Her White Wolf (The Academy of Amazing Beasts Book 1)

by Melody Rose

  “I saw you sneak into Theo’s room tonight, and now you’re dressed like a common harlot on a house call,” she hissed with menace. “I would seriously advise you to stop your pitiful flirtations, both because you can barely pull off green and because that delicious mage is mine.”

  “Really?” I questioned with defiance. “I didn’t see any pictures of you in his room or any other sign that you marked your territory. I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t have let me in if you were so exclusive. Sounds like you’re in the wrong place if you want to make your case.”

  Lydia glared and pursed her painted lips, a nice touch of irony since every other time I’d run into her, she was the one rendered speechless. Then, she flicked her eyes toward my bed and shrieked in violent fury at what she noticed lay on my bed. There, spread out on the extravagant duvet, was the chemise I had taken for myself from Theo’s room.

  Right. I had forgotten about that, so caught up in the shock of her breaking in dressed like a model moonlighting as a serial killer. I mean, she really looked like she was going to strangle me both for hanging out with Theo and for the offense of treating her high-end nightgown like a basic hand-me-down.

  A manic grin broke out on Lydia’s brutally gorgeous face, and she lunged at me like a hungry jungle cat. “You know what would look even better than that smutty dress of yours?” she questioned, venom dripping from every word as she grabbed my wrist. “How about the form of a nice, fat toad? Green and disgustingly loud. That’s not far from what you are right now, is it, lamb’s blood? You’ll be able to find out for yourself if you touch him again.”

  “Ugh! Gross!” I yanked myself free from her vice grip and made an offended face, as though the prospect of touching Theo crawled under my skin. While that wasn’t entirely true, he just wasn’t worth all this trouble. “You can have him! You’re a bitch, and he’s a jerk, so you’re a match made in heaven. I was just asking him a couple of questions about enrollment and got sick of my crappy robe. It wasn’t a date if that’s what you’re thinking.”

  Her seething rage seemed to transform into frigid irritation as she raked her eyes over me and crossed her arms. “I suppose it was an overreaction,” she admitted. “A fancy dress does little to conceal the inferiority of a shabby human, it’s like putting rouge on a basilisk. That, and you’re too below his station for him to even think twice about you for companionship.”

  I was really tempted to throw our night in her face and let her know that he seemed to get pretty cozy with me, but I didn’t want to endure the battle that followed, and I really did believe her threat. However, her level of extreme disrespect and her degrading comments made me grow impatient. My heart sank when she stirred up my insecurities about whether Theo was just mocking me, and his seductive touch was just designed as a cruel joke. I really wanted her out of my room so I could be left alone with my hurt feelings.

  “Okay, good to know, queen of ice and lace. It sounds like you have a lot to talk over with Theo, and this clearly has nothing to do with me. Not my circus, not my monkeys.” I pushed at her back lightly, just enough to signal that I was showing her the way out without coming across that I was looking for an all-out catfight.

  She huffed and shook me off, just like Theo would whenever I tried to get assertive and stand up for myself. Once she sauntered to the door, her chic cape trailing on the door behind her, she twisted her torso to look me straight in the eye with disdain.

  “You really ought to wash your face off if you’re going to wear all that vulgar paint,” she flatly remarked as she glided out the door and slamming the door behind her.

  I heaved a sigh of relief and then noticed that my once impeccably applied makeup seemed to be trickling down my face. To check what had happened, I examined myself in the trifold mirrors of my vanity. Sure enough, my lipstick was smeared, my blush and foundation were blotchy, and my stark black mascara poured under my eyes in inky streams. My curls were also a sad mess and hung limply to top off the pathetic aesthetic. Worst of all, though, a message was scrawled in murderous red over my mirrors. I wanted to assume it was lipstick, and I was too perturbed to touch it.

  Stay away, lamb’s blood whore.

  16

  Joan

  The next morning, I took a warm shower in my clawfoot bathtub and did my best to wash away the shame from last night. Lounging in water would just trigger memories of Theo arriving uninvited. None of the water spilled out over the floor even without a shower curtain. That trick delighted me because wet floors always bugged me.

