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  Obsession

  Institute for Gifted Minds Book 1

  Marie Robinson

  Copyright © 2020 by Brianne Marie Robinson

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  No man chooses evil because it is evil; he only mistakes it for happiness, the good he seeks.

  Mary Shelley

  Contents

  Preface

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Other Series by Marie Robinson

  About the Author

  Obsession: Book 1 of Institute for Gifted Minds

  I’m not one of them. I never will be.

  I’ve got monsters; they’ve got demons.

  I don’t belong here, but I’ve got nowhere else to go.

  I’ve lived through the stuff of nightmares, but I might not survive this new hell…

  I died with my mother, except I came back and she didn’t.

  Now I must live at Crowrest Manor, where the most affluent and elite young minds make their breakthroughs.

  I'm intimately familiar with the nightmares that haunt my ever waking hour. I thought that torment was the worst it could get, but that was before I met Victor, Malcolm, and Nikolai.

  Victor Frankenstein—the boy obsessed with defeating death.

  Malcolm Van Helsing—the boy obsessed with his ancestor’s curse.

  Nikolai Jykell—the boy obsessed with evil in the heart of men.

  When they discover my brush with death, I become their next specimen. They want to take me apart, to use me to satisfy their curiosities, their thirst for the occult.

  Within the walls of this school, I'll find out exactly how far they're willing to go, and just how much they can get away with.

  But I have a secret. One that will drive their demons mad.

  And bring my monsters down on us all.

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  Preface

  Obsession is a modern gothic bully reverse harem featuring classic figures in an elite academy where they break the boundaries between their world and the occult. A suspenseful blend of the supernatural and romance, ghosts and students, and possessions and laboratories.

  This book contains adult themes and situations that could be upsetting to some readers.

  Chapter One

  The rain is so heavy I can hardly make anything out in the darkness. A flash of lightning illuminates the manor, and I bite back a startled yell from how close we now are. Worrying, I flick my gaze to the driver, but his eyes remain on the road. I have no idea how he is keeping us on the road, but I am glad that it is him driving and not me. I had only gotten my license before...

  I push the memories away, deep within my mind under lock and key. If I let them out, they’ll consume me. If I’m too busy being a shuddering, sobbing wreck, then I won’t be prepared for the monsters when they come. Because they always come. Sometimes their faces are gentle, full of compassion, a caress like a beloved parent’s. Until their fingers dig into my flesh, my breath stolen from my chest, and it takes everything within me to fight them off.

  Why did I survive the accident?

  The gates of Crowsrest Manor stand open and the driver navigates the dark driveway expertly. The only light is the bright decorative lanterns flanking the large doors. Two statues of massive lions are on each side of the staircase, and I shudder. It’s as if their dark eyes can sense the car and now they wait for their prey.

  Lightning flashes again, the windows glowing for an instant before they disappear into darkness again. Thunder follows quickly after, loud enough the car shakes. It sounds like horses barreling down, their hooves against the ground, ready to carry me away into their deathly realm.

  The door opens and this time I cannot prevent the cry that slips from my lips, but it is only the driver, his face placid despite the rain pouring off of the umbrella in miniature waterfalls.

  I don’t want to get out, but there’s nowhere else for me to go.

  Slinging my bag over my shoulder, I slide out and the driver escorts me up the steps. A figure steps out of the shadows, and my heart is frantic again.

  “Miss Wollstonecraft, I presume?”

  The woman is old, certainly old enough to be my grandmother. She’s severe-looking, her silver hair pulled into a smooth bun at the back of her head. She’s wearing a black gown, high necked and long sleeved, with only a frill of white lace spilling from the neck to soften it. Her face is smoother than many old women I know, and she looks sallow in the yellow light of the lanterns.

  “Yes, ma’am,” I answer, looking at the doors behind her with trepidation.

  I could feel them already. I had thought I’d prepared myself in the car, but how can you prepare yourself for something when you’ve had not even a full week. I had looked up the Crowsrest Manor’s history, how old it was.

  There were many deaths here. I can feel the souls who are bound to this place.

  “I’m Hecate Browning. You may call me Mrs. Browning.”

  My great-aunt—from the father I’d never met’s side. My guardian now that I’m an orphan.

  “Yes, ma’am,” I say just loud enough to be heard over the rain. Something tells me that if I answered with something more casual, I’ll be cuffed upside my head. The slamming of the trunk interrupts us and then the driver is placing my suitcase next to my feet, before getting back into the car.

  “Come on then,” she says, as if I’ve made her late already. “You’ve missed dinner, so you will have to wait until breakfast. The kitchens are strictly locked after eight in the evening.”

