by Nya Jade
Phoebe offered an amiable wave to the assembled company. Mariko, an Asian girl with beautifully shaped lips and braided black hair, sat twirling a long strand around a finger, her dark eyes coolly appraising Phoebe. Next to her, Lewis was a thin black boy, his eyes brown under gold-flecked dreadlocks. Phoebe watched him with interest as he absently knuckle-walked a quarter in his left hand. And leaning back in the sofa with his hands folded behind his head, sat the raven-haired boy from the dining hall.
“You,” Phoebe gasped before she could stop herself. Scott’s mouth twitched into a hint of a smile that she could tell was making fun of her.
“I see you two are already acquainted,” Professor Yori said, looking between Phoebe and Scott.
“We bumped into each other earlier,” Scott said.
Phoebe reddened slightly.
“Please take a seat, Cadet Pope,” Professor Yori said, returning to his desk with a Shaper-characteristic swiftness in spite of his limp. Phoebe sank comfortably into the overstuffed armchair and deposited her backpack on the floor.
“This is a unique year for us,” Professor Yori said. “It’s the first time there have been four Hyphas in any incoming Hastati class. We’ve never had more than one or two here, if any at all.”
Phoebe sat perfectly still, her lips parting in utter shock. Stealing a look sideways, she could see the others begin to eye each other with newfound curiosity. Professor Yori leaned back in his chair, looking from one to the next of the students before him, absorbing their reactions.
Phoebe understood the headmaster’s fascination. There weren’t many Hyphas in Shaper communities. The offspring of Shaper-human mating, Hyphas were not markedly different from their Shaper peers, except for a physical energy that ran a tad bit cooler due to human genes. Their race, however, was still somewhat of an enigma since not all Shaper-human unions produced children.
“The SIS curriculum is extremely rigorous,” the headmaster continued. “It’s not enough to want to serve. Daily academic excellence is a requirement for all would-be-agents, and unfortunately, those who fail to keep up are asked to leave. You all are starting with a bit of a handicap—”
Mariko interrupted looking alarmed. “What handicap?—Sir.”
“Well, because of your”—the headmaster paused as though carefully measuring his next word—“unique upbringing, you haven’t been taught the basics of wielding the element of Osiah, our sky patron.” Professor Yori flicked the fingers of his right hand as though trying to swat at a fly, and the room was filled with a gust of wind that disappeared as fast as it had come. “Or that of Gavya, our earth patroness,” he said, placing a paperweight in his palm. Phoebe sat forward, leaning her chin into her hand, watching as the wooden block disintegrated into dust before her eyes. “With that in mind, we’ve created a program to help you bridge this gap—to make sure you’re up to speed by the time you encounter courses like Tactical Air Control and Elemental Breaching in your Principes year.”
Professor Yori brushed the remains of the paperweight into a waste bin and no one said anything. They all knew what he’d meant by ‘unique upbringing.’ Shaper-human unions were a delicate subject. In centuries past, Shapers had lived openly among humans until Vigos began to use human informants as a tactical strategy. Those who remained unmoved by offers of money had been tortured to disclose the whereabouts of Shaper families. With that information, Vigos had killed Shapers at a startling rate. During a period some called the Great Erase, Shapers worked to convince humans that preternatural abilities, like shape-shifting, existed only in their imagination. Humans had been kept in the dark ever since. Now, like their Shaper parent, Hyphas were also bound by this secrecy. Their supernatural nature had to be kept from their human parent. And, as a result, the fundamentals of elemental magic taught to children born into households with two Shaper parents could not be taught in Shaper-human ones.
“If I may say, sir,” Scott said, bringing his hands to his side and leaning over his knees, “it sounds like you’re putting us in some sort of ‘special ed’ program.”
“Not at all, Cadet,” Professor Yori said at once, his tone firm. He raised a hand to his face and slowly rubbed his beard. “Think of it as academic boot camp with top notch mentors to guide you.”
“Is this in addition to our other classes, sir?” Phoebe asked, tapping the edge of her seat with her fingers. She was already finding her two course loads daunting.
