15. No turning back
No turning back
KYRA
A profound battle between fireflies and butterflies commences within the softest part of my stomach as I traverse the halls of Rebirth.
Twenty-foot wide halls, may I add, and my palms sweat from the angst consuming my preserved confidence.
This Academy is massive, and the halls are filled to the brim with at least four hundred students, all leering as I strut past.
Rebirth is designed in a square with each corner representing a specific House.
The hallways extend from its corners, left and right, staining the walls with saturated hues of their respective colors.
This side of the Academy contains both Red and Green Wings, separated by a spacious gap.
A door leading outside requires me to traverse a small field before reentering the Academy.
My initial starting day was prolonged by Rebecca for an extra two days.
The Elders congregated, wanting to witness my magic for themselves and deliberate if me staying was viable.
Thanks to Alex, I’m now strutting down the Red Wing’s Hall, hearing “mortal fay” from envious onlookers.
Somehow, that doesn’t bother me. I’ve heard worse .
Meeting with the Elders took half a day, if not less, so the remaining time was spent moving into my new dorm with Angie’s help.
I offered to do it myself, not having much to move and refusing to become a bigger burden, but noted her serious tone and dreaded gaze as she stated, “You’ll die trying to walk in there alone.
” Not sure if she was serious or overreacting, I felt it best not to find out.
Comparing my initial dorm with House Death is like moving from a two-story house into a five-star, international hotel. Not that I’ve lived in either. The place is gargantuan. Mountainous walls seem to scratch the clouds’ underbelly, encased by an eerie, dense fog and a feeling of being watched.
I’d say it resembles an old gothic church, a dark basilicas if you will, painted in all black. A religious nightmare and a serial killer’s dream.
Needless to say, the walk here makes me tense, jittering from cold breath lingering over my shoulder and leaves crackling that don’t match my steps.
“Mortal fay slut,” a senseless voice creeps into my ear. The exaggeration and mispronunciation of ‘slut’ hints at who delivered such flowery words. Gina. Her lisp is still in effect from an unfortunate accident. I smirk without giving her a second thought.
Approaching my first class of today and containing a smile I’m unwilling to yield, I check my phone for reassurance that this is indeed the correct class. Some would argue I’m nervous, others may say compulsive, but I call it being sure. Who am I kidding, I’m nervous as hell.
I’ve already missed a week of class, knowing that means catching up may deplete what little time I have after the day’s end. Though oddly enough, it feels like I’ve been awake longer than what my phone shows.
From meeting Angie and borrowing her books while discussing what I should expect from today–to spending time grazing over a few tomes and refreshing my knowledge–to getting a light workout in because I refuse to being called a pudgy mortal amongst fit fay–to getting my ass lost for thirty minutes on the way here, I’m fucking exhausted.
Not to mention, this Academy has some weird and freaky shit going on outside. Groans, moans, whispers, and other noises had me turning in circles, trying to get here. I thought the walk wasn’t far, but every shadowy area makes me turn around. Hence me getting lost.
“Don’t linger, either enter or leave,” a disgruntled tone calls from inside the room.
It is more feminine than disgruntled, but I’m perceiving it as such.
Introductory to Magic , my starting class.
Angie isn’t accompanying me, which I’m sad about, but I’m not surprised, seeing she is beyond learning anything from this course.
Heads snap towards me, and whispers break amongst the masses. “That’s the mortal fay. I heard she did sexual favors to attend,” one fiendish and asinine student gossips. Huffing in response, my fingers curl around the straps of my book bag. Anything to steady my hands.
I find a vacant desk near the back, behind a taller student who appears more indulged in what is on his phone rather than what is surrounding him. I sit under a portraited bust of a handsome God.
This room is huge, square shaped, surrounded by three beautiful, white marble walls, reflecting the outside light. Across the class, adjacent to the door, is a wall completely made of glass, overlooking a flat field, leading into an unnerving forest that stretches for miles, it seems.
“Everyone, obtain your books and place them on your desk,” the professor demands from up front without turning away from the blackboard.
It’s amazing how perceptive she is. Knowing what happens behind her as though she has eyes…
No way. Does she have eyes in the back of her head?
