10. Stella
10
Stella
The elderly angel at the front of the room drones on, her voice entirely flat, as she discusses the evolution of laws meant to contain the ‘supernatural problem.’ If she were a bit more engaging, this class could very well end up being not only incredibly useful but also my favorite.
Instead, I’m fighting to keep my eyes open as I hunch over my notebook.
I really should be taking detailed notes. Anything said or done here could explain why the graduates seem devoid of spirit. On the surface, this appears to be a regular school, a place sent to refine and polish citizens. But a strange undercurrent in the upperclassmen and the teachers worries me.
Well, except for Professor Jessup.
Michael.
Whatever I’m supposed to call him.
He doesn’t have that tired, compliant look that the others have. But maybe it’s because he’s so new. Regardless, I need to keep my head about myself around him. He could be a resource I can exploit.
And I need to pay attention in all of my classes, taking notes on every interaction I have to ensure that the danger of what is happening here is irrefutable when my exposé comes out.
“And that is why, two hundred and seven years ago, two years after the conclusion of the Rift War, the first implementation of safety laws targeting supernaturals were put in place,” the teacher says.
Wait. What is why?
I scramble through my notes to see if I missed something.
“A vampire drained a councilman in a public square,” a soft, airy voice says behind me. I turn around and see a supernatural with wavy blonde hair that falls to her waist, smiling at me. Her eyes are so blue they’re almost purple, and her lips are cherry red. She’s stunning, and even though I don’t swing that way, I’m tempted right now.
Why don’t I swing that way?
Females are beautiful. Look at her soft curves, that pretty smile. Her lips are so pouty. I want to pull the bottom one in with my teeth.
“Thanks,” I say, my throat hoarse. I turn around and write the information down as the teacher dismisses the class, but my mind is on the gorgeous female behind me. I’m not sure where my head was that I missed what the teacher was saying, but at least I have some information to look it up in more detail tonight.
And it gave me an introduction to the Goddess behind me.
“Anytime,” she says with a hand wave as she stands. Her melodic voice wraps around me, pulling me towards her. I pack up my things quickly and follow her swaying hips out the door. She glances over her shoulder at me, wincing. “I’m a siren, Valkyrie.”
I rear back as if slapped. The acknowledgment of what her spirit is breaks the hold she unintentionally had on me.
How had I gotten entranced so quickly? She notices my confusion and laughs, turning to face me fully. Dressed in a silk dress that would be more at home in the bedroom, she smiles sadly. “I don’t do it on purpose, I promise.”
My mouth is still a little dry, and I look over her left shoulder to avoid eye contact. “I’m sure you don’t. I’m surprised I fell victim to it. Normally, I’m more aware,” I answer honestly. In front of her, with her perfect body and heart-shaped face, I feel self-conscious in my baggy, ripped jeans, canvas sneakers, and white crop top. I’ve had to cut slits in the back of all my clothing for my wings, which has left me feeling a little frumpy.
In contrast, she’s a vision whose allure has almost nothing to do with her supernatural spirit.
She places a hand on my arm, drawing my attention to long, coffin-shaped nails lacquered in a vibrant neon pink. “I have no doubt you are. I hope you know I mean no harm.” I nod and keep my focus on her hand. If I don’t look her in the eyes, it’s a little easier to keep from being wrapped up in her. “I’m Jules,” she tells me.
“Stella. Nice to meet you.”
“You too,” she says, rubbing her hand down my arm as she pulls it away, the lingering touch sending chills down my spine. Does she not realize what she’s doing? “You were taking notes like crazy back there until the end.”
“Yeah, the teacher put me into a trance,” I laugh. I follow Jules as she heads down the stairs, and I notice that the more time I spend in her presence, the less enraptured I feel. Maybe I’m building immunity.
I can still recognize her beauty, but I no longer feel the ache to go to her, to be with her.
I guess I really don’t swing that way.
She breaks off on the third floor. “I was close to zoning out, too. My next class is here. Maybe we can grab lunch?”
“I’d like that. I’m going to eat outside near the fountain today with my friends Ryan and Clay.”
Jules purses her lips, and a flush runs up her neck. “Maybe not. Until I get better control of my song, I’m not sure if I should be around men unless I have to.”
