by Kyle Shultz
Sparky yawned in contentment and wiggled his feet in the air.
“You are absolutely not—” I began.
“Bye Nick! Bye Cordelia!” He waved to both of us. Sparky jumped onto his back as he pulled the door shut.
“Wait!” I hurried after him, but Cordelia grabbed my tail to stop me. I really hate it when people do that.
“Nick, I’m sure he’ll be fine,” she said. “You need to focus on your own business right now. Teaching this class.”
I yanked my tail away from her, took a deep breath, and forced myself to take my mind off Crispin. “Right. Teaching magic-users how to manage without magic. Are there rules for that, or—”
“Not really. Warrengate hasn’t had anyone teach Mundane Survival in a long time, so you can basically make up the rules as you go along. You’ll be dealing with a bunch of spoiled, pampered Charmbloods who have no frame of reference for what you’re telling them. No one will be able to judge you.”
“People always find a way to judge me.”
“You’ll be fine!” She gave me a little shove. “Now let’s go. We have to get to breakfast.”
I made a face. “Not looking forward to that. They’ll probably be serving spleen of troll or something.”
“Don’t worry. If Molly’s in charge of the Warrengate menagerie, I doubt very much that she’d let them cook the trolls.”
Memories of the previous night suddenly came flooding back. “We have another problem,” I said gravely.
Cordelia groaned. “What is it now?”
“Cousin Molly. She heard the three of us talking last night.”
“How could you possibly know that?”
“I couldn’t sleep. Weird nightmares. So I went out for a walk on the beach, and she was there.”
“Doing what?”
I frowned. “What do you mean, ‘doing what?’”
“It’s a simple question.”
“Just walking, I suppose. That’s not the point.”
“She was walking on the beach in the middle of the night?” Cordelia gazed out of the window, a pensive look on her face. “That’s suspicious.”
“Cordelia, I was doing the exact same thing! Maybe she couldn’t sleep either.”
“What did she say? How much did she hear?”
“She wasn’t really clear on that. The point is, she knows something. Enough to get us into trouble if she decided to tell anyone.”
“Do you think she’s going to?”
“She said she wouldn’t.”
“Ha.”
“That was basically my reaction as well. However, she does seem sincere. She says she wants to help us.”
“No. Out of the question.” She tapped her foot as she pondered the problem. “Did you tell her I’ll deal with her if she doesn’t stop meddling in our business?”
“Something like that.” I rubbed the back of my neck. “She…seemed doubtful that you’d win in a magical duel with her.”
Cordelia raised her hand, and magic crackled at her fingertips. “Challenge accepted.”
“Wait, no, stop, hold on.” I gently lowered her arm. “It wasn’t a challenge. No need for the scary sparkly stuff.”
She looked disappointed, but she finally relaxed. “I suppose it would attract too much attention if I got into a battle with her.” She lowered her hand, the magic fading away. “We won’t do anything drastic. For now, at least. But we’ll have to keep a close eye on her. If she starts to become a problem, let me handle it, all right?”
“Understood.”
“And tell Crispin to stay away from her. He can’t avoid attending her classes, but he can certainly stop acting like a lovesick puppy around her.”
I chuckled. “I’ll try to convince him…but I make no promises.”
Fortunately, breakfast passed without any serious incidents. Like the rest of the school, the dining hall had a macabre atmosphere. The skulls of various fanged creatures mounted on the walls didn’t exactly foster cheerful conversation. I considered complaining to someone that I found the decor personally offensive, but decided against it in the end. Anyway, the bacon sandwiches were good. (I just assumed they were bacon.)
I couldn’t see Crispin very well from where I sat at the faculty table. In the brief moments when I caught a glimpse of him, he seemed completely at his ease—though the generally somber mood had apparently toned down his earlier enthusiasm. He looked in my direction now and then, but he wasn’t actually paying any attention to me. Instead, he was exchanging meaningful glances with Molly, who sat a few chairs down from me. I scraped shavings off the table with my claw as I watched them, longing to shout across the room for Crispin to stop being an idiot. Fake student or not, this sort of thing was going to draw attention before long, and then where would we be?
