Chapter 12
Promptly at seven a.m.,my alarm shrilly echoes in the vast roundness of my bedroom from its perch on the desk. With a grumble and a few choice expletives, I stumble out of my bed blindly in the direction of the noise. It takes a few tries to locate the damn thing, but once I’ve got my hand around the box of plastic and glass, I stab my finger to the screen, shutting the damn thing up before tossing it unceremoniously back on my desk.
When I finally manage to open my eyes, my jaw pops as a yawn parts my lips. It’s too damn early in the morning for this girl to be awake. My groan echoes almost as loudly as my alarm did, and I stretch my arms above my head, relishing in the burn of my muscles. There’s something to be said for that first stretch in the morning right after waking up. It’s like the startup to get your interior motors running for the day.
The bathroom is calling my name—or that could be my bladder. After doing my business, I wash my hands, brush my teeth, and splash some water on my face. Looking up, I finally give myself a chance to study my changes in the mirror. I’ve been avoiding them since Axel first told me my eyes were pink, but now, I think it’s time to see it fully. It’s not like I’ll wake up to the old me tomorrow, so it might be time to embrace what I am now.
Wide, bubblegum pink eyes stare back at me, the color so vastly different from the green I saw in the mirror for twenty-one years. Tangled white hair cascades over my shoulders, washing out my pale skin tone more than my original dark locks did. Everything else looks like me in the face except for those few key changes. It’s the rest of me, though…
My eyes dart over my sports bra and boyshort panty-clad body, warily eyeing the runes splayed across is. Even with the necklace snug against my throat and my glamour in full effect, the runes stand out against my light skin, looking like they’ve been ingrained into my very soul. And they have given that I’ve had them since I was born, just none-the-wiser due to whatever block my birth parents put on me.
The fire rune that lit me up yesterday rests on my left shoulder, almost like the fire tattoos that all the bad boys in the human sector loved to get. Banding around my neck are three squiggly lines that look suspiciously like sound waves, disappearing into my hair around the back of my head. From there, on my upper chest, flowing down between my breasts, are a series of vines, each one branching off to some sort of design I can’t make heads or tails of. The only one that looks remotely similar to anything I’ve seen before is the plus sign you’d see on a First Aid kit.
My eyes skip over the rest of the runes on my arms and stomach, zeroing in on the one that makes my belly swoop—the transmutation rune—the one we were supposed to attempt yesterday, but I just had to light myself on fire instead. I absently trace the lines surrounding the figure in the middle as I think about what I could possibly transform into.
A dragon would be freaking awesome. I could imagine launching myself into the air and breathing a trail of pink fire down on the unsuspecting ground, hoping that prick Hudson from yesterday would be the bullseye to my target. Or even changing into a bird, anything with wings, really, so I could feel the wind in my face.
Jasper could take you for another flight, my mind supplies. Unhelpfully, might I add. Jasper is the freaking headmaster. Yeah, he’s a giant rock bird; I won’t deny that he’s handsome in a he-is-a-giant-rock kind of way. But my first point is the most valid one. He’s the headmaster, and I shouldn’t be thinking about him in any capacity but an authoritative one.
Shaking myself out of those thoughts is harder than I expected, but another need rides my body, overpowering any Jasper or rune ideas I have.
Coffee. Mr. Tall, Dark, and Steamy.
Coffee is a must-have for my first day of class, so I pad out into the main living space of my dorm, right into the small kitchen, zeroing in on the stainless steel coffee machine. It’s no different from the one we used at home, so I’m able to make quick work of getting it started before I head back into my bedroom to get ready for the day.
My closet boasts a few options, and after shuffling through them, I finally settle on a pair of ripped skinny jeans and a red tank top with my Black high-top Converse and another one of my oversized zip-up hoodies also in black. I’d like to think it’s my signature color, but there’s no denying how much I love charcoal gray, too. Anything other than pink.
I scowl, thinking about the eyes I saw in my reflection earlier. Couldn’t they have been, I don’t know. Purple? I could have totally rocked purple.
