“When that happens,” he continued, ignoring me, “It’s up to you to keep the balance between the various orders, including the witches, the lycans, the fae, and all the others. This means that you must heal the rifts that rise up between them. You must heal the damage they create throughout their inevitable fights. If there’s anything you’ve learned at Origins Supernatural, it’s assuredly that the factions don’t even get along while here, necessarily.”
I swallowed and nodded. Finally, I mustered the courage to ask him the question that had rolled around my mind for quite some time. Perhaps now that time had passed, Professor Binion would trust me enough to explain.
“I can’t understand why these factions want to end me, when all I’m meant to do is bring peace and prosperity to their lives,” I told him. “I’m meant to heal! There’s nothing about who I am or who I’m meant to be that promotes war.”
Professor Binion’s eyes grew shadowed, sad. “It’s terrible to have to say this to you, Ivy. But there is a level of bloodthirstiness that exists within all these factions. Hell, it exists within the humans, as well. People are overly willing to take one another down, if it means that they’re allowed to remain powerful, above others.
“Another thing that seems pervasive across all factions and cultures is that it’s easier to take control of populations if there’s instability and fear,” he continued. “Thusly, if there’s a seemingly never-ending level of chaos, they are able to describe precisely what their community needs. And in this case, since there remains chaos, they’re able to declare you the enemy. Not to mention, of course, my previous tribe— your mother’s tribe and our Aunt Maria’s tribe. They’ve been told for eons that you were not meant to come into this world, and thusly, they will stop at nothing to destroy you. The reality is, they cannot understand what goodness you might do, because they cannot see beyond what they’ve been told,” he continued.
I swallowed. Devastation folded over me. “Don’t they understand what’s at stake?”
Professor Binion nodded sadly. There was hollowness to his eyes. I could sense that he now lived in the memories he had of my mother, of Aunt Maria, of times when all was normal and free. I craved those visions, too. I almost asked if I could touch him, to experience them alongside him—but the act almost felt too invasive. He wanted to live in those emotions alone.
“I can’t believe all this started because my mother loved my father,” I said softly. I’d pictured them together countless times: my father, the ex-football star and human, alongside my mother, the beautiful oracle.
Even in her act of falling for him, she’d known that she would ultimately decline.
She’d known that loving him would ultimately destroy her.
She hadn’t cared. She’d loved him that much.
It was an impossible amount of love. A love that had no words.
“Yes. She met your father. She fell in love. And she had a baby. It sounds like the most normal story in the world,” Professor Binion continued. “And yet...” He paused for a moment and scrunched his nose. Silence filled the air between us.
I couldn’t calculate exactly where his thoughts had turned. He seemed both to dwell on my mother, on the past, whilst worrying about the current era.
Finally, he opened his lips to speak.
“All we’re doing right now together, Ivy, is working for this future. It’s absolutely essential that we keep our eyes on this future.”
I arched my brow. “Of course.” Where was he going with this?
“That said, Ivy, I feel I must say something.” He swallowed, his eyes turning toward his hands.
God. What terrible news was he about to reveal to me, now?
Finally, he uttered the words.
“I just feel that you should be very, very careful with your boyfriends,” he said. “It’s absolutely essential that you do not have children. It was one thing for your mother to do what she did—while married, while much older; also, it was foreseen in the prophecy. However, if you’re irresponsible and something happens, there’s no telling what might happen. Truly.”
My jaw really, really longed to fall. I felt like I wanted to gape at him for a long time and say, like, What the hell, Professor Binion? Luckily, I kept my lips closed tightly.
God, I wanted to shrivel up right there and die of embarrassment.
This, also, made me want to laugh. To think of all the bullshit I’d been through—to be brought down by an awkward conversation about sex.
Fuck.
“I just know you don’t have anyone to talk to about this stuff,” Professor Binion said.
He, too, looked totally miserable.