  The doors open and I brace myself to feel the flood of souls, but something is holding them back. I almost wonder if it is Mrs. Browning. I already feel as if she could glare down a charging elephant and she’d win.

  The entryway is dark, only two soft lamps are lit to ensure I don’t run into any furniture, such as the massive circular table in the center of the room. There’s a statue of an angel in prayer in the middle, but the way the shadows cover it—-it looks more like a demon. The other piece that dominates the room is the massive staircase leading upwards. It’s one of those staircases that you only thought would ever be in palaces, a fairytale staircase which a beast may escort a beauty.

  The railing is so polished that it glows like an ember in the soft light, and at the base of the staircase, the pillars are carved into the shape of crows, their wings extending backwards up the stairs.

  “On this floor are the common rooms,” she stops and gestures to the hallway to the left. “Breakfast is at exactly seven in the morning and will not be served after seven forty-five. Classes begin at eight, which you will be attending between your duties.”

  “Duties?” I ask, finding my voice. She turns a withering glare on m
e and I regret it immediately.

  “Ms. Wollstonecraft,” she sneers my name. “Crowsrest Manor houses the Institute for Gifted Minds. I am proud to say that this is the most prestigious school and the tuition for each student is a great sum. Since I have my doubts that, even if you could pass the entrance exam, you can afford the tuition, you must earn your keep. You will be learning beside the minds of the future, and you will do nothing that will distract them. Is that understood?”

  I duck my head, muttering my response. She sniffs but continues her brief tour. “The hall to the right will lead you to the classrooms. The hall beside the stairs will lead you to the staff area. You will report to Mr. Cornell’s office at six in the morning to receive your list of duties and the class schedule I’ve created. If you find that you cannot keep up with the studies, please do not waste our time and withdraw from the class immediately.”

  She begins up the stairs and I hurry to pick up my suitcase and follow. This room has no windows, the only light coming from the lamps below, and the paintings of landscapes take on an eerie appearance.

  At the top of the stairs, you can only go left or right, but I’m arrested by the portrait which takes up nearly the entire wall. Mrs. Browning sees me, and she glances at the woman in the portrait, her eyes softening from granite to wood.

  “Madame Cassandra Telesilla. She is the founder of this institute,” she turns her gaze on me. “And our ancestor.”

  My eyebrows shoot upwards. The woman in the portrait looks exactly like me. Or I should probably say I look like her, since she’s my ancestor apparently. Her hair is black as ink, her eyes just as dark, like mine. Her face and mine share the angles, but where mine are softened from youth, hers are severe.

  If Mrs. Browning notices the similarity, she says nothing.

  “You’ll have your own room,” she says turning down the left hall. “I will not risk your influence on the other girls enrolled here.”

  That was fine with me. I’m used to being on my own, except for my mother. The idea of sharing a room with a strange girl or two sends a shiver down my spine. Having my own room means that no one will notice the nightmares.

  A door opens, then closes, the sound reverberating down the hall and I jump. A young man, dressed in slacks and a white shirt, the sleeves rolled halfway up his forearms, pauses when he sees us. He can’t be more than two years older than me.

  “Mrs. Browning,” he says nodding his head politely, coming to stop before us.

  “Ah, Mr. Frankenstein. Are you having a late night?” she asks, her voice many degrees warmer than her tone for me. His eyes flicker to me, but I can see the instant he dismisses me. There is marginally more light in the hall, there are sconces every ten feet, so I let myself study him.

  He’s tan skin is evident, his hair dark and to his shoulders, flowing freely. He already has stubble darkening his jaw, and his lips are blush-inducing. His eyes are the color of the honey I’d put on my toast, but for all that he is gorgeous, he looks...exhausted. There are dark circles under his eyes, and his eyes look irritated and bloodshot.

  “Yes, Mrs. Browning. My latest experiment is at a delicate stage and cannot be left for long.”

  When I realize she has no plans to introduce me, I offer my hand with a smile. “I’m Mary Wollstonecraft. I’m new here.”

  He looks at my proffered hand with a raised eyebrow before meeting my eyes, ignoring my gesture. “Are you? I would not have guessed.”

  I drop my hand but force my smile to remain as his sarcasm rolls off of him in waves.

  “She will be attending some courses,” Mrs. Browning says dismissively. “But she is my ward. Please do not think that we’ve lowered the standards for entry.”

  “Good,” he says, his hands behind his back. “Now if you’ll excuse me?”

  She shoos him away, and he gives me a last lingering look, before striding past us.

  “I don’t think he likes me,” I mutter, more to myself than her. She turns to me, her eyes narrowed so much I wonder how she can see me.

