by A. S. Oren
Lush green hills roll out in front of us. A large barn with stables extending like long arms off either side of it stands not too far off in the distance; there must be two hundred horse stables or more.
“Look.” Amr points to something. I look at where he points. Several groups of mares with colts graze in the pasture.
“Awe!” I say before I have a chance to stop myself. The boys snicker under their breaths. They just don’t want to admit they think it’s adorable too.
We walk past the mares and up to the barn. Horace claps his hands, and the double doors open. A lavish sitting area with a bar off to the side greets us. The sofas and chairs upholstered in forest-green velvet stand in a close intimate setting. Dark like chocolate woods of the arms and legs compliment the material well. Small antler chandeliers hang above us, and a fire roars in a white cobblestone fireplace.
“Through that door is a restaurant, and through that one is a billiards room. There are even a few guest rooms. This area is for the guests who come to the school, like the Governors. We normally just wait here while they saddle the horses for us. Have you ever done any riding?” Horace asks as he looks at me. His glasses glint of the sunlight coming though the high windows.
“Um, sort of. I’ve never had any training, but I have ridden a horse a few times.”
“Excellent. We’ll have to go riding sometime. We can show you the surrounding area; it’s beautiful.”
“Yeah, there’s this place we go to with a waterfall and this really cool—” Dante gets cut off by the other three’s coughing. He clears his throat. “A really cool tree.”
I laugh before I can stop it. The awkwardness at him trying to cover his slip stirs the nervousness in my gut. They obviously can’t tell me something, but it’s my first day. I can’t expect all the secrets to be uncovered now. “It must be one impressive tree then.” I say with a smile.
It’s their turn to laugh now.
“All right, now we get to show you the track. It’s what most of us first years use to get around.”
I follow Horace out of the building. A part of me wants to go see the horses before the track, but I’ll be here awhile, I have plenty of time to see the horses.
Horace pulls out one of the black cards—like the one Enid turned into—from an inner pocket of his blue blazer. It turns into an old grandpa wearing one of the butler uniforms like the ones the servants wear here. “What do you require, Master King?” Master? I force down another laugh.
“Call my car.”
The old man bows. Within seconds, the sound of a car coming at us fills the pasture. The mares don’t even twitch. Sleek, rounded edges make up the car. The land around us reflects off its every surface. “I want it blue today.”
The old man bows again. The car’s surface ripples before it turns a deep, royal blue. “Is that all you will be needing, Master King?”
“Yes.” He holds out his hand, and the old man turns back into a card. A smidge of ire rolls within my stomach. He didn’t even say thank you. Even Perlow thanked his assistant when she brought Ed and me to him.
Horace walks over to the passenger side door and opens it. He motions for me to get in.
“Hey, what about us? That car only has two seats!” Dante says, folding his arms in front of his chest, just like a child who hasn’t gotten their way.
Horace shrugs. “You all have your own cars. Follow behind us.”
“Well, I never!” Dante says in what I can only assume is his version of a posh English accent.
“Come on, Avvi. Get in.”
I get into the car. “Lucky son of a bitch.” Dante says before the door closes and mutes all sound from the outside. A heated warmth warms my butt. An expensive, glossed wood makes up the dashboard and steering wheel.
Horace gets into the driver seat and puts on his seatbelt, reminding me to put on mine.
“Watch this.” He presses the Start Engine button. The car purrs to life and a screen appears before us on the windshield. It doesn’t block our view. Lines of different neon colors spread out on the ground before us.
“It looks like something out of Tron,” I mutter.
He laughs. “Yeah, I guess it does. This is the track. The car works with one of the navigation spells casted on it. With it, it shows us all the paths we can take. They’re color-coded. When you get your vehicle, you’ll get the list. Right now, however, we’re taking the purple one. It’ll lead us back to the court yard.”
He puts the car into drive and presses on the gas until we’re going at least ninety. I hold onto the door.
“Aren’t we going a bit fast?” I ask.
“Relax. Enjoy the ride. We can’t hurt anyone or ourselves in this car.”