Once fully dressed and I’ve run a brush through my hair, leaving it loose around my shoulders, I head back out to the steaming to-go cup, just waiting for me to devour it. There’s no better time than the present to get this day started—or over with.
The walk to the dining hall this morning is fairly quiet. It doesn’t seem that many students get up in time for food unless they rush in at the last moment and grab something to go. I know I was dead set on eating in my room most of the time, but after the dinner Thaddeus and I had yesterday, I’m practically drooling to know what they serve for breakfast.
My coffee burns on its way down my throat as I pull open the door to the dining hall, relishing in the quiet calm that fills the room. Very few students are currently enjoying their own breakfasts, but there’s no chatter between them—just the scrape of utensils against plates.
Bacon, eggs, ham, sausage, toast, pancakes, and more are spread out before me as I reach the buffet table, eagerly grabbing a plate of my own after tucking my to-go cup in the crook of my elbow. I bypass the stuff I don’t know this time since I don’t have anyone here to caution me against them, and when my plate is practically overflowing, I all but skip to an empty table.
My stomach grumbles happily as I gobble down the food, washing it all back with my still-hot coffee. If it didn’t sound foolish to say, I would think the to-go cup is magical since my coffee is still at the just-brewed temperature. But magic is everywhere, so it wouldn’t surprise me if this cup was magically enhanced, too.
Time passes all too quickly as I’m consumed with my breakfast. The next thing I know, the dining hall starts to fill with more and more students, all grabbing something and leaving. A few hang around, whispering and staring in my direction, probably recognizing me from yesterday. The food I just inhaled feels like a boulder weighing me down as I hunch over, trying to make myself smaller so they don’t continue to zero in on me.
A screech fills my ears as a plate clatters onto the table in front of me, making my head snap up and glare at the offending person who thought I wanted company. Newsflash. I don’t. Any attention I get can’t be good. After all, bullies are nothing new, and I don’t expect supernaturals to be any different.
There were way too many years that I spent being bullied and ridiculed in the human sectors. And it was all because I didn’t share the same excited when we first learned about The Awakening. Every year since, whenever it was brought up, the bullying would escalate before dying down until the next year.
But the person in front of me isn’t anyone I suspected. A woman, much taller than my tiny stature, stands there with her hands on her hips and a scowl on her beautiful face. But it’s not aimed at me. No, she’s throwing that scowl at the other students who seemed engrossed by my presence.
“Ignore them,” she mutters, plopping down in the seat she pulled out. “Every single one of them are assholes and always looking for gossip.”
Chestnut hair flows in effortless waves over her shoulders, the layers cut within highlighting her heart-shaped face. A pert little nose rests between high cheekbones and above pink, plump lips. Her eyes have a golden hue, with a brown undertone. She looks slightly familiar, but I can’t seem to place where I’ve seen her before.
“I’m Marion. Wolf shifter.” I assumed that with her height. “Been here for years, and it’s the same shit with all the newbies that come from the human sectors.”
“Bailey. But how the hell would they know that’s where I came from?” Fuck. I didn’t think it was that obvious.
She shrugs a pointed shoulder. “You didn’t know what dead flesh looked like.”
Ugh.
The lull in our conversation is all she needs to start plowing into her own plate. She gives no fuck as she stuffs her cheeks full of food before continuing. “So inquiring minds want to know.” She points at herself with her fork. “What are you?”
Fuckity fuck sticks. I knew this question would come up eventually, whether from a professor or one of the other students, but did it have to be on day one?
With the lie Axel, Thaddeus, and Jasper have concocted on my tongue, I open my mouth to tell her, but a bell rings through the room, making everyone groan.
Saved by the bell. Literally.
“Shit. Time for class. We’ll finish this discussion later. See ya, Bailey.”
I don’t even get a chance to reply before she’s on her feet and moving toward the door. She shoves guys larger than her out of the way, exerting the shifter strength she seems to have an abundance of.
Not wanting to be late to my first class of the day, I leave my plate on the table and hightail it out, remembering the exact hallway Thaddeus showed me where my classroom is. The bell sounds right when I slip through the door labeled 213 and quickly find an empty seat in the back, not wanting to be the center of attention as the new girl.
