Chapter 11
The next day I wake just after the sun does.
Wisps of light slant across my face, illuminating flecks of antique dust in our little cove of a dorm.
It’s early enough that I have time to make it to the apartment to grab some necessary clothes, bedding, and my half-frame, but late enough that Penny’s already left for work when I arrive.
I give Hound some snuggles while I pack, allowing him to flop on top of me as if he’s a much smaller dog.
It’s not like I won’t come back once or twice over the entire semester, but not seeing his sweet eyes and excited butt wiggle every day is going to be a gut punch.
When I’m back at Harker, I formally enroll in all of Sophia’s classes.
I call Penny before my first class to tell her I’ll be staying at Nora and Fiona’s place for the next few months given how much work there is to do on the new exhibit.
I’ll practically be living at the Windsor.
Not really a lie. She is, of course, completely understanding and asks if there’s anything she can do to make my life easier. Gut punch number two.
I tell myself I’ll tackle the Fiona of it all next week. For now, I’ve told her my stomachache has become a full-blown stomach flu, but I’ll need to come up with something better to take a break from the Windsor without losing my job.
I’m determined to make it to the library later tonight, but first I have to brave the second half of the course load Sophia and I share.
Today we have Potions and Salves and Monster Identification I.
Wednesday we have the same courses as Monday; Thursday is the same as today; and Friday are a couple of physical classes including Combat Training I with instructor dearest, Reid Graveheart.
My body nearly crackles at the thought of squaring off with him again.
Sophia and I amble down the spiral staircase of Elkfore and past the preserved suit of armor in the foyer outside our commons.
On the way to our first class, I take in even more of the campus—the white stone statues of past great hunters, the cobblestone courtyards and students playing chess beneath shady oak trees.
Our Potions and Salves classroom looks nothing like any of the ones we were in yesterday, especially Lisette’s gothic basement annex.
The velvet curtains and professor’s jewel-toned desk chair in this classroom make it feel more like being inside a lava lamp than a historic castle like the rest of Harker.
The twinkling blown-glass chandelier that hangs above casts speckled rainbow light on all the students’ faces as they take their seats.
I recognize Professor Rosalind Dawnmere, our Potions and Salves teacher, as Lisette’s gossamer-winged dinner companion from last night.
Draped in layers of fluttering fabric, with pointed ears and skin as warm and brown as chestnut wood, Dawnmere waltzes into the classroom as if carried on the last wisp of a soft summer wind.
She’s taller than I expect a fairy to be—over six feet—and yet nimble and lithe and dainty beyond measure.
“Good morning, students,” she says with a gentle smile, the slight edges of her lengthened canines peeking out. “And welcome again to Harker.”
Her beauty seems to have stunned half the class, as the responses are croaked and awkward, if uttered at all.
But Dawnmere doesn’t look like she minds.
She floats over to the blackboard and writes across it salves, potions, oils.
“Let’s start with something easy. An icebreaker, of sorts,” Dawnmere says in a voice as light and sweet as meringue.
“Which of these three would be best to use on your blade before you battle a siren?”
“A salve,” a student in the front says without raising his hand. Matt Peverell, from Underworld Studies. “Because they’re easier to brew and can temporarily remove a siren’s ability to hypnotize you with their voice.”
“Very close,” Dawnmere says gently. “But sirens are sea creatures. So you’re going to need something that won’t be affected by the salt water. Oils, on the other hand—”
“I don’t think you’re right about that,” Matt says, leaning back in his chair. “My dad’s big on using salves on all his swords no matter the creature. Brews them at home with my mom.”
The crystal chandelier overhead begins to shake ever so slightly. Sophia and I raise our eyes to it in concern.
“Well, Mr. Peverell,” Dawnmere says, “there’s absolutely a time and place for the right kind of salve, but oils—”
“My dad says oils lose their potency way faster than salves. Is that not true?”
“Mr. Peverell,” Dawnmere warns through clenched teeth. “You might want to listen to the lesson before you—”
“But don’t you think—”
Dawnmere’s eyes glow a molten gold as the velvet drapes shudder with the weight of her fury. “Don’t interrupt me!” she bellows, the chandelier above shattering, sending shards of glass raining down.
Matt blanches, ducking for cover. “Jesus Christ, lady—”
A goblet from the mantel launches on its own across the room toward his head. Matt dodges instantly—hunter instincts kicking in not a second too soon—and the goblet clangs against his wooden chair hard enough to knock the pens off his desk.
For a moment, the entire classroom goes as still as the dead.
“As I was saying,” Dawnmere resumes lightly, tucking a lock of shiny hair behind her ear and releasing a slight giggle. “Oils aren’t soluble, which means…”
Sophia and I sink back silently into our seats as the fairy continues, as effervescent and ethereal as a bubble floating through air.
