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Prologue
Wraith
It’s a weird feeling when the Reaper comes calling. But it’s not my time, not yet.
My life has always been about death and ending other people’s sorry existence. It never occurred that it could happen to me.
That someone would best me.
I’ve grown soft, living the normal life with a wife, a son, a daughter, and a home.
Home.
This word holds so much promise. It means shelter, but so much more than that—love, companionship, a place in regular society where I’m respected, and people value my mundane opinions on the weather or the state of the government.
But I digress.
The blood is pumping out of me at an alarming rate. If I can’t stem the flow, the Reaper will surely come calling…
… but not yet.
How did this happen?
How did it all begin?
How did I let it get this far?
Ann.
She’s my daughter. It’s my duty to protect and love her.
Ann—her smile and vibrancy can light up a room. She’s the reason I’m in this mess, clutching my arm, trying desperately to stem the blood flow, my life force from leaving me completely. I can no longer be Jamison Boulder, for he’s the soft, normal man who got me into this mess.
No.
I must become the beast I’ve buried.
The Wraith.
A ghost or a ghostlike image of someone, especially one seen shortly before or after their death.
But first, we should start at the beginning with Simon and that wretched Stonewall University and their founding families.
Simon
The cold wind rips through my blazer as I hurry across campus. Winter this year feels more hellish than usual. Maybe it’s the thought of having to go before the Society or my meeting with the Dean, Jonathan Stonewall.
With a sigh, I take the steps two at a time to enter the main building. As I close the door, the heavens open up, and rain splatters against the windows. I stare at it for a moment, annoyed that I don’t have an umbrella or any kind of protection from the probably freezing droplets. Sneering at the sky, I turn toward the reception desk and see Ms. Brown studying me. She’s Dean Stonewall’s personal assistant, but I like to think of her as his private bulldog. No one gets past her unless they have an appointment. She smiles at me, and I smile in return, but it’s all fake. Ms. Brown is as likable as a rabid dog.
“Ahh, Mr. Bartlett, Dean Stonewall is expecting you. Please go on up.”
I say nothing to her, merely tip my head in acknowledgment and take the stairs. The elevator is at the end of the hall, but I need the extra time to calm my nerves, and the exercise will do me good. At this time of day, there are few students or faculty members in the main building, and I’m sure the miserable day will keep some away. It’s eerie how quiet it feels. The only noise is my breathing and footsteps. The dean’s office is on the third floor with only a storage level above.
