Academy of Shifters: Werewolves 101

by Marisa Claire

  M/W: 3:00 PM – 4:30 PM, Therian Hall 113

  Wolf Music I (No Credit, Required Extra-curricular)

  Chancellor Oberon Gladwell

  W: 9:00 PM - 12:00 AM, Amphitheater

  Health and Physical Education for Shifters

  Dean Cherish Belhollow and Dean Gareth Embry

  T/Th: 1:00 PM - 2:30 PM, Shiftnasium Room A

  Practical Shifting I

  Dean Gareth Embry

  Th: 9:00 PM – 12:00 AM, Shiftnasium Room C

  College Writing I

  Self-Paced, Online

  I stared at the piece of paper Vice-Chancellor Gladwell had just slid across her desk. The words appeared to be written in plain English, yet only two-thirds of them made any sense.

  “Is there a problem?” the Vice-Chancellor asked in the sort of pleasant tone people only use when they really don’t want there to be a problem.

  “Yeah. I can’t wake up,” I muttered.

  “We do have a coffee shop. Did no one tell you?” She lifted her paper cup like she was giving a toast.

  Groaning, I buried my head in my hands. “That’s not what I meant.”

  The Vice-Chancellor sighed and set the cup back on its coaster. She folded her elbows on her desk. “I realize my official title can be intimidating, but as your personal advisor, I’m here to listen to any concerns you might have regarding your classes, professors, or peers.”

  I glanced up through a cascade of my own hair. Is she trolling me?

  Smoothing my hair into place, I leaned back in my chair and gestured at her office. The walls were covered in paintings and tapestries of wolves and humans transforming into wolves. Even the rug beneath my feet had wolves running around its border. An enormous set of antlers hung on the wall behind the desk, positioned just high enough so that no one could poke their eye out on one of its many tines. A small nameplate on the polished wooden plaque holding up the mount read:

  Cordelia Hollins, 1980 - First Kill

  “My concern is that I’ve experienced almost two whole days inside a dream.” I glanced out the window at the mountains trapping me here. “Where is the real me? Am I in a coma?”

  The Vice-Chancellor tilted her head. “Remi, do you still not know this is actually happening? You are the real you. You are right there in that chair.”

  Tears burned at the edges of my eyes. I wanted to go home. I wanted to be getting to know that weirdo Hickoree. I wanted to be flipping through the pages of all the text books I had already bought at the bookstore. I did want coffee, but I wanted it from the food court in the Keller Parks student center, a nice, plain building with no chandeliers or scalloped white plates piled high with wild game I could never bring myself to eat. I didn’t want to have shown my ass to the entire student body, and I didn’t want to feel my body bending itself into or out of the shape of a wolf. And I really, really, really never wanted to see stupid Laith Brighton’s smirking face again.

  The Vice-Chancellor steepled her fingers. “Your brother. What was his name again?”

  “Rahm.” I sniffled. “R-A-H-M.” No one ever spelled it right.

  She picked up a marbled pen and scribbled that down. “St. James also, yes?”

  “Yeah. I mean, yes, ma’am.” I rubbed my stinging eyes with my wrist. “But he could be going by something else?”

  She lifted an eyebrow. “Any ideas what that might be?”

  I shook my head and shrugged. “I barely even know him.”

  She smiled warmly. “Well, hopefully we can fix that. Do you have any pictures of him?”

  “No. Not recent ones. But he does have some social media profiles. He doesn’t use—”

  “Ah! Excellent.” She scribbled something else down, and then gave me a very serious look. “Remi, students at Gladwell Academy are entitled to perks you won’t find at very many other colleges. For starters, it’s free. You’ll never owe us or anyone else a dime for the time you spend here, and that’s only the beginning of what we have to offer, Remi. But, as nice a girl as you seem to be, we can’t help you with anything like finding your brother if you aren’t attending the Gladwell Academy.”

  She leaned across the desk and pushed the bizarre schedule closer to me until it teetered on the edge. I snatched it up before it could hit the floor.

