by Bree Moore
A bell rang and everyone moved. There were at least four others Harper hadn’t met yet, and a dozen more streamed in from outside.
“Class time. You don’t have a schedule yet, do you? Want to see what it’s like?” Anita again. Harper thought about looking for Lilith and demanding to know what information she had about Quinn, but perhaps Harper could see what Anita knew first. She was friendly enough, surely Harper could find out something.
“Sure.”
Anita unfolded her legs and stretched as she stood. She was about Harper’s height, which said something because Harper was shorter than most people. Anita grabbed her bag and headed through the common room entryway leading into the kitchen, and Harper followed. Nothing about Anita’s appearance screamed witch, except the slightly herbed smell coming off her hair.
“Wait until you meet Fletcher. He’s totally cute, you’ll see him in this class. We had another bird shifter a few months ago, but he’s not here anymore. Such a shame. Quinn didn’t talk much, but he was hot in that brooding sort of way.”
Harper’s skin tingled. She didn’t bother enlightening Anita about her relationship to that “hot” brooding bird shifter. The confirmation that Quinn had been here was enough to send Harper’s mind spinning to discover a mode of escape.
Anita put her hand up to shield her mouth and leaned over. “They don’t want us talking about it, but he actually escaped. It was insane. Blew a hole right through Violet’s wards. She has the whole coven working on patching all the layers that got wrecked. She’s still livid that she doesn’t know how he did it. I think he had help.”
“Really?” Harper murmured, hoping she didn’t sound too interested.
“Yeah, this human chick vanished at the same time. They spent a lot of time together. I’m sure they were, you know…” Anita tapped her pointer fingers together, indicating they were together? Kissing? More than that?
Harper determined that she would find out who the human was. Tyson would probably know, as a resident human. She might as well get something out of the mandated sessions.
Anita and Harper entered the other side of the cabin, a part Lilith hadn’t gotten around to showing her on the tour. It appeared to be a hallway of classrooms. Some were empty, others filled about halfway. Not knowing how many others were outside or in other parts of the house, and judging based on what she’d seen so far, Harper guessed that maybe forty paranormals lived in the camp altogether. Not including the rogues Lilith mentioned.
Anita kept talking. “They told us his application has been withdrawn. Usually, that means they’ve been determined unsuitable for Naturalization and shipped off to a higher security facility. I think the government tries to train them for military and spy work. Otherwise, pretty sure they’re executed.”
Executed. Harper stared at Anita. How could she say that casually? Was she so confident that it would never happen to her? As a witch, she was physically more human than most paranormals. Harper assumed that made it easier for her to complete the Naturalization program.
The two entered the classroom and Harper withdrew into observation mode.
“We’re in Naturalization theory, in case you were wondering.” Anita looked sideways at her. Harper made a choked sound that she covered with throat-clearing and tucked her hands in her pockets. The itching between her shoulder blades flared as a dozen pairs of eyes turned on her.
“They did tell you about Naturalization, right?” Anita continued.
“Everyone knows about it. I wasn’t born under a rock.”
Anita held up her hands. “Okay, okay, but you never know. Some people come here after being literally kept underground. Their parents put them in hiding and told them nothing, or what they told them is wrong. It’s the most crucial thing you need to understand here. It’s your way out. Otherwise, you get tranqed and carted off by Stiffs and taken the devil knows where.”
“That’s a tad dramatic, Anita. Haven’t I taught you better?” A tall man stepped out of a classroom on the right—one of the people who’d responded to the alarm the night before. He wore a button-down shirt and suspenders, topped off with a bowtie, of all things. Who wore a bowtie anymore? Harper smelled the gel in his hair, and something else, something sharp that she couldn’t name. His eyes landed on her. “Our newest resident.”
“I thought she might like to get a feel for the classes, so I invited her. Is that all right?”
The man’s green eyes flashed. A tingle passed through Harper’s body, and then his face relaxed. “Indeed. I am Mr. Petrov.” His smile faltered at Harper’s stony expression. He swept an arm out behind him. “Please, come in.”
Anita hurried forward, but Harper followed more hesitantly, taking a seat next to her.
“Vamp?” Harper asked, gesturing at Petrov with her head. She was sure someone had told her what he was already, but all the information being thrown at her was all melding together in her brain.
Anita had already unpacked a notebook and pen from her bag. The blue cover of the notebook was covered with scrawled sigils, and it took Harper a moment to remember that she was a witch.
“No way. Warlock. James Petrov.” Anita said his name with a sigh, her expression becoming dreamy. “He’s married to Violet. You met Violet, right?”
“I mean, I’ve seen her, but…” Harper trailed off.
Anita tilted her head. “It’s retrograde. She probably didn’t want to miss it to deal with any drama.”
Drama? Now I’m drama?
Harper’s eyes were drawn to the classroom doorway, where a boy with tousled, frost-blond hair stood. He was almost as tall as Petrov but burly. And he had wings.
“It’s rude to stare.” Anita quipped from behind her. Harper shut her mouth, but she couldn’t look away. His wings were blue as a jay’s, with gorgeous black and white markings across the bottom of the feathers.
