9. P
9
P
S itting on a long wooden bench, in another unfamiliar setting, I still can't grasp how I ended up here. I mean, I know they told us why, mostly, but it still doesn't feel like it should be happening. Just a few hours ago I was fully resigned to the fact that I was going to live the rest of my life in that cold gray box they called a school then die an unsung death.
S sits beside me, the usual procession of B followed by T on the other side of her, as I stare down at the full plate of food before me. Gone are the plastic trays and the food that can only be described as slop, with the rare occasion of pizza, if we were lucky, and in its place is bone china, steel cutlery, and steak. I don't recall ever having steak before, but I’m not exactly in a position to turn down new experiences, and the moment I bring it to my lips, I can’t stop shoveling it into my mouth like a Neanderthal.
Acutely aware of my actions, I take a deep breath and start timing myself between each bite. To occupy myself from demolishing it in one go, I take my time looking around the room as I count. The room is massive, rectangular in shape, with long dining tables occupying most of the floor and matching benches on either side. There are eight in total, each with a runner down the middle in one of four colors.
Bronze, silver, gold, and onyx.
Something tells me the colors mean something, but I’m not entirely sure.
Chandeliers hang in rows along the ceiling, every single one of them black like the entryway, which is through the double doors to our right. I assume the kitchen is located along the left wall since there’s a long, narrow opening revealing white chef hats on the other side. Other than that, everything is focused around the food on the table. Cute floral centerpieces dot the table top, and even the unoccupied spaces have cutlery and bone china ready and waiting.
It's just us right now. Whitmore left a while ago, promising to be back soon, but he's yet to return. As the murmurs and whispers among us grow louder, and fill with more excitement, I can’t help but feel the usual tendrils of impending doom lurking at the edges of my awareness.
I hope it's just my penchant for overreacting and not the truth of what's waiting for us. Because there is a part of me, a small, almost insignificant part, that is filled with the one word I've always disassociated myself from: hope.
I promised myself on the bus that I didn't feel it. I've promised myself throughout the entire tour that it wasn't an emotion I was familiar with. Yet, as I sit here, in my head, it's the one word I can't escape.
It’s impossible to wrap my mind around it. I can't begin to fully understand the opportunities that we may have inside these new walls, but the part of me that's always dipped in gloom is waiting for this charade to drop and the truth to reveal itself.
Sighing, I distract myself with another fork full of food, biting back a groan at the deliciousness.
S places her cutlery down on her empty plate beside me and I turn to her. The moment I do, her eyes find mine, and I brace for the barrage of questions I can see swirling in them.
“Who is that guy, P?”
Well, damn, that's not what I was anticipating. I was expecting her to ask me things about the academy, things I wouldn't have answers to. And I guess she did. The reality is, I don’t have any answers about him either.
Besides, it's not really a topic I'm open to discussing.
“What guy?” I ask, opting to look away from her before she sees the lie in my eyes. Stabbing another piece of steak, I hope to completely distract away from the conversation, but before I can bring my fork to my lips, she speaks again.
“Don't ‘what guy’ me. The naked one,” she insists, and when I turn to her, the pointed look I’m anticipating is firmly in place as her eyes narrow.
All I can do is gape at her for a moment, just as I gaped at the naked guy.
“I don't actually know,” I admit when I finally find the words, and a sense of disappointment swirls through me.
How have I had his naked body pressed against mine, yet I don't even know his name?
Why am I disappointed by that? I’ve never cared to know a guy’s name before. Hell, I’ve never even had a name of my own that I can remember.
I don’t think it’s possible for this day to get any stranger.
“He was hot,” S says, shaking her shoulders with a shiver of excitement as she wiggles her eyebrows while B grumbles from the other side of her.
“I’m sitting right here, babe,” he sings, his tone teasing, and S rolls her eyes dramatically, turning to him with a sigh.
“And I love you, B, but even you can't deny it.” She turns to face him fully, and even though I can’t see her face, I know the look she’s giving him. Practically the same pointed one she just gave me.
He sighs, a wistful smile on his face. “That's true,” he admits before taking a bite of the burger he opted to have, while grunts from the other side of him echo around me.
“He shouldn't have been pressing himself all over you like that,” T snaps, eyebrows pinched with agitation, and it only seems to make me more irritated with him.
I want to push him on why he thinks it’s even necessary for him to have an opinion on the situation, but instead, I take a deep breath, avoiding his gaze as I mutter, “Thanks for the insight, T.”
I know he's not done. I know he's not finished expressing whatever negative opinion he’s formed, and even from the corner of my eyes, I can see his lips part as his eyes burn into the side of my face. “P, we don’t?—”
I open my mouth, ready to cut him off, but the snap of a clap does the job for me. I lean back in my seat with relief as I turn toward the sound, along with everyone else. Professor Whitmore is standing at the double doors, his smile somehow wider than the first time I saw him.
“Please, Florentines, it is time for the housing ceremony,” he announces, and my eyebrows gather in confusion.
