Moonstone Academy: Year One: A Mayhem of Magic World Story

by Nicole Zoltack

  “What’s with yours?” I ask with a smirk. “I didn’t think werewolves could have receding hairlines, especially so young.”

  Wyatt bares his teeth at me, but I just smile at him.

  “I think hair comes from your mother’s father. Was your mom’s father bald?” I ask.

  “You’re barking up the wrong tree,” Wyatt growls.

  “Her bark isn’t that bad, and her bite’s even more pathetic,” Gayle says, sticking her nose in the air.

  “Is that so?” I ask coolly. “I wasn’t aware.”

  Wyatt goes to yank on my hair, but I flick my neck to pull it free. Yes, I have unusual hair coloring. For the most part, I have black hair, but I do have some strands that are white.

  “You look like a freak,” he hisses. “That because of your dad?”

  “I can’t stand when she looks at me,” Mindy pipes up. “Her eyes are so freaky.”

  Okay, now that’s just being mean.

  I purposely turn to look at Mindy, who lets out an “eep!” and crosses over to grab Jett’s arm.

  I roll my eyes. So they’re green? So they glow? Who cares?

  “I don’t care what you all think of me,” I say firmly. “Now, if you’ll excuse me…”

  I try to walk around them, but Wyatt again moves to block me.

  “You didn’t answer my question,” he growls.

  “I’m sorry. I don’t have to talk to you.”

  “No?” He reaches toward me.

  I stare at his hand as if it’s a venomous snake. “Are you sure you want to touch me?” I ask dryly.

  “Why do you look like a freak?” he asks.

  “Why do you have a tendency to ask questions that you know aren’t nice?” I return. “Why don’t you ask something more civilized? What’s your favorite color, Bellanore? What’s your favorite drink?”

  “I bet it’s blood,” Mindy whispers to Gayle. They giggle.

  “Color has to be red, blood red,” Jett says. “Or maybe black like her soul.”

  “What do you guys take me for? I’m not a vampire.” I roll my eyes.

  "No, but you have a demon for a father." Wyatt grabs my gray cardigan. I'm wearing Moonstone Academy's uniform—the gray cardigan with a buttoned-down white shirt underneath that has the top two buttons undone, and a green and blue plaid skirt with some yellow and red lines in it and a matching tie that's loose around my neck. Black knee-high socks and black boots complete the uniform.

  The guys wear the same except pants instead of the skirt and instead of a cardigan, they wear a sports coat.

  Since he grabs my cardigan, I grab his tie. “You want to play games with me?” I ask sharply, “because you won’t win.”

  “That so, demon girl?” He brings his face closer to mine.

  I lean back. There’s no crowd around us. In fact, the campus is almost empty. Most everyone is in their classes already, which is where I want to be.

  "I don't want you to call me that ever again," I say slowly, clearly, enunciating each word.

  Wyatt laughs. “Do you hear her? She thinks she can tell me what to do.”

  The other three all laugh.

  “I don’t know how you learned about who my dad is, but I don’t care.”

  “You think you can threaten us with your demon dad, do you?” Wyatt’s face twists into an angry sneer.

  “I don’t make threats,” I say idly. “I make promises, and I promise you that if you don’t let go of my cardigan, you will regret it.”

  “Oh, yeah? How so?”

  His tie is like mine, not tight against his throat, but that's all right. I wrap it around my hand once, grab it tight, and then basically tap the back of my hand against his Adam's apple hard.

  Wyatt tries to stagger back a step, but I still have a hold on his tie, so he can’t. He’s gasping for air as I release his tie and hold onto his shoulders.

  “Are you going to leave me be and never call me that again, or do I need to give you another lesson? And this lesson will be…”

  I draw up a knee.

  Wyatt shrugs me off him and glowers at me. “Why don’t you want me to call you that? You’re a girl, and you’re a demon. Demon girl.”

  “You’re so very original,” I say. I turn my gaze toward the others. “Don’t touch me. Don’t talk to me, and don’t talk about me either.” I give them all a bright, warm grin. “I have ways of knowing if my name is evoked.”