Horns, wings, and fur are on full display by all the different students in the class. And while I was maybe hoping to see a friendly face—well, Marion, since she’s literally the only non-professor I know—there isn’t one. Everyone is new to me, and luckily, they ignore my existence.
“Happy Monday morning, everyone,” a tinkling-like voice sings as she literally floats into the class from the door. Shit. Maybe wings wouldn’t be so bad if I could just, ya know, fly everywhere. I snort, covering it up with a cough. Such a freaking lazy thing to think. “Did you all have a good weekend?” There are several murmurings, and while she chats with a few of them about what they did, I take the time to study the professor.
If I had to guess by sight alone, I would say she is probably about five-nine, with a very feminine figure. Lavender hair is pulled up into a high ponytail, showcasing the same pointed ears as Thaddeus, with a slightly lighter purple skin tone. Wide mint green eyes are expressive as she flashes white teeth when she smiles at whoever she’s speaking to. Translucent wings sprout from her back, delicate like the ones a butterfly has. She’s dressed in the basic jeans and T-shirt combo as most everyone else, and a sensible pair of shoes rest on her feet.
“That reminds me,” the teacher giggles, drawing me out of my perusal. “We have a new student.” I mentally groan, sliding down further in my seat. Nothing says ‘newbie’ like the teacher making you get up and tell everyone about yourself. I’ll pass, thank you very much. “Bailey Foss just joined us from the human sector a few days ago.”
“Matthews,” I mutter, not ready to go by my birth parent’s name.
“I’m sorry, what was that?” she asks softly, almost like she’s speaking to a child.
With a huff, I sit up straighter, gritting my teeth. “My last name is Matthews.” Every eye in the room turns my way, making my neck prickle with unease.
The professor furrows perfectly plucked purple brows before her expression smooths out. “Okay. Bailey Matthews. I’m Professor Izzicle, and I’ll be instructing you on the history of, well, us,” she giggles, obviously having repeated that line more than once. She’s the only one who laughs, though. No one else is even slightly amused. “Let’s get started. Please pull out your tablets and go to page 183 in your History textbook app.”
Freaking finally everyone turns back toward the front of the room as they dig into their bags and place their tablets on their desks. My cheeks burn as I realize I came to class empty-handed except for my coffee cup. The professor starts droning on about the history of paranormals as I slouch down in my chair, hoping no one notices my lack of preparedness this morning. Hopefully, there will be time to make a quick pit stop between classes to grab my bag.
While some of the history the professor talks about is fascinating, most is a bore. Maybe if I had my tablet, it would be easier to keep up with everything she’s saying. Instead, my mind drifts off to thoughts of Axel and how his days have been since I saw him on Friday. I’ve wanted to text him since he’s the one I’m most familiar with besides Thaddeus, but that just screams desperation.
And I’m anything but. Desperate, that is. Even though his one kiss rocked my freaking world. But it’s not like he’s tried to contact me, either. So maybe it was just a please don’t fry my ass pity kiss. But he wanted to kiss me before that, so that has to mean something. Right?
Before I even realize it, the bell rings once again, telling me that I’ve been in my head the last thirty minutes of class. Oops. I’ll have to pay better attention on Wednesday if I want to learn anything. Oh, and I’ll have to remember my shit, too.
The classroom starts to clear out as I jump to my feet, grab my coffee cup, and head straight for the door. If I remember the schedule correctly, I have ten minutes in between classes, and I should be able get to my room and back again before the bell rings.
The hallways are jam-packed with the other students pushing and shoving their way through others to get to their next assigned class. It continues that way until I reach the door that hides the stairwell to the faculty wing.
A quick peek over my shoulder tells me that no one is paying attention to my movements, and I duck into the stairs, making sure the door closes behind me. My footfalls echo loudly as I stomp up steps, finally reaching my floor. The hallway is devoid of faculty, of everyone, really. The only sounds are my breaths as I jog down the hall toward my room.
Slipping my key from my pocket, I unlock my door, finding my black leather bag sitting next to it right inside the entryway. I mentally face-palm myself. How the hell did I forget it when it was right freaking there?