I swallow hard out of nervousness, but oddly enough, I believe him. My heart plummets into my stomach as he picks up more speed and the engine shifts gears. “Will I get a car like this?” Edgar had me drive his truck sometimes in the Orchard. That’s about the extent of my driving experience. However, I don’t think I have to worry about getting on the highway or breaking traffic laws here.”
“I don’t know. My parents bought me this car. Depends on what your adoptive dad buys you.”
“Oh, he’s not buying me anything. Perlow told him he would take care of everything for me.”
Horace slams on the breaks. One of the guy’s car hits us in the back. I look through the rearview mirror, my hand on my seatbelt’s release, ready to jump out of the car and make sure they’re okay. Almost like water, the cars absorbs the impact before returning to its original shape.
“Are you serious? I’ve never heard of him doing that for anyone. Don’t let anyone else know you’re a charity case.”
I frown. “Why? It shouldn’t matter.”
“Trust me. In our world, it does. We’ve had Outcasted family members try to come here on scholarships from the Governors; let’s just say they didn’t last a week. You may be the first girl to come here, but I don’t think that’ll keep you from the wrath of the Royals. I’ll keep your secret. It’ll be cool if you stay here a long time. Just don’t tell anyone else.”
Outcasts? Royals? These words only bring more questions. I can sense he doesn’t want me to take this lightly. From his tone, it’s less a matter of whether or not I fit in and more a matter of my own life.
The car behind us honks. “Okay,” I say.
He presses down on the gas again. “Good.”
THE WELCOME BRIGADE
The courtyard comes into view, and the purple road fades. As we get closer to the yard, I can tell a large group has formed and surrounds something that’s going on at its center.
“Oh great, and Mr. Perlow told us to be on our best behavior for your first day. It appears some morons can’t follow basic orders.”
“What’s going on?” I ask. Horace puts the car in park and gets out. When I get out and close the door, the car surprises me by backing up and driving away on its own. My amazement dies quickly. Yelling coming from the center of the group pulls me back to the present.
“Mirren has gone and started another fight. Egged on the wrong underling, I suppose.” Car doors close from behind us.
“Mirren?” Amr asks as he comes to stand next to me. Dante appears on my other side. I glance behind me. Triton stands at my back, his hands shoved into his dark blue slacks.
Horace folds his arms over his chest. “Yeah.”
“Let’s get a better view. I hope this one kicks his ass.” Dante walks away from us and pushes his way through the first layer of the group.
Horace sighs. “I’m surrounded by morons. I better go save him before he does something stupid.”
Amr follows Horace. I jump to follow them, but stop just as fast. Triton hasn’t budged. I look back at him again. He frowns. I want to see what’s going on though, so I move on forward, making my way through the path the other boys took.
I stand with Dante and Horace. Mirren fights with a boy who he has beat in the height department.
Lusk Mirren has thick, muscled arms and is nearly six foot. Under a layer of gel, lays his semi-short, dark brown hair. Molten silver swirls in his eyes. Exactly how I imagine the sprog of Draco Malfoy and Victor Krum. I’ve read enough fanfiction to have a well-prepared image in my mind.
The other boy is skinny and has semi-round features and dark brown hair. His chest heaves for a breath. Red blood drips from his nose and onto the ground. Like a chipmunk, his cheek puffs out. On the ground at his feet lay a pair of glasses, the lens on one side cracked. Nevertheless, he’s stands his ground.
They have a silent staring contest.
The group holds a collective breath, waiting to see who will make the first move. The silence of the yard breaks when the smaller boy lets out an angry cry. White scales rise to the top of the skin on his arms; mother of pearl talons complete them. He runs at Mirren. The wind howls and picks up around us.
With his shifted fist inches from making contact with Mirren’s face, Mirren pulls back his right arm, and it changes rapidly, his scales like fire and rubies for talons. His fist goes into the boy’s stomach. He flies through the air like a rag doll. The group clears the area, and he lands on the ground. I wince.