  “The Shifter community is small in the grand scheme of things, Remi. Our resources may be large, but they are still finite. We simply can’t spend money on shifters who aren’t willing to buckle down and do what it takes to become productive members of our society. Maybe we weren’t clear enough about this yesterday, but do you understand what I’m saying?”

  I started folding the paper into tiny squares. “Take the classes or never see my brother again.”

  “My goodness, Remi. You make it sound like blackmail.” She laughed and shook her head. “But you’re the one who asked. We’re only trying to help you here.”

  “I understand,” I mumbled, and then quickly added, “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” She tapped the paper she’d scribbled on. “Now, why don’t you run down to the bookstore to get your books while I get started on this?”

  Nodding, I climbed to my feet and picked up my empty book bag. “Do I just show them my schedule or what?”

  “Yes. Ms. Shirley will know what you need.”

  I made myself return her smile, and then carefully walked over to her office door. My body felt like it had…well, turned into something else and gotten stuck that way for almost an entire day, and then spontaneously re-appeared stark naked in front of pretty much everyone at my new college.

  Just as my hand touched the knob, the Vice-Chancellor called out, “One more thing, Remi.”

  Turning back, I found her standing with the paper bearing my brother’s name in her hand. She came around the desk and touched my shoulder.

  “I noticed you were sitting with the mountain lions last night. I understand there was an incident and Victoria offered you some assistance, but don’t forget to make friends with your own kind, too.” She gave me an encouraging pat on the back. “Freshmen packs form quickly, and you won’t want to be left out.”

  My own kind? As far as I could tell, my own kind was more than willing to engage in social cannibalism, while the lions—well, one of the lions—had been nothing but supportive and kind. The other lion could kiss my ass right along with Winter Davenport and the laughing hyenas she ran with.

  But it didn’t seem like a point worth arguing, so I pretended that I would follow her advice, thanked her one more time, and slipped out into the stairwell that occupied one corner of Therian Hall’s tower. The Gladwells’ offices occupied the top floor, while the Deans shared the third floor, and the rest of the faculty were apparently squeezed into the second. All three office suites were accessible only through the attic of the bookstore that sat snug against the tower.

  The glass door chimed as I entered the attic, which seemed to be purposefully decorated with cobwebs, given the intense levels of luxury and cleanliness I’d found everywhere else in the building. A rickety banister lined the opening to the stairs. My boots sank into the plush purple carpet as I descended the steps that wound around the book-stuffed walls. There were the books you’d find in any campus bookstore—Catcher in the Rye, To Kill a Mockingbird, Infinite Jest—but there were also plenty of books that could only be described as frightening and weird, such as Between Shifts: A Memoir of a Hybrid Life.

  That would be just my luck.

  On my way up, the store had been crowded with students buying last minute supplies, but it appeared to have emptied out after the lunch bell. When I reached the first floor, there didn’t even seem to be anyone there to man the counter by the front door where the open sign stilled glowed bright red.

  “Who goes there?” The female voice quivered with age.

  I startled and grasped the banister. “Um, Remi? St. James?”

  The voice mumbled my name a few times, and then a head popped up over the coun
ter, sniffing the air. “You haven’t received your books yet.”

  I shook my head, but then realized the tiny woman couldn’t see me. Her eyes were as white as two small moons. “No, ma’am. I just arrived last night.”

  She clapped her gnarled hands together. “How exciting! And here I thought I’d gathered my last book batch for the season.” She reached out over the counter. “Well, come on, show me your schedule.”

  Unfolding the piece of paper, I stepped over to the counter. Up close, I could tell she was standing on a stool. The skin around her moon-colored eyes folded over on itself in what seemed like hundreds of tiny wrinkles. She patted the marble counter top with one liver-spotted hand.

  “Here is fine.”

  “Um, okay,” I said. “Do you need me to—”

  But the woman held up a hand to silence me. She bent her head, touched her nose to the paper, and inhaled deeply. She smiled. “Of course. The freshman usual.”

  My jaw dropped. Was this some sort of parlor trick, or could she see things—read things—with her nose, too?