Unlike the jewel-toned, gilded splendor of Dawnmere’s class, Monster Identification is taught in a wallpapered room stuffed with bookcases, brass candleholders, and a hanging coat of arms. Professor Maxwell Crowley is already pulling a chair to the center of the room when we filter in, still a little shaken by Dawnmere’s outburst.
“So, fairies are terrifying,” Sophia says as we sit down next to Peter and Elliot. “Got it.”
“Dawnmere?” Peter asks.
I nod, a bit too stunned to speak. When I pull my hair into a clip, a shard of glass tumbles out onto the desk.
“She’s actually really sweet,” Kitty tells us. “Just…don’t piss her off.”
“I will not be speaking at all in that class, then,” Sophia says, opening her notebook.
“Wanna bet?” Elliot and I say at the same time before we share a surprised grin. Sophia only glares at us both.
“Good morning, class,” Professor Crowley says.
His voice is cool and light. He has a relaxed ease about him that I appreciate.
Like the guy behind the counter in a tech store who helps you understand your phone.
Between the dean’s menace, Lisette’s odd glares, and Dawnmere’s outburst, the professors so far have been as fearsome as some of the creatures they’re teaching us to battle.
But Crowley’s also got a mouthful of shiny metal, so who knows?
“How’d he lose all his teeth?” I whisper to Peter.
“Brood demon punched him so hard his entire jaw shattered.”
“But apparently his teeth are now sterling silver,” Elliot tells us. “So he can chew through any others who try to do the same.”
Sophia nods her approval. “Sick.”
“Monster Identification,” Crowley tells us, sitting backward on his chair, arms slung casually over its back, “is going to be your simplest class.”
Half the class chuckles; the rest seem nervous this is some kind of trap.
“I’ll show you images and descriptions of all manner of deviants, and you’ll take about six tests where you regurgitate the information.
You don’t have to brew anything, fight anyone, or analyze names, places, or dates.
At Harker, Monster Identification is our math.
It can get complicated, but one plus one is always two.
If it’s got fangs and drinks blood, it’s… ?”
“A vampire,” the class says in half-enthused unison.
“Beautiful,” Crowley says with a quicksilver grin. “Killing it already.”
I have to remind myself that every single hunter in this room is looking for their prey based on visual identification rather than an inherent sixth sense like I have as an aeon. The flash of red in a demon’s eyes. The batwings on a succubus. The claws on a were.
Crowley explains how beasts and the undead are probably the easiest for a hunter to track down.
Ogres, ghouls, dragons—they have no human form at all.
Which means hunters can perceive them with eyesight alone.
Vamps are pretty noticeable too, because, fangs.
He goes on to explain how lycanthropes might be even more difficult to spot than demons.
While demons’ eyes will flash red with hunger or fury, Crowley says, we might not know we’ve got a werewolf on our hands until we catch one chowing down on a tentful of campers in the woods.
As Crowley continues to talk about how monsters are like math, the skin across my arms and legs pebbles.
I swivel in my chair just in time to spy Dean Driscoll strolling in through a door at the back of the classroom, meaty arms crossed, with Reid in tow.
He’s in a Harker crew and athletic pants like an off-duty soccer player.
I nudge Sophia and give her What are they doing here? eyes, but she only shrugs.
“Now,” Crowley says, pulling an empty chair from the front row up beside him.
“I’ll tell you one way monsters are not like math.
You can’t get in the head of a fraction.
Can’t ask integers why they are the way they are.
Or”—he shrugs—“maybe you can. I don’t know, I’m not a math teacher.
What I do know is that we have a rare opportunity here at Harker to speak to an actual deviant. ”
Some mild intakes of breath across the classroom. Students who, I’d imagine, don’t yet know that a reformed demon (or one claiming to be) will be teaching their most important combat course.
“And not just any deviant, but a Brood demon.”
“Ex,” Reid says behind me. The entire room whips their heads in his direction. He doesn’t even flinch. “Ex–Brood demon.”
“Let’s all give a warm welcome to Mr. Reid Graveheart.”
The class claps mildly and Reid makes his way down the aisle to the chair beside Crowley. When he doesn’t sit immediately, Crowley gives him an unreadable look until he does.
“Okay, rules are simple,” Crowley tells us.
“Don’t be a dick. You ask something Mr. Graveheart or I deem inappropriate, you’re out and I’ll count your first test of the semester as a failure.
If you don’t think you can handle that for any reason, the door is right there, and you can return to class on Thursday, no harm no foul. ”
To my surprise, two different students from separate sections of the classroom quietly pack up their things and leave.
I imagine at least one of them is just happy to have a free period, but when I see their faces, they don’t look like they’ve gotten away with cutting class.
They look scared. And ashamed, maybe, to be scared.
One row ahead, I realize, a student’s hand is shaking.
I guess it’s entirely possible that none of these students have ever seen a demon before.
“Very well,” Crowley says, turning to Reid. “Anything you want to say before we open it up?”
Reid’s face is a mask of calm disinterest. “Nope.”
“Didn’t think so,” Crowley mutters. “Who’s first?”