by Lucy Auburn
Glancing across the table at a sulking Olivia, I ask Petra, “And her? Does she...?”
“Like him? Oh yeah. But you didn’t hear that from me.”
“I didn’t have to. It’s obvious.”
Thankfully the awkwardness passes when Sam starts up a story about what happened in his Beginner’s Shifting class, which apparently the rest of them take instead of Phoenix Fire Casting 101. By the end of the story, we’re all in stitches, and I can’t stop imagining what it looks like when a lobster and a mastiff fight.
Apparently shifters take all forms, from the creepy crawly to the terribly intimidating.
I’m so wrapped up in the meal that I don’t realize until the end of it that I forgot to ask any of them what a White Phoenix is.
I have three classes after lunch: Hand-to-Hand Combat, Pixie Resistance, and Shifter History. Every Monday and Friday, Group Combat replaces Hand-to-Hand Combat and Pixie Resistance both, taking up most of two hours.
It’s an exhausting schedule, more full than I expected and deliriously confusing. Which is why it’s a relief when a girl comes up to me at lunch, red hair braided over her shoulder, and tells me that Headmaster Towers has given me the rest of the day off—after I meet with her upstairs.
The others send me sympathetic looks, except for Liam, who seems pleased. “So you are getting punished.”
“Don’t sound too excited,” I snip at him. “I doubt she’ll give me the worst punishment of all: sharing all my classes with you.”
But as I take the stairs up to the headmaster’s office, my heart is in my stomach, which churns my lunch with unpleasant nerves. So it’s no surprise when I find four certain demons waiting for me at the top of the stairs, recently summoned.
“I wonder,” Ezra muses out loud, “if you really get the shit scared out of you, will we become corporeal again?”
“We did when we fought that battle for her,” Mateo observes. “Of course, there was someone with an evil heart to slay, so it could’ve been that.”
Lynx points out, “Or the fact that she was a Grim. If that’s the case, all we would need is another Grim and maybe we could become corporeal enough to have some actual fun—if the Grim doesn’t overpower the connection and enslave us.”
“I don’t mind being incorporeal.” Mateo grins, raking his eyes up and down me. “It comes with certain benefits.”
Sebastian just glowers from his selected corner, blue eyes intense and disturbing as ever—which I have to admit, I’ll gladly take instead of him sending shivers up my spine with his fingertip. I don’t want to deal with more of that.
“All of you.” I turn to each of them, meeting their eyes. “I’m about to go through that door and get whatever punishment has been selected for me. The more you distract me, the harder it’s going to be to win their trust and find this book you’re all so desperate for. So, I suggest you...” I draw out the moment, “shut the fuck up already.”
With a flourish, Ezra steps away from the door and motions towards it, silently mouthing “ladies’ first.” Creepy silent stares weren’t what I was expecting from all four of them, but I’ll take it.
I’m just glad Lynx has a shirt on again.
When I walk in, the headmaster is at her desk typing quickly at her laptop, a bluetooth headset in her ear. She motions towards the chair on the opposite side of her desk, and I take a seat, waiting for her to get off the phone and tell me whatever my punishment is.
I wait. And I wait. Very aware of the four sets of demon eyes on me, brooding and silent, resentful and a little psychotic. It’s almost worse now that I’ve told them not to talk.
Finally, though, the headmaster hangs up her call and shuts her laptop, then stares at me intensely across the desk. “So. You’ve had a little test of classes here at Phoenix Academy. Tell me, are you going to stay?”
The question feels like a trap. “You made it pretty clear that I’ll be brutally murdered if I try to leave without training, and you didn’t seem to like the idea of me leaving.”
“Yes, I admit I was a little... forceful when you returned last night. It’s not often that we get new phoenix students these days, and I was worried about you.” It feels strange to hear such a proud woman admit to making a mistake; I don’t know how to respond, and I’m grateful when she doesn’t seem to expect a response. “But I admit that phoenix activation can be confusing for a young person, especially one not raised in the paranormal world.”