“No, you don’t get to isolate yourself because of your spirit, Jules. We can figure this out. I already feel less drawn simply by being around you for a few minutes.” She stares at me, eyes wide, and I raise an eyebrow at her. “Is that not normal?”
“Not this quickly,” she admits, shaking her head and rubbing the back of her neck. “If you’re sure, though.”
“I’m sure. I’ll see you for lunch.”
Lunch was a disaster.
Not because Jules drew Ryan and Clay to her. To Jules’ excitement, they shook off her song surprisingly quickly. She says her song makes it difficult to make friends, and I believe her after what went down with everyone else.
Every supernatural seemed to linger around our group, pulled towards Jules unintentionally. As she noticed more and more spirits drawn to us, she retreated within herself, shame and embarrassment flooding her face. Regardless of what I said to her, she was still so upset that she left lunch early and ran back to her room, but not before explaining to us that she was there on scholarship because her song was so strong that she could not keep living like this and wants to learn to control her nature.
But that’s not what the Academy is, is it?
It’s not here to teach us to control and harness our spirit’s gifts. It’s here to override them, to stamp them out until we are all but Authentic. While Jules needs help reigning in her song, I worry that Robert Sinclair’s goal is to rip out her vocal cords.
I found myself looking for the blue-haired leprechaun throughout lunch, but he was nowhere to be seen. My interaction with the male was hostile, and I want to start over. I want to introduce myself properly when he isn’t embarrassed and angry.
Tree approached our group and apologized for his attitude yesterday, but didn’t linger. I don’t know if it was a genuine apology or one born from fear of what my guys and I could do, but I appreciated it all the same.
My guys?
Where did that thought even come from?
Sure, I feel a connection with Clay and Ryan and a desire to be around them. They make me laugh and feel comfortable with them, but that doesn’t make them mine. It’s been a long time since I have felt like I could be myself, and they encourage it.
That doesn’t mean I need to go and get all possessive.
I have never felt more connected to my spirit than I have since I came to the Academy. After so long in hiding, I could almost convince myself my wings were the only thing setting me apart from the Authentics.
It’s not lost on me that the first place I have embraced my Valkyrie spirit in a decade is the place determined to extinguish it.
After a dull afternoon of classes, I snag my computer and backpack and escape into the woods to research and write. Even though I’m not supposed to have the electronics and should probably keep them in my room, I need the fresh air to help me think.
I prop up against the broad base of a massive oak deep within the forest surrounding the campus. Its wide-spread branches provide a canopy, casting the area in shadows.
At the bottom of my bag is a small metal tin about the size of my palm filled with ground forroweed. On top of it are thin wrapping papers. After carefully laying out a square of the paper, I roll up a cigarette with the weed. From this position, I’ll be able to see and hear if someone is coming and stash my contraband.
It’s time to get to work.
The cloying, almost sweet taste of the forroweed smoke fills my lungs, and I sigh happily. The plant, when dried, is one of the only substances that alters the mental state of supernaturals. Our metabolisms are too fast for Authentic vices like alcohol to do much to us. But for some reason, forroweed doesn’t affect Authentics and can have a mellowing effect on supernaturals that can come with a burst of creativity.
I’m not sure how long I’ve been out here. The cigarette is burned down more than half and hanging across my lip, my mind comfortably numb, and my fingers flying across the keyboard as I catalog the spirits I met today and the things I learned. My wings stretch and flex in the fading sunlight, the weed working its magic through my body until every part of me feels that overwhelming calm and relaxation it brings me.
I don’t have an endless supply of the stuff, but I brought enough to get me through the quarter if I don’t spend all day everyday smoking. I’m hoping that’s all the time I’ll need here to get the information I need to bring this place down.
A crack of branches in front of me has me whipping my head up and hiding the laptop behind my back, the cigarette barely hanging on to my lips.
“I smelled the forroweed, but I gotta say, I didn’t think it would lead me to you, angel,” the leprechaun says, resting his shoulder against a neighboring oak. “Color me surprised that a messenger of the gods is who I find with it.”
