Chapter 13
Google Maps and Satnav
Sinta
“All manner of magic at our fingertips, and no one has thought of a better way to navigate a Magical Academy? Someone decided old-fashioned paper maps were the best idea, really?” I huff.
Trying to figure out if I was in Hall A or Hall B of the West Wing, or even in the West Wing at all, I turn the map upside down, sideways, and even flip it over just in case.
Geography, you have failed me.
Dodging a blur of black fur, I twist to watch a wolf darting away and squeak at the grey one brushing past my leg to pursue it.
Heart thumping, the stupid map crinkles in my grip when I rub at my sternum. “Give a girl some warning, would you?” I grumble.
Seeing a wolf loping around inside the castle was strange enough, but lions sunning themselves in the courtyard and the flocks of birds dive-bombing other students had been mind boggling.
Lots of Fae had animal forms, but in high school they’d been a lot more subtle about shifting. Humans were a curious lot and loved their cameras.
I guess the rules were different here.
“Sinta! Is that you?”
Turning at the vaguely familiar voice, I grin at the small redheaded female bouncing her way towards me.
“Kenya! I was hoping to run into you.” I tell her, only tensing a little when she hugs me.
“Me too! I thought I’d maybe see you at the cafeteria for dinner or maybe in the Dorms, but you just disappeared.” She laughs, a piece of paper identical to my own clutched in her hand.
“Oh, where are you headed?” I ask, crossing my fingers behind my back.
“I’m looking for the courtyard my fitness and combat courses will be in. I want to be prepared for tomorrow.” She glances at the paper in my own hand, grinning. “You?”
“Same. Literally the same, but I got myself lost.” I admit. “Why the hell didn’t someone put this place on Google Maps or a Satnav? It’d save everyone a lot of trouble.” I grumble. “I don’t even know if I’m in the right Wing!”
“You are.” She laughs. “Look, we’re like a few doors away from the classroom attached to the courtyard. See?” She points to her own map and taps the room, then points to a door down the hall behind me.
Turning, I spot the door with a sign on it clearly stating, ‘Physical Theory and Combat Philosophy’.
“What the fuck?” I groan, throwing my hands up.
Kenya giggles behind her hand.
“Why does it say ‘Combat Philosophy’? I signed up for Combat Level 1, I’m pretty sure that doesn’t need a classroom.” I mumble as we make our way towards the door.
“I imagine they’d want to show you the moves and fighting styles you’ll be learning before actually letting you try them. They likely need a chalkboard for that.”
“A chalkboard? I thought the school was modernised.”
You’d think so, especially after seeing Rising House. I was expecting white boards, maybe even fancy projectors, and huge monitor screens.
But no, as we peaked through the window in the door, I spotted good old-fashioned wooden desks with attached chairs facing a huge chalkboard, and a set of double doors at the back of the room that probably led to the training yard.
“Someone is spending money in the wrong places.” I voice.
“In some cases, yes. But most of my classrooms have really fancy technology. I think they didn’t bother here because the Combat Courses are infamous for students randomly fighting each other during the classes. It would cost millions to constantly replace whatever they broke.” Kenya very logically points out.
“That’s probably true. My art classroom had expensive tracing boards and a state-of-the-art kiln.”
Kenya turns to me, tucking her small hands into the pocket of the burnt orange jumper she was wearing.
It was huge and fuzzy and looked suspiciously like an oodie.
“You’re taking art?”
“Yep, just art, fitness, and combat for now. I’ll see how that goes and maybe add another course towards the middle of the year. What about you?”
“Oh. Mathematical theory, historical algorithmics, social theory, fitness and combat, a few courses on ancient civilisations, and a course on the natural fauna and flora of Faerie. I hope to visit our home realm sometime this year and write a thesis on it.” She beams.
I stare at her for a long moment in total awe, long enough that she gets nervous and starts to fidget.
“That is at least six courses. Six. Double mine.” I gawk. “Woman, you are tiny. Your brain can’t be much bigger than mine. How?!”
“Though she be little, she is fierce.” Kenya retorts and makes a little roaring sound as she claws the air.
“Right, how about this? You be the brains, I’ll be the brawn. We can be ruling this school in about two or three months.” I suggest.
“Sure.” She laughs. “Can we start before or after lunch? I’m starving.”
“After. Definitely after.” I glance around, immediately feeling a ridiculous amount of panic. “Which way is the cafeteria?”
Kenya laughs and grabs my hand, pulling me along behind her. “Come on, they have a really good pizza selection.”
“Oh, my god, I love you.” I moan.
“They put you in the student village? Do you know how lucky you are?!”
“I figured it out pretty quickly when I realised I only have to share a bathroom with one person.” I quip and stuff more pizza into my mouth.