  “I’m Ms. Shirley, by the way.” The woman hopped off her stool and came around the counter. She wore thick-soled granny shoes and a frumpy purple sweater that most people wouldn’t need for another two months at least. But I suspected there wasn’t a scrap of meat on this lady’s bones. She had to be pushing ninety, at the very least.

  Hopefully shifters don’t age in dog years, Remi. This might be you in ten years.

  I suppressed a shudder and followed Ms. Shirley as she moved briskly around the store, pausing now and then to sniff a shelf and add a book to the growing stack in her arms. Finally, she led me back to the first floor, slid my books onto the counter, and hopped back up onto her stool.

  “This is my favorite part of the job. Of course, it’s pretty much my whole job. Not many students come visit once they’ve got what they need from me.”

  “I’ll come visit,” I blurted without thinking.

  Her mouth dropped open and her blank eyes grew wide. “That would be so lovely.”

  Then her nose started twitching and she waved her head back and forth across the counter.

  “Um, Ms. Shirley? Can I—”

  She held up her hand. Then she snatched a stamp from the far-left side of the counter. She held it up like a prize. “Got it!” She began opening my books and stamping their inside covers.

  “Ms. Shirley?”

  “Yes, dear?”

  “I’m confused. Is this a bookstore or a library?”

  She stamped a book titled, You, Your Body, and Your Other Body.

  “Well, I suppose it’s both. You don’t have to pay for anything, but you don’t have to bring anything back either.”

  “Oh. Well, what’s the stamp for?”

  She smiled at me, revealing several gaps in her teeth. “It’s a special scent marker. To make sure none of these books wind up in the wrong hands.”

  Somebody howled outside. I peered out the glass door and saw Winter’s boyfriend—what was his name again? Derek?—and his henchman wrestling on the lawn, while Winter and her three minions watched and squealed.

  Oh, great.

  I glanced at the clock behind Ms. Shirley. Twelve-thirty. Half an hour to go before my first class. I had intended to find the coffee shop, but maybe I’d just hide in here for a little while.

  “Ms. Shirley, can I ask you something? I don’t want to be rude.”

  She sighed and slammed my last book shut. “You want to know what happened to my eyes. Well, none of your business.”

  I flinched. “No, ma’am. I’m sorry. I just wanted to know if… well, when you’re sniffing things? Do you just know their scents, or can you see them?”

  She chuckled. “I can’t see a damn thing, dear.”

  “No like… inside your head?”

  Her face paled. She glanced from side to side and leaned over the counter, almost crashing her nose into mine. “Why would you ask that?”

  Swallowing hard, I moved my face away. Her breath smelled less than fresh.

  “Well, it’s just that sometimes… for example, last night in my room, I was standing in front of the armoire, and I caught this whiff of something, but it wasn’t a smell I could put into words.” I bit my lip nervously. The old woman had begun to tremble. “But somehow I could see that there was a robe inside. I even saw that it had my name on it.”

  “Oh, child,” she murmured. “Oh, child. Come closer.”

  I leaned in, hoping she couldn’t see-smell my grimace.

  She put her lips right up against my ear. “You must never tell this to another soul.”

  I jerked back. “What?”

  She shook her head from side to side. “A terrible gift. Terrible. Tell no one.”

  “A terrible gift?” I fought back the urge to grab her hunched shoulders and shake her. “Are you saying I’m cursed?”

  What? You don’t believe in curses, Remi. Or gifts, for that matter. Snap out of it!

  Ms. Shirley jumped down from the stool and backed up against the wall. Tears welled up from her sightless eyes, and she pressed a finger to her lip. “Shhhh. Tell no one what you know.”

  “Ms. Shirley, please!” Anxiety prickled my skin. “You have to tell me!”

  “No, no, no…” she moaned. “Oh, child. You must go.”

  “Go where?” My voice cracked.

  Ms. Shirley gave her head a vigorous shake. Her gapped smile returned. “Why, to class, of course! Off with you now!” She pointed at the door. “Don’t forget to come visit!”

  My breaths came in short gasps. My heart pounded inside my chest. Sweat trickled down my chest as I took several steps back. Ms. Shirley waved placidly, which was somehow even more terrifying than the cryptic episode I’d just witnessed.