  “Is that… Is that a demon thing?” Gayle asks.

  “I don’t know.” Mindy clings to Jett tighter.

  I give them all a big old smile, wave, and stalk on by. This time, Wyatt doesn’t move to stop me.

  As much as I want to run to class so I won’t be late, I also don’t want to give them the satisfaction that I’m running away from them, so I walk the rest of the way to class. The professor isn’t pleased and assigns me extra work because of my tardiness, and when he catches me “daydreaming,” he gives me even more.

  I’m not daydreaming. It’s clear to me that someone from Ember pack told Spark pack that my dad is a demon. Who would do that, and why? Wyatt and his group have never been nice to me before, but I wouldn’t call them out and out bullies until today. They must’ve just learned, maybe even last night.

  Had they overheard my conversation with Ellamaria? I think I did mention demon dad. Maybe there’s no one to blame but myself. Werewolves have heightened senses over humans, but our senses are most powerful when we’re in our wolf forms. I try to block out the rest of the world when I’m having a conversation with someone. I like to focus on them and only them. For one thing, it helps when I’m trying to determine if they’re telling me the truth or not. For another, it’s called respect, which is something Wyatt and the others clearly lack.

  Dad has been getting on me to stop being so one-tracked. He wants me to always be aware of my surroundings. I doubt he ever thought that someone would dare to bully the daughter of a demon when he finally agreed for me to attend here, but he should be pleased that I stuck up for myself.

  Still, I'm not certain that they'll stop, and I wouldn't put it past Wyatt to tell others and spread the word all over campus that my dad is a demon. What would be worse is if word gets out that my mom has practically disowned me. I have my guess as to why we live in a human city. Mom might've had some flak for dating, loving, and marrying a demon. Now, it seems that she's regretting her decision.

  She wouldn’t have let slip to another pack, would she? No. She wouldn’t want me to be given grief here. She wants me here because she wants me to do what she does and ignore the demon part of her life.

  My stomach churns. Demons can love. I know they can because Dad loves me. He's proven that time and again. Demons can also make vows, but they aren't always going to follow through on them. They tend to do what's necessary for survival, and if that means crossing a line or breaking a vow, they will.

  But what if Mom wants to push Dad to that point? What if she wants him to do something unforgivable so she can be free of him? So she can say, “See? I never should’ve married you!”

  But if they hadn’t married, I wouldn’t have been born. Mom only agreed to try for a child if they were married. She didn’t want to have to raise me by herself.

  So if she wishes she never married Dad, then she wishes I was never born.

  It’s not my demon dad who has hate in his heart. It’s my mom.

  And Wyatt and the others share that same hate.

  They can go ahead and hate me. I don’t care. I know who and what I am, and I’m not going to make excuses or apologies. What you see is what you get, and I’m more than a little bit okay with that.

  Chapter 3

  Robb

  The werewolf stares at me with a dull look in her eyes. “Name?” she asks even though I already told it to her.

  “Robb Aline.”

  “Robb Aline,” she murmurs as she types into her computer. “Oh, yes. Here you are. It says you’re being… It doesn’t list which schoo
l you’re transferring from.”

  “I was homeschooled.”

  “Interesting. And why have you decided to attend Moonstone Academy?”

  I cross my arms and tilted my head to the side. “I didn’t think questioning why students are attending your academy would be good form, considering you don’t want them to start questioning it themselves, do you?”

  She flushes slightly. “No, of course not. It’s just that werewolves tend to be in packs and live together and work together and go to school together… We have so many different packs that attend here, but no other Aline.”

  “No?” I gasp. “Is that so? I had no idea that that was how werewolves tend to be.” I drum my fingers on her desk. “But if that’s how they tend to be, that does suggest some outliers, doesn’t it?”

  She wrinkles her nose at me as if she smelled something horrible. “Yes, I suppose it does.” Her gaze zeroes in on the scar over my left eye.