Despite Cordelia’s assurances about Warrengate not having a problem with monsters, I’d been nervous about my appearance causing a stir when I entered the dining room. However, I needn’t have worried. Roughly half the people in the hall weren’t human either. Quite a few were blue or green-skinned; fairies, most likely. A group of orcs were seated at the far end of the students’ table, wolfing down their food in sullen silence. I also spotted a couple of leprechauns, three vampires, a minotaur, a centaur, and a satyr. Or faun. I never really learned the difference between the two; primarily because I didn’t think either one existed until quite recently. The teachers all wore the ridiculous-looking black cloaks over whatever human portions they possessed. The students were dressed in dark blazers bearing the school insignia.
In addition to the variety of species, what struck me about the gathering was how much magic everyone was using—even for the most mundane things. Nearly everyone’s utensils were enchanted to move on their own, cutting the food of their owners and feeding it to them. Bowls and plates drifted through the air, distributing additional portions without the aid of waiters. Some of the diners, who apparently didn’t like the menu, were materializing their own choice of meals out of thin air. Cordelia was right. No wonder they needed a Mundane Survival course.
Malcolm, I noticed, was sitting at the head of the faculty table. He wasn’t eating anything, just looking around with a bored expression on his face. Every time he locked eyes with a teacher or a student, they would blanch and become very interested in whatever was on their plate.
“Why isn’t he having any breakfast?” I whispered to Cordelia.
“Human food isn’t enough for him. He probably already ate an entire cow this morning.”
“Then why is he here?”
“He only comes to breakfast on the days when he makes announcements. I’m guessing this one will be about us.”
A few minutes later, Malcolm stood up and cleared his throat. The sound was like a volcano getting ready to erupt. The faint whispers of conversation that one or two brave souls had attempted now died away, leaving the hall silent as a tomb.
“Good morning, pathetic non-dragons,” he said. He spoke the words as if they were merely a label rather than an insult.
“Today,” he continued, “we welcome two new professors and one new student.” His brow furrowed in frustration. “What were their blasted names again…there’s Lady Cordelia Beaumont; you all probably know her. She’ll be teaching Level Three Enchantments, taking over from Professor Dwight in the wake of his unfortunate incineration.”
Everyone went pale, their eyes fixed on Malcolm.
“This is where you applaud for Lady Cordelia,” he told them. “Get on with it.”
The entire hall exploded into uproarious applause, complete with frenzied cheers and expressions of undying devotion to Cordelia. She stood up and acknowledged the reception with a nod and a strained smile.
“Quiet,” boomed Malcolm.
The noise hushed in a split second, as if somebody had flipped a switch. Cordelia sat back down.
“Next, we’ve got…whats-his-name as our new Mundane Survival professor.” He motioned vaguely to me. “The hairy on
e, next to Lady Cordelia. Stand up, you.”
I got to my feet. “Nathaniel Barlow,” I tried to say, but my voice was drowned out by a resurgence of the clapping and shouting. In the end, I gave up and sat back down.
“Hush,” said Malcolm, quieting everyone again. “And finally, we’ve got Cristopher Something-or-other as a new student.” As Crispin stood up, Malcolm pointed to him. “Nice lad. Likes dragons. Doesn’t act like a pathetic worm around them the way all of you do.”
No one had a response for this.
“I trust you will all be welcoming and polite to our new arrivals,” said Malcolm, in a cautionary tone. “We wouldn’t want any more unfortunate incinerations, now would we?”
Everyone shook their heads in unison.
“Brilliant.” Malcolm rubbed his hands together. “Now that’s done, I’ve got some potions I need to try out. Any volunteers to help me test them? No? Oh well. I’ll have Linus do it.”
With that, he left the table and strode towards the big double doors of the dining hall. They swung open of their own accord, then shut behind him.
Everyone breathed a sigh of relief. Conversation resumed, a little more loudly than before. What I heard of it mostly revolved around how happy the breakfasters were to still be alive.
