The Grove

by J. R. King

  Thinking about girls brought him back to the redhead from the restaurant. She was only there on Saturdays, usually by herself, but she always gave him the impression that she was waiting for someone. He smiled at the daydream he’d had about joining her sometime. That was when the large building came into view.

  Circular balconies jutted out from every level, and elegant, arched windows lined the exterior, making it look more like a palace than an educational institute. He admired the red brick and white stone structure, and its intricate lawns as he turned into the parking lot.

  The rumble of the engine rattled the frame of his car, drawing in several unfriendly glares as he rolled past. He and his beaten old Pontiac were probably the biggest eyesores Vardel had ever seen. It was now that Rome realized he had no idea what he was doing here. He found a space and killed the engine, cranking up the window in quick, jerky movements. As the engine quieted, the tail end of his car dipped, and he turned to stare at the tall stranger leaning against his back bumper. The door groaned as he swung it wide and stepped out.

  “Can I help you?” Rome asked.

  “I was about to ask you the same question,” Dallas said, offering him a charming (albeit fake) smile. “The public school’s on the other side of town. Or maybe you were looking for the junk yard, so you can scrap this piece of crap pretending to be a car.”

  Rome slipped his keys into his pocket, holding back the urge to throttle him. He’d known this guy was full of himself before he’d even opened his mouth. He had seen him around town before. His pretty-boy hair had more product in it than a drugstore, and his looks probably got him everywhere his money couldn’t. “Just get off my car,” he said.

  Dallas raised his hands in the air, pushing away from the spoiler with a subtle look of disdain. “Stay out of trouble, Public School.”

  Rome let the comment slide, making his way past onlookers and towards the towering sight of the school. There weren’t many great things he could say about Redwood Bay. It was surrounded by miles of dense wilderness and located in a port where no one ever docked. The most exciting thing about it was probably the movie theater, but Vardel was clearly its crowning glory. As far as he was concerned, it was just another prep school for the rich and entitled.

  He realized now that he’d walked in through a side entrance, but the interior, including the two grand staircases coming up from the main room, certainly didn’t disappoint. Smooth hardwood led him up the first few steps, his hand sliding over the carved banister beneath his fingertips. He stopped on a landing, looking down at the marble flooring below. Everyone was moving about like machines, wearing perfectly matched uniforms and politely faked smiles.

  “Clones,” Rome said.

  Over his shoulder, he heard a startled laugh.

  “You think so? I guess you’re not entirely off…”

  Rome leaned against the banister, not bothering to look at the girl beside him. “What do I know? I’m usually just the help.”

  “Then whose acceptance letter is this?” she said. Before he could react, she snatched it out of his back pocket.

  “Hey!” Rome turned to face her, stunned to find the petite redhead staring back. He took in the sight of her delicate features and striking green eyes with interest, following the length of dark curls down to where they ended, resting just below her breast.

  “You seem familiar,” she said. “Do I know you?” She watched him eye the letter in her hand. He reached for the corner and she pulled back, quickly unfolding the crinkled stationary. “Dear Mr. Navarro—” The grin on her face faded.

  “It’s Rome, actually.” He extracted the letter from her grip.

  The girl’s eyes swept over him quickly, taking in his tattered jeans and plain shirt. Curious blue eyes sparkled back at her, glistening in the gentle light.

  “What?” he mumbled.

  She shook her head, refusing to meet his gaze.

  “Are you alright?” he said.

  The girl nodded before turning to leave.

  “Hey, wait.” He stared after her. “Do you know where I can find the dean’s office?”

  “Top floor,” she said. “You can’t miss it.”

  Light shone through the diamond-paned windows, casting the illusion that the room was larger than it actually was. It only managed to fill him with a sense of uncertainty. Rome lingered not far behind, shadowing her up the staircase. The girl spared him a quiet look over her shoulder but chose not to comment.

  “You know,” he said, “I never did catch your name.”