Harper’s shoulder blades ached fiercely, and she pinched her forearm red, but it wasn’t really working. The bluejay looked at her and smiled, then walked up, taking the desk next to her. His wings stayed tucked against his back, but they were so large that the aisle was blocked on both sides. The person sitting on the other side of him cursed and changed seats. Harper wanted to reach out and touch those stunning blue feathers. Instead, she swallowed past the dryness in her throat and laced her fingers together.
“No shifting forms allowed in Naturalization Theory, Fletcher,” Petrov said, shutting the classroom door and crossing to his desk. He snapped his fingers in Harper’s direction. She slumped down, letting her shoulder blades slide across the plastic backing of her chair, just to make sure all was normal. He wasn’t talking to her, of course.
“I’ve only got a short time left, teach. Can’t you let me, just this once?”
Petrov glanced up from the paper he was holding. “I sympathize, but no allowances.” He cleared his throat. “We’ll be continuing our unit on life after Naturalization today.”
There was a rustling beside Harper, and one of Fletcher’s wing tips brushed her arm. When she looked next, Fletcher’s wings were gone. There were wide slits in his t-shirt near the shoulder blades. That explained his easy shift.
“Here.” Anita handed Harper paper and a pencil. “I have extra. They’re charmed to correct punctuation and grammar.” She smiled.
Harper’s ears perked up as Mr. Petrov started talking. She had only ever heard the media blab their approved scripts on Naturalization. What would it be like to actually go through with it?
“Naturalization is a different process for every type of paranormal. The goal is to maintain an air of normal so no regular human will suspect what you really are while maximizing any advantages or talents your abilities give you, if possible. Werewolves can choose to either maintain humanoid form or pick a lifestyle that enables daily transformation, depending on the breed they’re descended from. Giant werewolves, for instance, cannot choose service animal positions, as they’re much larger than any
natural dogs, but they’re welcome in specialized branches of the military for the extra stamina and strength they have in humanoid form.”
Petrov waved a hand and a life-sized image of a singer appeared in the front of the classroom, the blue outline of her form transparent. She moved at a microphone, mouth moving as if singing. A second later, an enchanting song wove among the class members. It reminded Harper of Ian’s song earlier.
“This is Selena. Some of you may know her music. She’s a siren. Sirens can be entertainers once they’re taught to reign in their voice and can be trusted not to enchant crowds. Witches and warlocks have hidden among human populations for centuries without detection, some to a further degree of success than others. We’ve already gone over what happened in Salem and areas like it, so it doesn’t bear repeating. Whatever you choose as your life path must be in line with your ability to maintain an appearance deemed acceptable by humans.”
The image disappeared, the music lingering for a few seconds after. Petrov tapped his desk to refocus the class. He cleared his throat. “We hope that, in the future, the unique talents of more diverse paranormals will be accepted and integrated into society, changing the employment options available. For now, the government Naturalization licensure program has a strict non-exposure policy among naturalized paranormal citizens. Violations can result in imprisonment or death. You will get one warning.”
Petrov cleared his throat. “There is a place for everyone in the Naturalization program if you choose to participate. We've gone over the details of the program these past few weeks and most of you have met with myself or Violet to determine your path. Some of you have already proven capability with Naturalization, others are just beginning the journey. Still others of you won't make it through and will face recruitment or termination at the government's discretion.”
He seemed focused on an empty seat until he snapped his attention back on the class.
“As much as we may not like it, that is the state of things. Consider your part in this: if you go through with Naturalization and go into law, you could be part of the generation that changes things for the better for all paranormals.”
Harper snorted.
Petrov pointed at her with the pen in his hand. “Miss Harper, you have an opinion to share? We welcome discussion here.”
Words bubbled out of her. “Why aren’t we doing more about this? I mean, we might be outnumbered by humans, but we’re stronger, faster, often smarter, and definitely less fragile. How did we let it get to this point?”
Petrov’s expression grew stern. “You will find answers to that question as you continue to take this class. For now, consider the wars that occurred when paranormals were first exposed: accusations led to torture, torture led to a lot of death. Unregulated transformation and use of powers led to mass destruction in certain areas, and hunts happened in full force. The resulting bloodshed far exceeded that which happened during the Salem Witch Trials. Was that the best way to achieve the peaceful cohabitation of our races and species? No. The Naturalization Act was a compromise to enable paranormals to be less persecuted and humans to not have to fear for their lives.”
Harper withheld another discontented sound. At this point, she just wanted him to stop talking.
“You’ll come to understand better with time,” Petrov said. “Now, where were we?” He muttered, pausing for a moment before continuing. “Options for Naturalization are as varied as your forms and gifts. Don't see it as a limitation, but an opportunity to avoid the persecution your parents and grandparents went through. Tormented, tortured, murdered in brutal ways. You'll have the chance they never did: to be accepted.”
Harper rested her chin in her hand. She tapped the pencil against the blank paper before her. It all sounded like a bunch of brainwashing propaganda. She raised her hand.
“Yes?”
“So, if our shifting forms don't comply with Naturalization standards, what happens then? How do you keep us from shifting once we're out there?”
