by Rye Brewer
But Aidan barely batted an eye at Talia’s retort.
“Whatever,” he sighed, shrugging his shoulders casually. “At least I’m not failing out of witch cooking class.”
I glared again. Everyone knew that Potions was much more than some silly cooking class and that there was real technique and skill involved, but Aidan just wanted to maintain the upper hand in the situation. Typical boy, unable to not have the last word.
Also, how rude of him was it to just throw shade on the subject that represented my biggest life goal? Did he even have any goals? Or was he just planning on being a loser necromancer who used his powers to talk to dead punk band members and nothing else?
“I’m not hungry anymore,” I said to Kendra and Talia. “I’m going to bed.”
I stood up to leave, giving my friends a look to indicate there was absolutely no need for them to follow me, which they thankfully understood.
I offered Calder a smile. He looked apologetic. He was probably used to Aidan making rude remarks.
Why does he even hang out with him?
“Have a good night, Calder,” I said, fully pretending that Aidan didn’t even exist.
“You, too, Moira,” he said, looking weirdly sad. It was almost like he was disappointed to see me go, but that was ridiculous. There were plenty of super pretty demon girls still left at the table he could talk to. “I’ll see you in the senior lounge tomorrow?”
“Yeah, probably,” I replied.
I wandered back to the dormitory alone, stewing over Aidan’s rudeness. Necromancers were stereotyped as being a little less pleasant than witches—which probably had something to do with the talking-to-dead-people thing—but Aidan was in a league of his own.
As I stomped down the deserted stone hallway, I suddenly overheard the eerie echo of chanting. Always too curious for my own good, I found myself distracted from my annoyances and drawn to a small scene on the lawn outside the nearest window.
Wandering over, I glanced out of the second-story window down at the source of the chanting. I noticed six soul reapers standing in a circle with their hands clasped. I recognized the language they were speaking at once as Latin, mostly because a lot of witch spells and curses were in the familiar dead language.
In the middle of the circle was a motionless black mound of fur. Squinting my eyes and leaning further out of the window, but not quite far enough to be detected, I realized that the shape was a small cat.
A dead cat.
The soul reapers were dressed in long, black robes, but I recognized them as students of various years. I wasn’t sure if this unfamiliar ritual was the celebration of a magical holiday I’d never heard of, or simply a bunch of students practicing a lesson together.
Soul reapers were naturally reclusive and very rarely integrated with the rest of the student body at Under Realm Academy. It wasn’t that they were mean—like a certain person I knew—or that they didn’t like the rest of us, but more so that their abilities and powers worked better when there was as little outside influence on their magic as possible. At least, that what my Aunt Inez once explained to me.
As the soul reapers chanted, I noticed that the black cat started to twitch.
I gasped quietly.
Soul reapers were responsible for healing the sick, as Nurse Dahlia did, but also for ushering the newly dead to the other side. However, much like necromancers, they did technically have the power to bring back the dead.
The difference between being brought back from the dead by a necromancer versus a soul reaper was that, when done by the former, it actually worked properly.
If a soul reaper brought you back from the dead, you were cursed to a half-life. The life of a ghost, occupying both the world of the living and the world of the dead, but belonging to neither. It was the stuff of nightmares; a cold shiver ran down my spine.
Down on the lawn, the chanting increased in volume until, at last, the black cat stretched languidly and then stood up. It appeared fuzzy on the edges, as if not totally here—which, of course, it wasn’t.
The soul reapers chatted happily with one another, proud of their work. I wondered where they found the dead cat. It was probably one of the leftovers they used for demon possession classes.
Just as I was about to continue on my way, the soul reapers started chanting again. An awful sound escaped from the cat, halfway between a meow and a shriek.
Then, in less than a minute, the cat collapsed back onto the grass.
Dead again.
The soul reapers clapped for themselves. Of course, it was frowned upon to keep halfway living creatures walking around, so the cat was doomed for permanent death eventually, but the sight of the murder made my blood run cold. Particularly since I could hear how proud the soul reapers were of themselves for what they’d accomplished.
They were a creepy bunch.
I shook my head, thanked the stars that I’d been born a witch, and continued on my way. As my mind wandered back to what happened at dinner, I collapsed into bed without undressing.
Calder was so cute. Kendra mentioned last year that it seemed like he was flirting with me at the Spring Equinox formal, even though he brought Maude Sanders as his date. I remembered I was on the dance floor, jumping up and down to the demon rock band Under Realm Academy had somehow been cool enough to book for the event. Calder had shimmied his way over to me and my friends, who’d gone without dates because, you know, girl power.
“Hey, Moira,” Calder had said that night. He’d had to lean in close to be heard over the music, and I remembered blushing from his proximity. “Cool dress,” he’d told me.
But then, of course, stupid Aidan Grimsbane had ruined the whole thing by sliding his way right in between us.
Stupid, stupid, stupid Aidan Grimsbane. Always getting in the way, always saying unnecessarily mean things.
I genuinely couldn’t wait to graduate and get away from him forever.