I decide not to tell her about all the strange things that have happened to me in my life, from seeing energy fields around people, to sensing their intentions and slowing down time, all the way down to lighting a bathtub on fire against all odds. Instead I admit, “It is strange. I’m still not entirely sure that I am what you say I am.”
“Yes, well. That’s what this meeting is about, actually. There’s a test we need to administer—one I didn’t get the chance to give you before you ran off.”
“Sorry about that,” I murmur again, squirming in my chair; behind me, Mateo coughs noisily into his hand, and I ignore him.
“What’s done is done, and all is forgiven. Now, where did I put...”
I watch as the headmaster moves around her office, looking for something. More than once she brushes up against one of the four demons, seemingly unaware of their non-corporeal forms; Sebastian scowls as he moves away from her, while Mateo looks curious, like he’s trying to figure out if he can have an affect on her too. But while the history teacher from this morning sensed it when Lynx stood right on top of him, at least in the form of a breeze, Headmaster Towers seems too oblivious to notice as she swishes through Ezra’s left side.
I wonder what it’s like to be, essentially, a ghost. The thought of seeing the world but not being able to interact with it fully sounds like a nightmare.
“Ah! Here it is.”
The headmaster brings two objects over to her desk and leans up against it, standing in front of me. I peer at them curiously: one is a goblet, the other a stone bowl.
“What do they do?”
“The first will give us the age of your activation, and confirm that you’re a phoenix—a formality, given that we have tracking software now that alerts us when a new phoenix is activated, but having the test performed may reassure you. It also gives us other information that will prove valuable. The second test, which is the more important one, will tell us if you’re a regular phoenix or a Red Phoenix, Gold Phoenix, White Phoenix... or another type.”
Her mouth twists on the words “another type,” and I get the sense that there’s something she’s holding back. There’s still so little I know about this world. I decide I’ll at least figure out what she will tell me. “I don’t fully understand the types yet.”
“Ah yes! Of course. Here, rub this numbing cream on the fingertip of your choice, and I’ll tell you all about them.”
She passes over a small jar of thick, pungent cream, which I begin to rub on my pinky, sensing that I’m not going to like what happens next, but can’t avoid it.
“A Red Phoenix,” she explains, as she draws a tiny knife from a black leather sheath—yep, I knew I wouldn’t like this part, “is a phoenix born of an Ifrit, or a fire mage. My own great great grandmother, Melisandra Towers, was a Red Phoenix, and both the title of Headmaster and the great powers she bore have been passed down through our family.
“A Gold Phoenix is a type we haven’t seen in many years, like King Midas, capable of turning objects into gold at will. It’s an ability that lives in all phoenix hearts, but one that rarely manifests itself in living phoenix—something that’s proven to be... difficult for our kind.”
To say the least. My fingertip is going numb, but I want distraction from the knife. “And a White Phoenix?”
“Ah—this one is a little unpleasant. A White Phoenix is a phoenix who has died his or her last death, and will never regenerate or be reborn again, but is resurrected by a necromancer before the spirit can leave the body. Quite powerful
and formidable... for the person who controls their second soul.” She shakes her head, mouth a frown. “It’s a terrible thing, to be controlled that way.”
“And are there any others? All the colors of the rainbow?”
A shadow crosses her eyes. “None that have been born in centuries, or are a concern to you. Now, give me your finger and I’ll prick it, then use two drops of blood to do the test for you.”
Reluctantly, I hand over my finger. She takes it and sets the blade of the knife against my skin, clearly about to bleed me. Looking for a distraction, I glance behind the desk, and towards Lynx.
Raising his brows, he smirks at me. And takes off his shirt.
It’s ridiculous, his preening; almost as ridiculous as the way I can’t take my eyes off him. Somehow though it does the job. I’m so busy staring at his rippling muscles and sun-warmed brown skin that I don’t notice as the headmaster takes the first drop of blood and tips it off the edge of the knife, into the goblet.