  I closed my eyes and relived the way he locked eyes on my chest and lost his ability to speak. The recollection became more poignant after playing his make-believe sugar baby for a night and sitting on his lap like a willing victim. I shook my head to break up the torturous thoughts and rubbed myself frantically with soap, trying to cleanse the newfound ache from my system. Once I felt that I had buffed away the impurity as much as I possibly could, left with only gentle whispers of improper scenarios, I turned off the spout. I stepped out, toweled myself off, and hoped that my next day at Bouclier would be a little easier to handle.

  I checked myself out in the bathroom mirror since it hadn’t steamed up and found my normal self again. Gone were the glamorous curls and movie star makeup, now I was just freckles and long, straight auburn hair. I grabbed a tube of mascara, my only go-to form of cosmetics, from my tote bag. Pulling the dark and creamy wand over my long but light-colored eyelashes, I started to feel more confident to brave whatever was in store for me outside my room.

  As much as I resented the robe I ended up with, I couldn’t very well walk out in either an evening gown or a slinky chemise, so I dragged my feet over to my closet where my drab uniform hung. To my delight and surprise, it was no longer brown, baggy, or dusty. Instead, it was a nice emerald tone with the texture of velvet. It didn’t have any embroidery or other added flair like most of the other students, but it was a much-welcomed improvement.

  I pulled it over my head and tugged it over my chest and hips. While I didn’t think it would violate a school dress code or be overly distracting, it hugged my figure nicely, and now people could see that I actually had one instead of mistaking me for a walking potato sack. Since I was told that my robe could transform if I increased my magical abilities, I wondered if I had somehow changed over the course of a single evening or if someone else was responsible for this new development. Whatever was the case, I was incredibly thankful.

  In much better spirits and determined to have a decent day if I could help it, I resolved that my first course of action would be to make amends to Chef Douglas. Since I couldn’t expect Theo to come around and offer a believable apology, I thought it would be nice to pitch in and help with some kitchen duties. I might not be a mage with advanced spells up my sleeve, but I was confident that I could whip up a damn good brunch.

  It seemed to be a stroke of luck that I woke up early so that I could redeem myself and start off on a good foot. I wasn’t exactly making allies left and right, but if I played my cards right, I could count on a vital staff member at Bouclier for some protection and support. I wanted to make sure it was a fair trade, though, otherwise I wasn’t much better than Theo. Whenever Chef Douglas needed an extra hand, I was pretty sure he could rely on me, and I might even learn some new tricks. In an enchanted world, did it take more than just spices and the right cookware to spruce up a dish?

  I grabbed my broom in case I needed it later and began to head out. As though my intention to leave was his alarm clock, Aurelius trotted up to me as soon as my hand touched the doorknob. I laughed at released it to ruffle the fur on his head.

  “Hey, boy. Over where I’m from, we can’t let pets in our kitchens, but maybe it’s different for familiars in this world,” I said with a smile. “Maybe Bouclier has some type of fur-be-gone spell, and Chef Douglas can make an exception. It doesn’t hurt to ask!”

  I walked hurriedly down my floor’s corridor and quickly scaled the stairs to catch up
with Chef. When I realized that everyone seemed to be sound asleep behind closed doors, I slowed down my pace a bit and then took some cautious steps into the dining hall once I’d arrived. I noticed that Chef Douglas looked a bit better rested but still had some dark circles under his eyes as he held onto a long scroll of parchment and studied it.

  “Good morning!” I greeted him perkily but softly so I wouldn’t startle him. “What are you up to there?”

  “Ah! Hello young missus! Jes’ racking my brain about what to serve this mornin’. The answers jes’ don’t seem to be comin’ to me.” He peered up and offered me a warm grin. “I believe I had the pleasure of seein’ ye yesterday with the young master Theodore, but I never did get ye name.”

  A rush of shame washed over me as I rubbed my neck. “Yeah…” I trailed off and glanced down at the floor before gathering the courage to look him in the eyes again. “About that… I wanted to eat with everyone else, but Theo was super late. I didn’t know he’d put you through all that, and I tried to talk him out of it. You can call me Joan.”

