The Hidden Court: The Paranormal University Files: Skylar, Year 1

by Savage, Vivienne

  “Welcome, my blood brothers and sisters, to your first year at PNRU. I am Abigail,” she announced in a clear, resonating voice. She introduced her companions as Elijah and Charlotte, before speaking of vampire things, a haunted house they organized for the university during the Samhain celebration, and the bi-annual blood drive.

  “Only 15 percent of human and shifter blood remains for the school’s bank,” Charlotte assured us. “The rest, as well as all fae blood, is donated to human charities of your choice. When you donate to the school blood drive, you’re helping your fellow students of PNRU to acquire the vital sustenance we need to survive.”

  I shuddered.

  At the conclusion of the assembly, Provost Riordan addressed the student body for a final rundown of rules and regulations, gave us her love, and dismissed us from the hall. Overwhelmed by the information dump, we filed out in neat rows to resume our everyday activities.

  Benjamin tagged along behind Liadan and me like a lost kitten. I glanced over my shoulder to see the sullen mage on our heels.

  “That wasn’t so awful,” I said. “What do you think, Ben?”

  “I guess it wasn’t so bad. At least you guys have fun mentors though,” he grumbled. “Our three don’t have any interests beyond the Student Alchemist Association.”

  “You wanna accept my invitation to the Wild Hunt Club?” I joked. “I’ll trade you. Blowing up magical stuff with Bunsen burners and beakers sounds more fun and safer than running in the dark with werewolves.”

  But no matter what I told my two new pals, I couldn’t deny the idea of hanging out with the pack held an allure that bonfire dancing with my fae kin lacked.

  * * *

  The first day of school began with ninety minutes of Practical Glamour.

  Our professor stood in the center of a huge room with tidy rows of black-topped tables at the back and a podium up front beside an antiquated desk from another era. It looked like it could have come over on the Mayflower.

  Professor Tristal had to be one of the sternest looking faeries I’d ever seen. She wore a black blouse fastened to her throat with matching slacks and prim ballet flats. Her only concessions to color were her hot pink, horn-rimmed eyeglasses and the matching ribbon tying her golden blonde hair into a perfect ballerina bun.

  Everyone filed in and took a seat, but circumstances denied me the chance to hide in the rear. With no alternative, Liadan and I settled in the front row and slouched to remain inconspicuous.

  “Let’s get started then, shall we? When you are assigned your first charge, it will be your responsibility to see that they reach their full potential. However, we are only guides.” Professor Tristal stressed the final word and stared at us all.

  “Why can’t we just do some of it for them?” a first-row boy questioned.

  “We do not take matters into our own hands by doing the work for them or encouraging them to take the easy way out. I’ll give you an example. A few years back we had a student tasked to assist an aspiring country singer. Rather than encourage her to rehearse for a live performance, this young lady’s faerie godmother suggested lip syncing at her debut concert.”

  It didn’t take a genius to know where the story was going.

  “It did not go well. The embarrassment hit her deeply and she gave up music altogether. Now she has a cubicle in a finance firm where she is only another faceless, voiceless cog in the corporate machine. Unnoticed. Uninspired. Unhappy.”

  A male voice spoke from behind me. “Why didn’t another faerie step in and fix it?”

  “Because we have our own charges and limited magic. You’ll come to learn magical energy is not a thing to be squandered, and once you’re out of the university, you will be on your own. No one is going to come in behind you, pat you on the shoulder, and clean up your mess. The shame will be your burden to bear.”

  Not at all intimidating and terrifying.

  Tristal read from twenty-three pages of syllabus, only pausing for the occasional sip of water. Her glass never emptied and always emanated cool wisps of frost.

  I couldn’t wait to achieve that level of magical power. I envied her, slurped down my double espresso mocha, and powered through the class until we reached our first lecture.

  “Now that the unpleasantry is finished, I would like for each of you to sign your names to the bottom of the contract on the final sheet of your introductory packet.”

