Chapter 5 #2
She stops in her tracks, and her expression is cold as she looks me up and down and raises an eyebrow. “Yeah?” As she tilts her head in what seems like irritation, her multiple ear piercings catch the light.
“Um, do you know where the housing office is?”
Her gaze is somehow simultaneously bored, assessing, and annoyed. She points directly behind me, and I turn to look at the cluster of four identical towers she’s pointing at.
“It’s directly to the left of those. There’s a big sign. You can’t miss it.”
“Thank you, I—” I turn around to realize she hasn’t even waited for my response.
She’s already walking away. I watch her disappear around the corner of a building and try to brush off the disappointment of her blatant dismissal.
Could she tell that I’m new to magic? Is there some sort of elitism regarding those who come from magical families and those who don’t?
I had already been worried about making friends after spending so many years more focused on my responsibilities than my personal relationships, but this opens up another entirely new fear. What if I’m written off by everyone before I even have a chance to prove myself?
The pathways to the dorms are mostly empty, with only the occasional person rushing to their destination. The misting rain has let up for now, allowing me to make my way across campus without the moisture soaking through my clothes. Mental note: get a better rain jacket as soon as possible.
Finally, I make it to the building the woman had directed me to, and outside, there’s a sign that reads, “Housing Services.”
I drag my suitcases clumsily across the threshold and inside to the small lobby area where there’s a young man at a desk—likely a student worker—propping his head up with his hand and tapping a pencil lazily with the other. When the door shuts behind me, he sits up straight and glances over at me.
“Can I help you?”
“I’m a new student here to check in.”
He points down a hallway to my right. “It’ll be the first door on the left. Welcome to Arcadia,” he adds with a smile.
Finally, someone friendly. “Thank you so much.”
The building is old but well-maintained, and the stone walls give it a formidable air. My footsteps echo in the empty hallway as I make my way to the first door on the left.
Inside, a woman in her sixties looks up from the paperwork she’s filing by hand, no computer in sight. Behind her, the wall is entirely covered by filing cabinets with neat labels.
“Hello,” she greets me cheerily. “Are you checking in early?”
“Yes. I’m a new student.”
“Oh, well, welcome! What’s your name, dear?”
“Vivian Harver.”
She nods and turns to the massive sets of filing cabinets behind her, skimming her long, red fingernails across the alphabetical labels before opening a drawer and pulling out a folder. Returning to her desk, she flips through the folder and pulls out two different papers.
“I’ll just need you to read and sign this one,” she states, sliding one of the sheets toward me. I skim the paper, which is just a standard waiver regarding room and safety rules, then sign it and slide it back across the desk to her.
“Wonderful!” She takes the form, transfers it to a larger folder already on her desk, then hands me the other paper, showing me one side with written information and another with a campus map.
“This has your room assignment. While this set of buildings right outside contains all the undergraduate dormitories, your room will be in one of the two graduate dorms.” She circles the building and traces a pathway from our current location to the residence hall.
She opens yet another drawer and pulls out a set of two brass keys that look like they’re from a different century.
“Here’s your room key and your key to your mailbox, which you’ll find in the lobby area of your dormitory.
Try not to lose these. The locks are all enchanted to prevent anyone from accessing someone else’s room, and there are only a few people on our staff who have the information needed to unlock the doors, so it can become a bit of a hassle. ”
“Got it.”
“Some other tidbits of information to be aware of: there are enchanted sconces in most buildings that serve as backup lighting for after-hours and if a storm knocks out the power here on the island. The dining hall is directly next to the castle and is typically open from five a.m. to nine p.m., though I’m not sure what the hours are this weekend.
And there is a mandatory new student orientation on Sunday evening at six in the auditorium, which is here. ” She taps an area on the map.
“Perfect. Thank you.”
“And it looks like your roommate, Maxine, is already checked in as well. This is also her first year at Arcadia as a grad student, so you’ll be in good company.”
I breathe a sigh of relief. Maybe I won’t be as alone as I worried I’d be. “Is she also new to magic?”
The woman chuckles. “Oh, goodness no. She comes from a long line of rather powerful vampires. She transferred this year from Avalon Academy.”