“I’m afraid so,” Professor Yori said to a collective groan. “We don’t want you falling behind in your other studies. You will meet as a foursome early in the morning for this additional training—”
From the door, Hanna cleared her throat delicately, interrupting him. “They’re here,” she said.
Professor Yori’s whole bearing seemed to change then; he straightened his back, adjusted his collar, and when he stood he dusted invisible lint off of his coat. “Show them in, Hanna,” he said, moving from behind his desk to the center of the room.
Hanna vanished and a moment later, entering the office with enviable grace, were three of the most beautiful women Phoebe had ever seen. The tallest of the trio, a streaky blond, possessed a delicate-boned fragility intensified by her ivory tinged complexion. Another was mocha-skinned with an angular face framed by long, springy, black hair. The third, a darker blond, wore her hair in two thick waist-length braids that hung down her back. Her skin was dusted with freckles. Their lean frames were clad in form-fitting white jackets over skin-tight black pants and tall black boots; their hoods swept behind their necks. They stood at silent attention, fixing a watchful gaze on the assemblage.
Metal clanked against wood; Lewis’s coin had dropped to the floor. He sat staring at the women as though part of his brain had just dissolved. Scott moved from his relaxed slouch and cocked his head to the side in clear interest.
“Allow me to introduce you to your mentors,” Professor Yori said, an odd inflection in his voice. “This is Yelena and Afua.” The blond and black woman bowed respectively, “and Deborah-Anna.” The braided mentor gave a curt nod.
“Please make yourselves comfortable.” Professor Yori indicated the extra chairs Hanna had brought in behind the women, but they remained standing.
Yelena spoke with a slight Russian accent, her tone formal. “We are fine. Thank you.”
“Very well,” Professor Yori said, making his way back to his desk. A strange moment of silence followed, broken only by Lewis, who said, “Sir, can we start today?” His dopey smile had grown.
Mariko snorted, and her eyes slid to Lewis’s face, her eyebrows drawing down. “My, aren’t we a bit eager.”
“Hey man,” Lewis said, his tone defensive. “I’ve been waiting a long time for the freedom to mess around with what we can do.”
“Yup. That’s the reason,” Mariko muttered.
Phoebe bit down on her involuntary urge to laugh, not wanting Mariko’s glare on her next. She had to admit, though, that Lewis probably couldn’t help himself. In the presence of these women, any male could lose his senses and any female, her self-confidence.
Professor Yori perched himself on the edge of his desk facing his students, and smiled. “We’ll give your instructors the weekend to settle in from their long journey, and have you start Monday.”
Long journey? Phoebe thought. Her eyes had wandered curiously to the stunning company, their expressions inscrutable, standing impossibly straight and composed. To her shame, Phoebe found herself tempted to probe and confirm that these women were not as devoid of emotion as she imagined them to be.
“We hate to end your meeting,” Afua said abruptly, her voice commanding. “But I believe we have things to discuss.”
Professor Yori nodded. “Yes, yes, of course. Your sessions, Cadets, will take place Monday and Thursday mornings at seven in the study hall wing.” He brought his hands together and stood. “Let’s say our goodbyes then,” he said briskly. He escorted Phoebe, Mariko, Scott, and Lewis to the door and held it open fo
r them. None of the Hyphas spoke as they exited the office. Just before the door closed behind them, Phoebe thought she saw something like unease replace the smile on Professor Yori’s face.
“I guess it would have killed them to throw one hot guy into the mentor mix,” Mariko said sardonically once they’d started down the empty hallway.
Lewis laughed louder than the comment warranted, and pointed at himself and Scott, saying, “Lucky for you, we’re easy on the eyes.” That earned him a fist bump from Scott.
Mariko harrumphed. Then, looking directly at Phoebe, she said dryly, “See you in drool camp. I’ll bring the mop to clean up after these two, if you bring the rain coats.” Phoebe had barely cracked a smile before Mariko turned and marched down the central stairway to the lower halls. Lewis followed at her heels, tossing and catching his coin in his left hand, filling Mariko’s ears with the unwelcome banter of his conversation.
“And then there were two,” Scott said. He stood at Phoebe’s shoulder, a smirk planted on his face. “By the way, you know this morning was all in good fun, right?”
“You nearly gave me a double heart attack!” Phoebe said.