“So,” I said to Cordelia, “we’re in.”
She nodded. “Now we just have to stay in.” She eyed Molly, who waved her fork and smiled.
“I hope Crispin gets in touch with this Kiran of yours quickly,” I whispered, after checking to be sure the heavily-tattooed enchanter to my right was still busy arguing about the finer points of necromancy with the orc across the table from him. “I don’t know how long my nerves will be able to stand this place.”
“All Crispin has to do is…well, be Crispin, quite frankly,” said Cordelia in a low voice. “So long as he expresses interest in all of Kiran’s crazy gadgets—and you know he’ll just love those—Kiran should be quite favorably disposed to help him.”
“That’s just fine, but what about when you come into the conversation?”
“Leave that to me. Once Crispin paves the way, I can handle the rest.”
“You really think you can get Kiran to forget about the shark incident?”
She winced. “That may be a little difficult, but I’m fairly confident I can win him over again.”
I toyed with my napkin. “Just a reminder—the last time you tried to charm a bloke into helping you with a problem, things got hairy. Literally. I merely mention this.”
She glared at me. “Yes, thanks so much for reminding me of that; I’d nearly forgotten.”
“You’re welcome. Would you pass me the salt?”
“No.”
CHAPTER SIX
The Mythfits
My class was scheduled to begin promptly after breakfast, at nine o’clock. Thanks to Warrengate’s confusing maze of corridors, I got there several minutes late. I gritted my teeth as I took hold of the door handle, bracing myself to face a classroom full of imperious, judgmental students who’d give me grief for my tardiness.
I’d tell them a thing or two. Mustering my courage, I burst through the door.
The lecture hall was a sea of empty desks. There were only three people inside—and Crispin wasn’t even one of them. He had promised me he would take this class to give me moral support. I resolved to have words with him later.
None of the students were human. One was a bored-looking centaur, with a stocky, muscular human torso and the body of a bay-dun draft pony below the waist. His ears were equine as well, and his brown hair grew down the back of his neck in a long mane, disappearing beneath the school blazer he wore over his human half. He inspected me briefly, gave a single nod to acknowledge my presence, then went back to staring into space with his arms folded across his chest.
The other male student was a faun. Satyr. Whatever. He seemed quite timid, gawking at me with wide eyes and wiggling his fuzzy ears one at a time. He kept reaching up to rub the bases of his horns, disarranging his curly blond hair in the process. His goat legs were brown with white blotches.
The youngest member of the party was a dark-haired girl in her late teens—the most human-looking of the bunch, though even she wasn’t completely ordinary. She had fox ears and a tail, and was perched on top of her desk, fidgeting with a pencil. She started violently at the sight of me, and in the blink of an eye, she transformed into a raven. Cawing loudly, she alighted on the centaur’s shoulder, peeping at me from behind his head. He didn’t seem to notice her.
Also, oddly enough, there was a birch sapling growing right out of one of the desks, its roots blending seamlessly with the wood. I couldn’t imagine what that was all about. Even stranger, there was a school blazer hanging on the chair behind the desk.
“Er…” I glanced around the room. “Is everyone else just late, or—”
The centaur shrugged. “Dunno.” He held out a hand to me. “I’m Alan, by the way.” His accent marked him as a native of Camelot’s northern counties.
I shook his hand. “Nathaniel Barlow.” Somehow I’d never expected to meet a centaur named “Alan.”
“And I’m Gareth, sir,” said the faun or satyr, waving at me. Apparently, he was too nervous about my claws to try a handshake. His words bore the musical lilt of a Rhiannish accent.
I nodded. “Pleased to meet you. I really hope you won’t be offended by this question, but you’re a….satyr, correct?”
He shook his head. “Faun, sir. Satyrs have more goaty faces. Very important distinction; wars have been fought over it.”
“I’ll bear that in mind. And less of the ‘sir,’ if you don’t mind; just call me Nathaniel.”