  I gathered my books off the counter and dumped them into my bag, but when I reached for the door, I found soft gray hair sprouting from my skin.

  Oh, shift.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  “Oh no, child, you can’t shift in here,” Ms. Shirley scolded, scrunching her nose.

  “I’m not trying to!” I shouted, backing away from the glass door with my hairy arms stretched out in front of me.

  My whole body itched as fur blossomed beneath my clothes. I writhed, fighting the urge to rip my shirt and jeans off while I still had hands to rip with.

  “What do I do?” My voice cracked like a yelp on the last word.

  Winter and her pack were still goofing off on the lawn, and there was no freakin’ way I was giving them the satisfaction of seeing me like this. White hot pain seized my limbs, and I double over against the counter. The room went black and I heard my stack of books tumble to the floor.

  “Upstairs!” Ms. Shirley shouted.

  I scrambled blindly for the stairwell, somehow still on two legs. My guts roiled like a nest of snakes as I felt my way haltingly up the steps. By the time I could smell that I was reaching the musty attic, my teeth had grown to sharp points in my mouth.

  Two strong arms caught me by the shoulders and lifted me the rest of the way up the stairs, my legs kicking at the air. A moment later, the slamming of a door echoed in the faculty stairwell. The unfamiliar hands pressed me against the wall.

  “Shh, shh, hold still, darling.” The man had a posh British accent. “You’re experiencing a slow shift. I’m going to need to place my hands on your head. Do I have your permission?”

  My head flailed, but I couldn’t tell in what direction.

  “Right then,” the man said. “I’m going to assume that was a yes. Feel free to slap me when you have your hands back, if I’m wrong.”

  The man shifted his weight so his body held me to the wall while his hands encircled my head, fingers pressing into my skull, palms covering my ears, thumbs stretched across my forehead. Warmth washed over my short-circuiting brain and poured down my neck and over my shoulders, loosening every contorted inch of me until I slumped against the man’s hard chest.

  “Sor
ry!” He let go of my head and gently pushed me back against the wall. “All right, darling?”

  My eyes blinked into focus, and the second most handsome face I’d seen on campus filled my vision. Stunning blue eyes radiated concern beneath a gently furrowed brow. His tousled blond hair glistened like a halo around his clean-shaven face. I felt my mouth curling into a stupid, dreamy smile.

  That voice… and those manners! Here’s a guy who deserves being crushed on.

  And then I remembered where I was—the faculty stairwell.

  I jumped, bumping my head on the wall. He jumped too, lifting his hands like I was a cop.

  “Please don’t slap me, I only meant to help.”

  Rubbing the back of my head, I groaned. “I’m not… I know… but what did you do?”

  “Reverse shift. Simple mental procedure. Sorry about the, ah…” He wiggled his fingers. “Hands.”

  “Dude, it’s okay,” I said, pushing off the wall and looking down at my totally human, still clothed, body. And then I cringed. “Oh, god, I’m sorry. You’re not a dude…”

  “Well, technically…” He tilted his head and flashed his dimples.

  “I mean, you must be a professor. Maybe even a dean. You could be a doctor for all I—” Stop rambling, Remi. I closed my mouth.

  “Professor, and a very low-level one at that.” He bent to pick up a leather satchel. “On my way to my first class now. Might I escort you down, or did you have further business up here?” He twirled one finger upward to indicate the spiral stairs.

  “Um, no… I mean yes…” Get it together, Remi. “I only came up here because of the, uh, the hair.” I hugged myself self-consciously, realizing how lucky I’d been not to lose any clothes in front of this very attractive, very polite, very kind, very young professor… who is just another product of my own subconscious and not an actual authority figure it would be wildly inappropriate to have a crush on.

  “Well, then, shall we?” He held open the glass door. “Do you have a class now?”

  “Yes, it’s… I can’t remember the name, um…” I searched my pockets for my schedule, but then realized I’d left it downstairs with Ms. Shirley and my books. “Werewolves 101?”