“In my defense,” Scott said, humor ringing in his voice. “You shouldn’t have had your Below schedule out in the open up there. It’s like Vegas: what happens Below stays Below.”
Scott was right and Phoebe knew it; plus, she couldn’t help smiling at his poorly feigned look of remorse. They descended a few staircases, stepped into the courtyard, and then, quite abruptly, Phoebe stopped. She brought a hand to her neck, feeling for the camera strap that wasn’t there.
“What?” Scott’s brow furrowed in confusion.
Phoebe didn’t answer. She rummaged through her backpack, straining to remember when she’d last had it. The foot of my armchair, she thought, just as the bell rang. Propelled by a desperate need to locate her prized possession, Phoebe doubled back to the headmaster’s office, leaving behind a befuddled Scott, who stood in the courtyard with his mouth half open. She burst into the anteroom, finding Hanna gone and Professor Yori’s concerned voice carrying through the walls. Phoebe paused, her hand uncertain on his doorknob.
“—they’re behind those abductions?” Phoebe expanded her range of hearing as Professor Yori added, “You’re sure on this intel?”
“BIRs are always vetted,” answered Yelena’s Russian voice. She sounded mildly affronted.
“BIRs?” Professor Yori said.
“Blackcoat Intelligence Reports,” Yelena said. “Our sources leave no doubt that Boston Vigo packs are involved.”
Phoebe wasn’t quite sure she’d heard correctly. Were these women Blackcoats? The Shaper equivalent of the Secret Service, Blackcoats handled the personal security of members of the governing Royal Court. Only seven of the twelve royal families had escaped Pompeii and the Blackcoats concerned themselves with eliminating Vigo threats to the Crowns.
“What does any of this have to do with my students?” Professor Yori said, sounding concerned and confused. “Why the need to protect them in particular?”
Phoebe’s body clenched at the word “protect,” and for a moment she felt like she was out of breath. Were they in danger?
“Are you familiar with the Year of Four, Professor?” Afua said.
There was a moment of silence. Then Professor Yori spoke with an uncertain edge to his voice. “I thought that was just a—”
Someone walked into the room behind Phoebe.
“Are we eavesdropping on matters that don’t concern us?” said a voice, crisp with distaste. Phoebe turned around. A woman stood resplendent in a navy skirt suit, her straight black hair bobbed to her chin. In one hand she held a potted white orchid, while the other clutched a thin briefcase. Lips set in a hard line, she stared at Phoebe with piercing black eyes.
“No, ma’am.” Phoebe swallowed. “I—I was just—”
“You were just leaving.”
Phoebe lowered her eyes. “Yes Professor—”
“Montclaire,” the woman finished for her. “Just Montclaire.”
Phoebe nodded, feeling her face get hot with shame.
Montclaire moved her gaze over Phoebe as though inspecting every molecule of her being. “And you are?” she asked.
“Phoebe.”
“Phoebe what? I imagine you weren’t picked up from some street corner.”
“Phoebe Pope.”
Montclaire arched her eyebrow at this, making a reappraisal. “I see. Well I hope for your sake you are a better student than you are a liar, Cadet Pope.” She waved a hand at the door. “Go. Now.”
Phoebe left, hurrying out of the anteroom, trying to sort out what she’d just overheard. If these women were indeed Blackcoats, she could not imagine why they’d spend their time mentoring. Weren’t they needed for more important matters? She also hoped to both Osiah and Gavya that she never crossed paths with Montclaire again. As for her camera, she’d have to return for it another time.
“You’re a Hypha?” Hayley gaped at Phoebe, astonished. Since Professor Elmore had yet to arrive for Bio Encryption, Phoebe had just finished telling Hayley what had happened in her meeting. She’d left out the part about the mentors possibly being Blackcoats; she still didn’t know what to make of it. “I’ve never met a Hypha before,” Hayley breathed, clearly fascinated. “Now I want to inappropriately poke you and see how you tick.”
Phoebe grinned and rolled her eyes.
“You can inappropriately poke me anytime,” said a husky voice behind them.
Phoebe and Hayley turned simultaneously to see Scott sitting with a wicked grin firmly in place.
Hayley giggled and flushed.
