23. Summer
Chapter Twenty-Three
Summer
A s I get dressed, I once again notice that my uniform is fitting a little better, and I decide to turn my waistband once, just to make it half an inch shorter.
I’m not sure why this gives me confidence, but it does.
It empowers me, and I’m going to need all the empowerment I can get as I head into school today.
Yesterday was supposed to be my first day back, but then I went and blew up the headmaster’s office.
I haven’t been told I’ve been expelled or suspended for the incident, but I don’t imagine he’s very pleased with me.
The tears from breakfast have dried up, and I keep waiting for that smothering grief, but it still eludes me.
I think I am feeling stronger, at least at this moment.
The guilt is still very front and center, but not in the way it was after that first night.
It feels more akin to the level of guilt I experienced last year when I was hiding things from Connor, and is that not what I’m doing? Hiding the fact I’ve fucked Max?
Am I a cheater? Alice says no, but I feel like one. I know that if the roles were reversed, I would be telling her the same thing. You cannot cheat on the dead. I know this, but then why can’t I let myself off the hook?
Alice is sitting on the arm of the chair waiting for me when I get downstairs, and she brightens when she sees me.
Maybe she’s noticed that my skirt is a little shorter, or maybe it’s because I’ve chosen to wear new sneakers, not my old ones from last year, or maybe it’s because I’ve put a little effort into my appearance.
“Ready?”
I nod. The nerves curdle my stomach, but I settle a little when Alice slides her hand into mine.
I hold tight to her as we leave the house and walk through the campus.
I notice the stares, but they’re not lingering like usual, and I notice that after the fourth person looks at me and then whips their head away, Alice is throwing black glares at anyone who focuses on me for too long. She’s like a guard dog, an ankle biter.
I protest when Alice insists on dropping me off at my first class, but she just ignores me, refusing to argue with me. She marches me right to the door and refuses to leave me until I confirm that I am all right. She squeezes my hand and releases me, but I can feel her reluctance as she walks away.
The classroom is bustling with chatter as people settle in.
The term started weeks ago, and while I’ve been keeping up with the syllabus from home, I feel so out of place here.
Everyone has settled into the routine of the class, and all seem to have chosen seats for the term.
I sit in an empty one near the back and pray to the gods that no one approaches me.
Fellow students glance at me, and I recognize some of them, but not many.
Idly, I look around the room, careful not to make eye contact with anyone.
I wonder again about my schedule and how it came to be.
Based on last year’s results, we were each given a list of the classes and levels we could take the following year.
Obviously, I wasn’t up to choosing, so someone chose for me.
I doubt it was Alice, given the choices that were made.
They’re very cohesive and ones that I would definitely enjoy.
While Alice knows a lot about me, I can see the way her eyes glaze over when I talk about school and books.
These were chosen by someone who knows my mind and understands my academic interests. The headmaster is also unlikely.
Professor Ziven enters the classroom through a door at the front of the room and glides to the whiteboard.
Her blond curls bounce slightly with each step, though they remain perfectly uniform, tight ringlets that sit just above her shoulder.
She taps one of the runes at the top corner of the board, and the blank space glows before the lesson plan appears.
Perfectly drawn images appear at the edges, visual aids to support the text.
“Last week, we focused on the history of hieroglyphics and the part they play in mortal history, specifically relating to a time dubbed ‘the ancient era.’ We also discussed the timeline of that period in terms of the mortals’ beliefs, but also how magic and runic systems predate even their calendars.
Today, we are going to delve deeper into the hieroglyphs themselves and the power the language holds.
As we discussed, hieroglyphs are best utilized for conjuration.
The creation of something from nothing. Unlike alchemy, conjuring with hieroglyphs is more complex, and their unique forms and various uses have fallen out of fashion among those able to use them. ”
She reviews the board and then turns around, her gold eyes flitting over the classroom and settling on me.
Now that she is looking right at me, I notice the shape of them.
