Hers From The Start: A Collection of First In Series Reverse Harem

by Laura Greenwood

  How are you today?

  I glance at Ross out the corner of my eye, but he’s focused on the professor.

  Fine, thank you. You?

  Folding the note and dropping it on his desk, I hold my breath while he opens it. “Better now,” he whispers, although it’s so low I’m not sure I hear him correctly. It doesn’t stop the heat rushing into my cheeks as I risk peeking at him, but he’s still staring up front. And that’s how the rest of class goes. Professor Klaxon talks us through the main theories we’ll be studying and the scholars who coined them. Ross doesn’t write me again, and I resist the urge to make eye contact. But energy flows between us like a stream. I feel it as clear as I hear the professor's voice. And if I focus intensely I can sense something else. A thought, maybe. Or is it the whisper of a memory? I hone in on it, mentally reaching for the thread, but just when it’s within my grasp Professor Klaxon announces the end of class, and the room breaks out in a flurry of activity.

  Ross is quiet as he packs up his things, but he doesn’t rush off, instead waiting for me. At least, I think he is.

  “So,” I start. “We should probably arrange to meet up and start the assignment.” We file out of the room, but Ross is focused on something across the hallway. A group of people I don’t recognize.

  “Ross?”

  He grinds to a halt and his eyes slide to mine, the flashes of blue so vivid I’m sure they’re moving across his irises. “I should probably take off.”

  “But what about the—” He melts into the stream of students and I let out a frustrated sigh, more confused than ever.

  “Terra, over here.” Amalia waves me over and I hesitate. After last night, I’ve succeeded in avoiding her all morning, but I know I’ll have to face her eventually. Deciding it’s better to get it over with, I swerve around tables and huddles of students.

  “It’s busy in here.” I opt for neutral conversation. I didn’t brave the student cafeteria yesterday, eating from my stash of ramen noodles instead.

  “How was your morning?” She moves up to let me slide in next to her.

  “Good, I think I’m really going to enjoy my classes.”

  “Philosophy major, right?”

  “I haven’t decided yet but I’m taking mostly Philosophy credits this semester.”

  “Nice.”

  I eat my sandwich in comfortable silence, happy to listen to her and a couple of other girls from our dorm discuss Prank Wars. I'm relieved she hasn’t tried to bring up last night. I’m halfway through the turkey on white when I feel something burning my neck. Glancing around, I half expect to see Jesse throwing me one of her icy glares but there’s no sign of her.

  “Hey, are you okay?” Amalia asks, and I stuff a chip into my mouth, offering her a tight smile.

  I knew leaving the confines of my grandmother’s farm would be a challenge, but I hadn’t expected to be so bombarded with sensations. The trees, the wind, the strange pull I feel around Cael and Ross. It’s as if since coming to Atchison my senses have sharpened and now I’m picking up different frequencies. Even though I’m trying my hardest to block them out, to keep up my mental walls, I can feel things rubbing against them. Fighting for a way in.

  And I’d be lying if I said it didn’t worry me.

  Like right now, if I concentrate I can feel the fine hairs along my neck bristle, the skin there warming. Tiny electrical pulses rushing down my spine and out into my nerve endings. I peek over my shoulder again, certain that someone or something is causing it. But there’s no one I recognize. No one even looking in my direction. Then I see it, a flash of golden red hair. But as quickly as it catches my eye, it’s gone, the guy it belongs to swallowed by the lunch time crowd.

  “I have to go.” I surprise myself, Amalia too by the look on her face.

  “Go? But you just got here. This isn’t about last night, is it? Listen, I wanted to apologize but I didn’t want to do it in front of everyone,” she leans into me, lowering her voice. “I’m really sorry, I misunderstood—”

  “It's fine,” I lie. “I just remembered, I left some books back at the dorm. I need to grab them before my next class.”

  “Oh, okay, I’ll see you back there later?”

  I nod, pick up my tray, and take off in the direction of guy with the fiery mane.