“They’re collecting names for Full Moon on the Field tonight, ladies,” Scott said, brandishing a blue sheet of paper. Grinning, he flicked it gently onto the table between them.
Hayley asked playfully, “Will you be there? . . .”
“Scott,” Scott said. “Scott Roland.” He twitched a wink and added, “I’ll be there if I can expect to see you.”
Hayley flushed some more. Phoebe’s exaggerated eye roll did not go unnoticed by Scott who sat back and crossed his arms, a bigger smile playing around his lips. “You too, Pope. Sign up and pass it forward.”
“We’re so in,” Hayley mouthed to Phoebe, giddy, and wrote both of their names down on the sheet. She elbowed Phoebe. “What’s your cell number?”
Phoebe rattled off her number.
“They’re gonna text us the location of the game,” Hayley explained.
“Game?”
“According to this,” Hayley said, passing the sheet forward, “Full Moon on the Field is a midnight game of Shaper Soccer. It’s tradition for the second-years to invite first-years to play.”
Phoebe began to open her mouth to say that she was extremely allergic to any sport involving fast moving balls, but closed it when a stubble-chinned man with fluffy white hair came scurrying into the class carrying a cardboard box filled with colorful leaves.
“The autumn leaf,” Professor Elmore began speaking immediately with a deep voice that belied his thin, short stature. “You don’t think twice about it when you crunch it beneath your feet. Why would you,” he said smiling, as he swept among them, dropping leaves on desks, “when trees shed millions each year? But it’s precisely this fact that makes them perfect for hiding messages in plain sight.”
Professor Elmore reached the front of the room, plucked a green leaf from a potted plant on his desk, and turned to face the class. “Our magic,” he said, running a finger over the leaf, “allows me to do in here what nature does to leaves in the fall.”
Phoebe watched closely, as with each pass of Professor Elmore’s finger, the color of the leaf slowly changed from green to orange, then yellow. Hayley caught Phoebe’s eye and they exchanged looks with raised eyebrows. Around them, other cadets were doing the same.
“What I’ve done is force the breakdown of chlorophyll. For those of you staring at me with blank expression
s, it would behoove you to review the basics of photosynthesis. Now, if I take things a bit further”—he pinched sections of his leaf between a finger and thumb—“I’m left with this: a leaf in the advanced stages of rot and decay.” Professor Elmore thrust the leaf in the air for everyone to see the pattern of black spots that now covered it.
“What if I told you all that this leaf, like the ones on your desks, has been coded with your homework assignment?” Murmurs of interest bubbled around the room at this, and everyone began to examine their own leaves closely. “It’s a season-dependent strategy, but SIS agents leave messages for each other with patterns of dots made to look like naturally occurring decomposition.”
Professor Elmore, who had fully captured the class’s attention, continued his lecture with gusto. By the end of the period, Phoebe was one of only two students to successfully use a Decomp Pen—a flat-tipped writing implement used to create decomposition—to code her name onto a maple leaf.
Phoebe carried her feeling of accomplishment into Tactical Bird Song, a class she’d been looking forward to since it had been a favorite of her father’s. She was smiling to herself when she entered the classroom, but stopped in her tracks, stunned by the opalescent hawk circling above her, whistling loudly. No sooner had the whole class settled into their seats and taken out their notebooks, than the large bird swooped down over their heads. Many ducked, and the room tittered with nervous confusion. The hawk landed gracefully at the front of the room and abruptly converted into a voluptuous, tawny-haired woman. Professor Koon.
“Who can tell me what I was whistling to y’all?” she asked, her voice bubbly. She pulled her faculty robe tight around her shoulders. When the class offered her nothing but blank looks she laughed. “Well, of course you have no clue.” She ran a hand through her hair. “If you did, you wouldn’t be here now, would you?”
After a short pause during which Professor Koon retrieved a microphone stand from a closet and placed it in the middle of the room, she said, “I explained through my whistle that Tactical Bird Song is the study of how to use simple notes to convey complex messages. Anything from messages between lovers,”—she gave a theatrical wink that generated laughs—“to messages conveying distress. Now,” she said, attaching a wireless mic to the stand, “I hope y’all have warmed up those voices!”
