by Kate Hall
She pokes at the flames, trying to adjust the logs so they’ll burn longer, when Mark knocks. She whispers a quick incantation—a shield to hide her illicit activities. Uncle John was always quite vocal about his dislike for any and all above-G-rated content, so Sarah had had to hide her extensive movie and book collection in plain sight. Although Elizabeth and Mark hadn’t even blinked at her teen romance novels and R-rated action movies when they helped her move in, they probably won’t be quite as understanding about an endangered species being hidden in her bedroom, so the flimsy spell comes in handy.
Mark is standing at the door in a pair of black slacks, a teal button-up shirt, and a coral bow tie, a tweed jacket hung over one arm. He yawns and tousles his curly red hair—whether he means to fix it or make it more of a mess, Sarah isn’t sure. His entire aesthetic is rather lax for what she imagines a St. Merlin’s professor to look like, but she gives him the benefit of the doubt, although he teaches the least magical class, math. She glances down the hallway nervously—Elizabeth always seems to know what she’s thinking, but the tall, ethereal woman is nowhere in sight.
“Ready to go?” Mark asks, not making eye contact. He’s been like this since Sarah moved in—afraid to upset her, perhaps.
“Yeah,” she says, grabbing the brand-new black satchel by the door and slipping out before he can get a good look inside—the fire may be hidden behind a spell, but her old backpack is crumpled on the floor by the bed, streaked with mud.
“Liz had to work early, so she won’t be able to see us off on the first day of the semester,” Mark says. Sarah is only able to attend St. Merlin’s because of his position, but that also means that she has to ride to school with a teacher.
“Great,” she says, masking her nerves by feigning excitement. She’s certain she did the spell right, but her hand twitches toward the doorknob as her mind tells her to peek in and check on it one last time. She resists. It would only make her look more suspicious.
The school is supposed to be a thirty minute drive from Chesterfield, but Mark’s classic Pontiac makes it in twenty. To avoid talking about anything that may lead back to the dragon egg, Sarah puts in her earbuds and stares out the window, absorbing the sight of the unfamiliar city as the skyline rises ahead of her, and then disappears again when they pull off the exit toward her new school.
St. Merlin’s Academy for Talented Students is one of the most prestigious high schools in the country, and it’s obvious that they want to look like it. Mark types his employee code into the keypad by the wrought-iron front gate, which is held up by two huge stone walls, topped by statues of hunting dogs taking down an elk on one side and a boar on the other. The elk’s body is stretched out, its neck thrown back and eternally frozen as it tries to escape the pack of dogs.
“The gateway was imported from Germany,” Mark says as he follows the traffic leading up the drive. His car may be stylish and classic, but it pales in comparison to the parade of vehicles ahead—a Rolls Royce with blacked-out windows is directly in front of them. “It was taken from a hunting castle somewhere in the mountains.”
She nods at the information, but the gruesome scene makes her stomach flop. It reminds her too much of her uncle’s dogs, hungry beasts who would tear her apart given the slightest chance. Her heart twinges, wondering if the animals he’d trained to attack would have to be put down for their owner’s bad behavior now that he can no longer care for them.
When she looks up, her heart races, a hissing noise growing in her ears. The grey stone-faced building scrutinizes every car that passes, its windows dark; nothing can be seen past them, but they’re not reflecting back the golden morning light, either. The freshmen being dropped off in the circle drive wear form-fitting uniforms, but they all seem so young to Sarah. She’s probably the only upperclassman being driven by an adult instead of driving herself here.
When they pull around to the faculty parking lot, she looks back at Mark. “It’s not too late to send me to a public school,” she pleads. She twists the ring on her right hand—her mother’s engagement ring that was given to her at the hospital when the doctor explained that Sarah would never see her parents again. They wouldn’t have wanted her at this posh city school—she was homeschooled before they died, and then she ended up in a public school.