  She turned to face him, her countenance reserved. “It’s Ariahna,” she said. “And you never actually asked.”

  Rome slowed as they reached the next floor (an inviting vastness, overflowing with books). Tables separated the staircase from the main desk, which was where she seemed to be heading. “I’m pretty sure you could fit my entire school in here,” he said.

  “I think this is your school now.”

  Rome smiled. “Maybe.” He hung back, leaning against the banister. He was watching her casually, trying to ignore the cutting stares he kept receiving. The school mascot was starting to make a little more sense to him now. He was definitely in a room full of sharks.

  “You have good taste. Too bad you don’t stand a chance.”

  Rome glanced at the boy who’d sauntered up beside him. And when he smiled, the recognition was there. He’d reserved a table at La Lune every Friday since the beginning of summer; and every time, he’d shown up with a different girl. Autumn had named him, Mr. Wonderful.

  “And I suppose you think you do?” Rome said.

  The guy practically flipped his blazer over his shoulder before making his way wordlessly towards the line. He bumped elbows with Ariahna as he passed, glancing at her when her things went clattering to the ground. The boy bent to help her retrieve her books then.

  “Sorry about that,” he said. “I didn’t see you there.”

  She accepted the stack from him politely, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “That’s alright. It’s not like you did it on purpose.”

  “Right,” he said. He flashed a smile. “Well, this is a first. I don’t think we’ve met yet. Christian Reed. It’s really the only name you need to remember.”

  Ariahna held back a grin. “We’ve had classes together,” she said. “And lunch, at the same table.”

  Christian smirked. “That doesn’t mean we’ve met.”

  She adjusted the books in her arms. “I suppose you’re right.”

  “Still, I’m appalled I never noticed. My apologies.”

  Rome interrupted them before Christian’s weaselly lips could meet the back of her hand. “I still can’t believe the size of this place,” he said. He paused to survey the room.

  Christian turned to address him. “Believe it or not, it’s not the only building on campus. It’s really not that intimidating once you know where everything is though.”

  Rome rubbed at the stubble on his jaw. He was noting the strange comparison between their choices in shoes. Polished wing-tips verses scuffed work boots. Only one was an honest representation. “Wonderful,” he said.

  Ariahna parted ways with the two, leaving the library behind. It wasn’t until she was climbing the stairs that she noticed Rome following her again. She slowed to a stop, hugging her books in one arm.

  “Did you want me to escort you?” she said.

  Rome rubbed at the back of his neck, having the good sense to look a bit sheepish. “Okay,” he responded.

  The third floor opened up into a grand sitting area (one littered with as many students as there were couches). A long row of tables and chairs lined one side, and a fireplace took up most of the far wall. Rome kept glancing back at it as they made their way up the last set of steps. The majority of their walk had been taken in silence, only the chatter of other students there to accompany them. Ariahna finally spoke again as they were nearing the fourth floor.

  “I hope you don’t mind me asking,
but how old are you?”

  “Almost eighteen,” Rome said. “Why?”

  She hummed softly. “I suppose I was just wondering why you didn’t receive that letter years ago.”

  “It was probably sent out by mistake.”

  Aria puzzled over it for a moment. “Unlikely,” she said.

  They stepped off the stairs and onto the fourth floor, veering past couches and coffee makers, along with the occasional staff member. Two massive doors adorned with lettering declared the dean’s office. Aria stared at them weightily, hesitant to leave.

  “Before you go,” Rome said, “can I ask you a question?”

  “I don’t see why not.”

  “Why are people wearing different colored ties?”

  Ariahna looked up at him, trying to think of a safe way to explain the division of the student body. “Well, there are two classifications for students at Vardel. Those wearing maroon attend the standard courses. Blue indicates a student that follows a more… diverse curriculum. It’s a program the academy sponsors for gifted students.” She paused. “You are attending for the gifted classes, aren’t you?”

  Rome referenced the letter. “I’m not really sure.”

