Chapter 8 Nyx
NYX
The uniform fits better than I thought it would.
Obviously, I’d rather be in my own clothes, but I won’t deny how good it feels.
I tried to put the matching headband that somehow ended up in the box delivered to my dorm last night, but when I looked in the mirror, it just felt like I was wearing a costume.
I’ve dressed.
I’ve primped—and by that I mean I’ve done my hair and put on minimal makeup.
I’ve put on my high tops.
I’ve done everything I need to do before going through that door, and yet my legs won’t move.
Sounds from the hallway creep under my threshold, and I catch snippets of murmured conversation as students make their way to breakfast. I don't know if I can even stomach breakfast right now, but I do know that as soon as I close the door behind me, I’m on my own.
Augustine’s parting wisdom and Tori’s rundown of the hierarchy echo in my mind.
I’m going to be the weakest.
I’m going to be the poorest.
I’m going to be the most ignorant, despite all the reading I did yesterday.
If I were a betting woman, I wouldn't even consider putting money on the odds I’ll make it through the day unscathed.
A knock on the door interrupts the world's shittiest pep talk. When Tori appears through the crack in my door, I try to hide the sigh of relief at the sight of her cheery smile.
“Want to grab breakfast?” she asks. I give her a shaky nod, grab my backpack, and lock the door behind me. We join the flow of other students pouring out of the dorm building, and she asks me how the rest of my Sunday went.
“Good. Quiet. Spent most of it setting everything up. Probably stayed up reading later than I should have,” I say with a wry smile.
“Here.” She reaches out her hand for my phone. “Let me give you my number, if you have any questions. Or if you want to grab a bite sometime.” I hand over the shiny new device I’m still treating like a loaner. When she hands it back, I grasp it like a lifeline. I suppose it is, in a way.
“Do you have your schedule yet?”
“Most of it. I have a meeting with the Headmaster., Apparently I’ll be given some kind of assessment?” I hedge, hoping she’ll fill in the blanks.
“Oh, yeah. Most students stay home until their epiphaneia and then enroll in the following term. By the time they get to Dreadhurst, they usually already know the basics of wielding, our history, society, etcetera. They’re usually assessed during admissions by a panel of professors to gauge their power level and abilities so they’re put into the right classes.
Since you’re a latecomer,” the students around us perk up, eavesdropping on our conversation, but Tori doesn’t seem to notice.
“You get the rare treat of being personally assessed by the Headmaster. Lucky you.”
“Goody,” I deadpan.
“For real though, there are some professors and staff you should probably watch out for, but Headmaster Church is alright. Send me your schedule once you get it and I’ll give you the low down on all the teachers.
” She waves to someone in the distance, and I take a moment to sort out the best way to ask the question that's been plaguing me since we parted ways yesterday. Fuck it.
“Why are you being nice to me?” She looks at me, confused.
“Augustine gave me the impression that this place was some kind of dog-eat-dog, survival-of-the-fittest, magical thunderdome.” She giggles at my description.
“Yesterday, I understand—it’s not like you could say “no” to the powers that be.
But this,” I motion between us, “I don’t get it. ”
“Why do you think it’s a burden to be nice to you?” she counters, I’m not nearly emotionally prepared for her question at all, because aside from a few people back in Lynden, that’s all I’ve been my whole life: a burden.
Something to resent for taking up space and energy.
Something to be “dealt with”.
Before I get a chance to process some very un-fucking-comfortable emotions, we arrive at the Great Hall and Tori greets a group of students outside the door. I stand awkwardly behind her, unsure whether I should stay or go, but then she introduces me.
“Nyx—this is Danica, Anissa, Lowry, and the twins—Sage and Laurel. Everyone, this is Nyx, it’s her first day.
” Like the rest of the students, it seems, they have a similar level of ludicrous wealth—perfect skin and shining hair, designer bags and expensive shoes. It practically oozes from their pores.
Danica examines me with light grey eyes behind black-rimmed glasses that complement her dark skin, and her round face is framed by intricate box braids with golden beads and rings woven throughout.
Standing next to her, Anissa is her polar opposite with pale skin and white-blonde hair.