“Well, normally I’d share since my mother taught me manners, but now I don’t wanna,” I snark, pulling my computer out from behind me. I can’t articulate why, but I know this male will not report me for having it.
“Aw, angel, don’t be like that,” he coos, stepping closer to me.
“Don’t call me angel, asshole,” I say, cutting my eyes towards him. “I’m sure I can think of plenty of things to call you related to your spirit that you wouldn’t like. How do you think it feels to be constantly labeled something you’re not, to the point where people argue with you about it?”
I listened to my mother fight with people my entire life, who insisted she was a fallen angel and not the warrior she was. It’s so frustrating being a spirit that is so rare many forget we exist. And with my white wings, I’m bound to get it even more than she does now that I’m keeping them out.
He sinks to the forest floor, propping his back against the tree across from me. He’s close but not within touching distance, yet I’m still tense from his presence. “I’m sorry, I didn’t think about it like that.”
“Surprising, considering the vampire told me why you two were fighting. You think you’d be more sensitive to it.”
The leprechaun has the decency to look embarrassed. “He told you about that, huh?” Something in his voice draws me in, and I hold out the cigarette to him. He raises his eyebrows but takes it, inhaling deeply and holding it in his lungs before blowing out slowly. “Well, they tell me I’m lucky, but now I really believe it. This is some good shit.”
“You think I’d go to the trouble of sneaking it on campus for swamp weed?”
“I suppose not,” he laughs, taking another hit. “You roll a tight joint.”
“It’s a cigarette. ”
“It’s a joint. Changing the name doesn’t make it classier. You’re still smoking weed in the woods.”
I mutter under my breath and yank the cigarette out of his hands. “I’m not technically wrong.”
“Or technically right,” he chuckles and taps his nose. With the forroweed working through him, his shoulders loosen, and he stretches his legs out.
The leprechaun is wearing jeans again, this pair tapered towards his ankles, a white tee that rides up and shows a thick black tattoo of jagged lines between his hips, and a black and white plaid shirt tied around his waist. He looks so Authentic that it’s hard to imagine how he could’ve ended up here.
“So, what are you in for?” he asks as if his thoughts dovetailed with my own.
I spew my fake story, but only after faltering momentarily. I wanted to tell him the truth. I wanted to trust him. But was that some pull of his magic? I can’t be sure. Regardless, this is a solo mission, so I tell him the same lie everyone else heard. But his reaction is a little different than what I expected.
“That’s bullshit,” he says calmly. “No male who got to fuck you would give up a chance for more by getting you arrested.”
My face heats, and I distract myself by taking another pull of the forroweed. “I appreciate the … endorsement? Vote of confidence?” My tongue is getting tied by the intoxicant.
I hand him the cigarette. “Whatever. It’s what happened. What about you?”
“Oh, my luck ran out, banlaoch .“ I wrinkle my nose at the unfamiliar word but don’t interrupt. “I helped the wrong people out of their hard-earned cash, is all.”
“You’re a thief?” I don’t know why, but that surprises me.
“Nothing as common as that. I acted as a facilitator for people to test their luck at events.”
It takes a moment for his words to penetrate the haze the weed has lowered over my brain. “Oh shit, you’re a bookie?” His laugh is free, his head thrown back, and his arm crossed over his chest. I gape at him, marveling at the way his previously stoic face lights up with a smile. His teeth are a little crowded on the bottom, but it does nothing to detract from the fact that, like this, he’s stunningly handsome.
The kind of bad boy beauty that could break your heart if you’re not careful.
“And your kind is known for manipulating luck,” I continue. “Clever.”
“The house always wins,” he says, winking. He brushes his blue hair behind his ears, and I notice shining gold plugs stretching the lobes wide.
Secretly, I’m impressed with this male. He probably got away with his scheme for a long time, passing as an Authentic, and managed to find a way to use his spirit’s powers in a way that benefited him but mainly went unnoticeable. “Remind me never to play cards with you.”
“Fair enough.” He pushes to his feet, stamping out the end of the cigarette. “Enjoy the woods, banlaoch . I appreciate the hospitality.”
“What’s your name, leprechaun?” I ask as he walks away.
“No information is free, sweetness,” he says over his shoulder as he walks away.