They’re slightly elongated, almost catlike, and nearly the same color as her sand-colored skin.
She lifts her pointed chin and narrows her eyes a little before looking away.
“Before we begin, copy down all the hieroglyphs from the board, and next to them, describe what you believe their primary, secondary, and tertiary uses are.”
I look at the board, at the complexity of the drawings, and wonder what I’ve gotten myself into. Yes, I have a natural ability to draw normal runes in most languages, but these are?.?.?. works of art, and my ability to draw does not surpass a stick figure.
There must be a reason you were enrolled in this class.
As I start copying them down, I realize that within every hieroglyph lie smaller images, each with its own meaning. I’m just getting into the rhythm of drawing them when Professor Ziven sidles up beside me, looking down at my work.
“I am happy to see you have finally joined the class, Miss Tuatha De Daanan.”
I look up at her, and her feline eyes are fixed on me, the pupils more like slits now. “Apologies for missing the first few weeks,” I say quietly. There is a soft hum of students whispering, but I have a feeling that everyone is listening to our conversation.
“Understandable,” she says, tilting her head a little. “I must admit, I was reluctant to allow you into the class after missing so much.” Her eyebrow quirks and her lips tilt upward. “But I have been assured that your work is exemplary. Don’t make me regret my decision.”
I watch her as her smile deepens, becoming almost menacing, before she leaves me to my work.
I stare after her, feeling more than unnerved.
The rest of the class is relatively painless, but by the time lunch rolls around, I’m feeling worn out, and I wonder if it would be better to see about transferring out.
I really don’t have the bandwidth to deal with more weird shit.
Alice is waiting for me just inside the canteen doors. “Hey, how was class?” she asks, obviously anxious.
“It was fine. ”
“Fine?” she asks as we walk toward the serving area.
I nod. “Have you ever met Professor Ziven?”
Alice grimaces. “Oh, she took one of my classes last week when Prof Gregg was out. She’s very weird.
” Alice opens the fridge and selects a pouch of blood.
“Apparently, she’s a sphinx, and decades ago she got that sand sickness when she was visiting her relatives.
She’s been psycho ever since, but from what I’ve heard, she’s a leading expert in hieroglyphics. ”
I start making a salad.
“Also,” Alice continues. She’s obviously done some digging into this teacher. “Rumor has it, she had this wild affair with this super-powerful pharaoh’s wife, like, centuries ago, and it all ended in some massive curse-off, but there’s not a whole lot of information about it.”
I lift my eyebrows as we walk toward our table. Maybe I should give this professor a chance. I mean, I probably seem crazy to most too. The psycho who had a stalker who?.?.?.
My blood runs cold at the thought of Aqua, her image burned into the backs of my eyelids. I shake my head, trying to rid myself of it. Noticing my discomfort, Alice moves in closer and slides her arm through mine.
“How was your class?” I ask, changing the subject.
Alice shrugs. “Boring.”
Alice bristles as we near our usual table, and I glance up from my tray, noticing a short, gangly kid sitting there. He is handsome, with dark brown skin, dark eyes, and a mane of tight blond locs of varying shades.
“Move,” Alice hisses at him, and he blinks up at her, his large eyes too big for his face.
He looks like he might be eighteen, but I know he has to be older.
He’s a shifter, and one that appears to be slow to develop, but with how large his hands are, he’s not far off.
Shifters don’t shift until they reach their late twenties.
It is then that they experience overnight growth in their bodies and power.
Before that, they are known as pullus shifters, and I didn’t know they could even attend Avalon.
While he looks uncomfortable, he doesn’t look threatened by the vampire flashing her fangs at him, and to his credit, he relaxes and takes a bite of his apple. “Why?”
My eyes swing from him to Alice.
Her eyes flash red. This poor kid is about to get it. “This is our table.”
“Looks like there is enough space for all of us,” he says, and there is a deepness to his voice that doesn’t quite match his body. He’s definitely a shifter who hasn’t shifted yet. “Sit somewhere else if it bothers you.”
