36. Michael
36
Michael
Paul Rider is in his mid-sixties, with a full head of grey hair. He’s slim, with sun-damaged skin and a sickly sweet smile that I am sure he thinks is appealing.
As we walk to the dining hall, where we’re meant to get Stella before we begin his tour, I fight to keep my voice droll and bored, like the other simplynaturals.
“It’s wonderful what Robert has done here. This place is beautiful,” Paul says as he looks around the courtyard. “Absolutely stunning. I am surprised at how clean it is, considering how unruly the spirits must be when they arrive.”
I bite my tongue so I don’t speak out of turn and count to three before I respond.
“Yes. Robert Sinclair has been a blessing to all of us.” The words taste like spoiled milk.
Six spirits are lined up outside the cafeteria, having quiet conversations between them.
This is the first time I’ve seen the student escorts, and I am not surprised by who is there. I recognize all of the students that the administration wanted to show off. Stella stands with the Cyclops and Reaper, chatting animatedly as her wings flex behind her. The new brand on my chest tingles with familiarity at our nearness.
The Reaper’s fingers dance along her forearm, and the Cyclops places a massive hand on the small of her back as he leans down to whisper in her ear.
I am sure they are meant to be a part of the Raven, so I will need to get over the tiny curl of jealousy in the pit of my stomach. I’m not sure if it’s because they are touching her or because they can touch her in public . She and I will never be able to be public with our affections until we leave this place.
The thought causes an ache in my chest.
Stella’s laugh fills the courtyard, a bright and beautiful sound that nearly takes me to my knees and eases the ache in my gut.
I hear Paul’s sharp breath when he spots her.
Standing off Stella’s left side, looking uncomfortable, is a young female rumored to be a unicorn shifter, an Incubus, and a Berserker.
I don’t miss the way the Berserker eyes Stella, and though I don’t like it, it’s not unexpected. Their kind have stuck together in modern history, often choosing each other as partners for a better chance at continuing their spirit lines.
But it’s nearly predatory, the way he stares her down.
She steadfastly ignores him.
“Miss Mikers,” I call out once Paul seems restless to meet her. “Please, come here.”
Stella crosses her arms under her chest, and her breasts are pushed so far up that they almost fall out of the scooped neck of her black dress. The dress hangs loosely around her hips but stops above mid-thigh, and she stomps over to me with her heavy combat boots as it rides dangerously high up her thighs.
None of her clothing is made to contain her massive wings, and when she turns around to say something to the two males she was with, I see the jagged rips in the back of her dress. Flashes of creamy skin and the black tattoo on her spine are gone as quickly as my brain registers them. I didn’t see the green of my symbol, but I know it’s there.
A possessive type of pride fills me.
Her lip curls as she looks at me with fake disdain. We decided to pretend like we didn’t know each other well and that she is not my biggest fan. She thinks pretending to be removed from me will allow Paul to pull her closer.
I don’t like it, but it’s worth a shot.
Paul Rider looks giddy, absolutely enthralled by her. “Miss Mikers,” he simpers. “Pleasure to meet you.”
“Mister Rider,” she says cooly. “Welcome to Robert Sinclair’s Reformation Academy.”
When we discussed how she would behave, we decided that Stella would be a caricature of her stereotype, living up to all their expectations of a Valkyrie.
Her wings flex behind her, nearly knocking into Paul, but he does not look upset about it at all. “Well, Miss Mikers,” he begins.
“Call me Stella,” she says with a skip, hovering over the ground briefly with a small flap of her wings.
“Stella.” He rolls her name over his tongue, and I want to smack him, to tell him to get her name out of his mouth. But I don’t. “Tell me how you ended up here at Robert Sinclair’s.”
“Oh, well, I’m here on scholarship.” She stops walking and turns around, crossing her arms over her chest again. “I was tired of being so aggressive and combative every day. It was exhausting, always feeling like I needed to be strong and powerful.”