He hesitated. “I’ll try, sir.”
“Right. Never mind.” I smiled encouragingly at the fox-girl-turned-raven. She trembled a little, huddling against Alan’s neck. “It’s all right,” I assured her. “This may be hard to believe, but I don’t bite. Who are you, then?”
She took flight again, landed back on her desk, and changed back to her human form…only this time, her ears and tail were those of a cat instead of a fox. Her school uniform, it seemed, was enchanted to appear and disappear as needed. “M-my name’s Bryn,” she quavered. Her accent was Caledonian. “I’m a pooka. Well, technically, I’m a human, but I’m under an enchantment.”
“She turns into things,” said Alan. “Most anything, really. She doesn’t like to stay in one form for very long.” Even as he spoke, Bryn transformed fully into a cat. He picked her up in his arms and stroked her head. “We grew up together. Long story. She pretty much only trusts me, but she’ll be fine once she gets to know you.”
“Er…all right.” I squinted at the cat. “Did she get cursed or something? How did she end up like this?”
“It was voluntary,” said Alan. “Everyone in her tribe takes on the pooka spell when they’re kids.” He narrowed his eyes at me. “You mean to say you’ve never heard of them?”
“I’ve heard of them,” I deflected. “Just not very clear on the details. I can’t be an expert on every magical creature in the Afterlands.” I straightened my robes and surveyed the little gathering. “So…are you telling me that you three and that tree over there are the only students I’ve got?” I jerked my head in the direction of the bizarre sapling.
Gareth raised his hand. “That’s not a tree, sir. I mean, it is a tree, but the tree’s not the student. The thing inside the tree is.”
I leaned closer and examined the birch. “What is it, a talking termite?”
“A dryad. They live in symbiotic relationships with trees. Kind of like hermit crabs.”
“Oh.” I breathed a sigh of relief. Hermit crabs were a lot better than talking termites. “That’s all right, then.”
“I think she dozed off,” said Alan, swishing his tail and yawning as Bryn jumped from his arms and turned into a fox. “That’s why she just looks like an ordinary tree right now.” He gave me a condescending look. “Thought I’d ex
plain that, just in case you weren’t familiar with dryads either.”
I smiled stiffly. “Fascinating. So…a faun, a centaur, a dryad, and a pooka. Is this the beginning of a bad joke, or are you seriously my only students?”
“I think it’d be a fantastic joke,” said Alan.
“Where’s everyone else?” I demanded.
Bryn changed back into a fox-eared girl. “Nobody wants to take this subject,” she said, sounding apologetic.
“So I’ve heard, but why are you four here?”
“We’re desperate,” said Gareth.
“We’re not human,” Bryn pointed out. “Not entirely, anyway.”
“Yes, I did notice that.”
“And without magic,” he went on, “without glamour spells, specifically—we can’t even pretend to be human. I mean, I can get on all right if I manage to squeeze my legs into a pair of trousers and wear a big hat, but Alan’s hopeless.”
“I don’t really care, though,” said Alan. “I’m not even a full-time student; mostly I work here as the riding instructor.” He reached out and patted Bryn’s shoulder. “I’m just sitting in on this class to keep Bryn company. She doesn’t like to be without me for too long.”
“Why is she so afraid of everything?” I asked.
“Difficult childhood,” he said simply. “Long story.”
“And she can’t stay human-looking for more than a minute to save her life,” Gareth added.
Bryn gave an apologetic nod and turned into a rabbit.
“We’ve never had any reason to blend in among non-magical humans,” said Alan. “Creatures like us have our own communities away from prying eyes. The only humans that come there already know we exist, so it’s not a problem. So we’ve never had to bother trying to live without magic.”
“The human enchanters call themselves ‘Charmbloods,’” said Gareth, “but they don’t have any idea what it’s like to truly have magic running through your veins. If our innate powers were suppressed, we wouldn’t even know how to live.”
“We use them for everything,” said Bryn, who for the moment was a cat-eared girl again. “Finding our way places, doing our chores, brushing our teeth—”