  Another waiver? A quick skim down the page revealed it was only confirmation that we understood the classroom rules: no food, drinks only, and no electronic devices with exception to our voice-activated recorders. Phones were completely off-limits. After we all finished signing, she raised her hand and all the papers flew into a neat pile on the corner of her desk.

  “And now we will begin today’s lesson with the foundation of all faerie magic: the basic Prismatic glamour.”

  A few people behind me groaned.

  “All faeries must know how to cloak themselves from a mortal’s eyes. We work from the shadows of the Twilight realm, inspiring our charges unseen 95 percent of the time. The rest of the time requires physical contact and subtle touches, which we will discuss in-depth later.”

  I raised my hand.

  “Yes, Miss Corazzi?”

  “What if our parents have already taught us how to do it?”

  “I will test each of you to determine your competency with the spell. Now, when you use a Prismatic Cloak, you are taking the essence of all elements surrounding you and weaving it into what you want the mortals to see. Rain, light, wind. The energy from a crowd. When woven together tight enough, you can even fool the superior senses of a shifter or vampire. Rise from your seats and form a line before my desk please.”

  After we’d formed a line, she went down the row while we displayed our best glamours. Dad had been teaching me since my hair first changed color at age ten.

  “No, Miss Sánchez, you’re not focusing. I see a distinct shimmer. Look at Miss Corazzi. Barely a glimmer, and even then I only notice from the corner of my eye.”

  Pilar’s scowl brightened my mood. Finally, Miss Perfect didn’t excel at everything after all.

  About five minutes later, Tristal dismissed half of us early from class. The remainder was held back to work with her.

  Liadan glanced over her shoulder as we hurried away from the classroom to the snack bar located in the building’s central lounge. “Poor Pilar.”

  I bought a bottled strawberry smoothie from the fridge and a bag of apple chips using the university meal plan since we were all entitled to three square meals and a snack each day. “With all the magic she spreads around our dorm, I expected her to blow Tristal out of the water.”

  She shrugged. “Prismatic Cloaks can be tricky.”

  After scanning our meal badges, we continued down the corridor to leave the building. Magical Artifacts, one of the classes shared between all four student groups, belonged in another building down the campus lane. On the way there, a trio of older fae boys watched us pass, whispering to each other. Julien shot me a charismatic smile from among them.

  “Looks like you have some admirers,” I teased.

  Liadan shrugged and didn’t give them so much as a return glance. “They’d be wasting their time. Besides, I’m certain the lads were looking at you.”

  I peeked back then nudged a hip into Liadan’s. “Nah. We can avoid the boys together. I have too much to focus on elsewhere.”

  * * *

  With time to spare after our snacks, we headed inside to our next class with plans to hold a seat for Pilar. Not that it mattered. She’d arrived already and sat with her usual crowd in the back, ignoring us.

  “The teacher isn’t here yet,” someone mumbled in the front. “My brother said she’s chronically late.”

  A mage behind us snickered. “Probably has to guzzle down a snack first.” The black girl sitting to his left made a disgusted noise and fixed a cool, cobalt stare at him. Her skin reminded me of velvet, so dark it was n
early blue with a silvery overlay that made me envy her complexion. “Sorry, Tricia.”

  “Heard she’s hideous, dude,” said a mage in the rear of the class. “My older sister said after the scandal with Ms. French, they hired the ugliest replacement they could find so no more professors seduced the students.”

  I perked up, twisting at the waist. “Seducing students?”

  A faerie beside him rolled her eyes. “Don’t listen to him. A junior vamp sexed up our last Artifacts teacher. He turned her, Riordan had to can her, and now she’s a curator at the Field Museum. The blame is totally shared between them.”

  “They’re married now at least,” one girl mused.

  When the door opened, everyone quieted, eager to see our notorious vampire instructor. I twisted in my seat and leaned forward to look.

  A thin, malnourished woman stepped inside. Her pale features glowed beneath the fluorescent lights, and her red eyes stared out from beneath a thick fringe of bangs. Her prominent cheekbones appeared sharp enough to cut glass.