  FIRE

  Shit. He’d screwed up. They weren’t supposed to connect with her… yet. But she called to him, her power brushing up against his own, familiar, warm, and full of possibilities. He wanted to feel it, if only for a second. But then she’d glanced over her shoulder, violet eyes wide and searching, and he knew she’d felt him.

  The guys would freak. Especially Sol. He was clear: let her come to them. They weren’t to influence her or push her. It had to be on her terms. But fuck, if the wait wasn’t enough to kill them all. They’d been waiting long enough.

  Too long.

  He’d felt her the second she arrived on campus. Her energy like a beacon reaching out to them. He knew Cael felt it too—they’d talked about it. Sol refused to discuss it, discuss her. Unless it was to bark orders or lay down the rules. Who the hell put him in charge anyway? As for Ross, he was still shutting them out. They hoped Terra would fix him, bring him back to them. Because they couldn’t succeed without him. It was an all-or-none scenario. They were bound—linked—and if one of them failed, they would all fail.

  But for now, he needed to be more careful. Even if it hurt, even if he felt ready to claw off his own skin, he’d be patient.

  It would be worth it.

  He had to believe in the end, it would all be worth it.

  7.

  I burst out of the cafeteria, scanning the crowd. When I see nothing, I close my eyes, focusing on the sensation I’d felt back at the table. But after a few seconds, I open them and accept defeat.

  Dammit.

  With twenty minutes to kill before my next class, I sit down at one of the empty benches under the canopy adjoining the cafeteria. The sun is high in the sky and even though there’s a cool breeze, I tilt my face up, enjoying the warmth of the rays.

  They surround it, chanting, swaying, their dark robes shifting around their forms like shadows. The warmth of the candles licking its thick trunk, its lower branches, and when a gust of wind shakes loose some of its leaves, they drift down, obliterated by the open flames. A deep shudder rips through the roots, absorbed by the ground. The cry of pain spreads, and the other trees nearby groan into the intensifying wind.

  This has become a familiar sight. The cloaked figures, their growing power. They call on the four. Demanding their power, ignorant to the imbalance they cause in doing so. For everything requires balance: good and evil, light and darkness. But the lines divide. The trees feel it, the plants, and birds. The lines are fractured. And until she comes, the fate of Earth is unknown.

  She must—

  Someone barrels into me, and my eyes snap open, landing on the giant oak tree in the middle of the lawn.

  “Watch it,” a voice yells and I step aside, aware I’d just slipped into one of my trances. But why? And what did I see? Usually when a flashback breaks through my mental barriers, I see destruction and decay. Feel the pain of the trees, plants, or water around me. This time, though, there was just a black canvas. It’s unnerving, but then, nothing about my abilities has been normal since arriving in Atchison.

  I want nothing more than to call my grandmother. To hear her voice and take comfort in knowing she understands. My whole life, she’s been the only person to ever ‘get’ me. When I arrived at her farmhouse, an orphaned thirteen-year-old, she’d been so accepting, so understanding of my strange gift. But she hadn’t experienced my childhood. The cruel whispers and stares. She hadn’t witnessed me return home from school in tears because of yet another incident with my classmates. To them, I was a freak. A weirdo. But not to my gran. She loved me unconditionally.

  “Is anyone sitting here?”

  I glance up, surprised to see Ross standing there. Sw
iping the tears out of my eyes, I shake my head and motion for him to take a seat.

  “Sorry I bailed earlier.”

  “It’s okay.”

  “It’s not, but whatever.” He picks at his fries, pushing the carton in my direction. “Want one?”

  “I’m good, thanks.”

  With a little shrug he goes back to his lunch, jet-black hair falling over his eyes. I watch, mesmerized as he spends time arranging the fries into an intricate pattern on the plate. “What is that?” I ask, trying to crane my neck to get a better look.

  “This? It’s the eternal knot.” He looks at me through his dark lashes. “It’s one of the eight Auspicious Symbols.”

  My blank expression makes his lip curve slightly and he continues, “It has many meanings, but I like the Buddhist interpretation that the eternal knot is the symbol of the ultimate unity of everything.”