“I can see how that would be tiring for a female.” His face lights up with glee as he speaks. “What an excellent reason to want to overcome your baser instincts.”
“Yep, that’s me, just a little Valkyrie who has dreams of being a housewife.”
I nearly kick the bottom of her shoe. When our eyes meet, I try to tell her without words to tone it the fuck down. She’s supposed to embody her spirit, not act as if she hates it.
She seems to catch my drift and clears her throat. “But alas, the battlefield calls my name. I can hear it whispering to me…” She holds her hand up to her ear and hisses, “Stella… Stella…”
Surprisingly, Paul bursts out laughing at her ridiculous antics. “You are a spirited one, aren’t you? Are all Valkyrie as entertaining as you?”
Stella stumbles momentarily before plastering on a fake smile. “I have only met one other, and she is my mother. We’re quite endangered as far as spirits go now. Not that we were ever very prolific to begin with. It’s said the God Odin hand-picked the original Valkyrie.”
“Ah, Odin. He’s but a myth, though,” he responds, taking a large step to walk alongside her. “There is no proof Valhalla exists as a realm.”
“There isn’t?” Her voice holds a note of sadness. “But you’ve seen another realm yourself, haven’t you? You’re right by the rift.”
Clever little warrior. She made the conversation end up where she wanted so naturally.
“Oh, you’ve heard of Missurd then?” He puffs up a little. “Yes, we border the rift. We were instrumental in holding off Reighold’s forces during the war.”
“What’s it like? Do you get resources from tourism for people wanting to see the rift?” Stella points out the mythology tower, and we head down that pathway. She’s offered to give a tour of her room, which seems like a strange place to start, but I will follow her lead.
“Surprisingly, no. People are fearful of the rift. They believe that there is a risk of them being sucked in or transported to Reighold, but that’s not how it works.”
I reach around them and hold open the door to the tower, content to listen in as they talk.
“That’s not how it works?” I can’t tell if Stella is actually confused or putting on a show. “I really did think you could kind of … fall into a rift.”
The President of Missurd laughs, touching Stella’s arm as he throws his head back. “Oh dear, no. It requires magic to activate it now that the rift has been sealed.”
This is news to me, and I can’t hold back my questions now. “I knew it was sealed, but I was unsure how. Is it through magic?”
“Strange that you wouldn’t know, Michael,” Paul says condescendingly. “But when we reached an agreement with Reighold, part of that was we would seal the rift with magic to prevent them from coming through again. They do not have any magic on their side, so the control of the rift remains with Vorista.”
It’s interesting that keeping the rift sealed requires magic, yet Robert Sinclair’s erasure of our spirits either subdues or fully removes our magic from us.
Wouldn’t it be in the government’s best interest to let us keep our magic and employ us at the rift?
“Wow,” Stella says as she pushes open the door to a suite on the fourth floor, “I’d love to see it one day. I know there is so much history there.”
“Oh my dear, say the word, and I’ll talk to Robert about getting you to leave to come visit.”
Well, I don’t like that one bit.
Paul seems too eager to bring her to Missurd and get her beside the rift.
It makes me wonder again why only the rare spirits at the Academy were chosen as escorts. Could Stella be on offer to Missurd? Paul seems convinced that he can get Robert to agree to let Stella have a field trip.
The Valkyrie in question stops in the middle of the room and turns to face both of us. “I appreciate that offer, Mister Rider, and I would love to take you up on it, but it’s against the rules for me to leave before I graduate.” She rapidly changes the subject, grinning at the clean, if sparse, space around her. “This is my room. I spend most of my time here. It’s pretty standard for the Mythology tower, but the ceilings are slightly higher since this is the top floor. My suite mate is a Cyclops.”
“Do you have a cleaning service?” Paul asks curiously. “It’s very well kept in here.”
“Oh yes, we do. However, I prefer to do it myself. I cannot go to the gym and exercise, as it is counterintuitive to the mission to train me to overcome the urges of my spirit, so cleaning helps me stay regimented.”
