the reason Elmwick should be the safest place for our kind.

  Dad sets down the box with a huff, then reaches out to grasp my shoulder. “You will be safe here. We aren’t breaking the peace.”

  I duck my nose behind my favorite yellow merino wool scarf. “We had to leave to seal the peace, didn’t we? And now that we’re back...” I know it’s too late. I’ve asked this of him a thousand times before we left New York, but here I go at it again, unhinged by the faces in the portrait. “Maybe we should go back?”

  Dad folds his arms in front of me with an expression meant to scold me. “First things first—this trick won’t work, Cami. You need training.” His chest puffs up a little, like he’s willing himself to exude confidence. “And your mother had to leave to break the circle. You aren’t her.”

  Like every time we mention Mom, our eyes flick to the side, fighting a slight sting, which if acknowledged would turn them glassy.

  “The fact we’re back doesn’t mean a new circle will be bound.” Dad claps me on the shoulder, then turns to take the box inside. “So just play along and be cautious in front of the hunter kids.”

  He doesn’t mention the last term of the peace. Don’t kill anyone.

  I grab another box, heavier than I’d expected, and rush after him. “It’s not like I’ll be wanting to hang out with the hunters.”

  I drop the box on top of the one Dad has set in the middle of the living room.

  “Listen...”

  I do as Dad says, only to realize that the horrid basketball noise doesn’t make me wrinkle my forehead.

  I turn to him, wide-eyed. “A charm, isn’t it?”

  He winks at me. “Against noise. Eddie placed it to help your mother and aunt sleep once they’d claimed their powers. Your grandma, well she never needed it.”

  My thoughts dash to grandma, who left her Claiming, not only having lost her powers, but her hearing, too.

  “Noises you need to hear will always be able to break through the charm, don’t worry.”

  As if to prove that, a girl calls from outside. “Hello?”

  I whirl around to pull the door open in a hurry. Elegant and regal, the girl wears all black—from her boots to her thick, knee-length coat. Blond hair cascades down the sides of her pale face in frizzy curls. I can’t remember if we’ve ever played together as kids, but her resemblance to Allegra Gianni is striking.

  “I hope I’m not intruding.” She looks to be my age but carries herself with an alluring air of mystery. “We saw you’re back and mother wanted me to deliver a homecoming gift.” She lifts the brown basket in her arms a little higher. “Can I?”

  But realization must have washed over my face because her expression falls.

  Never let a cold one in. I get reminded of the rule with Dad’s cautious look.

  “Thanks.” I hurry to take the basket from her hands and pass it on to Dad.

  With pursed lips, I take the one step over the threshold to join her outside. It’s a desperate attempt to get over the awkwardness that hangs in the air between us.

  “I’m Jean,” she says.

  “Cami.” I make a feeble, forced wave.

  Jean’s smile remains plastered, but its corners droop a little. “My mother says she and Carina used to be close.”

  “I’m sure they were.” A cliché response feels cringe-worthy, but it’s all I’ve got.

  Jean seems determined to turn my brief sentences into a conversation. “I guess you’ll be taking legacy classes?”

  My eyebrows bounce up. “I guess so. When... when are those?” I mentally want to slap a palm across my forehead.

  Jean’s milky complexion turns rosy around the cheeks. “In the afternoons, once we’re done with the regular classes at Elmwick High.”

  Great. I’ll be going to two schools.

  Silence reigns for another long moment.

  “I guess I’ll see you,” Jean says.

  I offer a shy smile back. “See you then.”

  If I’m being honest, watching her walk all the way to the dark house opposite ours, with its blinds closed, makes my stiff back relax. If I have a choice, I’ll steer clear of the cold ones.

  Though they might not be the only legacies to avoid. Something ruffles the snow-covered hedge that separates our yard from the charmers’. Two yellow eyes spy on me from the darkness. Could it be Sal Rivera’s offspring on my trail?

  Vile, nosy creatures, vipers.

  The thought of someone watching me from behind the glowing yellow eyes makes my skin crawl.

  As if on its own, my humming starts low. It vibrates through me out into the world, making me feel free. The yellow eyes narrow to slits.

  “Sweet dreams, viper,” I murmur.

  The snake drops its head, sound asleep, forcing whoever had taken control of the creature back into their own head. That will teach them to stay away. But my victory is short-lived. I stiffen as I he
ar the crash from inside the house. Porcelain breaks into porcelain—reduced to a thousand clinking shreds.

  “Dad?” Forgetting the viper, now a black-and-green spiral in the snow, I clamor inside. “Dad!”

  He has collapsed over our boxes labeled ‘kitchen’, bringing two of them down with him. The boxes are sturdy and none of the broken dishes seem to have cut through the cardboard.

  Still, my lower lip trembles as I shake him. “Dad, please.”

  In a heartbeat, he shifts and rubs his eyes. “Did you hum me to sleep?”

  “I’m so sorry.” I clasp a hand over my mouth like any further sound I make would set our house on fire. Or explode it. “There was a viper spying on me and I...”

  Dad lifts himself up and shakes his head with a groggy, dog-like exhale. I wasn’t aiming the sound at him. That must have helped him regain consciousness. “Five minutes on the block and check out the looks you’ve already gathered!”

  I bury my face in my palms. It was so easy for my power to flow freely, to slip through my untrained fingers. Guilt sears through me, but I make myself peek back at him. Perhaps I do need Elmwick Academy.

  “In all seriousness, though.” Dad’s voice makes me stir. “Humming is tricky. You shouldn’t attempt it again until way after your Claiming.”

  “I’m so sorry.” Under his stern look, I feel even more foolish for having let my instinct get the better of me.

  “Nothing but a minor slip-up.” Dad’s eyes stay serious, but his encouraging smile is more than I deserve. “So, you already have a table with the cold ones for lunch?”

  “It probably comes with strings attached.” I clear my throat, attempting to match his amused, casual tone. “Like, I might be what’s for lunch.”

  Dad clicks his tongue but doesn’t scold me. He picks himself up, then beckons me to help him with the last boxes from the porch. After a few more rounds, I lift the last box.

  “Hurry in, Cami. You’ll freeze,” Dad calls from inside the house.

  I take a long look at the street, at the lion and wolf houses, the charmer gingerbread one, the two black ones—vipers and cold ones—then move on to the hunters’ house.

  The boy and girl are still shooting hoops, oblivious to the creatures they live next door to, as much as to their own instinct to put every last one of them down.