  My nostrils flare. If she asks me about it…

  “I hope you won’t have any trouble fitting in, Robb,” she says as she prints out my schedule. She collects it but doesn’t hand it over. “You might want to curb the sarcasm a bit with your professors.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind if I can see which professors I need to curb my sarcasm from,” I say pointedly.

  With pursed lips, she hands me the schedule. “Have a good day,” she mutters, but I can tell she doesn’t mean it, and I rightly don’t care.

  I won’t be having a good day. I already know that.

  My gaze surveys the scene as I stroll away from the office building. Lots of green land, a ton of paths, some pawprints in the grass. It seems that werewolves might be allowed to roam about the lands here as their wolves. Interesting.

  Once I'm far enough away that the secretary can stop shooting daggers into my backside, I halt and examine my schedule. My first class is wallcrawling, so it's not as if it's even that important. I mean, seriously. We're all werewolves. We can turn our fingers into claws, so climbing walls isn't all that difficult at all for us. We can do what we want on any surface, pretty much.

  But I’m not exactly sure which way to go, and I end up being late. There’s no one around for me to ask where to go. Yes, I would’ve asked for directions. I didn’t bother with that secretary, though, because I’m not entirely certain that she would’ve told me the correct way to go. She wasn’t exactly the most pleasant of persons. I know I gave her a little attitude, but that was because of how she treated me. My scar doesn’t make me a leper.

  When I finally enter the classroom, the professor stops talking midsentence and glowers at me. “Whoever you are, if you’re a student for this class, you’re late.”

  “Forgive me. I’m a new transfer.”

  “Name?” the professor grunts.

  “Robb.”

  “Have a pack, Robb?” he snaps.

  “Aline.”

  The professor grunts again. “You dishonor your pack by ignoring it. You should never just give your first name. Your pack name is what’s most important.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “That’s Professor Rockhound to you, Aline!”

  “Yes, Professor Rockhound,” I mutter. “May I have a seat?”

  “No!” The professor curls back his upper lip. “This is wallcrawling class. You can spend the rest of the class crawling along the wall.”

  “Not a problem.” I hold up my hand and start to turn my fingers into claws.

  “No claws,” Professor Rockhound says with a devilish grimace.

  “Still not a problem,” I say smugly.

  The class is in a stone castle room, and the stones provide more than enough hand- and foot-holds for me to be able to climb and crawl around the room for the duration of the class. Unfortunately, this school has a few classes each year, so the class times are incredibly long. I'm strong, even for a werewolf, but even my arms are dying by the time the class is finally over.

  Professor Rockhound barely hides his contempt for me as I stroll out of there. An enemy for my first teacher. Great. Who knew that calling him sir would set him off even more? Here I thought I was being respectful. I can't win for losing. I would call it a day and cut my losses, but it's the first day, and I really should be doing a better job of trying to fit in. Because of having to wallcrawl the entire class after being late to class in the first place, I haven't been able to talk to any of the students yet.

  Not that I want to, if I’m being honest. I would rather just keep my head down low, go about my business, and then return to my room, but that’s not the case. I have lunch now and then two classes.

  The school year is a month in, but it seems like all of the tiny cliques have already formed, and hardly anyone looks my way. Honestly, that doesn’t bother me too much. After all, I hate it when people stare at my scar. It’s over my left eye, and it’s no one’s—repeat, no one’s—business how I got it.

  I run a hand through my black hair and glance around. One girl looks at me. Her eyes widen, and she looks away before glancing at another girl with black hair and a few white strands.

  Rolling my eyes, I stalk away. The scent of food should arouse my appetite, but I’m not all the hungry. Deep down, I don’t feel much of anything. Not hunger, not pain, nothing at all.

  It’s not fun, actually, not feeling anything. It’s a bother, a chore, a fight to live. When you don’t have joy or excitement or anything at all like that, there’s no drive, no purpose. Your life is aimless, meaningless, purposeless.

  I’m here, but I’m not fully me, if that makes sense.

