Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
Lena
I’ve never been very good at riddles. Whether from lack of ingenuity or lack of fucks given, I don’t think I’ve ever solved one successfully. But here goes nothing:
When I’m in your glass, your thirst will not be quenched
I’m unlike anything
I’m what Lena has to wear to this mixer
What am I?
Answer: nothing.
So riddle me this, what does a twenty-two-year-old woman wear to the welcome reception with a cocktail attire dress code, when the only things in her wardrobe are oversized menswear, grandma church dresses, and neon athletic wear?
I stare at my terrible options as if the ferocity of my glare will magically turn one of these garments into a blue minidress. I guess I’m better at writing riddles than solving them.
I went shopping on campus in hopes of purchasing some essentials and something to wear tonight.
I learned from my orientation pamphlets that everything students need is on campus, including a grocery store, boutiques, cafés, restaurants, and bars.
Unfortunately, I couldn’t justify spending money as everything was ridiculously overpriced.
And when the only cash I have on hand is my tips from my last night of work, sadly, I’m forced to stick to the three-in-one…
or what I am now referring to as the hair care product from hell.
Luckily, I had my cosmetic bag in my work purse.
I need to get my things from Portland and find a job on campus ASAP.
But for now, I grab one of the ugly grandma dresses and channel every garment transformation episode of RuPaul’s Drag Race I’ve ever seen.
Naomi, Gemma, and I walk to the reception hall in the Komarov Center together, followed closely behind by a scowling Boden, who refuses to engage in polite conversation with me, no matter how interesting I am.
Come on, there’s no way he knew that the New Hampshire state motto is “Live Free or Die,” that’s some total Bruce Willis shit—yippee-ki-yay mother fucker.
Hell, I didn’t even know that until this afternoon when, in a stress-induced panic over my lack of clothing options and being stuck in the middle of a national forest, I googled “Likelihood of dying in the woods in New Hampshire.” Turns out the chances are minimal but not zero.
We enter the reception hall, and Boden swiftly disappears while Gemma, Naomi, and I beeline it to the buffet. The tables burst with every type of food imaginable: cheese, salads, raw shellfish, fruits, roasted meats, chocolate sculptures, and delicious-looking pastries dusted with pastel sugar.
The hall is packed with students and faculty, who, of course, are in stunning cocktail attire.
I had the absolutely genius idea to cut the black slip out of one of the grandma dresses and style it with my heels.
I don’t think I’ll have a career as a fashion designer or an enigmatologist anytime soon, but I’m patting myself on the back for solving this riddle.
The slip is black and silky with black-and-white lace detailing at the hem and across the bust line.
Is it the most glamorous thing I’ve ever worn? No. But I’m making it work for me.
I’m starting to notice a theme with the architecture and design on campus; it’s almost otherworldly. Black-and-white marble floors cover the expansive room, and the entire ceiling is made of a luminous stained-glass mosaic of the night sky.
Eastern-facing windows and glass doors are open to a large balcony overlooking a lake, their sheer curtains blowing in the breeze.
The sun is just starting to set, painting the sky and lake in oranges, pinks, purples, and blues.
The room is covered in floating orb-like candles that weave among the stone rafters like giant fireflies.
Gemma catches me staring at one. “It’s a fae light. The fire fae craft them.”
I give her a questioning look.
“Naomi told me you’re kind of new to all this. I hope me knowing is okay.”
“Bit of an understatement really, but yeah, I’ve nothing to hide.
” Okay, that isn’t entirely true. I have a few things to hide, none of which are appropriate for casual getting-to-know-you conversation.
Plus, sharing any of them would be in total violation of The Rules.
I give my focus to the lights. “They put battery-operated candles to shame, huh?” I thought my fake flickering candles were the height of ingenuity, but it turns out I just hadn’t been introduced to magic yet.
I told Naomi on our walk over here that I hadn’t seen anything magical on campus.
She pointed out that magic is all around us constantly.
Apparently, in the human world, people tend to rationalize it away.
She proceeded to inform me that both the snow and pyrotechnics at the orientation were magic, as well as a bunch of other things I hadn’t realized.
Things I just chalked up to rich people being rich.
The florals are grown by earth elementals the day of an event to provide the freshest flowers possible.