Back at the front entrance, the boy getting out of the Rolls Royce is covered head-to toe, sleek leather gloves adorning his hands and a parasol over his head. His eyes are covered by a pair of pitch-black Ray-Bans, which surely hide his red eyes from the sun. Back in her hometown, vampires only go to school at night, so seeing one being dropped off in the daytime is the shock her body needs to clamber out of the Pontiac and onto the sidewalk. Instead of following Mark into a teacher door that needs his key, she moves to where everyone else seems to be entering.
Standing at the foot of the steps, she can’t help but stare at this building as it judges her. Some of the other students glance at her in passing, and her throat closes up. Elizabeth and Mark made sure to buy her a uniform, and Elizabeth had even had the black skirt and navy blazer tailored to fit her, an unnecessary expense on their part, but she’s still an outsider. They can surely sense it—she’s too old to be a freshman, and the phone in her hand isn’t even close to the newest model.
When someone clears their throat behind her, she moves up the steps, making her way inside. She wants to take a moment to inspect the scenes carved into the ornate wood doors, but the sea of students carries her on, into a foyer with cavernous painted ceilings. According to the website, the main hall used to be a cathedral.
Before she can be swept away completely, she moves to a side hall so that she can dig out her schedule; the sooner she can find her class and be away from this crowd, the better.
When she finds her schedule, she notices that all the class numbers have a letter written next to the number. She flips the schedule over to see if there’s an explanation, but she finds none. She flips it again, but of course nothing has changed. Her hands start to shake, her throat pinching. The words on the page blur. What if she doesn’t make it to her classes? She looks around for a sign that gives her any information, but she can’t find anything. None of the signs are legible through her dizziness. She takes a breath, but it doesn’t seem to make it to her lungs. She looks back to her schedule, desperately hoping that more information will pop out at her.
“The letter is the building code,” a silky voice says just as tears prick at her eyes. She lifts her eyes from her class schedule to see a girl standing in front of her, her expression sympathetic. She’s in the process of putting her curly mass of black hair into a ponytail, but her golden-brown eyes are on Sarah. “And the number is the room, of course.”
It takes Sarah a moment to respond. “Building code?”
The tall, dark-skinned girl continues, her voice almost melodical, “Yeah, so you know which building your class is in.” When her hair is up, she regards Sarah. Without saying anything else, she takes the schedule from Sarah’s hands, skimming her holographic manicured fingernails over the list of classes. She moves to Sarah’s side, holding the schedule in front of her. “Okay, so your first class is in Terrance Hall. That’s the one straight across the courtyard.”
Sarah nods. “So,” she says, considering her words, “there are more buildings than just this one?” Her old school had been a long building crouching in the middle of a field. The classrooms were numbered from one to forty, stretching from one end of the building to the other. The cafeteria was on one side, the gym on the other. She hadn’t thought to look up a school map when she was checking out the website.
She expects the girl to laugh at her, but she just slaps a hand on Sarah’s shoulder and says, “Welcome to St. Merlin’s.” Her smile falters for a moment when she sees Sarah’s discomfort. “Hey, you’re not doing too bad. I got here in the middle of last year. It took me two days to realize I was in the wrong building for half my classes. I thought the letters were for seat assignments.
”
Sarah laughs a bit at that. She’s sure she would make the same mistake, or worse, if not for this girl’s help. “Well at least I have you,” she says.
The girl’s grin returns in full force, and she loops her arm through Sarah’s. The scent of flowers and citrus floats over to her, the same perfume that Elizabeth uses. “And we have Literature together first hour.” She pulls Sarah through the steadily thinning crowd of freshmen, aiming at a pair of glass doors that lead outside.
When they step out, Sarah takes in a lungful of air, the outdoors giving her a chance to finally breathe.
The courtyard is a huge patch of grass, concrete paths winding their way through. The smell of freshly-mowed grass wafts into her nostrils, but she doesn’t see any evidence of maintenance—she’s used to seeing grass shavings on sidewalks after someone’s trimmed, but everything is pristine here. Magically cleaned, something her old school didn’t bother with. A clocktower sits in the middle of the courtyard, and she sees that her anxiety attack had her standing in place longer than she thought. She’s fairly certain that they’ll both be late to class.