Not bothering to go inside, I reach around and relock the door, grabbing my bag before it shuts behind me. As much as I’d rather go inside and hide away until the end of the day, I know I can’t miss any classes.
Thaddeus showing me around yesterday really works to my benefit since I know exactly where I’m going for this class, too. And at least I’m more prepared for Spells and Potions. Even though I don’t have a damn clue what we’re going to be learning. It’s hard to be excited about it since I know the others are probably lightyears ahead of me.
The bell rings right as I pass through the doorway of my class into what feels like another world. Instead of the regular desks like my history class, tables big enough for two are spaced out around the room with small versions of cauldrons in front of every chair. Shelves line the walls, each one full of jars that either shimmer, glimmer, or just sit there with somethin—ewwww is that a frog?
Why, oh why, did I not realize that we would be using obscure things to make potions? I shudder as I find an empty chair, not bothering to say hello to my tablemate. All I can even think about is that dang frog waiting to be killed in a jar. This is so not my thing. Hell, I freaked out back in high school—in the human sector—when they wanted us to dissect fetal pigs.
I threw the biggest fit with my parents to keep me home for the day. Of course, they said no and sent me anyway. A few well-placed tears and holding my stomach, feigning sick, got me off the hook, and I spent the entire class period in the Nurse’s office.
My parents yelled at me when report cards were distributed because of my low grade, but hey. I’d rather take the crappy grade than cut open a baby piggy. Dead or not.
All the chatter of other students cuts off as a man breezes into the room in, I shit you not, a three-piece emerald green suit complete with a matching top hat, his black hair sticking out from underneath it. His lips curl into a Cheshire grin as he places his stuff down his desk, highlighting the multitude of piercings on his face. A quick snap of his fingers and the main door into the classroom slams closed, causing me to jolt in my chair.
“Welcome back, everyone, and welcome to our new student.” A few heads turn in my direction, but I ignore them, keeping my focus on the eccentric man before me. “Now that we’re back from our weekend, it’s time to put what you learned last week to use.” Ahh, shit. I can already tell this isn’t going to end well for me. “Please gather your required ingredients from the list on your tablet under today’s classroom assignment. Then, take your seat promptly and get started. You have the entirety of class to finish your potion.”
Thanks, Teach. Super freaking helpful there, I grumble to myself as I bust out my tablet and pull open today’s lesson. Fan-fucking-tastic. Never in my wildest dreams did I think I’d be making a potion to stop warts.
How realistic is it that we’d actually need to use something like this in our lifetime? Where’s the potions for constantly clean hair, or hell, changing your hair to another color?
My audible gulp falls on deaf ears as I scan over the ingredient list. Half of this stuff is a massive question mark in my mind. The other half, though… my gag reflex kicks in, and I drop my tablet, holding my hand over my mouth. Gross, gross, triple freaking gross.
Eye of Newt.
Dragon’s Blood.
Wing of a Pixie.
What the fuck is this? The weird witches guide to all things that make me want to puke?
“Umm.. Professor Hannigan?” a sweet, twinkling voice calls out from next to me. “I think the new girl is gonna hurl.”
Toenails from a dead man?!
Fuck this shit. I’m noping myself right the fuck out of here. I yeet myself out of my chair, knocking my tablet off my table in the process. A loud crack permeates the air, but I pay it no mind as I beat feet toward the main door. I can vaguely hear my name being called from behind me, but I ignore them, hell-bent on getting as far away as possible from the toenails of a dead man.
My groan of dismay echoes in the abandoned hallway, knowing I left all my shit behind, but I absolutely refuse to go back and get it. Not now that I know what is hidden in those little unsuspecting jars.
If this is what it means to be playing the part of a witch, I want nothing to do with that title. Species. Whatever the hell you’d call it.
There has to be something else that’s semi-human that I can pass for. Witch can’t be my only option.
Maybe I can convince Thaddeus to give me pointed ears instead, and I’ll play fae for a little while.
Anything to get the heck away from dead men”s toenails and other freakishly weird shit.