Alice flashes her fangs, and I know that I’m going to need to de-escalate this situation before we have a dead shifter and a blood-soaked Alice.
I squeeze her arm. “Al, it’s fine.” I look at her. “We don’t need the whole table.” Anymore. That word drifts through my mind, burning me cruelly.
Alice hisses again and snaps her fangs before she sits down, though her shoulders are still lined with tension. I sit next to her and take a sip of water, watching the kid’s eyes bounce between us.
“Vampire and fae,” he says. “You must be them.”
“Them?” Alice growls.
Uh-oh. Careful, kid. Don’t poke the bear. The bear being Alice.
He tilts his head, his locs brushing over his forehead. “You’re infamous.”
I blink.
He shrugs, taking another bite of his apple. “They call you the Disaster Duo.” This time, it’s my turn to tense, but he continues, oblivious. “I’m Leo.”
“Don’t care,” Alice snaps back.
I look at him and can’t help but notice that there is something familiar about him. Something about him reminds me of Connor, but I can’t put my finger on it. “Shifter, right?”
“Not yet,” he grumbles, discomfort and resentment radiating from him.
I spear a piece of lettuce. “Soon, I’d imagine.” Leo glances at me, a mixture of fear and curiosity in his eyes. I point at his hands with my fork. “Given the size of them.”
Leo pulls his hands back as if they’ve been burned and moves them under the table, out of sight. “Never.”
That was an interesting reaction. I thought shifters were desperate to shift, to reach maturity. Most animal shifters can access their magic before their first shift, though not to its full potential. From what I have learned in all my reading, it’s something they desperately wait for.
Unless . . .
“I have no intention of shifting. Ever,” he says, his jaw tight.
Alice frowns, swallowing a gulp of blood. “I didn’t think it was a choice.”
I watch him for a moment, feeling a spark of fellowship for this shifter. “You’re not the only one here who hates their species, kid,” I say and stand up, the alienation I know all too well swelling inside me. “Welcome to Avalon. ”
Pain surges inside ?me as I leave the cafeteria, and I walk until I find an empty corridor. Leaning back against the wall, I take a deep breath, needing a moment of solitude. I need a moment to mourn Connor, a moment to hate myself, a moment to hate my species.
“Summer?”
I curse under my breath. My moment has been interrupted, and not by the one person I would want to be here. Instead, it’s Max. I squeeze my eyes closed, and his heat seeps into me as he comes to a stop in front of me.
“Look at me. You’re not breathing.”
I blink my eyes open, and it takes a second to focus on him before I notice the tight feeling in my chest. I wasn’t breathing. Max braces his hands on my upper arms, his brown eyes centering me.
“You’re having a panic attack,” he says calmly. Am I? How did I not realize? How did it come on so quickly?
Max takes a deep breath and squeezes my arms, instructing me to follow him.
We hold our breaths for a long moment, and then when he exhales, so do I.
My chest is so tight, and my head swims. Is this the moment?
Am I going to die? Be with Connor again?
I take another breath, but it doesn’t fill my lungs, and I grasp Max’s shirt, needing something, anything to save me.
“Okay. You’re okay. Hold your breath. I’ll hold mine too.”
My lungs stutter as I try to inhale, my fists tightening on his shirt.
I try to tamp down my panic, holding my breath.
Max does the same, then releases it loudly, encouraging me to do the same.
It takes ten full breaths before the tightness eases, and I sag against the wall.
Max just watches me, waiting for me to come down from it.
I exhale heavily. “Fuck.”
“Have those often?” Max asks.
I look away. “Sometimes.” Since Connor died, they’re fairly frequent, but I didn’t even feel this one coming on, and I have no idea what caused it.
“How often, Sum?” Max asks, brushing his thumb over my arm.
This is too intimate, and he is too close.
“I have to go, Max.”
Max nods and pulls back. “As long as you’re good.”
I push off the wall and walk away, feeling like an asshole but unsure what else to do.