  I wasn’t always like this, but right about when I got my scar is when I started to feel this way, and it just might be the only feeling I’ll ever experience ever again.

  To say that the day hasn’t gotten off to a good start is an understatement, and I’m considering heading back to my room to have a few moments alone before my next class when someone plows right into me.

  “Watch where you’re going,” I snap.

  “Excuse me,” the werewolf says, her glowing green eyes flashing. She’s the one I spied earlier, the one with black hair with some white. “I was trying to see if you need any help when…”

  She looks away to throw a glower that would make most men wince at another werewolf who just waves to her. His cronies all laugh.

  “He tripped you into me?” I ask.

  She says nothing.

  “Well, you’re clearly a wolf and not a cat,” I mumble.

  She stiffens. “And just what is that supposed to mean?” she demands, crossing her arms.

  “Cats have good balance and always land on their feet.” I lift my chin.

  “I didn’t fall down,” she snaps. “My balance is just fine.”

  “Oh, so if I shove you, you won’t fall down?”

  “Is your first instinct really toward violence?”

  “You and I and everyone here has a wolf inside of us. We’re violent by nature.”

  “Wolves aren’t always violent every second of the day. They can be peaceful creatures.”

  “Can be. They don’t have to be, and when they’re riled up…”

  “Look, I get that you aren’t having a good day.”

  I furrow my brow. “What are you talking about?”

  “Wallcrawling class. I heard that Professor…” She trails off.

  “So you’re a gossip, are you?”

  “Look, buddy, I came over here to see if you wanted to have help learning where the line is for food or to even offer to get you food. I don’t appreciate you acting as if I came over here for nefarious reasons.”

  “You didn’t come over here to learn the inside scoop on me?”

  “That you’re nothing more than one of the werewolves to give the rest of us a bad name? I’m sure it won’t take the rest of the school long at all to realize that.”

  My eyes narrow as her gaze settles on my eyes. I’ve never seen another werewolf who has eyes that glow. Mine do too, but while her
s are green, mine are sky blue.

  But she’s not looking at my eyes. She’s looking at my scar. I can tell because she’s wincing and from the way she’s biting her lower lip.

  “Trying to keep back a question about my scar, are you?” I spit out. “Why don’t you go and take your ‘helpful’ self and find someone who actually wants you to meddle in their affairs?”

  “Why don’t you just transfer back to whichever school you came from? Moonstone Academy already has more than its quota of ignorant, insufferable jerks.”

  “Wow, you really know how to make a guy feel all nice and fuzzy, don’t you?” I ask. “Don’t worry. I’m not here to find myself a girlfriend. I’m here for another reason altogether.”

  “If you think you have it over Professor Rockhound just because you were able to crawl around the wall of that room for the entire class, you’re wrong. Just you wait. If you don’t get on his good side, he’ll make you climb Rock’s Edge.”

  I don’t want to rise to her bait, so I refuse to ask what that is.

  “I don’t care what he asks me to climb, sweetheart. I can climb it,” I say. “I can climb sheet metal.”

  “With claws?” She rolls her eyes, clearly unimpressed.

  “With or without.”

  “Yeah, sure. Talk is cheap.”

  “You want to know what’s cheaper?” I counter.

  “The breath I’m wasting talking to you.” She brushes her hair over her shoulder, and she stomps away.

  The guy and his friends who hassled her hoot and holler and try to get me to come over, but I ignore them. I’m not ready to be in the spotlight here. I’m never going to be, but this scar…

  Werewolves heal. At least, they do under normal circumstances, but the way I got this scar had been anything but normal. It’s bound to attract attention, and it’ll never heal. I’ll bear this scar until I die, and honestly, I’m not sure when I will die. With the way I feel nothing at all, I’m willing to bet that my death will be coming sooner rather than later.

  Wolves are meant to feel, to connect to one another. Your pack is your life. Professor Rockhound isn’t wrong about that. The only thing that matters is the pack. You’re supposed to feel what each other feels, supposed to help those who are hurting.