  “You will only speak to the students if they speak to you, am I understood?” she says through gritted teeth. “Especially Mr. Frankenstein. His work is revolutionary and I will not have him be distracted by your public school flirtations.”

  I take a step back at the spite in her voice. But, like nearly every other human, I have a keen sense of survival, so I only nod and don’t tell her exactly where she can take that idea.

  Public school flirtations? Hah. I’ve never been in one place long enough to have a boyfriend, let alone find the time to flirt.

  She seems to find my nod acceptable and we walk in silence down the hall. It’s quiet, even the sounds of our steps muffled by the plush carpet. There are still no windows, and I wonder if they have a thing against windows? Maybe the chance of sunshine and vitamin D will be too much of a distraction for her beloved students.

  “Here,” she says, stopping at a room and pulling out a massive iron key and slotting it in. A loud click and then she looks at me once more. “Six in the morning. Do not be late.”

  With that, she turns and strides back down the hall, her back ramrod straight.

  “I’m fairly certain she’s lined her bones with metal,” a low voice says behind me. I jump, turning to glare at the intruder.

  Another young man, this time fair and golden like a classic Prince Charming, leans casually against the wall, one foot propped up behind him, his arms crossed over his chest. He’s wearing the same style of slacks and shirt, except he’s also wearing a solid black vest and gloves.

  “I didn’t realize anyone our age wore those outside of formal occasions,” I reply, trying to keep my voice dry. My heart is still racing at this entire place.

  His lips quirk upward in a smirk. “Is meeting you not a formal occasion?” He doesn’t let me respond. “Don’t concern yourself with Victor. He hates everything that isn’t his work.”

  “And you’re much kinder?”

  He snorts and shoves off the wall, stepping directly into my space and leaning down until we’re inches apart. My heart goes from frantic to still in an instant. He lets his gaze drop to my lips and warmth blooms in my cheeks. He can’t be thinking about kissing me.

  “I am worse, Miss Wollstonecraft,” his voice is jovial but there’s an edge to it. “His obsession is with the dead. Mine is with the living.”

  He walks away from me before my brain can even stutter to try to find a reply. He pauses and looks over his shoulder, the sardonic grin back on his face. “I’m Nikolai Jekyll. Welcome to the Institute for Gifted Minds.”

  Chapter Two

  Five in the morning came too damn soon, my phone chirping at me from the small nightstand next to the bed. I swipe the alarm off and flop back against the bed. For all the grandeur of the manor, the room I’ve been assigned to is little more than a closet with a hyped-up sense of ego. Still, it’s private and I’ve never had much so it’s big enough. The alarm goes off again, reminding me that I need to get up and find the shared bathrooms if I wanted to look presentable on my first day.

  Holding my change of clothes to my chest, I peek out of the room, hoping against hope there will be a neon light to escort me to the bathroom. Alas, there is not, but there is someone looking out the window at the far end of the hall that I hadn’t seen yet. My heart leaps into my throat as I look at him warily. I can’t tell if he’s real or if he’s one of the souls I can see now. He looks solid enough, and when I try to find the new sense, it feels as if the house is at rest. I gather my courage and slip out, closing the door loud enough that I hope I won’t startle him as I walk up.

  “Excuse me?” I start tentatively but it’s as if he doesn’t hear me. I step closer, and it’s not either of the two men I had met last night.

  He’s staring out of the window, his eyes narrowed and focused. I look out, trying to see what’s holding his attention so raptly. The rain has stopped, and the moon is low in the sky. The moors look ghostly with the fog c
linging to the ground. There’s a courtyard stretching out below us and seeing how high up we are almost makes my head spin. It seems so much farther than it should be.

  I get the sickening feeling that this boy is considering jumping. I look back to him, but the words die on my lips as he’s now looking at me. There is such a rage in his eyes that I back away, running into the window. The chill of the glass sinks through my nightgown and I can feel just how brittle these windows are. I’m stuck beneath his gaze and, at this point, I wish an apparition would appear to distract me. At least that’s a terror I’m becoming familiar with.

  “What do you know of vampires?”

  The question is so unexpected I can only blink at him stupidly.

  “Like in the movies?” I finally ask, my voice rasping from how tight my throat is. I almost expect him to roll his eyes, but they slide from me and outside once more.

  “There is always truth in lore,” he says, his voice low, like he’s speaking to himself and not to me. “I am close. I know it, but there is always a piece missing, just out of reach.” He blinks, his whole body shuddering before he looks at me again. This time there is no sign of the rage that had been there moments before. This man was like dry ice—cold until you get too close and then it burns into you. “Can I help you?”