  Her face lit suddenly with recognition. “La Lune,” Aria said. She snapped her fingers, staring at him giddily. “I knew I recognized you from somewhere. Why didn’t you say anything?”

  Rome shrugged, hiding a smile. “I wanted to. I just… didn’t know what to say.” He turned on his heel, gaining some ground. “I should probably go deal with this,” he said. “But on the off chance it pans out, maybe I’ll see you around?”

  Ariahna nodded. “Admissions doesn’t make mistakes,” she said. “If you’re here, it’s because you’re meant to be.

  Chapter Two

  The Day Has Dawned

  The dean’s office rested like a prized jewel atop a crown, newly polished and brimming with light. Sun swept over the grand spectacle, reflecting off every inch of cherry wood. Weathered glass arched towards the ceiling, drawing Rome’s eyes up and around the generous room. Most of the walls were lined with tall bookshelves, leaving little space for more than a tufted leather sofa. The dean’s desk sat like a focal point at its center, accompanied by two seating chairs (one of which, was occupied).

  He closed the door as icy blue eyes narrowed back at him. Rome’s brow furrowed as he took in the guy’s appearance. Everything about him was odd, from his wardrobe to the tresses of chocolate-brown hair framing his face. It cascaded over his shoulders in flowing strands, nearly pooling in his lap. The guy’s features seemed to thread finely between sharp and delicate, rendering him difficult not to notice. Dim sunlight glinted over his olive skin, painting shadows across his face. They made him look haunted, and yet Rome suspected that was the work of something far less superficial at play. He had simply never seen anything like him.

  Rome moved along the edge of the room, taking his time as he wandered over to the window. The view was spectacular, if not a bit nerve-racking. “Have you been waiting long?” he asked. He glanced back when the guy didn’t respond. “Are you from around here?”

  “No.”

  Rome quirked an eyebrow. “I was wondering how you could have hair like that and not get your ass kicked…”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You have a deep voice,” he said. “I just wasn’t expecting that.” Rome dropped his bag between the chairs and took a seat. The guy’s face said it all, but they didn’t have to get along to wait in a room together. He flicked his eyes over his lean frame, finding that intense gaze again. The way he was staring was making his hairs stand on end. He didn’t look like he’d put up much of a fight, but Rome knew a predator when he saw one. He knew what real trouble looked like. It looked like that wicked little smile – the sharp edge of teeth peeking out from beneath lips. It sounded like the quiet cracking of knuckles and the unnatural stillness that had settled in the air.

  “Are you who they sent?” the guy said.

  “I’m just here to see the dean.”

  “Then get in line. Preferably on the other side of the door.”

  Rome scoffed, trying to gauge his reaction. Something had changed the instant he’d sat down, though he couldn’t say what, or why. “Could you maybe stop acting like my presence offends you? It’s uncomfortable—for the both of us.”

  “Offends… wouldn’t be the right word,” the guy said. “Though I have to say, I never thought I’d see the day.”

  Rome watched him cautiously, noting the tense set to his shoulders. “I’m not even going to pretend like I know what that means.” He leaned back in the chair. “God, is this guy ever going to show up?”

  There was a slight change in the stranger’s gaze at that, a tentative curiosity that Rome had yet to notice.

  “Kaleb Leonté,” he said. A scowl adorned his perfect face. “You do know it’s customary to offer your name in response?”

  Rome gave him a sideways glance. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know we were talking now.” He frowned at himself before offering his name in reply. “Rome, Navarro.” Without meaning to, he’d found himself staring again. “So,” he said, “did you get one of these too?”

  Kaleb glanced at the folded paper. “Not quite.” He set his elbows on the chair arms, fingers folding together with grace. Aside from the woman who had escorted him into the office and instructed him to wait, Rome was the first person he had seen. He didn’t know what to make of that (the curious and all too coincidental matter of Rome’s presence).

  “Tell me,” Kaleb said, “have you always attended here?”