“Your mother and father are gone, and your Aunt Maria is elsewhere and... I just want to be here to remind you of these things,” he continued. His cheeks beneath his beard were bright red, like tomatoes.
“Thank you, Professor. I promise you, I’m careful. I don’t want a baby. I’m seventeen years old,” I told him.
He pressed his lips tightly together and grimaced. Finally, he said, “Very well, then. Conversation over. Shall we begin the lesson?”
“I think that sounds good,” I returned. “Um. Thanks.”
After our lesson, things remained odd between us. I packed up my things, gave him a little wave, and then scampered down the steps toward the arboretum. When I reached the clean air, with the bright blue sky above, I let out a sigh of relief. As I hustled toward the dormitory, I nearly stumbled into Celeste, on her way back from her witch courses. She gripped my elbow and smiled.
“What’s gotten into you?” she asked. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost. Again.”
“Ha. No. Much worse,” I said. “Professor Binion just tried to give me the talk.”
“The talk?”
“Yep.”
“Oh, god. Do you want me to write your obituary?” Celeste asked.
“Please write on my epitaph: cause of death, mortification,” I said.
Celeste burst into laughter, and I joined her, grateful to think about something else for a moment. I supposed that was what my life had to be, going forward. Gathering up as much goodness as I could, as kind of stepping stones to get to the end of wherever all this was going. I loved hard, I laughed hard. I studied my ass off, too.
It was all I could do to get through. It was the only answer to the ever-present question of: what the hell was going to happen next?
Chapter Twenty
I don’t know what kind of spell had been put on Origins Supernatural. After what had seemed like a never-ending summer and a first year from hell, the first months of this second one zip-fired themselves to Halloween—my eighteenth birthday.
From September 1 to October 31, the days were a steady stream of Celeste-hangs, sleepovers with the guys, and intense studies with Professor Binion. Still, it seemed like the factions had decided to leave me alone for the time being. After a few weeks had drifted past, several students who hadn’t initially come back began to return—as though their parents had wanted to analyze if the coast really was clear.
Still, of course, everyone seemed to keep their distance from me. After all, Margorie’s memorial remained up in the arboretum, a constant reminder of what I’d done. I still walked past it, paused, and gave her a kind word every time. I couldn’t not. Guilt still permeated through every cell in my body.
I wanted to avenge both her death and the deaths of everyone else who’d been affected by the horror of the prophecy.
The day before Halloween, I sat at the edge of my bed as Celeste painted her nails on the floor in front of me. She gabbed about some boy she liked, as per usual, then lifted her eyes toward me curiously. I realized that I hadn’t said anything in a really long time.
“What’s up?”
I grimaced. “It’s been a whole year. I can’t believe it.”
Celeste placed the nail polish brush back in its little round bottle. “I’ve been thinking about it, too. I can’t tell if it feels like it’s been less time than tha
t or way, way more.”
“It’s weird, turning eighteen,” I continued. “Because I’m an oracle, now. And oracles are supposed to live one thousand years.”
Celeste pondered this for a moment. It was nothing we’d talked about before—nothing I really liked to consider. Of course, nobody liked to consider their own mortality or how they would die; but the idea of never doing it, or doing it a long, long time after everyone you cared about did? That was fucked up.
“Maybe you only age up one year for every twenty, now,” Celeste offered.
“Maybe,” I said flatly.
“That doesn’t mean you’re going to get away with not doing anything, though,” Celeste said, blowing on her nails. “You don’t just get out of parties like that. Not when I’m around.”
THE NEXT DAY, THE DINING hall was in a flurry of excitement. It was Halloween, after all—the supernatural world’s favorite holiday, and Origins Supernatural always had some sort of raucous party planned. That had been the party where I’d first slept with Ezra and hooked up with the other guys. That had been the party I’d floated out of, first coming into my powers, my belly feeling like it was on fire due to the mark.
