by CY Jones
“What’s wrong, Dad? Did you see what I did?”
He stalks over to me, the bells on his clothes jingling with movement before getting on his knees so we’re eye level and grabs both my arms in a painful grip. I cry out, but he doesn’t let go. “You can never tell anyone about this, never,” he yells. Tears stream down my face because he’s never yelled at me before. He says his wife does it enough for the both of them so why bother. He’s gotten angry before, but never like this and never at me.
“I’m sorry, Dad, but I couldn’t help it. Why aren’t you proud of me? I did it. I did it right,” I cry and he pulls me in his arms, holding me tight. Tears are a weakness, but I can’t help them as they leak out my eyes. If Quinn were here, he’d lick them away.
Eight-year-old me was so confused. It took a lot later for me to realise my dad wasn’t angry at me, but scared for me. That day, I awakened my other powers. The ones that sing, ‘which one of these are not like the other’.
“Baby girl, I’m not mad at you, but you must promise me to never tell anyone about this or show them what you can do.”
“Not even Quinn?” I ask, wiping the tears from my eyes with my balled fist.
“Not even Quinn. From now on, you can’t share with anyone how your training is going. When you are together, you have to pretend you’re still struggling. No showing off, okay? Do you understand?”
“Yes, Daddy. I promise.”
Chapter 3
Angelica
I must have fallen asleep, and I curse my stupidity. This is not the place to be thinking about the past or sleeping without fortifying my room first. Stupid, stupid me. Why didn’t you wake me? I scowl at the black lump at the window, swishing his tail back and forth in a nonchalant manner. Green eyes blink at me before he jumps down and ignores me completely. I’ll need to feed him soon before he takes it upon himself to make a nuisance out of himself in my name in search of food.
It’s still quite early, so I don my fuzzy slippers, the ones with pirate skulls, and head toward the kitchen with Mr. Meow’s bowl and a tin of the pricey cat food he loves. I hope they have a can opener or you’re screwed, I grumble in my head, knowing he can hear me.
Mr. Meow follows after me, slipping out the door right before it closes. Not like a closed door can stop him. I’m pretty sure he can walk through walls with the way he likes to sneak about. It was a nuisance at home because he’d like to jump out of nowhere and scare the crap out of me and Quinn, but here, that little trick of his might come in handy. Through our bond, I can see what he sees. Which makes him the perfect spy. I’m doubtful anyone here would attack a familiar.
It’s still dark out, the sun has yet risen from the horizon to signal a new day. This early in the morning, there’s not a soul in the kitchen. Everyone is probably still sleeping or in their room, scheming something pernicious for the day. I should be doing the same. I already have a target on my back since I’m the new girl and a Boudreaux. Then there’s the newly acquired information that I’m a dark mage while my twin is a light mage. I’m sure the whole campus has heard about us by now. Juicy gossip like that doesn't come around everyday. My first day will set a path for the rest of my time here. Quinn is good in these types of situations. Me, not so much. It’ll take him no time at all to find a clique to hang with while I’m happy to stay being the loner chick, but that’s not going to fly here. There’s safety in numbers, which means I’ll have to play nice and make friends. My last name may have helped on the light side. But on the dark side, I’m an enigma and fair game.
Trying to keep the noise down, I open all the drawers in the search for a can opener. I check the sink, dishwasher, even the bottom cabinets, nothing. That’s weird. As far as I can tell, this is a fully stocked kitchen. I mean, they have dishes with pretty flower designs, why not a can opener? Reaching up on my tiptoes, I open the top cabinets when I spy an old fashioned metal one all the way in the back. Sometimes, I hate being short. It’s a real pain in situations like these. Still on my toes, I jump and just miss the can opener. Losing my balance, damn slippers, I fall backwards, accidentally stepping on Mr. Meow’s tail. He screeches and slashes my ankle, forcing me to stumble into a hard wall that steadies me with a firm grip on my hips.
“This is a surprise. I wasn’t expecting you to fall for me this soon,” a deep voice chuckles behind me. Slowly, I turn my head until my eyes clash with a delicious pair of dark chocolate orbs.