Sighing to myself, I stared up at the tin ceiling of my dorm room. Seniors were lucky enough to get their own single rooms, but part of me missed sharing one with Kendra. I was a naturally social creature; I didn’t like being alone for long.
But everyone was still at dinner, and then they’d probably come back to the common room to get started on the disturbingly large pile of homework we’d been assigned just on the first day.
I supposed I could’ve been studying, too.
Not in the mood.
Frowning at the ornate design of the ceiling, I lifted the back of my hand to my forehead to check my temperature.
It still felt normal. It was as if the shockingly hot fever I’d experienced that morning never occurred. It was as if I’d imagined the whole thing. I wish.
Of course, I hadn’t. There were plenty of witnesses to the event, including a professor. Not only that, but the gossiping student body of this too-small school had spread the word to any ear that would listen in the span of a few hours. At least I had friends like Kendra, who assured me that I wasn’t a total failure, and also friends like Talia who fought on my behalf against rude brats like Aidan Grimsbane.
Whatever. Tomorrow was a new day.
I just hoped I could somehow stop being a freak for one entire full day so that Calder Darkmore would actually ask me out.
3
In the early Winter of 1673, General Bloodworth led his army, a coalition of allied necromancers and covens, against the ancient city of Dracopolis. The magical beings fought the dragon shifters for seventeen days. Thus the reason for it later being referred to as the Seventeen Day Battle.
The battle ended on the eve of the Winter Solstice when General Bloodworth finally declared victory over King Alexi. With thousands of dragon shifters and their allied animal shifters of various species dead, the Draco Empire crumbled, ushering in the New Era.
Since this fateful battle in the Shifter Wars, there has never again been an empire ruled by an animal shifter, leaving this species of magical beings confined to the shadows for centuries to com
e, fearing the might of the witches and their allies.
“Ugh,” I sighed, dropping my face down onto the open book and groaning into the pages.
History was so boring. Like, so boring.
It was arguably even more boring than political science. In my opinion, those subjects were always dull retellings of events that happened way too long ago to still be important. Potions class was so much more interesting because it was a subject that was both tangible and relevant.
You could touch a potion. You couldn’t touch history and politics.
Across the table from me in our quiet corner of the library, Kendra smirked at my dramatics. She was always more studious than me. In fact, she even claimed to like history sometimes.
“Something wrong?” she whispered.
“Yeah,” I muttered back, glancing over my shoulder to make sure our conversation wasn’t disturbing anyone. Library rules about silence were taken very seriously at Under Realm Academy. “This is boring me to death.”
Kendra pushed aside her essay on famous cursed objects to glance at what I was reading. When she saw the subject, she immediately rolled her eyes.
“Only you would be bored reading about your own ancestors winning one of the most important battles in witch history.” She snickered.
I pouted. “Hey, it’s not like I knew General Bloodworth personally. He’s long dead. Plus, he could’ve been a total weirdo.”
Kendra bit her lip to fight back a giggle. “At least your last name is in our history books. The only thing the Shadowmends are known for are creating the spell that heals warts.”
In response, I snorted a little too loudly. Instantly, a chorus of sshhh pelted our table from all directions. Kendra and I shot apologetic looks at everyone around us.
Scrunching my nose in distaste, I stared down at the history textbook again.
Though King Alexi was banished to the distant mountains of Bulgaria in 1674, historical evidence suggests that he defied the witches’ decree and began rebuilding his Empire in secret. However, upon his death in 1676 and the succession of King Alexi II to the alleged throne, such rumors seemed to immediately vanish from the historical record.
To this day, there remains no proof of a rebuilt dragon shifter kingdom. In fact, most primary texts confirm that animal shifters, in general, have struggled to maintain a stable form of government since the Shifter Wars, instead forming smaller regional tribes…
Not only was this stupid chapter tedious and uninteresting, but I was having a seriously difficult time focusing.
Generally speaking, focus wasn’t exactly my strongest suit, but an uncomfortable itch between my shoulder blades was really starting to bother me.
Exhaling sharply in frustration, I twisted my arm behind my back to try and scratch the spot through my blouse and sweater. However, the itch was so precisely situated between my shoulders, just high enough that I couldn’t reach from below and just low enough that I couldn’t get it from above, that I couldn’t seem to get it to go away.
I dropped my hand down into my lap and glared at the pages in front of me. Maybe if I simply inhaled and exhaled slowly, like they taught us in Futures and Fortunes class, I could will the determined itchiness away.
I breathed in deeply and let it out slowly, focusing on the flow of air in and out of my lungs. It seemed to help, the itch fading slightly.
Satisfied with my impressive ability to will away an itch by simply breathing, I turned back to my reading.
With many dragon shifters disappearing into dangerous mountain peaks to form their own unreachable communities—
Damn it. The itch was back.
I huffed loudly and shoved my shoulders hard against the back of the chair I was in.
Kendra looked up in confusion as I wiggled back and forth in an attempt to satisfy the itchiness. Unfortunately, it wasn’t easily pacified.
In fact, the more my clothing rubbed against it, the more aggressive the itchiness seemed to grow.
Unwilling to get shushed by our diligent classmates again, Kendra scribbled down a note on the corner of her journal page.