I knew better than to think anyone cared at all about my birthday. I was still the school’s number-one pariah. I grabbed a breakfast tray and piled it up with scrambled eggs and potatoes, dotting a biscuit to the side. When I reached the table I shared with the boys and Celeste, I sat quietly, contemplatively. What did I care if it was my birthday? It literally didn’t matter.
But I soon realized that the boys and Celeste were being eerily quiet. Finally, my eyes flickered up to see that they all looked at me with secretive smiles. Their eyes glinted strangely.
“What are you doing?” I demanded.
Celeste burst into laughter. “It’s your birthday, Ivy! Happy birthday!”
She scrambled around the table and collected me into a hug. Beside me, Raphael delivered a kiss to my cheek, and Quintin and Ezra both squeezed my hand across the table.
“I told Celeste already yesterday. My birthday aren’t a big deal anymore,” I said. “I’m going to live one thousand years. I think I can skip this one. Especially since we’re still at the Academy.”
“That’s such bullshit, Ivy,” Celeste said. She returned to her chair and lifted her fork, pawing through her eggs. “I told you already. We’re going to find a way to celebrate.”
“I mean, you guys can hit up the party on the docks if you want,” I said. “I’ve decided that I’m going to give it a miss this year. Too many bad memories I guess.”
“Oh, I don’t know what we’ll do exactly,” Ezra said, giving me another sneaky smile.
“Safe to say you should keep your calendar clear,” Quintin said.
“Yeah. As though I ever do anything but hang out with you guys,” I said sarcastically. “I think my calendar will be open.”
I suffered through Professor Binion’s class that afternoon, feeling especially tired for some reason. He’d brought me a stale cupcake and told me something about how “eighteen was important,” which I told him I didn’t believe. “I think maybe two hundred or five hundred will be important. Not eighteen.” He couldn’t really argue with me. When I offered him one-half of the cupcake, he declined and said he was trying to watch how much sugar he ate. I left the half there.
I had a feeling the boys and Celeste had planned something for me, but I had no idea what that surprise might be. I trudged back from Professor Binion’s, borderline exhausted, just wanting the day to end.
When I reached my bedroom, Celeste, Ezra, Quintin, and Raphael leaped up from the ground and cried, “Surprise!” I stopped short in the doorway and gazed at the gorgeous decorations. They’d hung lights to make my bedroom like a gorgeous outdoor tent, complete with beautiful palm-like plants. A speaker system brought in from Raphael’s room played one of my favorite songs by Ed Sheeran, and the smells of baked ziti swirled through the air—one of my favorite meals, and one that my mom used to cook for my father and I nearly every weekend.
I shot into their arms and hugged each of them. The door closed behind us, giving us this private space for my own birthday celebration. I could feel tears flickering in my eyes.
“How did you know I like baked ziti?” I asked, my voice catching in my throat.
“Come on, dude,” Celeste said with a wide grin. “You wouldn’t shut up about it when your mom used to make it for you. You know I’ve been around this whole time, right?”
We piled our plates with ziti and garlic bread and sat on the floor of my bedroom while all of my favorite songs played. The conversation felt lighter and happier than it had in a while—almost as though they’d decided to guide my head away from things that upset me too much. I found myself doubled-over in laughter more than just a few times, tears overly willing to fall down my cheeks. I ate heaps of garlic bread, more than ever—and then made a joke about how I hoped my metabolism would stay A-okay over the next one thousand years. Celeste cackled.
After dinner, the boys revealed a massive chocolate cake, which Raphael confessed he’d baked himself, since he was something of a “baking aficionado” apparently. I watched as Ezra gave himself another shot so that he could continue to eat the delicious fare. I winced when the needle stuck into his arm, but he just chuckled and said, “It’s only a moment of pain in exchange for chocolate heaven. How could I not?”
As we ate chocolate cake, Celeste flashed her fingers toward the far wall. The spell caused all the paintings and posters to move to the side to provide a fresh, bright white wall.