“Holy Batman,” I mumble then my cheeks heat embarrassed when I realize I said that outloud.
“Kirito Choi, but I can be your Dark Knight if you’d like.”
Dear brain, what is wrong with you? You’re supposed to be the sensible one here. You’re not supposed to let a hot Asain guy hold you close while we stand here in shock with our mouth wide open. Get your shit together and be the cynical bitch I know you are and tell our foolish heart to fuck off. Shaking myself out of whatever that was, I take a couple steps back and he lets me, letting go of my hips. Clearly, I amuse him. He’s not even trying to hide it from his face.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t see you there,” I finally speak.
“The cat either,” he snarks.
“Yeah, well, Mr. Meow loves getting in the way.” The cat in question scowls at me before jumping on the counter and starts to push his dish with his nose, moving it across the counter. We can’t speak to each other, but we can communicate in a way. It’s weird to explain, but his patience is wearing thin with me and his food. The asshole is seconds away from causing trouble.
“Here, let me get that for you,” hot guy offers. Moving forward, he easily grabs the can opener from the cabinet. He didn’t even have to step on his tiptoes. Of course he has no trouble reaching stuff on the top shelf. What is he? Six feet? I thought Asain guys were supposed to be short. He even goes as far as to pour the food in Mr. Meow’s dish, who happily starts to lap it up greedly and ignores us both. Glad one of us can relax around the stranger.
“Mr. Meow? Is that his name?”
“It is,” I answer.
“So, you’re the new girl.” This is a statement. Not a question. He knows exactly who I am and probably did his research. Maybe meeting me in here is no coincidence. Who puts a can opener on the top shelf? Immediately, my body goes on alert. Unlike Mr. Meow, I’m not about to drop my guard just because someone was nice.
“And you’re some guy I don’t know,” I respond.
“Huh, cheeky. You won’t last long here with that attitude of yours.” It’s a fair assessment, but like my cat, I don’t care about being an asshole.
“Kirito Choi is it? Thanks for the advice, but I’m a big girl. I can handle myself.”
His smile is wicked. One that makes promises it’s sure to keep. A perfect row of white teeth flash me against a perfect blemish free olive complexion. “Can you? You can’t even reach the top shelf.” He moves closer and I step back until I’m backed against the cold marble counter with nowhere to go. He’s close. Too close, consuming all my senses. His breath smells like mint and it’s warmth grazes my skin. My gaze is trapped within a vortex of swirling dark chocolate. His scent is sinful; delicious and dangerous and I lick my lips slowly, running my tongue in a path along my bottom lip that his dark eyes track like a predator.
“Here’s some advice, sweetheart. Think of this place like the top shelf. It’s out of your reach, but with help, you just might survive.”
“And whose help is that? Yours?” I laugh, not at all amused or frightened. I’m used to being the underdog.
“Maybe, if I deem you worthy enough to help you. But be warned, the price of survival will cost you more than a can opener.”
Call me a fool. Call me stupid. Just never say I’m not brave. I can sense who are the top wolves in the pack and I just so happened to stumble upon two of them. Closing what little distance there is between us, I whisper, “Fuck off,” against his soft, pillowly lips before jumping straight up onto the counter and flip backwards over his head. Just like that
day in the field when I was eight, I land a perfect dismount. With a flip of my hair over my shoulder, I walk confidently back to my room, the sound of his dark chuckle haunting me until I shut my door.
I should have picked up my schedule yesterday, but since I fell asleep, I ended up getting it in the morning, which, of course, made me late for my first class of the day, Magical Elements. Since class already started, I have to shuffle past a room full of mages as they watch on with rapt interest like a bunch of vultures. Some eye me with disdain as they lean in and whisper about me to their buddies. Others with excitement, already plotting on a way to use me to their advantage. The rest I’m sure have already started thinking up ways of how to kill me and are drawing straws. Oh, and just my luck. Of course hot asshole number one is in this class too and the only remaining open seat is right next to him.