“One more,” she murmurs, and dread curls in my belly. I don’t know why, but I’ve never really done well with expected pain. Something about knowing it’s going to happen makes it worse.
Looking around the room for a new distraction, I spot Mateo in the corner. He’s staring right at me with a smirk on his face. “Watch this,” he says.
In front of my disbelieving eyes, he reaches a non-corporeal hand into a tiny model car on the bookshelf, presses his glowing finger against the gears inside it, and somehow starts the engine that must live beneath the little metal hood.
“Got it!” The headmaster turns to drip the blood into the bowl, then frowns at her bookshelf. “How did my replica Corvette get started? The engine hasn’t worked in years.”
Mateo pulls his finger out, and without his ghostly energy to start the car, the impossibly tiny engine stops. He looks proud of himself, though, and the distraction worked. I stick my bloody finger into my mouth, grateful that Lynx is putting his shirt back on so I can concentrate on other things.
“Strange,” the headmaster mutters, tearing her gaze away from the tiny red convertible and back to the desk, “I guess the car had a little bit of life in it. Your test should take just a few moments to activate; this kind of ancient blood magic is fickle. But you can take your finger out of your mouth now. There won’t be a wound.”
I pull it out, and stare at the unblemished skin. She’s right; it looks like it was never pricked at all. “Is the knife magic or something?”
“No.” She smiles at me, looking pleased. “You are. If I thought you had the stomach for it, I’d chop the whole finger off so you could see it regenerate—that’s the power of a phoenix. But I won’t.”
From behind me, Sebastian mutters, “Sounds neat. I’d like to see it.”
Ezra elbows him. “Hush.”
“Ah—the first test is ready. And how much it tells us. Come look.”
Leaning forward, I peer into the goblet as she tilts it towards me, revealing that the gold inside is far from plain. There are little symbols inscribed around the edge, symbols that glow, my blood a tiny glowing dot in the bottom. “What does it say?”
“Well, that you’re a phoenix, for one thing.” She points to the glowing wings, then a series of numbers and symbols next to it. “One with great powers of regeneration and strong fire, which should reassure you if you’re worried about manifesting your wings. Stronger phoenix fire often takes a long time to show itself. And you have...” The headmaster blinks, looking surprised. “A dozen lives.”
“A dozen? What does that mean?”
“The next twelve times you die, assuming a Grim isn’t nearby to take your heart out before you regenerate fully, you’ll come back to life.” If I don’t seem excited about this, it’s no wonder, given how the first death felt. The headmaster gives me a sympathetic look. “Yes, it’s quite unpleasant, as I’m sure you know. But it’s not all bad; you’ll live a long life, far longer than a human.”
“What will happen the thirteenth time I die?”
“You’ll just... die.” Putting the goblet down, she leans in towards me. “It’s nothing to be worried about. Each death gives a phoenix more knowledge about the afterlife, and more power to change the course of her life. By the time your thirteenth death comes, you’ll be ready for it.”
I hope she’s right. “So that other night, when I was attacked...”
“You would’ve come back to life, assuming your heart hadn’t been taken while you were out. But it would’ve been agony. Best to avoid death, if possible.”
I can’t disagree. Glancing around at the demons, I notice they seem somber, maybe even a little impressed. I wonder if it’s rare for a phoenix to have a dozen lives. It certainly seems like a lot to me.
All this from a drop of blood.
And I haven’t even figured out how to manifest the wings I supposedly have, despite Yohan’s attempts.
“Now, for the phoenix type...” Leaning over the bowl with my second drop of blood, the headmaster frowns. “That can’t be right.”
“What?”
Glancing at me, she swipes up the bowl and brings it towards her chest, cradling it as if she doesn’t want me to look inside and see what it says. There’s a pensive, confused expression on her face.
Over her shoulder, Lynx leans in to get a look. And frowns.
“What does it say?” I ask both of them, unsure which one I trust.