Mr. Petrov smiled a strange, disconcerting smile. “Naturalization is an agreement you enter into with the government. If you haven't been fully checked in yet, then you've yet to receive your digital tracking device, which can monitor heart rate and blood pressure. In other words, your paranormal activity will be monitored, and if it violates your agreement, you will be hunted and terminated. For the safety of human and paranormal alike.”
Harper crossed her arms over her chest and pursed her lips. “But how is that in any way better than what happened before? We’re being forced to compromise ourselves, to limit and hide in order to make humans more comfortable. How is that fair? Why should we accept the bare minimum for survival? I thought we lived in a progressive society.”
“We do. It’s just run by humans. And they’re terrified of us.” Someone piped up from the back of the classroom.
Petrov held up his hand. “This is not open for debate. The purpose of this class is to inform. If you wish to change the perceived unfairness of it all, I suggest you make it through the program and get out there and do something about it. Until then, I have an assignment for all of you.”
The class groaned. Petrov explained the requirements for an essay with the topic of “What Career I’m Choosing After Naturalization and Why.” It was the sort of thing Harper never turned in before she skipped out of school just shy of graduation. Not that she would have graduated anyway.
Her eyes wandered to the blue jay shifter sitting across the row. Fletcher stared down at a blank page, possibly the start of his essay.
“Fletcher?”
He looked up.
“What did you mean when you said you only had a few weeks left?”
He squinted a little, then smiled a small, sad, beautiful kind of smile that Harper had never seen on anyone before. “Bird shifters can’t maintain their shifter form and be Naturalized. We’re too abnormal, and our instincts are too strong to avoid shifting in an emergency. They’ve tried training it out of us, but we don’t hide it well. When I agreed to Naturalization, I agreed to let them take my wings. They’ve perfected this nearly painless cauterization procedure. I’ll be normal. Practically human.”
His voice sounded strained, despite the ease with which he spoke the words. Harper stared at him in horror, then looked to the warlock standing at the front of the room. Petrov met her eyes.
“You’re a monster.” Harper spat the words, her chair screeching as she stood and bolted from the room.
Chapter Five
Tyson
Tyson’s eyes flashed open in the pitch black of the windowless room. Stillness. He was safe. Safe in this closet of a room with a door that locked on the inside. He might have made a career of working with paranormals day in and out, but that didn’t stop his human instincts from buzzing every time he was around them. He was used to the feeling, for the most part, but the darkness made it worse. He unraveled the tangled blankets from around his legs and waist and heaved over, turning on his phone to check the time. 5:44 a.m.
Tyson rolled back over, putting his arm over his eyes, despite the darkened room. The weight felt comforting. He breathed deeply. It had been a long time since he had that dream. A few months at least.
A wail started up in the next room over. Perhaps Libby. She was the non-verbal banshee resident at Camp Silver Lake. Or at least, Violet thought she was a banshee. She wasn’t Naturalization material, but Lilith held out for her and several less favorable residents. If they weren’t ready by now, the chances were unlikely that they ever would be. Tyson shivered as he listened to her keening. That could have been what woke him, but he knew better.
Why would he dream about Reya now?
He rubbed at his arms. The goosebumps seemed permanent. He’d hardly slept. Today was supposed to be his day off from this insane place, a blip of normal in his unusual life. So much for that. He would consider a career change, but the work he did as a counselor was too necessary.
&nb
sp; A knock on the door made Tyson jump.
“Morning, Tyson!” Lilith’s voice sounded far too cheerful for this early in the morning.
“Morning,” He called back, relieved he wouldn’t be fighting off any irate paranormals in his boxers. “Can I help you?”
“Since you’re here, how do you feel about having an open office?” Her muffled reply came through the door again.
An open office meant a stream of residents coming in and out all day without appointments. Given the situation, with a new resident and his being stuck here, he couldn’t pass up the opportunity to help. That was what he came here to do.
“Sure thing.”
“I’ll let them know!”
Lilith was gone when he opened his door.
The quiet kitchen was a refuge. Tyson grabbed a bagel with cream cheese and a hot cup of coffee and headed to the office. It was on the first floor near the front entrance of the lodge. Tyson unlocked his door, noticing the slightest chalk streaks on the carpet from the warding bubble he had activated the night before. They’d come out when it got vacuumed next. He ate while his computer started up. He had a notification from Lilith—the police report on Harper King, the bird shifter they had just acquired. The computer had tagged her description from a list of girls reported missing in the past couple of years.
Her foster care story was accurate. She had parents, who were reported missing, and an older brother.
A brother Tyson had met. His hand trembled as he picked up his nearly empty cup.
Quincey King. Also a bird shifter. Tyson took a sip, getting the cold dregs of his coffee, the bitterness coating his tongue. He’d only met Quinn three times. His mentor Tom saw him more often. Tyson remembered the shifter as brooding and blunt, not so unlike Harper. Perhaps their bitterness came from being in foster care, or maybe it was a family thing.
There wasn’t much information on the rest of Harper’s family, which was unusual, but not unheard of. The parents were marked missing, not dead. Intriguing. Tyson searched their names in the database, but found nothing. Wherever they were, it wasn’t in a registered Naturalization camp.