  The fae girl in front of me gasped.

  My heart skipped a beat. She looked eerily similar to the vampire I’d faced back home—as though she were one step away from succumbing to her hunger.

  “Hello, students. I am Doctor Isabella Gaspar, and I will be your Magical Artifacts instructor.”

  The professor set an oversized briefcase on the table beside the podium then turned to the board. She raised the chalk between her skeletal fingers and spelled out her name. “You are allowed to contact me regarding school matters and homework assignments at this email address. For anything else, you may contact me at my personal number.”

  She wrote a number with a local area code on the board. “I am available at any time if you should find yourself in a difficult spot. Now, with that over, I require a volunteer to pass out the syllabus.”

  No one moved.

  Professor Gaspar licked the edge of one tooth and gazed down her narrow nose at the class. “Well then, I volunteer… you. Skylar Corazzi.”

  Crap. She knew my name. Why did she know my name?

  Liadan kicked me beneath the desk, and I jumped up, banging my hip into the edge of the desk beside me. A few people snickered.

  “Please make sure everyone receives a copy, Miss Corazzi.”

  Her ice-cold fingers brushed mine when I took the stack of documents, and I started doubting our teacher wasn’t a nosferatu wearing a wig. With newly discovered willpower, I didn’t jerk away and rush out the door.

  “Sure thing.”

  Unnerved by the silence, I passed out each syllabus and returned to my seat after leaving the extra packets on her desk.

  “Let us begin. Course objectives are simple. By the end of this semester, each of you will understand how to identify magical items, some innocuous and others deadly. Each of you may encounter a scenario when it becomes necessary to diffuse and deactivate dangerous enchantments, and at other times, learn to create your own.”

  A vampire in the front row raised his hand.

  Gaspar’s gaze drifted to him. “Yes, Mr. Emerson?”

  I relaxed. She must have learned our names prior to the start of the semester. Still, it was uncanny how she matched names with faces she hadn’t seen before.

  “Will we get to create any this year?”

  “Possibly next semester. But first, you will study prior generations and learn to avoid the mistakes they have made. Magical artifacts are not children’s toys. And not all are as innocent as a glass slipper.”

  The mage to my left glanced at me and raised a brow. I avoided making eye contact with him. Perfect. I’d never escape that story.

  The professor droned on for another ten minutes about her grading system, promising a quiz each week, four exams, and the occasional written assignment. Everyone groaned.

  She startled us all by beginning the day’s lecture without further discussion. She set three everyday objects on her desk and had us determine which of them had been enchanted.

  “The pen,” Ben said.

  “Correct, Mr. Matthews. How did you tell?”

  “There are three qualities to every magically augmented item,” he replied. “It’ll sparkle in the Twilight if you look at it through the Sight—”

  “But if you’re a shifter or vampire unable to look through the Sight?”

  “Although it’s a little more time consuming and trickier to narrow down, you can see a subtle distortion from the corner of your eye. An alternative method for weres and vampires is to detect the scent of magic through their sense of smell. Magic burns and kind of smells like pepper. It isn’t as easy for a mage or human to smell it, and a faerie can if their Ascension has gifted them with an enhanced nose.”

  “Excellent. And the third quality?”

  “It’s in the best condition. Magical items repel tarnish and imperfections. That silver necklace needs to be cleaned, and the knife has rust.”

  Professor Gaspar’s terrifying smile made me shiver. Some vampires inherited double fangs—two sets of sharp canines instead of a single pair. She had three pairs. On top of that, hers never seemed to retract and remained visible at all times. Prior to 1941 when supernaturals came out to the world, vampires like Gaspar had two options: face their death or hide in crypts, never to see the sun. They couldn’t maintain the secrecy, their very existence putting the rest of their kind at jeopardy.

  “You read the material.”

  An uneasy smile spread over Ben’s face. “I did.”