There are only a few students out here, most of whom are rushing to any of the four buildings that enclose the area. The buildings to the left and right have the same stone facing as the building they just left, but the one across from the main building is more modern, a square stack of concrete and glass and wooden rectangles.
“I’m Gabby, by the way,” the girl says. “And if we don’t want to be late, we’re gonna have to make a run for it.”
GABBY AND SARAH ONLY HAVE FIRST HOUR TOGETHER, but Gabby directs Sarah to her Potions classroom before bounding across campus to health class.
The potions lab is a plain white room, the stark decor contrasting greatly with her Literature class. Instead of having posters with educational charts and famous quotations like her Lit room, there are a just a few laminated signs plastered on white-painted brick walls to ensure lab safety. The one that catches her eye has a faded image of a red stick-person fleeing what appears to be a red toilet on fire, and there isn’t a caption to explain what students are supposed to be avoiding. Is there a haunted toilet somewhere on campus? Somewhere in this room? She looks around but finds no such thing.
The tables have slips of paper with names on them, so she searches the room until she finds the sheet that says “Sarah Jackson,” which is right next to one that says “Alexander Locklear.” As soon as she’s scooted in to the shared two-person table, the stool next to her screeches backwards. She glances over to see a boy, a few inches taller than her, shoving his black satchel under the table.
Her face flushes warm just a little as she notices how absurdly hot he is. His jawline is sharp enough to slice right through her inhibitions, so she says, “I’m Sarah. New here.”
He turns to her in surprise, his nearly-black eyes widening. “You can see me?” he whispers, glancing around.
Sarah’s blood turns cold. She’s never met a ghost, and she didn’t consider that she might run into one as a student here.
Then, he breaks out into a sloppy grin. “Kidding. Totally human.” He leans back in his chair and says, “Alex.”
She smiles at his easy going disposition and is about to ask where he’s from—when she was researching the school, she discovered that a large portion of the student body comes from out of town—but the teacher arrives, out of breath, just as the bell rings. He explains that, for the first day, they’ll be going around the room and saying a fun fact about themselves. Sarah sighs; these games are never as fun as teachers hope they’ll be.
A few of the students say something interesting. “I’m one-third wood-elf,” a stunning, tall girl with huge green irises says. Most of the students, though, are less interesting and more of braggadocios. “I spent my summer in Vienna,” one says, and another, “Paris!”
When it’s Alex’s turn, he stands up, hands in the pockets of his uniform black slacks. He’s no longer the self-assured boy from a moment ago. Now, he keeps his head down. “I’m Alex, and I’m a telepathic pyromancer.”
Telepathy is fairly common, but it’s usually a power that stands on its own. Penny had telepathy, but she wasn’t adept at controlling it, so she would often blurt out others’ thoughts in public. Pyromancy, though. That’s nearly unheard of. Being a fire mage alone makes Alex someone worth reckoning with, but telepathy being added into the mix? He would be unstoppable if he decided to join the military, and rich and famous to boot. Of course, he’s probably already rich. Sarah bites her lip.
“I’m Sarah,” she says, straining to keep her voice above a whisper. Everyone in the room is looking at her with interest. At her old school, nobody would be paying attention, but here, the students’ eyes twinkle as they appraise her, and, probably, find her lacking. “I just moved to the city to live with Elizabeth and Mark Halacourt, my aunt and uncle.”
Apparently, this was the wrong thing to say, because half the room looks shocked, and those who aren’t are whispering to each other with sly smiles. She should’ve guessed that the name would garner interest since Mark is a teacher here.
By the time lunch rolls around, it feels like half the student body has introduced themselves to her. Her stomach is rebelling with hunger, but it takes twenty minutes to get through the lunchline because people keep trying to talk to her, mainly asking if she can get answers to midterms ahead of time. Along with this, she has to navigate the buffet, which contains things labeled “Foie Gras” and “Spanakopita.” She fills her plate with the only thing she recognizes, three sushi rolls, and rushes into the cafeteria.