I want to see. I find myself too intrigued by my own intrusive thoughts.
Students fidget in their bags, and I mirror everyone else, thankful I’m in possession of whatever the hell this book is called.
Quickly, we do as she commands, and like a domino effect, a slamming cadence echoes around.
“You should have read this book front to back by now, if you haven’t, you will fail. ”
“Excuse me, what?” Promptly I raise a hand, unable to catch myself before blurting out.
But little would that have done as each book bursts into flames without warning, mine included, causing those attending to cheer in relief.
Shrinking back and inhaling a lung full of smoke, I stare in shock.
My blood boils from watching the book Angie lent me be reduced to nothing more than ash.
Last night I re-downloaded my bank apps, knowing I’ll eventually need money for purchasing things, and thank God I did.
Even more surprising, it works here. Opening it, I immediately scowl at what is on the screen.
How the fuck is my account negative? Panic rushes through my veins, prompting a migraine to throb along my temples.
That money was being saved for a house once all this was over, and just like that, it’s gone.
Five years, two jobs, and over five-hundred thousand flushed down the damn drain.
Fuck that. Swiping between my savings and checking, I see a note attached.
“Your account has been frozen due to an ongoing investigation.” What the fuck.
My attention returns once the book I can no longer afford extinguishes.
Fighting tooth and nail against the pressure building, I attempt to listen.
“Starting today, we’ll focus on enhancing your primary magic.
Take what you’ve learned from the book and apply it.
Any questions?” she asks, continuing her disengagement from the class.
Her disgruntled tone turns to the sound of nails scraping along the very chalkboard she faces.
“What the hell, I wasn’t able to review it, and that book wasn’t mine.” Curious gleams shift my direction, passing between us, spawning more erupting rumors, only fueling my inferno desperate for release.
Vibrations tickle atop my thigh as my phone goes off. Muting my surroundings, I force a deep exhale, trying to focus. I’m agitated, blemishing cheeks, prickles trailing my neck, and a jittering leg .
After another exhale, I gaze at the phone. Angie sends me positive affirmations with wishes for a good day. “A little too late, but thanks,” I murmur. On cue, another message appears.
ANGIE
Oh, and don’t stroke the bear. No fighting. And no upsetting anyone, especially your professor. Advice from another friend.
It’s ‘poke’ the bear, Angie. My God. Pocketing my phone, I realize how eerily quiet the room has become. I look up and… Shit.
The professor turns unhurried, and my brows raise from taking her in, drop dead gorgeous with an equally sullen expression that emphasizes her piercing, orange leer.
Piss off the professor on my first day…check.
Manicured hands unbuckle her full-length coat, revealing more flesh than what is allowed teaching at any Academy.
Tattoos trail every curve around her breast, waist, and thighs like a river of black and orange inked flames.
Dangerous…Alarming…Menacing…Nefarious. Every male seated can’t remove their gaze, and neither can I.
Draping the jacket over her chair, she strolls towards me in a seductive yet menacing way.
“If you didn’t read the book…” She pauses, inches shy, and the surrounding lust-filled eyes follow her with temptation.
“Then. You. Will. Fail.” Her Hispanic accent is thick as she leans over my desk.
Gravity damn-near exposes her breasts. My mouth slowly gapes, searching for something other than the pair of her inflated self-worth to focus on.
“What are you doing?” a threatening tone asks from the door. Snapping my head at the source, I see a male, appearing more like a professor than she does. Also, where have I seen him before?
He stands rigidly with folded arms, leaning against the door’s frame. Eyes of a phantom blue hue squint behind loose strands, uncoiled from his cinnamon brown, messy bun, and a force sweeps across my shoulders like a thick blanket of oil.
“N-nothing, Marcel.” The professor deflates. I wish her tits would deflate out of my face. “We’re initiating a battle because she set our books on fire.” The duplicitous professor announces, straightening her poster while fumbling her thumbs.
“That’s a lie. I didn’t set shit on fire.” I stand in haste as warmth rubs gently over my arms, keeping me from doing the exact opposite of what Angie asked.
“You can ask everyone, Marcel. We all saw it,” she continues insisting.