Her lip curls as she looks me up and down, and then her mouth morphs into a cruel smile.
“Where’d you come from?” She asks sharply, tilting her head as if a different angle might reveal my secrets.
“Small town in the middle of nowhere. Nothing like this place,” I gesture to the opulence around us.
“What’s your last name?” Lowry volleys—he’s tall and lean, and his mop of tousled golden-blonde hair nearly obscures his round, wire-framed glasses.
“Byrke.”
“Hm, we don’t know any Byrkes, do we?”
“Never heard of them,” Laurel—a nearly perfect mirror of her dark-haired twin—responds.
“Considering the state of Colorado gave it to me, I’m not surprised,” I say coolly and she frowns in confusion.
Alder leans forward and sniffs me before backing away with a scowl. “She doesn’t smell like a shifter.”
“What’s your order and affinity?” Anissa demands. I side eye Tori to see if she’s going to jump in here but she only crooks her eyebrow, and Augustine’s parting wisdom suddenly makes more sense when I realize this isn’t an introduction.
It’s an ambush.
Despite my intention of being a wallflower for the next four years, the sense of defiance I usually smother rears its stupid fucking head, indignant at their audacity, and I run my mouth before I can consider the consequences.
“To be determined, but I’m sure the Headmaster will tell me more when I meet with him this morning.
I’m really looking forward to learning all this magic stuff.
Were you recruited too? Or did you have to apply like everyone else?
” I glance between them, feigning ignorance.
“Oh also, do you have any recommendations for things to do around here? The High Council gave me a fat bank account but I don’t even know where to start.
” My “customer service” smile turns genuine at their shock.
Before they can get their collective shit together, I turn back to Tori, and my smile falls.
As irritated as I am with her for throwing me to the wolves—before coffee, no less—I’m more upset at myself for being gullible enough to mistake her kindness for being anything but perfunctory.
I should probably get a little cross-stitch of Augustine’s warnings and put them on my door frame: “Don’t piss anyone off”, and “People want to see you fail”.
Maybe on the back of my door I could put up a poster of a falling kitten that says, “Hang in there”.
Yeah. That’ll help.
“See you around, Tori,” I say, entering the Great Hall without a second glance.
Between nerves and that shitshow, I still don’t think I can stomach a full meal in my generally malnourished state, but maybe I can get something small and take my time if there’s somewhere to sit.
The cacophony fades into the background as I scan the room for a table.
Time slows, and my world narrows to the two bottomless, black eyes transfixing me from across the room, holding me captive.
Only dust motes floating in the streaming sunlight dare move.
I can’t look away.
I don’t want to look away.
But the moment is broken when I’m jostled by a group of students passing in front of me. Ignoring their snide complaints, I grab the nearest food I can find before rushing out of the Great Hall—a pathetic banana that looks about as bruised as I feel.
The fresh morning air soothes my frayed nerves, and the banana settles my stomach somewhat.
I find a bench in a secluded alcove behind the admin building and try to regain my composure before meeting with the Headmaster.
While I didn’t lie to Tori’s friends, compared to the wealth and poser on display, the staggering number of zeros in my new bank account is a pittance, and I fear I’ve played the only hand I have too early.
With a frustrated groan, I walk back to the side entrance I passed earlier and enter the building. Except now, I don’t know where I am.
Fuck.
I know what office I’m supposed to go to.
I know what office I’m looking at right now.
And I have no clue how to get there, from here.
So I do the only thing I can—look for someone else who can give me directions.
The first two offices are a bust, the vacant reception desk has a “be back soon” sign, but I get lucky on the third and open the door.
Clearly, however, I’ve interrupted a tense conversation between the two men in here when they startle and turn.
Those same endless black eyes that captivated me in the Great Hall belong to a tan, broad-shouldered man dressed in an impeccable black suit, complemented by black shoulder-length hair that frames his severe face.
His eyes trace my body until he finally settles on my face.
“I’m trying to find the headmaster's office…” I begin, but neither man answers. The older man—the professor who owns this office, most likely—proves he’s useless as the younger stalks closer, looking me up and down like he’s trying to peel back my skin with his glare.
“You’re in the wrong place, pretty bird,” he coos, invading my personal space.