As I scoot past, invisible hands nudge me and I stumble and fall right into him. Instinctively, his hands reach out to catch me before I topple us both over onto the floor. Slowly, I lift my warm face, opening my eyes, which clash with his fiery orbs.
“Clumsy much?” he growls, making the whole class laugh. My face burns with embarrassment and I shove him away before taking my seat. I can still feel his eyes on me, burning into my skin and I use my hair as a curtain to block him out. But that’s the thing about eyes like his. They burn on, even as embers.
Our teacher, a stern looking man named Goffrey Hoffman, lectures without interruption. There’s no introducing yourself to the class or chastising me for being late. He didn’t even bother to pause his lecture after the spectacle I made of myself to discipline whoever used their magic to push me.
Day one and I’m already popular. Yay. I wonder how Quinn’s day is going so far? I’d bet my cat better than mine.
When we’re told to open our books and start our assignment, I’m completely lost. This is my first day and I came in at the middle of a lecture. I have a textbook and a mason jar with tiny lights inside sitting on top of my desk. What the fuck am I supposed to do with this? Build a lantern? I’m contemplating raising my hand like some normie to get help or at least an explanation when my eyes catch sight of Mr. Meow at the front of the class. The cat has no shame. Because this is what he does, and obviously, I have no control over him, he struts right over to the teacher’s desk, hops on top, turns in a circle, and plops his furry ass down right on the book Mr. Hoffman is currently reading. His head turns in my direction before he swishes his tail and tears a page from Hoffman’s book. Kill me, right-fucking-now.
Shoving his glasses up his long thin nose, Hoffman snidely asks, “Who does this cat belong to?” Slowly... so fucking slowly, I raise my hand while contemplating murder. Will it hurt me to kill my cat?
“He’s mine, Sir.”
“Miss Boudreaux, although familiars are not prohibited, it’s an unspoken rule that they are not to disrupt class.” His own familiar, a tiny red and orange snake with yellow spots, peeks out his sleeve, giving me a judgemental look of its own.
“Well, he is the familiar of a harlequin. Rules aren’t exactly our thing,” I respond. It’s the only response I can think of. Zion snorts, but I ignore the asshole for our instructor with the double standards. He literally kept lecturing when someone used their magic on me, but when a cat tears a page from his precious book, he wants to stop class and have a chat about rules.
“I’m sorry, I was told you are a voodoo priestess. You may come from a family of harlequins, but you are, in fact, not one.” Snickers erupt around us and I clench my fist. I do not need a daily reminder from a stranger no less that I’m a failure as a harlequin. I have marks left behind by Leslie’s staff to do that. “Take the rest of class to teach some rules to your feline and remember, your familiar is a direct reflection of yourself,” he chastises before dismissing me entirely.
Red faced and embarrassed, I march to the front of class and gather Mr. Meow in my arms, who, remarkably, comes willingly. Goddess help me if he causes me any further embarrassment. Leaving, I catch Zion’s eye, who watches me with a stoic look on his pretty face. I sensed it the first time we met, but I don’t think he likes harlequins much, nor was he pleased with me playing the ‘no rules’ card for the teacher. It makes me wonder what harlequin fucked him over for him to hold a grudge against all our kind. I won’t be making a friend out of him, but would I survive if he were my enemy?
I’m grateful for you getting me out of class, but could you have gone about it in a less embarrassing way? Like one that wouldn’t have gotten me in trouble in front of the whole class? I gripe. Mr. Meow meows loudly, blinking his bright green eyes at me innocently and I sigh. Reckless cat. Putting him down, I watch as he takes off down the hall like he owns this place.
Now what? There’s still thirty minutes until the next class. I could go back to the dorm, but it took me fifteen minutes to walk here. As soon as I get to my room, I’d have to turn around and come back.
“Miss Boudreaux, I was just coming to find you,” Dumbledore’s doppelganger says, appearing out of the shadows and I suppress a scream. God, he’s as bad as my cat. I should give him a bell to wear somewhere on his person. At least then I’d have some kind of warning.
“Find me for what?” I ask curiously.