My heart picks up when the boy groans and manages to get up. Why couldn’t he just stay down? It could’ve ended.
“You just don’t know when to quit, do you?” Mirren says as he starts for the boy.
If that boy gets hit again by this guy, he’ll be left comatose or worse, dead.
“Stop it!” I scream. It echoes throughout the yard. I cover my mouth. I didn’t mean to do that. I meant to think it.
“What are you doing?” Triton whispers from behind me. “Man, you really are stupid.”
Mirren stops before he gets to the boy. He turns to me. A smirk inches across his face. A chill runs down my spine. “Well, if it isn’t the princess.” He mock bows to me. “Did you say something, Princess? What is it you desire from me?”
My lip curls up at him. What a vile excuse for a human being. I push away my instinct to run and hide behind one of the boys I’ve just met. Instead, I step forward. My hands shake. I force them to make fists at my sides. This is not how I pictured my first day. I’m supposed to be a wallflower.
“I said stop it.” Somehow, I manage not to sound like a mouse.
He holds his hands up. “I’m not doing anything but defending myself. He started it.”
I glance at the other boy. His chest still heaves with each breath, but he watches the two of us through his broken glasses. A short laugh escapes me. Why are my mouth and brain not communicating today?
“That’s a lie. You made him mad enough to attack you. I saw you earlier.”
In a flash, he circles me. The hair on the back of my neck stands on end. I wait for him to do something. Quicker than I can react, he reaches out and snatches the glass locket around my neck. He pulls, and the chain snaps.
He holds my locket up to the sunlight. It glints in the rays. “Is this from your boyfriend, Princess? It looks handmade.”
He opens it and looks at the picture I placed in it, of Ed and me when I was seven. “Yeesh, I had no idea you were into old geezers. You have some issues, Princess.”
My stomach twists as my blood boils. “Give it back, now!” I growl. The skin of my fingers heats up like it does before I change.
“I don’t feel like it. Instead, let’s see how it looks on the ground.” My heart drops into my stomach as the locket leave his fingers. I’ve heard about people having moments in their life where time slows down. I never believed them until now. I reach out for it, but it bounces off my finger tips.
It smashes onto the cold stone ground, exploding into millions of tiny glass pieces. The delicate, tiny apple blossoms fall apart. I collapse to my knees. This cannot be happening.
MARKS OF THE FIRST DAY
I kneel on the ground. The broken glass locket Edgar gave me not even three days ago lays shattered on the red cobblestone before me. Gently, I try to pick up one of the apple blossoms with my fingers. It turns to dust in the palm of my hand. My chest tightens, but I push down the tears that want to spill. How could Mirren do this? I don’t even know him. I just stood up for a boy who looked like he was going to be seriously injured or killed if I didn’t.
Can magic fix it? Is there a spell or something that could meld all these thousands of pieces back together and make it seem like this never happened? Edgar stated it was mine because I was his daughter, and I let this happen to it. What kind of daughter am I when I let the only precious thing I have with me here get destroyed?
“Oh no! I guess your old geezer of a lover will have to buy you another one,” Mirren taunts.
The final wire snaps within me. My skin burns, and I bite my inner cheek. Heat travels to my fingertips, making them tingle. My golden talons have pushed through the nailbed.
I look up at him. He takes a few steps back. “My father gave that locket to me, you asshole!” I yell. I jump up and run at him.
I ram into his chest with all of my body weight and knock him to the ground. He gasps as the wind gets knocked out of him. I smile at his discomfort.
I sit on his legs so that he can’t move them. He tries to recover from the blow to the ribs he took when I landed on top of him. I don’t waste any time. I want him to feel the same pain I’m feeling. He took away the one thing that represented home for me. I raise my arm, my golden talons flash in the sunlight. In one swift movement, I strike at him. The sharp tips of my talons rip through his skin as ifit’s softened butter, leaving behind four deep gashes across the side of his cheek and part of his lips.