“Now, introducing our entertainment for the evening,” she said, her eyes glittering. “One of Ivy Whitestone’s favorite films ever. Drumroll, please.”
Together, the boys smashed their palms against the floor in front of them.
“Here we have it. The early-2000s wonder featuring actress Julia Stiles—Save the Last Dance!” Celeste announced.
My jaw fully dropped this time. I hadn’t seen STLD in something like five years—but Celeste and I had been obsessive about it at the time. This had been before Celeste had gone off to Origins, before I’d known much at all about the supernatural world. I’d totally devoted myself to the story, since I’d missed my mother so, so much—and the story itself began after the death of Julia Stile’s mom.
The boys all admitted after it was over that they’d liked it “way more” than they’d thought they would. Celeste and I hugged and I whispered, “Thank you.” But of course, Celeste announced then that the night wasn’t yet over. She flung her fingers out again to exchange all our water glasses of glasses of wine.
“You’re getting dangerously good at that,” I told her.
“I know,” she smirked. “It’s basically the only thing I’m getting really good at.”
“Maybe if you practiced the other things like you practice this?” I suggested.
“Naw. Sounds like a waste of time,” she returned, laughing.
As the drinks flowed, our conversation became more playful. Raphael lifted me up and danced with me to a few tunes, while Ezra play-acted ballroom dancing with Celeste, totally platonically. When we were exhausted from dancing, Celeste filled our glasses again and urged us all to sit down for another film.
“Oh, gosh. I don’t want to keep you all inside on Halloween,” I told them. “You should go to the party! Have fun! Don’t spend your youth inside this room with me.”
“Don’t be stupid,” Celeste returned. “We don’t like those people any more than you do. As much as you know I like to dress a tiny bit slutty and make out with boys, there will be plenty of time to do that. Now, for the next showing—we’ll address Ivy’s horror-movie love. Introducing, The Ring!”
Ezra guffawed and rubbed his eyes. “No. I always said I would never watch it.”
“Why not?” Raphael said.
“You know why not. It’ll kill you if you watch it,” Ezra said. “I don’t want to take that chance.”
&nb
sp; “Come on, Ezra. You’re literally a vampire, and you’re scared of some stupid film?” Quintin said.
Ezra cast him a dark look. “I just don’t think you should fuck around with stuff like that.”
Everyone gave one another curious, strained looks. Did Ezra actually have a point? Had we all seen enough that year to force us away from another horrific scenario? I had seen this stupid film countless times, and I’d never considered it anything but a series of jumps and sinister music.
Suddenly, though, Ezra burst into laughter. His stomach quaked as he chuckled. “I really had you guys going, there, didn’t I?”
I swatted him on the shoulder. “Ezra!”
“Weirdo,” Celeste said, rolling her eyes as she clicked “start.”
I cuddled closer to Ezra, as he lifted his arm around my shoulder and tucked me against him. The movie swept over us. Despite the content, it was still comfortable to watch something I’d seen so many times. I felt like a different kind of teenager, at a different kind of slumber party. I wished I had the gift to switch over to that reality.
Celeste collapsed in a heap, her head up on my pillow, and gave out a light snore. I snickered and turned my lips against Ezra’s cheek. I burned with desire for them.
“Maybe we can head to your room and really finish off this birthday?” I whispered.
“I think I like the sound of that,” Ezra said.
My eyes found both Raphael and Quintin’s. They gave slight nods. Slowly, we began to clean up the plates and pack up the cake. I knew soon, I would have to wake up Celeste and take her back to her room.
As I placed the sealed cake on my desk, I lifted my chin and kissed Ezra again. I felt totally dizzy with want.
Suddenly, far down the trail toward the docks, there was a mighty, horrible scream. This one was followed by another and another, until it seemed like every single student at the Halloween party howled with pain into the night.
“We have to go,” I blared. “There’s something wrong.”
Chapter Twenty-One
The Oracle's Harem Page 9