  “Ah!” He waved as though he was glad to be a good sport. “Theodore is on his own plane, that one. Can’t ever figure him out, and he’s got his own rules, that he does. I’ve known him since he was a little lad, I have! It’s jes’ the nature of the job, missus.”

  “Still, he can try to work around the needs of other people,” I pointed out and then shrugged. I didn’t want to dampen a perfectly nice morning with a talk about Theo’s uptight attitude. “What I really came here for, besides offering you an apology, was to see if I could help at all? Do you need a hand back there?”

  I gestured toward the serving counter. Bouclier didn’t have a kitchen in the traditional sense. I guess they didn’t need one with the type of enchantments used here to serve up feasts.

  “Aye? Ye’d like to help? I’ve been here for centuries and ‘aven’t had a single student ask me that before!” he exclaimed with delighted surprise. “Well, lassy, if you want to come on over here and see how it’s done, I wouldn’t turn ye down!”

  “Sure! Could Aurelius come with me? He’s my… familiar.” As I said the word, it started to give me a cozy and warm sensation. “I’ve never been able to cook with any… creature… like him in the…” I squinted to piece my sentence together. I was doing the best to catch up with the lingo here. “... cooking space before. I’m not sure if it would get fur in the food.”

  “Ye’re an unusually polite student!” Chef Douglas remarked. His furry ears twitched, and he stroked one of his horns with curiosity. “How long have ye been here?”

  “Well,” I began, “I’m not sure I’m even a student yet. I think there are some steps I have to go through before it all becomes official, and I don’t really think I’m fitting in well so far. One thing I do know is cooking, so maybe today can start off on a good note.”

  A flash of sadness shone in Chef’s eyes, and then he reached across to clap me on the shoulder encouragingly. “Welcome, missus Joan! I’d be glad to have ye and your familiar back here. A splendid Cavallian pup that is.”

  I nodded gratefully and tilted my head to signal to Aurelius that it was alright for him to tag along. When I turned a corner and stepped into his area behind the counter, I peeked underneath, and sure enough, there weren’t any cooking implements or prepped ingredients to be seen.

  “Hey, Chef. I noticed there aren’t any tools here or even chopped up ingredients,” I stated in puzzlement as my sense of wonder really started to build up. “Theo was also able to call out to you even though you were far away. How does this all work, and why don’t you just stay in your room and kick back while you summon the students’ meals?”

  “Well, some mages like to use a cauldron and gather components from gardens or even marketplaces,” he explained patiently. “All depends on the caster, ye see? Whatever helps them to focus on what makes a good meal. I don’t think anyone who holes up in a room would be a cook worth their salt, though. Sounds lazy, it does, and their dishes will end up tastin’ like burnt mandrakes.”

  He beamed proudly. “I, myself, tap into my bond with nature and the energy of the room to manifest a good meal. It’s my way as a faun, ye see. Ye tell me a good tale about the best meal ye’ve ever had, and I’m damn sure I can recreate it.”

  “That’s incredible!” I exclaimed, and I really meant it. A bit of good-hearted envy bubbled up because I wished I could have a piece of that magic.

  His eyes glittered at my impressed reaction, and he continued with a wide grin. “Aye! It takes all the abysses to stump me, it does! I’ve listened to bards all around the realm and heard fancy yarns of the best meals that the richest mages have ever tasted!”

  Once his excitement had hit a peak, his lips drooped into a slight frown. “There ain’t anyone but ye here, though, and last night has left me more tired than a griffin chasin’ a stag. When someone jes’ lists off food I’ve got to fill in the blanks, ye see? Took a lot of will and creative energy.”

  “Well, why don’t I help you with that?” I offered. “Between the two of us, I think we can create a proper breakfast that could knock people’s socks off. I can tell you about what I’ve cooked if you like? I don’t make what I wouldn’t eat myself!”

  “There ye have it!” he remarked as his smile reemerged. “If ye can jes’ tell me about what gets yer mouth waterin’, we can get started! I can even teach ye how to channel yer will and cook by spinnin’ dreams. Do ye have any specialties?”

  “Well, I have a knack for pie,” I admitted as joy trickled into my system just recalling all the types I made in the past. “It’s great for any meal, in my opinion. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner. It’ll never let you down.”

