Chapter 8 #2
But it also brings our standoff to the notice of the teachers.
Which, in theory, should be a good thing, since they’re the ones who could restore peace, but their disinterest as they take in the situation suggests they won’t do a thing to help.
Still, I take the interruption their presence brings as an opportunity to race into the right room.
Thankfully, the goldens and the guy in red don’t share this class with me. It’s a wash of purple, except for the other Noms scattered through the room.
Waiting in front of the class, standing behind a heavy wooden table, is a cloaked man. He waves his hand impatiently, and the chatter cuts off. Actually, all noise from the hallway cuts off too.
“Nice of you to finally join us, Ms. Ellis. Given it is your first day with me, I’ll let you off with a warning that I do not tolerate tardiness. And I would have thought you’d be the first in today, or do you already have a firm understanding of witchcraft fundamentals?”
“Sorry, sir,” I offer quickly, keeping my eyes down.
I don’t see his expression, but I feel his irritation from across the room. I also feel something else, like the thick air in a steam room surging down my throat. A sudden coughing attack has me turning slightly and holding my hand in front of my mouth, hoping not to make a sound.
“Perhaps you would like to introduce yourself, since you’re so keen on interrupting our session.”
I shrink in my seat and blush a deep scarlet. Even my ears feel like they are burning, and the sensation only gets worse when everyone twists in their seats to witness my discomfort for themselves.
“No…” I try to say. My lips move, but no sound comes out.
The professor is expecting an answer, which I’m unable to give him. I point at my throat, and his expression gets even colder. “Cat got your tongue?”
Jesus, can this day get any worse?
The sad answer is yes.
Magikster Ballin makes a complete mockery of me not being able to answer by assigning a week of detention for my supposed insubordination.
The task of cleaning the magik’s laboratories is now mine.
Somewhat harsh, but I get the sense he’s one of those who likes to make examples of others at any chance he gets.
Today’s lesson content for his Fundamentals to Witchcraft quickly conjures the same feeling of instant dislike that Magikster Ballin evokes.
His lesson is loaded with symbols and chemical equations that read like hieroglyphics before he hands out a four-page quiz that has to be submitted to his office before lessons end on Friday.
Then he waits until I’m looking at him, so I can’t miss the malicious grin on his face.
With a slightly dramatic flick of his hand, he dresses me down loud enough so the students in the hallway can hear about how I have no defense mechanisms in place.
Supposedly, mentally shielding yourself is something every person in the paranormal world knows how to do.
Apparently, it’s as easy as learning to walk—I get the message.
Then, as his hand swirls, the humid air I’ve been breathing since I walked in and couldn’t talk, disperses.
Even without trying, I know my voice is back.
I’m one of the last to leave, only because I sat at the back of the class. I keep my chin up and say thank you as I leave. My parents’ strong upbringing is the only reason.
The hallway is filling with students as other classes in the building finish, but it’s empty of antagonists, which is a relief.
Moving out of the path of other students walking to their next class, I unfold my timetable and check the room and floor for Pack Politics.
I guess I’m about to get my introduction to the shifter side of things.
After lunch, it’s going to be vampires, celestials, and demons, finishing up with gym class.
The schedule at Thales is brutal, and the homework keeps piling up, making me question how I’m going to make it to the end of the week.
Thankfully, I’m not the last one into Pack Politics, but while everyone takes a seat, I wait at the front to introduce myself to the teacher.
He’s one of the biggest men I’ve ever seen.
His shoulders are broad, but because of his height, everything is in proportion, and it’s pretty clear he works out.
While he ignores me, I study his face, but given his lack of wrinkles or gray hairs, it’s hard to judge his age.
When he finally raises his head and glances at me, I’m nearly floored by the power I see in his eyes. It’s impossible to miss.
“Yes?” His abrupt question has me floundering, dealing with a sudden bout of self-doubt.
But it’s not my doing; it’s his. He’s aware of his presence, and he does nothing to make standing in front of him easy. I basically shrink in on myself, my head bows under the weight of his judgmental dressing down, and my knees quake.
“Tyler!” he booms, his voice like a bark in a deep valley, making it echo and somehow grow in volume.
A student appears next to me, the blue of his jacket matching mine.
“You got replaced. You’re not the shit under my feet anymore, she is. Take her and show her where her place is when she’s in my presence.”
His dismissal is as blunt and obvious as his words. One minute he’s looking at me, and the next it’s like he can’t see me. He stays on his feet and the class springs into action. They bow their heads low, each of them speaking at the same time, “Good morning, Alpha Roberts.”
It’s clear the show of dominance is how he starts his class. The other students stand and wait for him, but he makes them delay longer until Tyler and I have reached the back of the room, the farthest corner from him.
Tyler doesn’t look at me, and he doesn’t say anything. He simply keeps pointing at a spot as he walks past me and goes to stand in front of a broken seat right next to my position on the floor.
These fucking people, or rather not people, are horrible. Yet a flash of a doctor’s badge renders me quiet and, in a sense, grateful. All these shows of dominance pale to nothing as the anguish of losing my parents reminds me of what is important.
As soon as my feet settle onto the broken threads of the carpet, where all those before me have stood, Alpha Roberts speaks. “Sit.”
I follow the same movement as everyone else, as they move without making a noise, except I keep going down until I’m on the ground. There’s no way I’ll be able to see him as he holds the roost at the lectern with the whiteboard behind him.
Opening my notebook, my hand quickly begins cramping from how fast I write.
Later I’ll work through and think over the concepts he talks about.
The topic of pack structure sounds too regimented for it not to be steeped in history, which means there should be plenty of resources available somewhere at Thales.
The more I learn about Alphas holding supreme position and power, the more I realize his teaching methodology is a mirror of that philosophy.
His word is absolute, and he doesn’t allow any healthy discussion, even from the green coats, which signifies them as shifters.
I barely lift my head; I’m so busy writing during the whole lesson. When he barks out another assignment due at the end of the week, and I wonder if I’ll ever sleep again.
The class waits for him to leave before they rise from their seats. Because of an urgent hand signal thrown my way from Tyler, one that clearly means don’t get up yet, I wait until everyone has left before I ascend off the floor.
As soon as I get to the hallway, Alpha Roberts turns and walks off. It was a test. He waited to see if I came out before the others, and I only passed because Tyler helped.
I’ll have to track Tyler down later to thank him, but for now, I need to focus on making it through the last part of the day.