Blood runs down his cheek as he lets out a scream. It brings me out of seeing red. I stand and back off him, stumbling into the students behind me. I the talons move back under my nails. I bring my hand up, and hold it. I bite my lip, drawing my own blood.
I glance at my nails. Blood covers them. Is it mine? No, blood never appears when I transform despite the pain or the fact it would only make sense. Therefore, the blood must be Mirren’s. I wipe my hand against my jeans, trying to get it off my skin. Nausea ties my stomach in knots. Bile rises in my throat. What have I done? This isn’t me. I’m not violent. How did he manage to make me go into such a rage so fast?
On the ground, the glass of the shattered locket glimmers in the sun. Even though it’s special to both of us, Edgar wouldn’t’ve wanted me to do that to Mirren even if he might have deserved part of it.
“I’m sa-sorry,” I stutter. I look up from my hand. Mirren gets to his feet. His hand pressed to his face.
Guilt grips at my chest. I want to take away the gaping wounds on his face but leave behind the marks as a reminder.
A breeze moves through the courtyard. He glares but he doesn’t move to retaliate. In my mind, the wounds on his face close, leaving behind scars. A warm, peaceful energy washes over me. The wind rushes at Mirren. As the air hits him, his wounds close and leave behind angry, thick red scars.
Silence encompasses the courtyard. Everyone, including me, waits to see what he’ll do. He takes his hand away from his face and looks at it. The blood no longer stains his fingers. He feels his face again, running his fingers over the thick scar tissue. His eyes narrow to slits, and he lets out a growl.
Again, he moves across the space between us. His arm rapidly changes into the fiery-scaled form. I close my eyes, waiting for the retribution. Seconds pass, and my heart hammers in my chest. Nothing has happened. I open my eyes. His fist hovers in the air, poised to strike me; it shakes as if an invisible force holds him back.
“What the Hell?” he mumbles. He tries with all his might to continue propelling his fist into my face. He loses with a sigh, and he drops his hand to his side. The orange scales sink back into his muscled arm as if they were never there in the first place.
He takes a step back from me and puts a flat palm against his right fist. In one great breath, he gathers enough air to fill his lungs and puff out his
chest. Before he can expel the air and complete whatever it is he’s about to do, Dante steps in front of me.
“Don’t even think about it, Mirren.”
He lets his hands fall, and air escapes him as he lets out a taunting laugh. “What is a Freshmeat like you going to do to stop me? She’ll pay for what she did to my face!”
“By myself, I doubt I could take you on right now. With my friends backing me, I bet we could put you in the infirmary for a few weeks.”
The other three guys step up to stand next to Dante. Mirren looks at us all, weighing the circumstances in his head.
He turns his back on us and walks away, parting the group of people like the Red Sea. The talking amongst all the boys becomes almost deafening. Triton turns to me. “Are you okay?” he asks. He picks up my right hand and looks at the smears of blood, which stain my fingernails.
I pull my hand out of his grasp. “I’m fine. That’s not my blood.” I go over to where the remains of the locket lay. I pick up the pieces. I’ll find a way to fix it. There has to be a way. I’m in a world of magic after all. The last two apple blossoms have stems attached to each other. Using my fingernails, careful not to touch the dry petals. I place them in my open palm with the glass; a small sigh comes out when they both stay in one piece. Next, comes the small photo. It only shows Edgar’s and my face, but on that day, he had me on his shoulders. I was helping to pick apples. It was one of the few times as a kid that he’d tried to do my golden curls in lopsided ponytails.
The guy taking the picture caught us in the middle of telling a joke. Both of us have wide smiles on our faces. One of the only pictures I own where Edgar has a true smile. A shadow falls over me, and I glance up to see the servant with emerald and sapphire eyes. He kneels down in front of me. “Let me pick this up, Miss. I’ll be careful and return it all to you.”
“It’s fine. I can do this myself.” I keep my eyes on the ground. If I look at him, I won’t be able to speak.
He places a white, gloved hand on top of mine, stopping me from picking up any more of the small pieces. “Please, Miss. You’ve cut yourself.”