“Housing ceremony?” someone farther down the table hollers, and his grin seems to gleam even brighter.
“I’ll explain more once you're in the Grand Hall,” he states, spreading his arms out wide at his sides. “Please, follow me.”
Looking down at the few forkfuls still left on my plate, I internally berate myself for eating so slowly. Placing my cutlery down, I stand, and S links her arm through mine, seemingly deciding that we're going to continue the tour together. I’m unwilling to admit I could use the support for whatever lies ahead, so I keep my mouth shut and fall into step as we make our way toward the double doors leading out into the marbled entryway that we visited earlier. Whitmore continues across the distance through the matching doors on the other side, and I vaguely recall him pointing out the room as the Grand Hall earlier, despite my lack of attention.
As we follow him inside, panic starts to coil in my veins when I find what I assume is every student of Trinity Falls Academy gathered and awaiting our arrival.
I feel like a lamb being led to slaughter. Or a convicted criminal taking their penultimate steps to the electric chair.
I feel so far out of my comfort zone that I am certain nothing good will come of this. It cannot be possible.
Professor Whitmore guides us to our seats and we shuffle down the front rows that have been left empty, presumably for us. I'd say I'm thankful, but I'm definitely not. The back of my head burns from the attention directed our way from every set of eyes in the hall. But instead of focusing on it, I clench my hands in my lap and train my eyes forward to where the stage sits as everybody else filters in.
I take a look around the space the best I can without fully turning around. I know there are rows and rows of velvet-padded seats in the same array of colors that were splattered through the dining hall.
Bronze, silver, gold, and onyx.
They fill the majority of the space reserved for the students, while the stage in front of me is lined with a handful of ornate throne-looking things along the back. There’s also a microphone up front and a table with some kind of silver cup in the center.
Red satin drapes hang around the room, framing arched windows that are detailed with small, square panes of glass. There's something opulent about the room, just like there's something grand about everything else here. I guess it’s in the name, but in comparison to the entryway, it feels older in here, unmodernized with the dark wood and beams lining the ceiling. As if you were to carve into the wood, it'd have a story or two to tell you.
Before I can wander any further down the rabbit hole, my thoughts are interrupted by Professor Whitmore. “Good afternoon, students of Trinity Falls Academy. It brings me great pleasure, as it does every year, to introduce the children of Florentine’s school.” He pauses as if a clap is going to come, but thankfully, nothing does. “New students, Trinity Falls Academy is split into four quadrants. I've mentioned them to you previously, but as a refresher, it is based on the supernatural ability, or lack thereof.”
I cringe at the use of the word ‘lack’ as my heart ricochets in my chest, knowing full well I'm going to be someone in the more lacking category.
“Witches, wolves, vampires, and humans,” he declares, and a round of applause sounds from behind us, along with wolf whistles and cheers as each group is mentioned. And I can't help but think that there are humans in this room unaffected by the terms he's using. That must be a good sign, right?
Whitmore basks in the euphoria until the noise simmers down for him to continue. “Everyone here is cursed by blood, and among this crowd is the knowledge that your blood kin is here too.”
The room falls deathly silent as my heart all but stops in my chest. My breath lodges so tightly in my throat, I'm certain death is here as I repeat his words in my mind. My blood kin.
My. Blood. Kin.
Goosebumps ripple over my skin as panic and horror make my vision grow spotty. Do they know who I am? Can I find out who they are? What would I do if I did?
As if sensing my thoughts, Whitmore's eyes find mine in the crowd. “No one will know in advance. Only on the rightful day, when it is your time, will you know who your blood kin is. I should also bring it to your attention that, as you stepped into the academy, a sigil will have taken root. It masks every student present with the inability to provide their specific birth details. Now, I know what your first concern is, birthdays, and of course, we're still going to celebrate them. They're just going to take place a little differently from now on. Not that you have many more to celebrate here, but in that instance, we will celebrate birthdays as a whole for each month. On the fifteenth of every month, anyone born in that month shall be celebrated. Yes, that may help narrow down who your blood kin could be, but it will still leave an element hidden. This is a priority because deep down, above all else, the fact still remains that the blood curse does not change. If one of you dies, both of you die.”
I think I’m going to be sick. Every word out of his mouth makes my fate more and more real.
“Until the right time, of course, it is our aim to provide everyone with the opportunity to survive, and the first step we must take in offering this is giving the Florentine students a chance to experience the housing chalice,” he continues, like he’s not breaking my soul.
Murmurs echo around the room once again, leaving me just as curious as before. A housing chalice? What does that even mean? I glance down the line to my left and right, noting the similar expression on everyone’s faces, but not one of us asks.
There’s no need, not when the look on Whitmore’s face tells us it's clear he's going to continue. And with his next words, he leaves me breathless. “Not only will it offer you the acknowledgement of potential supernatural blood in your veins, but it will also allow one of the sigils placed on you to release from your body. Not the one protecting your connection to your blood kin, but one from many years ago. The one that contains the secret of your name.”