INTEGRATION (Bonfire Academy Book Two) (Bonfire Chronicles)

Series: BONFIRE CHRONICLES

Copyright © 2012 by Imogen Rose

Website:
http://ImogenRose.com

Cover art by Phatpuppyart and back cover/font art by Imogen Rose.

All rights reserved by Imogen Rose. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the author. The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

A dreamer must dream

A storyteller must tell

I dream to tell

For Lauren

B
roken.
I couldn’t think of a better word to describe it. I felt as if I’d been torn to bits, maybe even shredded. I was suffocating, surrounded by a wet tightness of skin and flesh all crusted together. My body was home to excruciating stabs of pain searing about randomly before a final thrust of sheer agony. I couldn’t tell if the source of the pain was within me or if I was being repeatedly sliced open with a knife. Did it matter? I felt as though it was only a matter of seconds before my thoughts would end.

“Cordelia!”

My name. I flinched as the same voice repeated my name again and again. Why? Who was it? It—he—sounded familiar. I heaved as the voice triggered the memory of
his
face. Then, not being able to stop the bile from traveling up my throat, I gagged and purged, emptying my stomach completely. The next time he muttered my name, his voice was laced with disgust. But his revulsion couldn’t compete with my utter repugnance and disbelief at what he’d done.
Him
. Someone I had trusted with my life, even though the rule was clear:

Trust No One
.

Two Years Before

A
s I looked around my new room, I decided that the staff accommodations at the Academy weren’t shabby at all. In addition to the regular bedroom suite provided to students, the mini apartment I was standing in also had an extra bed, a kitchenette, and a living area, complete with an entertainment center and a study corner fully loaded with the latest in Apple computers. Very nice. Just last week, I’d been a student, and after a week in Paris, I was back as a member of staff. Well, maybe
staff
was overstating my position. Technically, I was still at the Academy to learn, and I certainly didn’t have all the privileges afforded to regular Bonfire Academy staff. But I didn’t have to wear my school uniform all the time anymore. I was allowed to wear whatever I wanted while working. And I got to live in this awesome apartment.

I unlatched my Louis Vuitton steamer trunk, like one that might have been found in a first-class cabin aboard the Titanic, complete with a hanger compartment and storage areas for shoes and hats. I started putting my brand new clothes away in the freshly painted walk-in closet. I admired the perfection of each carefully selected outfit, running my fingers over the luxurious fabrics. Most of them weren’t fancy, but simple and elegantly appropriate for my year ahead. My week in Paris had consisted of an orgy of raiding the boutiques lining the Champs Elysees, with my mother orchestrating our journey efficiently and with just the right dose of luxury.

Although my parents hadn’t been fully supportive of my decision to return to Bonfire Academy, even they could understand my reasons. It wasn’t every day a student was asked to apprentice for Professor Bern, the head of the Department of Paranormal Powers and Control. It was a great honor for anyone, but especially for a demon. In fact, it was the first time a demon had been taken under the wing of one of the most eminent witches in the world.

Thus, my parents had grudgingly given in, and Mom had even fully immersed herself in helping me acquire a new wardrobe. I was grateful for that. After three years of wearing the uniform at the Academy, my shopping skills were rusty, to say the least. My knowledge of what was this season or
so yesterday
was practically nonexistent. Not that it would really matter at the school, but it was important to Mom. So I had arrived at the Academy armed in the latest haute couture, along with a bunch of casual stuff I had picked up while shopping with my friends. A girl shouldn’t have to survive without a fix of Hollister and Abercrombie & Fitch.

I smiled as I carefully placed my secret haul of jeans in one of the drawers, imagining the look on my mom’s face if she’d seen me pack those. I placed the one pair of Marc Jacobs jeans she’d allowed right on top, just in case she popped over for a surprise visit. Mom was not one to stay out of my private stuff.

I didn’t need to change, as Mom had insisted that I wear something professional-looking on my flight over. I quickly ran my fingers through my long tresses, which had pretty much been left alone at my insistence, apart from the few red strands that Mom made sure I covered up. Staring back at me in the mirror was a totally rad chick in a plum-colored, tweed shift dress, secured around the waist with an awesome red Hermès CDC—think studs—alligator belt. I kicked off the nude-colored pumps my mother had practically forced my toes into and jammed my feet into the Balenciaga motorcycle boots I had picked up while shopping with my friend Jill. There. I looked like the
me
I wanted to be.

There was a knock on the door as I was dabbing on some lip gloss. “Come in!”

“Hey!”

“Faustine. How have you been?”

She stopped dead at the doorway, then stepped back, looking me up and down. “Wow! Look at you. You look amazing.” Her eyes darted down to my feet. “O-M-G! Love the Balenciagas. Can I borrow them? What size are they?”

I laughed, feeling slightly dizzy with pleasure at being complimented by the princess of fashion herself. “Eight, and yeah, anytime.”

“Eight? Awesome! We’re the same size. What else did you get?”

I pointed her toward my closet, and she lit up in excitement as she danced over and started rummaging through my stuff like a five-year-old in a candy store. A year at the academy did that to most girls, but it must have been especially hard for Faustine. She’d been used to a life of glamour, especially with her mother being such a prominent fashionista. Spending a year deprived of all such luxuries must have been a killer. She could play with my new goodies all she wanted in private, but she wouldn’t be allowed to wear them outside my apartment because of the school rules.

I smiled at the whimpers of pleasure coming from my closet. She obviously approved. While she played, I sank into the armchair and picked up the envelope labeled
Welcome Pack
. I slid an iPad out of the envelope, which was the only item inside it. I turned it on, and it immediately prompted me for a code. I tried the passcode I had been allocated by the Academy, and the screen jumped into action, displaying Frau Schmelder’s smiling face.

“Hello and welcome, Cordelia!” A recording. I waited as The Smelt paused, then her smile receded, and a furrow appeared across her brow. “Cordelia? Can you hear me?”

Face time! “Oh! I’m sorry, Frau Schmelder. I thought you were a recording.”

“A recording?” She pursed her lips. “Oh, never mind. Can you hear me okay?”

“Yes, you’re totally clear.”

“Well, in that case, let’s start again. Welcome!”