“Let’s speak in my office, shall we?” he says, tilting his head toward the stairs. I don’t like the sound of that. What could he possibly want with me this soon? But color me curious, I follow anyway. I wonder, did Hoffman snitch on me that quickly?
You can tell he knows these halls well. Not once does he have to double back from all the twist and turns of the building or get confused by any of the rotating staircases, but he has been the headmaster here for some time now and had time to navigate these buildings.
I thought he was taking me back toward the building we first met, but I don’t recognize the trail we take or the building we step into. It’s the smallest I’ve seen so far, somewhat hidden by the foliage of the woods. Like all the buildings, it’s made of bricks, but a weird brownish green color helping it blend into the woods surrounding it. There are no windows, but when we step inside, the building is lit by natural sunlight, which means the windows must be cloaked. Whatever goes on in here, he does not want anyone to see. Normal, I guess. All mages have their secrets. The dimensions are also off. The outside of the building looks small and cozy, tucked in the middle of the woods, but inside, it’s vast.
“Where are we?” I ask, looking around.
“This building is on neutral territory. As a representative for both sides, it’s only fitting that my office is here.”
“So you advocate for both sides? How is that? I thought you were either one or the other, which is why you made me choose yesterday.”
“It’s true; you can’t be both. For instance, I’m a dark mage, but it’s my job to listen to both sides and judge fairly, so in my case, I do not have a side. In all things, I’m neutral.”
“Judge what? It’s not like there are rules here.”
“Oh, my dear, how wrong you are. There are rules. Even in the wild, you follow certain procedures to survive. If there were no one here to keep a handle on the mayhem, you’d all learn nothing from your time spent here. We’re not raising wild beasts, but functional members of a mage society.”
I scoff at that. What he really means is functional killers. “It’s here where you learn what you can really do and how far you will go. The place you fall in the line of mages. You can be on the top or die on your way to the bottom.”
“Or,” I draw out the word. “In your case, the middle,” I smile and he gives me an amused smile in return. He comes off almost grandfatherly, but he’s cunning. You don’t make it to his position by being stupid. He’s the whale in a pool full of sharks, unbothered by their bite when he can swallow them whole.
A tray with tea and biscuits flies over and I watch fascinated as the teapot tilts on its own and pours into a delicate china cup painted with reddish pink flower petals.
�
�Cream or sugar?” he asks.
“Sugar, please,” I reply and a silver bowl filled with sugar cubes joins the tea set. One of the cubes hovers out the bowl and dives into my cup. I wonder what kind of mage the headmaster is. No one in our commune has telekinesis. When a harlequin summons their staff, it isn’t telekinesis they’re using, but the bond between their magic and staff. I’ve always been jealous of my family because I have yet been able to summon one. No staff has called to me yet.
“So,” he claps, startling me out of my thoughts. “How did you like your first lesson in magical conversion?” he asks, changing the subject. I really should ask him his name so I can stop calling him Dumbledore in my head.
“What now?” I ask, confused. Taking a sip of the warm brew, I hum in appreciation. It tastes like honey and sunshine, like he gathered samples from the sun and sprinkled it into the tea.
“The jar and lights? You were supposed to channel your magical energy and light the fairy lights inside.”
“Oh, is that what we were supposed to do? I got kicked out before we got that far,” I admit sheepishly. Why hide the truth when he can easily find out for himself?
“It’s a very riveting lesson. Next time, try to make it through the whole class. It’s very important that you have a grip on the basics,” he lectures.
“Weren’t you coming to find me? I would have missed the lesson anyway,” I point out.
“Yes, but I would have waited for you to finish your lesson first. I do enjoy watching the learning process of our young mages, plus my presence keeps my instructors on their toes.”
“What did you want to speak about anyways?” I’m still confused as to why he asked me here. I’m sure it wasn’t just to invite me for tea.
“Did you know your great, great grandfather was the last Boudreaux to attend school here? When I learned you and your brother were attending this year, I was actually surprised.” He pauses, but I don’t know what to say to that. I have no clue why Leslie pushed for us to come here.