Slaying Year Two (Grim Reaper Academy 2)

She smiled. “My baby, you changed so much…”

“You are, though.” My voice cracked a bit. I turned to her and squeezed her arm lightly. “Mom, why did you stay with him? After all he did… to me, to you. You should have left him a long time ago.”

“Baby, you know I can’t. What kind of woman leaves her husband?”

“Her abusive husband?” That came out louder than intended. “A sane woman!”

She shook her head. I took her hand and pulled her toward the door.

“I’m not afraid of him, and you shouldn’t be, either. Because I’ll make sure he never touches you again.”

CHAPTER TWO

We found Dad in front of the TV, as usual. One year away, and nothing had changed. Empty beer bottles strewn everywhere on the floor, an unfinished roast chicken on the table, among breadcrumbs and empty wrappers. Without a word, Mom started cleaning, not before making sure Dad had a new, cold beer in hand to appease him as I stood before him, blocking the TV.

“You’re back,” he said in a flat, unimpressed tone. “And you’re interrupting my game.”

I rolled my eyes and hit the on/off button on the TV. It was one of the old models that still had an on/off button. He huffed and leaned back in his armchair. He didn’t appreciate my attitude, but he was too shocked by my sudden appearance – even if he tried to hide it – to react violently.

“We need to talk.”

“We do? What the hell would we have to talk about? Look, kid, it’s a good thing you came to visit your mom. She’s been crazy since you left. I told her you’re not worth crying over, but does she ever listen?” He shook his head, as if he’d done his best here, he’d been a saint, and Mom was just so ungrateful. “So, go have lunch with her or whatever, then get the fuck out of my house. This year you’ve been gone…” He let out a full, hearty belly laugh. “It’s been great! So, how about you don’t ruin it for me, huh? I’ll make you a bargain, even. You can visit once a year, talk to your mom, but then you’re gone. You don’t live here anymore, brat. And even though she insisted we keep your room intact, you don’t have a place under my roof any longer. You’re on your own. As you should be.” He took a swig of his beer.

I was disgusted. He’d gained weight since I’d last seen him. Too much beer, bread, and steak. He smelled of sweat and alcohol, and I wondered when he’d last showered. He hadn’t changed, but I had. His words didn’t hurt me anymore. For one, I’d gone through much worse at the Academy, had barely survived year one, and there were still at least two people who wanted me dead. I’d dealt with a mage, an archangel, and a tentacled fucking monster. Stepan Lazarov couldn’t have scared me now even if he launched his fat ass at me and tried to hit me. Which he’d done in the past, and I’d been weak then. Not anymore. And two, he wasn’t my biological father. And that knowledge changed everything. He could say whatever the fuck he wanted. I didn’t care.

“Grim Reaper Academy. What do you know about it?”

He was silent for a second, and if I didn’t know him better, he looked like he was considering my words carefully. But I knew him better. He laughed.

“Grim Reaper what?”

“The letter I received last year, on my birthday. You remember it, don’t you? I read it out loud, in the kitchen. It was an invitation to apply to Grim Reaper Academy, and the second I finished reading it, you took it from me and tore it to pieces.”

He cocked an eyebrow, thought for another second, took a swig of beer. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. What the fuck is a Grim Reaper Academy, anyway? What do they teach there? How to kill people? Is it like… a school for assassins?” He laughed harder. “Ilena, see what books do to people?” He yelled after my mom, who was in the kitchen. “Work more, read less,” he turned back to me.

Mom appeared in the doorway. She watched us fearfully as she dried a freshly washed plate with a towel.

“Your beloved daughter here is going on about some academy for assassins. Meh. Too many fantasy books.” He reached for the remote control, which he probably knew wouldn’t help because I’d turned the TV off from the button. “Now, move.”

“I know you remember.” I stepped closer to him, fixing him with a hateful gaze. God, I really did hate this man! “You tore that letter to tiny pieces, told me to forget about it, and sent me to my room. You told me that I never received anything. Why would you do that? Unless you knew something about it. Unless you know, right now, even as you’re lying to me, about the Academy, about what it is, about who I am.”

He clenched his jaw. Slowly, he set his beer down and stood up. He rounded the table and leaned in to hiss in my face. Fuck, his breath smelled like a dumpster!

“And who do you think you are?”

I stood my ground. One year ago, I would have cast my eyes down, slouched my shoulders, apologized profusely, and gone to my room, hoping he wouldn’t take revenge on my mom for my disrespectful behavior. But I wasn’t that person anymore. I wasn’t Mila Lazarov. I was Mila Morningstar, and that had to mean something. I had to make it mean something. Although I was pretty sure I was going to take my mother’s name sooner or later.

“I know I’m not you

r daughter. I know you and Mom adopted me in Bulgaria when my real mother disappeared. Her name was Katia.”

He was taken aback. He retreated a few steps, hit the coffee table with the back of his knees, and almost lost his balance. He recovered quickly and plastered that smirk of his – which I’d come to hate – on his lips.

“Is that so? And who told you?” He turned to my mom. “You told her, woman?” But she shook her head, and he looked back at me. “So what? Now you know. Good for you. Now you know you don’t belong here. You never belonged with us. You leeched off us like the parasite that you are…” He spread his arms. “But I’m a good man. I have a big heart. I took you in, fed you, clothed you, sent you to school. You should be thanking me, you ungrateful brat!”

“Why do you hate me so much? What have I ever done to you?”

He pointed his finger at my face. “You exist.”