  “You’ve studied Buddhism?”

  “I’ve read a little.” He shrugs as if it's no big deal but as I’m slowly learning, everything Ross says or does is carefully weighed and measured.

  Without thinking, I move around the table and slide in beside him. I want to get a better look, to see the symbol through his eyes. The fries are laid out in a series of lines, creating boxes, overlaid on more boxes, forming one larger diamond.

  “Neat,” I say, suddenly realizing how close we are. Ross’s thigh brushes mine, and he stills, unlike the thread of energy flowing between us which tightens and tugs.

  “I …” he gulps, shuffling further along the bench, and I’d be lying if I said his urgency to put space between us didn’t make my stomach sink. “Yeah, it’s pretty cool.”

  “Maybe you could tell me more about Buddhism some time?” I take another leap. Like Cael, I feel comfortable with Ross. But where Cael has that instant likeability, I never quite feel worthy of his time. With Ross, it’s like I don’t have to pretend to be someone I’m not. Maybe it’s the pain he wears like armor or the fact he’s also an introvert, but I can relate.

  “I think we should get the assignment done first.”

  “Yeah.” I purse my lips. “You’re probably right.”

  The moment passes, and Ross picks off his fries one by one until his plate is clear and the masses around us begin moving on to their next classes. When he gets up and offers me his hand, I take it willingly. But the crackle of electricity as my palm slides against his makes me jolt back.

  His brows pinch together as he studies his hand and it’s on the tip of my tongue to ask him if he felt it, the strange flow of energy when our skin connected, when he rushes out, “I’ll see you around, Terra.”

  I watch him disappear into the crowd then realize he still never made any arrangements for our assignment.

  A soft knock at my door pulls me from my studies. I decided to take matters into my own hands with Professor Klaxon’s assignment.

  “Amalia, this is… unexpected,” I say. She’s in a fluffy onesie, the hood pulled up over her hair.

  “I was hoping we could talk.”

  “Sure.” I move aside and let her in. She takes the desk chair while I perch on the edge of the bed. “What’s up?”

  “I wanted to apologize again.”

  “There’s nothing to apologize for, really. I should have realized it was a prank after all the talk of Prank Wars at the meeting.”

  Her brows knit together. “Prank? You think…” she pauses, sliding her hands underneath her butt. “It wasn’t a prank, Terra.”

  I stare at her through wide eyes. It wasn’t a prank? But that means… Sensing my realization her expression softens.

  “Are you sure you’re not a—”

  “Don’t,” I say silencing her as my hand whooshes through the air.

  “Terra, it’s okay. Sometimes, people aren’t aware of their power. I just assumed you knew.”

  “Knew what exactly?” my voice is barely a whisper because while I don’t want to believe her words, I know there’s some truth in them.

  Deep down, I’ve always known. But it’s a truth I’m not ready to accept.

  “That you’re a witch,” she says as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

  “A witch, right.” I’m pacing now, my thumb pushing my bottom lip between my teeth.

  Witch.

  I’m a witch.

  It explains a lot.

  And yet, doesn’t really explain anything at all.

  “Terra,” Amalia says and my head snaps to hers, sympathy and understanding twinkling in her sapphire-bright eyes. “It’s okay.”

  “Is it?” I tilt my head, studying her. Amalia is the epitome of the social butterfly. Friendly. Warm. Good with strangers. She’s everything I’m not and yet, she’s a witch. I can’t imagine someone so grounded and confident being subjected to the ridicule and mistreatment I experienced growing up.

  “Do you feel them too?” I ask, a kernel of hope taking root in my stomach. I’ve never met someone like me before. Maybe this is a good thing. Maybe my grandmother knew all along that all I needed was to go out into the world and find others like me.

  But when confusion clouds her eyes and the word, ‘Who?’, falls from her lips, I realize this isn’t a fairytale and I’m still alone.

  “No one. It doesn’t matter.”

  “A witch’s power can take many forms, Terra. Do you really know none of this?”