“Nothing conclusive,” the headmaster murmurs, reaching out to grab a tissue from a box at her desk. Before I can see anything, she wipes the blood from the bowl. “You must be a regular phoenix. Otherwise, it would’ve shown a bright color.”
Looking at me, Lynx says, “She’s right. The bowl didn’t activate a color. You’re nothing special.”
“Oh.” I don’t know why I feel so disappointed; this was something I didn’t even care about before this morning, when I saw the glory of Yohan’s wings. “Well, I guess that makes sense. It’s not like my parents were special, after all. At least as far as I know.”
A memory surges towards me, one from when I was very young, and I push it down. I don’t want to think about my birth mother; not in front of the headmaster, and not in front of them. The demons may be at my side almost constantly these days, but I can’t let them see every part of me.
Even though I’m starting to wonder if there are old questions they might be able to answer for me.
“Well, I hope knowing that you truly are a phoenix helps you feel at home here, Dani. We really want what’s best for you.”
Looking at the headmaster, I can almost believe it, though the street rat inside me is still screaming her mistrust. Some things, as I well know, really are too good to be true.
“There’s one more thing I wanted to know.”
“Yes? I’m an open book—for the next five minutes, at least.”
“How do I get a student ID to let me into Melisandra’s Library?”
“Ah.” She smiles, the expression softening her face. “My great great grandmother’s legacy. The way into the library is simple: impress one of your teachers enough that they choose you as one of their possible apprentices. If you find you like the track studying under them will put you on, then in your fourth year you’ll choose a concentration. Most students are apprenticed by the end of their first month, though of course many change their track before graduation.”
The words “fourth year” are intimidating. I’ve never stayed anywhere for four years of my life—not even Sara’s house, or the home I was born into. It’s impossible.
But I act like I believe it could happen. “Thank you. I’ll keep that in mind.”
“You’re welcome. Enjoy the rest of your day off, Dani—tomorrow will be a full day of classes for you.”
Chapter 14
Pixie Resistance with Shimmer at 2:00 PM
I’ve never before met anyone so small yet so intimidating.
Pixies are, it turns out, very small creatures with golden skin and od
dly colored hair. The teacher for Pixie Resistance, aptly named Shimmer, shines more than a drunk girl who fell in a vat of body glitter. At four feet tall, if that, she gives Petra a run for her money in the short stack category.
And she looks like she could eat me alive. Standing in front of our class of eight, a severe expression on her face, she lectures us, pointed teeth occasionally flashing in her mouth. “All phoenix must learn how to resist siren song. Class, tell our new student why.”
Hands shoot up. All the other students in this class are older than me; apparently only phoenix take Pixie Resistance classes, though I’ve no idea why. It’s probably something I missed during one of the Headmaster’s introductory speeches or Mr. Johnson’s lectures because the demons were distracting me.
Shimmer points towards an older boy with shockingly white blond hair and pale skin. “Terrance.”
He turns towards me, showing the shocking number of piercings that line his nose, lip, eyebrows, and ears. “Because siren song, like pixie song, can lull a phoenix into submission, making it simple for a Grim to kill him. Or her.”
I don’t like the way he looks at me as he says it, like he’s imagining the heart carved out of my chest.
“Such a bummer for you.” The voice is Mateo’s from behind me; it seems like he announces the demons’ presence more and more these days. “Better get better at those wings and combat skills.”
The urge to hush him is overwhelming, even though it’ll just make me look even weirder.
“Lily.” Shimmer points her finger towards another student, this time a girl with long black hair sitting in the corner. “Tell us what kinds of songs take out a phoenix.”
“It’s different for every type,” she says, sounding very knowledgeable and self-important, “but for almost all phoenix, the siren, a type of demon, can take them out. Even humans and shifters are a little susceptible to their songs—but not like phoenix. Only Grims can resist the sound of siren song, which is what makes them so formidable against phoenix.” I shiver at the reminder of the blonde woman who almost killed me in Sticky’s attic. “Also, pixie song lulls all but Red Phoenix into a state of suggestibility.”