“Oh, the luxury.” Kenya bemoans. “There was a line up to use the toilet this morning. A line, to the toilet! Even worse, the girl’s dorm has twelve toilets on each floor.” She pauses to take a bite of her fetta and spinach pizza, shaking her head dramatically. “And there are only sixteen showers on each of the three floors, and they look like something out of a prison. Lined up next to each other with only a flimsy curtain and a bench to put your stuff on – which you have to wrap in plastic, or it’ll get wet while you are showering. A lot of poor girls learnt that the hard way last night.”
“Okay, you are making me feel more and more like crap with every word. Do you want to come bunk with me or something?” I demand, her words generating a horror film in my head. “I doubt the boys would care.”
Lie. Tomashi would care. He’d probably use it as a hanging offense, but I’d gladly bounce my steel caps off of his nuts.
“No, no, I wanted to experience Academy life like other females. This is part of it.” She insists. “However, I propose we have a key word. If I shout it, get me out of there faster than I can blink.”
“Got it. What word will it be?”
“Mushroom. I hate Fungai – won’t eat it, won’t touch it, wouldn’t spit on it if it were burning.” She growls, then flinches back and grimaces. “Sorry, that was a bit crass. Point is, if you hear me say that word, you’ll know it’s an emergency. I’d never say it otherwise.”
“Gotcha.” I agree. “Mine is Fuchsia. I can’t stand that shade of pink; I have nightmares about it sometimes.” I shiver for full effect.
“Done.” She agrees.
“So, what did your family think about you getting into Fairview? Were they happy for you?”
“Sort of.” Tilting her head, she gives it a little jiggle. “My brother raised me and my siblings. I think he was more happy about one less mouth to feed than celebrating my scholarship. What about yours? A huge blow-out party?”
I pull a face. “Eh, no. I only have a sister, and we’re not as close as we once were.”
“Damn, what are the odds of both of us having shitty siblings?”
“I’d say it’s pretty common – people tend to suck.” I snicker.
“Amen sister.” She quips.
“Hobbies? I’m not sitting with a closeted Muppet-lover, am I?” I tease.
She squints. “Are we talking Oscar the Grouch type Muppet, or the Kissing Cousins?”
Neither. Both options have now created a horrific vision in my mind.
“I take it back. Just thinking about it will give me nightmares.” Eating some of my pizza, I take a moment to chew and think. “I love books, old school rock and roll, and art. You?”
“Books! I love books – especially Romantasy and horror.”
“Oh, Romantasy can be good, but I’m more of a fantasy, supernatural, YA girl myself.” I laugh. “But at least we both like books?!”
“I hate broccoli, and I’d rather chew an old shoe than ever be forced to participate in a music class again. My vocal cords are more of a screeching owl than a songbird.” Kenya laughs. “I have this really cool trick – sort of like a photographic memory, but my magic amplifies it. I can hear people’s thoughts if I concentrate hard enough.”
I stare at her.
“Oh, don’t worry, I’m not very good at it. My magic is sucky and doesn’t always work. The only part I can actually control is the memory thing. I ignore the other part.” She assures me, waving like it’s no big deal.
I nod slowly. “That explains the brainiac classes.”
She smiles shyly.
“You got a better deal than me –I haven’t manifested any magic at all. I never liked music class, either. Singing in front of people was horrifying.” I agree. “Do you have roommates? I got lumped with five, but at least we’re sharing a house and not a single room.”
“Yes. Two, both are Elite – Cara Smithe and Myra Puffery. Tell me about your roommates? Only the upper Elite – well, upper and royal Elite – live in the village, so I’ll definitely know who they are.”
My eyebrows rise. “Stalker?’
“Gossip Hound.” She corrects with a sniff, pulling her phone out and waving it around. “I love the stuff. Won’t be part of it but will listen and share it. And the Elite are always being gossiped about.”
“Geez, it’s like high school all over again.” I mutter.
“Worse, you can kill someone here and not face repercussions as long as it’s done right. The Elite use the Academy as a playground and run it how they want.” Kenya informs me. “If you keep your head down you won’t have a problem, but some people don’t learn that early and end up cannon fodder.”
“Oh, trust me, my head is staying down. Drama isn’t my thing.”
“Good. So, who are you rooming with?”
“Some males called Tomashi, Fade—”
“Rapid, Elijah, and Bastien?!” She whisper-screams at me, almost leaping from her chair.
I freeze. “I haven’t met Bastien yet, but….. Yes?”
“Oh Gods, Lady Fate has it in for you. I take it back; you would’ve been better off in the Dorms.” Kenya worries.
“What?” I demand, watching her frown and set aside her pizza.
You know it’s major gossip when the gossiper stops eating.
“Sinta, honey, you’re living with literal Kings of this campus.” She breathes, tapping a few things on her phone and then turning it towards me.
It displays a gossip website aptly named ‘Elite Addict’.
And front and centre is a picture of the guys, on the Academy’s dock, looking like models from a GQ catalogue with Academy staff hauling luggage behind them.
Of fucking course.