The entire school has lunch at the same time, so there’s a crowd of students at heavy mahogany tables. She always imagined rich kids having sophisticated discussions over lunch, but, just like back home, there are cliques, just harder to sort out with the unanimity of the school blazers. One table has a bunch of short, muscular boys who already have beards to their collarbones—dwarves, maybe—laughing boisterously, and another has students all wearing sunglasses and drinking out of thermoses—vampires, for sure. She even recognizes the boy from this morning.
Since her parents died, Sarah could usually be found eating lunch with the outcasts in the cafeteria. She kept to herself while they talked about their weekend exploits, ranging from video games to breaking curfew to doing cocaine at a college party. Being at a table of abnormal people meant that, despite being an orphan, she was pretty normal among them. Now, she’s not sure where she should sit.
A familiar voice shouts from her left. “Ka-caw!” it says in a distinctly feminine, not at all crow-like tone. Gabby is standing on her chair and waving her arms in the corner, drawing eyes, and Sarah ducks her head and goes to her.
She slides into a seat without getting stopped by anyone else, which she’s thankful for. Gabby talks over her matching plate of sushi. “Can you believe I’ve got homework in Spiritual Magic on the first day? I mean, it’s just questions out of the textbook about spiritual mages and how they ended Florida’s Magical Wars in the 1880s, but still! Day one is supposed to be dumb introductions and name games.”
Sarah picks at her sushi and lets Gabby vent, and she doesn’t mention that she has Spiritual Magic next. Before lunch ends, Gabby puts her number into Sarah’s phone, making a quip about the broken screen, but Sarah doesn’t take offense to it like she might with the other students who’ve been prodding her for attention all day whilst simultaneously looking down their noses at her.
It isn’t hard to find her Spiritual Magic classroom—she passed it on her way to Calculus earlier, so she traces her way back across campus. When she arrives, there’s only one vacant seat, and it’s next to Alex, his lithe form stretched out in his seat, hands behind his head.
“We have to stop meeting like this,” she says quietly when she pulls back her heavy wooden chair, a coy smile playing across her lips.
It takes a moment before recognition dawns on his face, making a smile play across his lips. Befor
e he can respond, the teacher begins the lesson. He straightens up when Ms. White, an actual ghost, speaks, his attention leaving Sarah.
She bites the inside of her cheek, heat flooding her face. She isn’t sure what made her say something so flirtatious, but she doesn’t have any way to take it back or judge his response until class ends. By the time they’re released to their next classes, though, Alex has his bag packed and rushes out the door. When he’s about to pass the threshold, he turns his head back to look at Sarah, half a smile across his face and mouth open to speak when their eyes lock together.
Suddenly, she’s no longer in the classroom. It’s night, and a chill whips around her as lights flash in front of her closed eyes and her ears are bombarded with a haunting tune. She forgets, momentarily, that she’s supposed to be in a classroom getting ready to go to US History, and instead focuses on the boy she’s kissing. His warm arms are wrapped around her in a tight embrace, and she gently runs her tongue along his honey-flavored bottom lip, eliciting a soft moan.
When Alex pulls away, she smiles.
A ragged gasp drags itself out of her, and she’s back in the now empty classroom, Ms. White staring at her, head tilted with concern. “Are you alright, dear?” the not-quite-dead woman asks gently.
Sarah opens her mouth, but no sound comes out. She shakes her head, gathers her bag, and leaves for her next class.
Chapter Four
Alex
ALEX’S HANDS WON’T STOP SHAKING.
After class, he rushes to the restroom and locks himself in a stall, willing himself to not catch on fire. Heat rushes to his hands, his fight or flight response activated by the sudden vision. The hairs on the back of his neck prick, but there’s nobody else in this restroom activating his senses.