  Rome ignored his prodding tone. “I’ve never even seen the outside of the building before today, if that’s what you mean. The closest I ever got was a job, but you had to be eighteen.” He wasn’t sure why he was telling him any of this. “What about you? Are you an exchange student or something?”

  “Or something,” Kaleb said.

  Rome expelled a breath. “You don’t like people much, do you?” The guy didn’t respond, unless you counted a barely visible shrug. And at that point Rome decided he really would rather wait outside. He twisted from his seat, sweeping his backpack off of the floor. When he looked up, Kaleb was inches from his face.

  “Whoa!” Rome took a quick step back, melding against the desk as Kaleb snaked between the chairs. His eyes were blown, pupils dilated to a horrible shine.

  Kaleb leaned in, invading his personal space. “You smell like rain,” he whispered. “Like a dirty fight played out under stormy skies…” He set a hand on either side of Rome’s body, arms bearing down so hard on the desk that it began to creak.

  Rome was speechless. Unless he was hallucinating, elongated fangs had just shot down from Kaleb’s gums. He’d known something was off about him the moment he’d stepped into the room, but this—! A stack of papers and books crashed to the floor, the desk screeching back in the scuffle. “Get off of me!” he shouted. A sharp sting pierced his neck, and Rome grabbed Kaleb by the collar, shoving him back.

  The motion sent Kaleb stumbling onto the sofa, and he laughed, lips glistening red. He was staring at him with those wild, absent eyes still. “Do that again,” he said.

  Rome glanced at the door, trying to figure out if he could beat him there. Before he could decide, Kaleb’s fingers curled around the cushion, eliciting a soft groan from the leather. He lunged at him then, slamming him into the shelf as Rome tried to get out of the way. A few hardcover tomes fell down around their heads in the struggle.

  “Mr. Leonté!”

  They were frozen, fists clenched in clothing as the dean stood in the entryway. Rome swallowed, staring back at the smooth expanse of Kaleb’s smile. It was growing fiercer by the second, and he hadn’t broken eye contact once. When he spoke, Rome almost flinched.

  “Not even a match,” he said. His eyes flicked calculatingly over Rome’s face. “Still, too bad we were interrupted…”

  The dean strode angrily into his office, allowing a t
all, dark-haired boy to follow him inside. “This is completely unacceptable!” he said.

  Kaleb angled his head back at him, still pressing Rome into the unforgiving bite of the shelves. “So is making me wait for forty minutes. I got hungry. I had a snack.”

  “Shawn, if you would?” Oakland said.

  Their guest hurried to close the doors.

  The dean cleared his throat, pulling the chairs out with a mere flick of his wrist. He swept his palms around in an elegant flourish, pushing Kaleb away from Rome, and Rome away from the shelves. He sighed gently then, taking in the terrified expression on Rome’s face. “Sit,” he said. He tapped his index fingers briskly in the air, the gesture sending them plunking down into their seats.

  Rome could feel his heart pounding as the dean walked casually around the room. The chairs were turning slowly to follow his progress. He watched Dean Oakland incline his head then, looking curiously at his crooked desk. That’s when Rome felt Kaleb’s gaze lock on his neck. He didn’t look at him as he shot out the warning: “Don’t touch me.”

  Rome noticed the dean glance up then only to frown at his wounds. When he clenched his hand into a fist, Rome knew he wasn’t going to like whatever came next. He inhaled sharply, feeling his blood creeping up the length of his neck and squirming its way back into his veins. It was easily the most disturbing thing he’d ever felt.

  “Perhaps I should explain a few things,” the dean said.

  “What makes you think I even want to hear it?”

  Oakland gave him an understanding smile. “The truth is we have little choice in the matter, seeing as we are now past formalities and appropriate introductions.” The dean paused, collecting his thoughts. “Vardel Academy has made it its mission to educate young witches like yourselves since its inception nearly a century ago. We have one of the finest programs of any institution in the country, and you’re both very lucky to be carrying out your education here.”