The Dawn of Dae (Dae Portals Book 1) (3 page)

Neither option appealed to me in the slightest. I didn’t have a whole lot in my arsenal when it came to making friends with the elite. They scorned merit-based education almost as much as I loathed the way they flaunted and hoarded their wealth. Why should those born at the top of the system have to share space with someone like me, who existed at the very bottom of it? It was a reality I would face each and every day of studying—and a prejudice I’d have an easier time ignoring once the elite needed my skills.

My first problem would be getting close to him. The usual ways of bypassing caste restrictions wouldn’t help me; I wasn’t pretty enough to gain the attention of most men, and since human contact left me sick—sometimes for days—I wasn’t exactly good at flirting. What was the point in even trying?

In any case, I couldn’t even begin to sniff him out until the start of classes in the morning. Why did my first day of Bach studies have to be tainted by Kenneth? Why couldn’t he have given me an easier mark?

Why had he given me a job that could cost me my entire college education?

I knew the answer, and it annoyed a strangled scream out of me, which in turn earned me a lot of weird looks by those lingering on the darkened streets.

How else to keep me? If I failed to become a Bach, I’d be forced to keep working for him until I ceased being useful.

I cursed myself all the way to my new apartment, wondering how the hell I was going to juggle slaving for some elite professor and sniffing out Terry Moore without being caught. Maybe my new academic employer would have access to student records. If I could hack my way into the college’s databases, I could probably learn a lot about my target without having to meet him, including his address, which Kenneth hadn’t seen fit to provide.

I had a hard time believing one of Baltimore’s most notorious criminals didn’t know where one of his elite buyers lived. He was omitting the information to either piss me off or test me, which was a guaranteed way to piss me off.

Kenneth liked making me angry almost as much as he liked making money and preying on the targets I tracked down for him.

Maybe one day I’d snap and shoot Kenneth before he had a chance to do me in himself. The thought lifted my spirits a little. Killing people wasn’t my way, which was probably why he chose the collie as my breed. For him I’d make an exception; instead of saving him from some damned well, I’d shove him down it head first and turn tail when he called for help.

His good looks wouldn’t be enough if he gave me sufficient motive—and I decided to put an end to him.

Maybe that’s why he hadn’t given me a gun for the job. Lily probably had seen me kicking the door and had warned him I was in a sour mood, too. Would he have provided a weapon if he thought I would need it? Probably. I didn’t have much faith in him, but at least I had the cold comfort of knowing he probably wouldn’t kill me until I had nothing left to give him.

I lived a screwed up life.

I opened the door of my apartment, sighed, and stood in the doorway, wondering what the hell I had gotten myself into this time. The place didn’t feel like home; it didn’t even look occupied. The little I had fit in two duffle bags, which were where I had left them on the kitchen floor. The refrigerator hadn’t gone anywhere either, much to my disappointment.

Having a living room was a novelty, and it even had a television, although I had no idea if it had any services connected to it. Kicking the door closed behind me, I headed for the couch and flopped on it, snatching the remote from the coffee table.

I had twenty channels, most of which were dedicated to the news. Laughing at the absurdity of so many news channels, I gave up the effort.

Tomorrow should have been the start of a new life rather than a continuation of my old one, but I’d make it work somehow. I sighed and went to bed, abandoning my dinner to the refrigerator.

Maybe I’d have the stomach for it by tomorrow—after I found out how deep I had dug my own grave by relying on Kenneth for work.

First day jitters soured me against breakfast, and instead of eating as I should have, I went to the college early.

Working with Kenneth had exposed me to more elite than most women from the fringe typically encountered, but it did little to prepare me for the reality of sharing classes with them. We came from two different worlds, and my ignorance worried me. I had a job to do, I had classes to ace, and I had an entire college of people to trick.

I had no idea how I was going to pull it off.

It’d been difficult enough surviving the selection process to go to primary school, coming to the system as late as I had. Surviving through secondary education without anyone knowing about I had won admission had cost me sweat, tears, and every penny of the money I earned from sniffing out debtors for Kenneth. To make matters worse, I was several years late to start Bach education.

I was twenty-one to their seventeen or eighteen, and thanks to life on the fringe, I looked older than my age. Near-death experiences did that to a girl.

I arrived first, and as I had during secondary education, I grabbed a seat in the back of the room so I could watch my classmates without having anyone behind me.

Old habits died hard. While I didn’t expect a bullet in the back, why take unnecessary risks?

If the elite found out I was one of Kenneth Smith’s hounds, they’d kill me. Well, they’d hire someone to kill me. My grave was getting pretty deep. At the rate I was going, maybe I could hop in the hole and emerge in China.

China had a caste system, too, but at least they viewed merit-based students as prodigies instead of a scourge on the system.

Students entered in twos and threes, filling the room until there were thirty of us crammed in a room meant for twenty. There were three merit-based students in the crowd; they wore the college’s colors of blue and gold.

I, at least, had my own clothes. Kenneth insisted I be able to mingle with any caste, and I had several outfits designed to let me slip in and out of society. Some I had acquired through him. Others I had purchased for myself after a good hunt.