  “Ah! Yes! Ye’ve got it,” he encouraged me and shook a fist in excitement. “Hold on to that feeling tightly. Ye’ll have to picture the best pie in yer mind’s eye. Not a decent one, not a good one. One so excellent that kings would hire ye as their royal chef with just one bite, that is true.”

  I did all I could to banish any insecurity from my mind and truly believe that I could be capable of such a tall order. “The best pie for breakfast is one that you wouldn’t just have with a cup of coffee in the afternoon. It’s got to be special and get you waking up at the crack of dawn just to sink your teeth into it. So savory you feel that your head is swimming in the flaky, oily glory. Warm and soothing.”

  Chef nodded furiously as he listened to me intently and let my words wash over him. “Perfect! Ye’re a natural. Think about tastin’ it and the power it has over ye, then tell yerself that ye’re the only one that can bring into bein’ a pie that magnificent. I’ll help ye build yer will.”

  Amazingly, I didn’t doubt him when he told me that I had the ability within me to spin a pie into existence with my very thoughts. His reassuring and fatherly presence brought out the best in me, and I could feel a commanding confidence course through my veins. As I concentrated on the concept of my ideal breakfast pie, I could even sense its flavors play upon my tongue.

  “It’s everything you’d want from a diner snuck into a buttery pie crust. Herb-crusted diced potatoes, eggs melted with sharp cheddar cheese, creamy whole milk, thick slabs of bacon, and a spoonful of freshly ground pepper for a kick,” I waxed poetic about this competition-worthy pie. “Top it off with a brushing of maple syrup. It needs just a touch of sweetness to create fireworks in your mind, an extravaganza for your tastebuds.”

  The kind cook’s eyes snapped wide open with an epiphany as I concluded my ode to my favorite breakfast pie. While I had been speaking, he waved his hands like a symphony conductor and played off of the energy of my enthusiasm. He must have gathered a great deal of it because as I look out from the serving counter and at the many tables before us, rows of fresh maple bacon pies stretched out, one for every dining placement. I blinked with happy astonishment.

  “Oh! It smells fantastic!” I exclaimed as I marveled at how my decadent imagination came to life.

  “It�
�s all ye, missus Joan!” Chef Douglas laughed heartily at my shock. “Yer will, yer energy, yer vision. I jes’ had to stoke the flames a bit to get ye goin’, but ye’ll be able to do it all on yer own in no time.”

  “I can’t wait! I just hope that everyone likes what I’ve made. Maybe I can get on their good side if they do,” I reasoned.

  “Aye! We’ve never had such a feast before, and even I haven’t heard of this splendid dish before! There’s only but one who wouldn’t have the sense to sing yer praises!” he remarked without any filter since he was so caught up in the moment. I couldn’t help but pry and find out what he meant by that.

  “Let me guess. Theo,” I commented flatly. “But who can possibly turn down such a delectable pie? It’s got everything you can ask for in your breakfast. Potatoes, eggs, cheese! Bacon, for goodness’ sake! Who doesn’t like bacon?! Is he just going to turn his nose up at it on principle?” I really wanted answers here. This guy was such an exasperating mystery to me.

  Chef Douglas patted me on the head to cool me down. Normally, I would find that patronizing, but I let it slide because I knew his heart was in the right place.

  “Don’t take it personally, lass! It’s jes…” He searched for the best words to explain himself. “Young master Theodore is extreme in his ways and disciplined for all his surliness and tongue lashin’. He hates pie. And spices. Any dish that isn’t made to keep him robust, as he sees it. I’ve only known him to eat meats, simple bread, and heapin’s of vegetables. He’s told me that blandness is the sign of a nourishing meal.”

  Chef Douglas and I scrunched our faces up in unison at that silly sentiment.

  “Well, don’t you think we should break him out of that close-minded view? Open the world up to him?” I asked. “Maybe he’ll lighten up and make some different lifestyle choices if he experiments with some new flavors. Baby steps, right? Maybe he’s just a few breakfasts away from actually appreciating people. Well, that’s a bit too optimistic… but you see where I’m going here?”