U ok? She wrote.
Squirming, I grabbed my pencil and wrote back. Stupid itchy back.
Kendra’s mom-friend gene activated, her brow instantly furrowing in concern.
She jotted down a response. Do you have a rash?
“Ew,” I breathed, unable to hold back my reply.
“Moira Bloodworth,” sighed the stern, unforgiving voice of the librarian as the wizened old demon himself appeared from seemingly out of nowhere. “For the love of all that is magical and demonic, I beg you to please remember that studying in this section of the library requires you make absolutely no noise whatsoever.”
I stared wide-eyed. Though he was short and stout, the librarian was certainly not the type of guy you messed with, and not just because he was a literal demon. He was known for handing out detentions left and right for things as minor as dropping a library book on the chilly marble floor.
“Sorry, Mr. Potts,” I murmured. I definitely couldn’t afford to get detention on the second day of school. Combine that with my weird outburst in Potions class the other day, and senior year would officially be off to a totally pathetic start.
In response, Mr. Potts simply glared at me for a few seconds longer before meandering off down a different aisle of books.
Unfortunately, throughout that entire dramatic encounter, the itch between my shoulder hadn’t subsided even slightly.
Annoyed, I gathered up my books and shoved them into my bag. I gestured silently at Kendra to let her know I’d catch up with her at dinner later, and then hurried out of the library.
It was early afternoon, so most non-seniors were still in class, while the bulk of the senior class had declared the library their territory. The senior perk of having last period free turned out to be a total joke. By just the second day of classes, our professors had assigned so much homework that we had no choice but to spend the free period studying.
Maybe that had been their evil master plan all along.
As I walked briskly down the narrow hall toward the nearest bathroom, the itching on my back started to burn uncomfortably.
“What the—” I murmured to myself, flinching at the strange, scorching sensation that spread from the very center of my back and up the length of my neck.
Maybe Kendra was right. Maybe I did have a rash.
How disgusting.
With a groan, I shoved open the door of the bathroom and chucked my backpack onto the tile. I practically ripped off my sweater in frustration and then twisted both of my arms to dig my fingernails through the thin material of my uniform blouse and into the burning itch on my back.
However, as soon as I started to scratch at it, the fiery pain increased. Hissing in surprise, I quickly withdrew my hands.
Unsure what the hell could possibly be going on with my body, I stepped toward the mirror and started unbuttoning my shirt so that I could get a better look at whatever painful, itchy rash I’d managed to acquire in what was clearly designed to be Moira’s Worst First Week of School Ever.
Thankfully, the bathroom was empty. I purposefully chose this one, which was hidden on a random side hallway, far from the classrooms. Most students who used the library would use the larger, cleaner bathrooms in the southeast wing, so I was also in the clear in that regard.
The chances of someone walking in on me stripping off my clothing in the middle of the day were low, so I continued.
But the second I stepped up to the ornate mirrors hanging above the tiny sinks, I froze.
My eyes.
With a gasp of shock, I leaned forward and clutched the sink for support, forgetting the itch on my back entirely.
My eyes, normally hazel, had somehow turned completely black. I felt my stomach drop at the sight, utterly horrified at the strange, devilish way that it appeared my irises had expanded and swallowed every ounce of color.
I stared at myself
for several minutes, unable to move. My heart thudded in my chest. I willed myself to suddenly stop hallucinating, begging for my eyes to turn back to their normal color.
They remained black.
For some reason, my brain chose that moment to remind me of Aidan’s cruel words from dinner the other night.
“I thought fire was your affinity. Shouldn’t you be able to control it by this age?”
The truth was, all witches were born with eyes this black. It was a little creepy but totally normal. When witches reached a certain age, usually around the same time we reached puberty, our eyes would eventually fade from black to a color that would signify our elemental affinity.
Green eyes for those particular gifted with the earth element. Blue eyes for those who favored water. Gray for air.
And hazel for fire.
I was twelve when my pitch-black eyes first started to change with delicate bursts of gold and brown. An early bloomer, no one in my family was surprised when it was revealed I had an affinity for fire. I’d been a tempestuous, passionate kid since I left the womb. Not only that, but the amount of fires I set for fun could only indicate one thing—the Bloodworth coven had another fire witch on their hands.
Like my mother and Aunt Inez, most Bloodworths had water affinities. They had pretty blue eyes and gentle dispositions. Their voices were soft and flowed like rivers.
A few family members had earth affinities, and fewer still had air.
There hadn’t been a Bloodworth with a fire affinity for generations.
Still, no one treated me any differently. The good thing about being a pubescent ball of fire surrounded by talented witches able to manipulate water with practiced skill was that most accidental fires, whether they were lit on accident from a temper tantrum or on purpose for pure sociopathic teenage delight, could be put out very quickly.
I liked fire. I liked that it made me different. I liked that it implied I was bold and unpredictable, and that it made my eyes shimmer golden in the sunlight.
Within a year of officially finding my affinity, I had practically mastered it. The accidental blazes disappeared as I learned how to control my fiery talents, as was expected of young witches. Struggling with elements outside of your affinity was one thing.