A vampire? I’ve just started coming to terms with the fact that magic is real, and now I’m being told that my roommate is a creature that I’d relegated to fiction alongside werewolves and dragons, and I’m supposed to sleep soundly in the same room as someone who probably subsists on blood for the next year?
“Any questions?” she asks after I’ve been silent far too long.
Only a million, I think. Are werewolves and dragons and ghosts also real? Should I be worried for my safety with a vampire as a roommate? What and where is Avalon Academy? Instead, I say, “No, I think I’m alright. Thank you for all your help.”
My own residence hall thankfully is across campus, past the massive castle that I’d passed before.
I step outside, and the heavy mist from before has now escalated to light raindrops tapping against the sidewalk.
I keep my head down as I drag my suitcase behind me with rapid steps, but by the time I reach the building I’ll be living in for the next two years, my hair is plastered to my cheeks and my clothes are entirely soaked through.
My dormitory building is similar to the others on campus with its imposing stone structure. Ivy snakes up the facade, covering the bottom half of the dark stone with a blanket of green. It’s much wider than it is tall, though, with only a few levels by the looks of it.
I don’t have much time to examine the exterior as I rush in out of the rain. I pull the handle of one of the heavy, arched wooden doors and step inside.
I stop in the foyer, a medium-sized room with dark hardwood floors and matching ornate wainscoting covering the walls.
There’s a large navy blue doormat that extends a few feet in either direction, no doubt to catch some of the mud that will be tracked in due to the rain, and a neat line of coat hooks bordering the room.
Hallways extend to either side, one of which holds the mailboxes, and there’s a room directly ahead of me between the large spiral staircases that seem to wind upward forever.
Telling myself I’ll take the time to explore later, I glance at the paper clutched in my hand again.
Room 330. I can only assume there’s no elevator in a building this old, so I take a deep breath and start the trek up one of the staircases.
The staircase is just narrow enough to make navigating it with luggage awkward and clumsy.
My bags bang against the metal spindles as I reach floor two then, finally, floor three.
The hallway is dim, lit by sconces spaced evenly between the doorways, and it’s eerily quiet.
My rolling suitcase echoes like thunder in the emptiness.
Most of the doorways are identical bare, dark wood, but some have decorations.
I pass one with a wreath of dried flowers, another covered in photographs, and another with a chalkboard with blocky letters reading “The Chaos Room.” That sounds promising.
Finally, I reach room 330, the place I’ll be living for the next two years.
My heart rate kicks up at the sound of movement on the other side of the door.
My roommate is here. Correction: my vampire roommate is here.
But the administrators would have the foresight to not put me in a room where I’d be in danger… right?
I decide to try the handle first, but it’s locked. The movement inside the room stops as I fish the brass key from my jacket pocket and turn it in the lock. It turns smoothly despite its apparent age.
The door swings inward with a push, and I’m met with the sight of a room that’s slightly larger than I expected. Each half of the room is a mirror image of the other, with two beds occupying each wall, dressers against the wall on either side of the door, and small desks at the foot of each bed.
The walls are an off-white that’s a stark contrast to the dark wood of the hallways and foyer, and there’s a window directly across from the doorway that lets in soft, natural light.
One side of the room is already claimed, as expected. The bed is made with a black comforter and matching pillowcases, and haphazard stacks of books lean precariously against the wall.
The desk is covered in various jars of what look like herbs, multiple candles in different shapes, sizes, and colors, and a collection of small stones.
Most importantly, sitting at the desk is the same woman who gave me directions earlier.
She turns as I enter, and recognition falls over her expression. Her countenance sours, like my presence is an affront to her very existence.
I go for a friendly approach first despite my discomfort at the apparent disdain my roommate already has for me. “Hi, I’m Vivian,” I introduce myself in a bright voice.
Still frowning, she cocks an eyebrow and introduces herself by simply stating her name. “Max.”
Alright then.
I wheel my suitcases to the unclaimed side of the room and toss the other bags onto the bare mattress, rubbing my sore shoulders as soon as the weight is off of them.