“I can see how that would be something you’d need to replace with a healthier activity.” He perches on the edge of her bed, and seeing him there makes my hackles rise.
Who sits on someone’s bed uninvited?
“Can I ask why you don’t store your wings yet, Stella?”
Stella and I knew this would come up, and we practiced an appropriate answer. I hope she sticks to the script.
“I kept them hidden for years, and it’s physically very uncomfortable to hide them. I know I will need to grow accustomed to it eventually, but it’s hard for me right now to force them away.” Emotion clogs her voice. “I know I’m supposed to hate them because they mark me as supernatural, but they are a part of my body. Hiding them away feels as foreign as tying a hand behind my back.”
Paul tilts his head to the side curiously, tapping his finger on his chin. “Do you believe you’d have an easier time adhering to the protocol if a concession was made to allow you to keep your wings?”
Stella’s mouth drops open in shock, and I am right there with her. What’s his angle? This line of questioning can’t be out of the goodness of his heart. He must be trying to trap her somehow.
Stella must think the same thing because when she responds, it’s very carefully. “I chose to come here with the hopes of becoming a simplynatural. If losing my wings is a part of that, I will have to find a way to be okay with that. Robert Sinclair knows what he’s doing.”
Paul Rider crosses his ankle over his knee and shrugs casually. “But everything can be improved upon. Robert helps you all become the simplynaturals that are needed in Rigent. We have different needs in Missurd.”
I drag my tongue on the roof of my mouth as I speak, hoping to slow down my speech. “What needs could you have that would require someone to fly? Authentics cannot fly, and our goal is to live as close to Authentic as we can.”
“Just thinking out loud, of course,” he says with a dismissive wave. “Now, tell me. What sort of magic does a Valkyrie have inherently?”
Stella scrunches her nose and leans against the window, attempting to appear casual. To Paul, she probably does, but I know her well enough by now to recognize the way she taps her toe in annoyance and the frustrated tick in her jaw.
“Valkyrie have increased strength and speed, as well as our ability to fly. We are said to be able to send recently deceased souls to the afterlife.”
“But not like a Reaper.”
She shakes her head, brown hair falling over her shoulder in pretty waves. “Not like a Reaper. A Valkyrie is an incredible warrior but the power isn’t in slaying. She is responsible for judging others for their worthiness in battle. Those that are deemed worthy get to go to Valhalla.”
He interrupts her. “Which we’ve already determined is not a real place since Asgard has never been confirmed to exist.”
“I came from somewhere, didn’t I?” she snaps. “Who’s to say Valhalla isn’t a real realm? Have you explored them all?”
Clearing my throat, I step forward to diffuse the situation. “What Miss Mikers means to say, Paul, is that there has not been enough research on Valkyrie to determine where those spirits end up, and the history of their people declares that those spirits are chosen as warriors for Odin.”
“It would be an interesting experiment to have a Reaper follow a spirit a Valkyrie selects, wouldn’t it?” He pulls out a little notebook from his pocket and scribbles something down.
“Why would it matter if we are working to reform all spirits into simplynaturals? Wouldn’t having Stella use her Valkyrie power be counterintuitive to Robert Sinclair’s mission?” I loosely rest my hands in my pockets to project a realistic disinterest in the situation.
“There is more than one phase to a mission. You should know that. Not all simplynaturals get to be teachers, after all.” Paul stands up from the bed and brushes imaginary dust from his pants. “This was enlightening, Miss Mikers. I need to take a few calls. Can I join you for dinner?”
Her smile is broad and fake as she rests a hand on her hip and flexes her wings. “Sure thing. I’ll meet you at the dining hall.”
He quickly leaves, pulling his phone out of his pocket and holding it to his ear. Her door closes quietly behind him. Slowly, I turn to face the beautiful little Valkyrie.
“What the actual fuck?”