When I had gotten up and dressed, I hadn’t even thought about my clothes. It had been pure luck I had chosen something someone from one of the upper castes would’ve worn to make some sort of statement or another.

It wasn’t about the cut of the clothes, but the material, and silk was a good fabric; elite didn’t tend to touch silk clothes, and I wore long sleeves to lower the possibility of someone grabbing my arms.

If they did and their oils or sweat got through the material, at least they wouldn’t be able to see the redness or the rashes. I should have worn gloves. Tomorrow, I’d have to, or face a lot of unwanted questions.

Like the elite, I had come to class with very little. I had a digital pad and its matching stylus with me, but I wouldn’t use it for taking notes.

I used it for taking pictures, pictures Kenneth would pay good money to get.

I’d regurgitate my notes once I was returned to my apartment, typing them into my laptop to test my memory and hone my ability to retain important bits of information. I smiled.

Kenneth was right: my progression to Bach studies
was
his fault. Without him, I never would have learned to remember the important bits, sift out the irrelevant information, and think on my feet. I observed my fellow students, discreetly snapped their pictures, and wrote down their names for Kenneth’s benefit.

Terry Moore wasn’t in my class, but I’d find him one way or another.

I had three classes on my first day, all of which bored me to tears. History, art studies, and basic economics taught on a secondary education level left a sour taste in my mouth. I’d heard the lectures before; I had heard them
years
before.

If those classes were an indication of the next four years of my life, I was going to blow a gasket long before I graduated as a Bach. Maybe Master-level studies weren’t out of my reach after all. With air-headed elite with no motivation to learn anything as my competition, the only thing I’d have to worry about was falling prey to mediocrity.

No wonder colleges used merit-based students as part of the academic staff. The teachers probably didn’t want to waste their time with so many elite who didn’t care about what they were learning.

I reported to the main building to find out who I would serve for the next four years only to discover Kenneth Smith standing outside the dean’s office. I ignored him and joined the line of students waiting for their sentencing.

There were six of us, and I mimicked them, cautiously staring at Baltimore’s infamous crime lord. He was wearing one of his best suits, which made him easy on the eyes—and made him stand out even more than usual.

What was he doing? If he was there to ruin my chances at graduating through Bach studies, I would kill him. I’d play his game, wait until he lowered his guard, and throw his bullet-riddled corpse into the Chesapeake to feed the fish.

No one would notice an extra body in the water.

He had every reason to try to screw things up for me. Kenneth had a lot of dogs, but I was one of his best. When his debtors disappeared, I sniffed them out. From time to time, I even managed to hunt down those who had wisely left Baltimore’s city limits to escape Kenneth’s territory.

My boss was talking to one of the professors; I didn’t know the woman, but she wore the school’s blue-and-gold badge on her shoulder as a declaration of her importance. The way she contained her hair in a tight bun added at least ten years to her age. Her eyes warned me she was a force to be reckoned with; she took her time examining us, her gaze pausing at each interesting detail. She noticed my digital pad. The boy in front of me had an old-school notebook and a pen, which she stared at. The others she disregarded after a brief glance.

“If you had come earlier, Mr. Smith, you would have a better choice of the students,” the woman scolded, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Are these not exemplary merit students?” Kenneth’s scorn came out in his voice. “We pay the colleges well for these students.”

Several of the other students in line with me flinched. I allowed myself a scowl, wondering what it’d be like to strangle him. Would the rashes and potential blisters be worth it?

Probably.

“There are a limited number of students capable of keeping pace with our regular academic base, Mr. Smith,” she said, her eyes narrowing. Knowing Kenneth, he had goaded the woman into repeating herself several times to please him.

He was infuriating like that.

“What about her?” Without looking at any of us, Kenneth gestured, his finger pointed unerringly in my direction.

“What about her?” the professor replied, turning her full attention to me.

“I’ll take her.”

“Miss Daegberht is reserved for the dean, Mr. Smith. You simply can’t take her. She’s already been selected.”

My mouth dropped open. The
dean
wanted me?

I couldn’t tell if my grave led to China, heaven, or hell. What was Kenneth doing? Was he trying to screw me out of my housing and education for the next four years?

My contract required me to work a set number of hours per week for the college. All I could do was gawk helplessly at the pair, aware of the other students staring at
me
.

Out of the corner of my eye, all I could see in their expressions was shock and pity. I liked that; they were too smart to be jealous.

If I was the dean’s assistant, my every move would be scrutinized.

“Perhaps we can make an arrangement.” Kenneth’s tone was reasonable, but his mouth told another story, one that ended in bloodshed if he didn’t get his way.

“Perhaps an adjustment to her schedule can be made to permit a five year term instead of the standard four years. That would allow extra working hours alongside her education,” the woman conceded, making a thoughtful noise. “I will inquire.”

“Don’t bother. I’ll talk to the dean myself,” Kenneth snapped, his tone souring to match his scowl. “If, of course, he has the time.”

I wanted to crawl into my grave and get to work shoveling dirt over myself. Instead, when the woman gestured to me, I stepped out of the line. She opened the door to the dean’s office and pointed inside. I went in, and Kenneth Smith followed in my wake.