Looking around this room, decked out in pastel hydrangeas and sunset-colored roses, I have a brand-new appreciation for the decor.
The Wi-Fi I’ve been using all day isn’t real Wi-Fi.
It’s powered by magic. She went into further explanation, detailing how our internet has protections, called magical wards, built-in so that we can access the normal human websites, but non-magica cannot access ours.
While indulging in the buffet (I know a Bluepoint oyster when I see one), something hard knocks into me.
Nearly landing face-first into a baby-pink frosted cake, I catch myself on the table, my perfectly seasoned oyster spilling right out of its shell.
I turn to give a tongue-lashing to whoever bumped into me and see two men pushing each other and yelling. Everyone gives them space, me included.
“Why isn’t anyone doing anything?” I ask Naomi.
I mean, I sure as hell am not getting in between that, but I’d at least assume faculty would break it up.
Just as I open my mouth to say as much, one of the men gets knocked to the ground and begins to…
vibrate? Not as in a figure of speech like “he’s vibrating with anger,” which he totally is, but I mean he literally starts to vibrate.
Like that demon-possessed little girl from The Exorcist.
A ripple runs through his body, the fabric of his suit strains and stretches.
Terrible popping noises echo through the hall.
His fingers elongate, thickening, nails transforming into…
claws? His rust-colored hair spreads, covering his face with dense fur.
What in the Michael Jackson “Thriller” music video?
I’m unable to look away from the revolting sight. The material of his suit groans and gives way. The sound of tearing fabric is drowned out by deep, guttural growls. Shit, so this is a wolf shifter…Fuck, should I run?
No one else is running.
Why is no one running?
Hell, half the attendees have already returned to chatting and eating.
The wolf shifter’s face contorts, extending into a snout with glistening teeth.
His back arches, spine realigning with a cacophony of loud snaps.
His eyes are now fully lupine, glowing and feral.
In less than thirty seconds, where once stood a student in a tailored suit, there is now a ginormous wolf twice his size.
“Come on, at least take it outside!” The chancellor shakes her head like a man transforming into a wolf in the middle of a reception is just a minor inconvenience.
The wolf lunges for a window. The other man quickly strips as he follows the wolf out onto the balcony, his dick just swinging in the wind.
“It’s a competition for pack order.” Naomi takes a bite of her cupcake.
“So they can decide who’s alpha. No one can intervene.
” She shrugs like she’s seen this frequently and is not at all bothered by a completely naked student chasing a wolf through the ballroom.
Everyone’s returned to socializing, unconcerned.
I’m left shaking, attempting to ignore my body’s fight-or-flight response.
Naomi joins a group of wolf shifters to gossip about the alpha challenge, while Gemma has been pulled into a conversation with someone she went on the ambassador program with.
And I’m standing alone by the food, very wallflower-like and not at all resembling my usual outgoing self.
I can’t decide whether my desire to indulge in the free oysters outweighs the likelihood that I will vomit from the adrenaline still coursing through my body after witnessing my first wolf transformation.
I’m a little out of my depth; the only thing left for me to do is to force myself to socialize. Callum and Boden are chatting with a small group of people out on the balcony. I cross the room to try my hand at mingling.
“Hi, Boden. Callum, right?” I saunter up to their group. “Not sure if you remember me, but we shared a plane yesterday. I was the one clearly well-informed and knowledgeable about all of this,” I joke, gesturing around with my counterfeit confidence.
Callum’s eyes widen slightly in Boden’s direction, but they say nothing in return.
Boden, on the other hand, sneers and gives me a once-over before asking, “What do you want?”
I guess he still doesn’t appreciate my sense of humor. “I just thought I would come say hi, seeing as I don’t know many people.”
“Who’s your friend, Boden?” a tall man with dark skin and a beautiful smile asks.
“She’s not my friend,” Boden hisses.
Well, screw you too. It’s difficult to embarrass me, but something about the way both Boden and Callum disregard me makes the heat rise in my cheeks and my palms sticky.
“Well, you can be my friend,” the tall man says, with a wink. My hero, saving me from an apparent social faux pas that’s ostensibly much worse than shifting into a wolf. “I’m Lyam.” He plants a kiss on the back of my hand.