  I roll my lips together and shake my head. I know my reality, but I’m not sure even she’s ready to hear it. Maybe I’m defective. Maybe the powers that be couldn’t even get that right when they bestowed me with my supposed gifts.

  “It’s late and I have a paper I need to work on, but if you’re interested in finding out more, you should come along to one of our gatherings.” When I don’t answer, she adds, “Think about it. I know it’s scary, but I felt you, Terra. You’re strong. All you need is someone to help you unlock it.”

  Amalia leaves me in a confused daze. Her words vibrating from my head like a thunderstorm.

  You’re strong.

  You’re a witch.

  A witch. Thanks for the heads-up, Gran. She knew. All along she knew. It makes perfect sense now. How she never pushed, only encouraged. Trying to get me to embrace my abilities rather than lock them away. But I was reluctant. Burdened by the experiences of my past. And it became easier to live in seclusion out on her farm, only unleashing my gifts when I was alone, rather than face my fears and standing up to who—or what—I was.

  A soft knock echoes around the room again and I drag myself to the door, expecting to see Amalia through the peep-hole, but there’s no one. I hear it again, only I realize it didn’t come from the door, it came from the window. I tiptoe across the room, slipping out onto the balcony to find a large stone wrapped in a sheet of paper. My fingers work the knot loose, and I unfold the note.

  Tomorrow. 11am.

  The library. Study room 3.

  It’s not signed with a name, but the little sketch of an eternal knot is a dead giveaway. I crane over the balcony, my eyes searching the darkness beneath for any signs of Ross. If he’s hiding in the shadows, I don’t see him. My first thought is ‘how the hell did Ross know where to find me?’, but then I remember the logic defying fry artwork and smile to myself.

  Ross said he’d find me.

  I should have known he would.

  I’m late.

  My alarm didn’t go off, that or I slept through it. After the revelations of last night, it’s no surprise sleep didn’t come easy, Amalia’s words refused to quiet, and the note from Ross taunted me long past midnight. So when I rush out of dorm and don’t see Cael waiting for me, I’m hardly disappointed. He probably gave up and went ahead without me. If he came at all.

  Campus map in hand, I’m so busy following the route to the Hughes building, I don’t see the crack in the sidewalk. My foot connects, and I fly through the air, throwing my hands out to break my fall. Pain ricochets up my wrist as I land in a breathless heap. Giving myself a couple
of seconds to catch my breath—and thank the Heavens that everyone is already in class—I peek open my eyes, surprised to find a hand in front of my face. I follow it up, past muscular arms and broad shoulders, until my eyes settle on a slightly amused face.

  “Hello, again,” I say feeling heat creep into my cheeks. “We’ve really got to stop meeting like this.”

  “Here.” He holds out his hand and I stare at it, remembering the one and only other time we touched. “Problem?” he asks and with a slight shake of my head, I take his hand, letting him tug me up.

  “Thanks.” I snatch my hand back all too aware of the current flowing between us.

  “It’s Terra, right?” he asks. If he felt the weird spark just now, his expression gives nothing away. “You were lost.”

  “That’s me.” My lips pull into a tight line. “If I’m not lost, I’m falling, or dodging rogue footballs, apparently,” I murmur, and I’m sure I catch the faintest smile curve his mouth. But it’s hard to tell. His expression is so dark, so guarded.

  He bends down to retrieve my book and schedule and hands them to me. “Thanks…” I say, letting my unspoken question hang between us.

  “Sol. I’m Sol—”

  “Ericson,” I say with a half-groan. Nothing about this place surprises me anymore.

  His eyebrows shoot up in question, but I keep the information of how I know his identity to myself. “Well, thanks for the help. Next time we meet, I hope to be upright and going in the right direction.” I flash him a meek smile, but it slips when I realize he’s looking at me like I’ve completely lost my mind.

  “Well, bye.” I hurry down the path not sparing him a backward glance thinking that the girls in my dorm weren’t wrong.

  Sol Ericson is something alright.

  8.

  Ross is waiting when I arrive in study room three. “Hey, sorry I’m late,” I say. “There was an incident.”