  “You would all do well to follow Mr. Matthews’s example. I will not hold your hand in this class or pad grades to meet a curve. Magical Artifacts will make or break your educational career at PNRU and determine your future as the being you are now or… a Talentless.”

  Whispering students behind us quieted, a terrified hush spreading over the classroom.

  Class took on a serious tone afterward, though I struggled to read ahead of her in the textbook to glean a vague idea of the topic during the intermittent discussions. At the end of the ninety-minute lecture, she dismissed the class and retreated to her desk.

  Our group filed out with the exodus of students eager to rush away.

  “Sweet Jesus, that was intense,” Ben said.

  Holly shot him a dirty look. “Says the know-it-all who impressed her in the first five minutes.”

  “If you read the first chapter before class, you’d have known the same thing,” he defended himself.

  Liadan smiled. “He has a point. Those definitions were on page five. Any of us could have found them.”

  It took all my willpower not to giggle at Ben’s orgasmic expression.

  While my faerie friend remained oblivious and Pilar hurried past us to catch up with a group of stylish, rich friends, Holly turned to address the rest of us. “Wanna sit together in the food court for lunch?”

  A glimpse of a clock in passing revealed it was five after eleven. History didn’t begin until one. “Only if we can read up for history this afternoon.”

  “Deal,” Ben said before the others could disagree.

  If our first day was any indication of the hectic year to come, I had my work cut out for me dividing my life between mundane studies and magical classwork.

  4

  Not Here for Hookups

  By the end of the first week, I’d adjusted to being away from home, but nothing had prepared me for a complete immersion into paranormal society. The constant, overwhelming presence of other magical beings became sensory overload. While some mages were down-to-earth and friendly like Benjamin, I discovered most were arrogant pricks.

  I turned down a couple dates, especially the invitation off-campus from an attractive sophomore fae from California with hair that glittered like crystal. He’d almost lured me in until he snapped at a poor werewolf girl who bumped against our table at the food court. After ditching him, I ended up sitting with her and bonding over a double meat Hawaiian pizza.

  Her name was Anji, and it was also her
first year at PNRU. She and I swapped phone numbers before parting ways.

  That’s what I liked best about being here—meeting new people. I made friends with a junior from India named Radha with hair like mine, but hers was sleek and naturally straight. We exchanged fashion tips and numbers, and on Friday, a few of us went out to an afternoon matinee in Chicago. Fae were only allowed out in the city in groups of three—preferably four—or more without a sentinel chaperone. I wasn’t sure if it was because of our tendency to get into trouble or the recent danger.

  We returned in Radha’s car just in time to make curfew. Traffic in the city, and a desire to eat at the best Italian joint in town, had put a kink in our plans. Too stuffed to comfortably walk, I spilled out of the vehicle and drifted to the dormitory building alongside Radha, Liadan, and Holly. The food had been divine, the creamy manicotti reminding me of Italian summers with Grandpa.

  “That horror movie was awesome!” Holly cried, pumping a fist in the air.

  “Agreed. I’m so glad we convinced Liadan to come with us,” I added.

  When Lia pinned me with a hard glare, Holly came to the rescue and cackled. “Hey, even the guy in the row in front of us thought your squeals were hilarious.”

  Hours later, I was in bed staring at the ceiling while my roomies slept. Even the rhythmic sway of the hammock failed to lull me. Eventually, I moved to the window and watched the night students move down the paths across the courtyard.

  Nothing in the rules prohibited me from going outside to join them, and with that thought in mind, I pulled on jeans then hurried downstairs to the lobby.

  The nighttime breeze tousled my hair the moment I stepped outside. I wriggled my bare toes against the grass then headed across the wide lawn toward the nearby fountain.

  Black-feathered bodies littered the trees and edges of stone buildings wherever I looked. Unlike some of my new magician friends, I couldn’t pick a shifter out of an animal lineup if my life depended on it. But that was part of their shtick and what made them excellent assassins and spies in our world.