A Study In Shifters

by Majanka Verstraete

  What was far more interesting, though, were my fellow students.

  Wyatt sat in the front of the class, eagerly taking notes as he penned down every syllable Mrs. Woods uttered. Aria Forbes, the girl I’d had a run-in with yesterday was sitting in the last row. She didn’t take any notes, just sat in her chair, wasting her life away and staring at the teacher with glazed-over eyes, obviously a mile away. I couldn’t figure out if her grieving was real or an act—despite my excellent logic-deducing skills, I was horrible at figuring out people’s emotions.

  Stephanie, the redhead I’d met yesterday as well, was in the seat a row in front of Aria’s. She was taking notes occasionally, although not as fervently as Wyatt had.

  Two seats remained empty. Judging by the sad, longing way Aria had glanced at one of them, I guessed that seat had belonged to Elise Felton, prior to her demise.

  Mrs. Woods was just about to describe the beheading of wife number two, Anne Boleyn, when Reyna Felton walked into class.

  “You’re late.” Mrs. Woods stated the obvious in the same dull, monotone voice she’d used for the previous part of her lecture.

  “I know. I’m sorry.” Reyna dumped her backpack next to her chair and sat down. It seemed she was trying to refrain from looking at her sister’s chair, deliberately looking in the other direction.

  “While we’re all terribly shocked by what happened to your sister, it’s no excuse to come to class late,” the old bat said, showing a lack of sympathy even I found disturbing, and my people skills weren’t impressive either. “If it happens again this week, you’ll need to go to detention.”

  I arched an eyebrow and leaned back in my seat. My dislike for Mrs. Woods rose a few levels. Maybe I should start considering the teachers as possible suspects—at least this one.

  “I understand, Mrs. Woods.” Reyna kept her head down as she spoke, sadness creeping into her voice.

  “Good.” Mrs. Woods turned back to her textbook and continued her lecture. “Perhaps you can answer this question, Miss Felton, considering you didn’t deem today’s class important enough to be on time,” she said with a sneer. “Can you give us the cause of death of Henry VIII’s second wife, Anne Boleyn?”

  “Uhm.” Reyna Felton didn’t even have her textbook open yet, and from the slightly panicked expression on her face, it was obvious she didn’t know the answer off the top of her head. “Did she…” She quickly browsed through the textbook. “Uhm…did she die from the plague?”

  “No.” Mrs. Woods gave her a steely glare. “If you’d bothered to turn up in time, Miss Felton, you would’ve learned that Anne Boleyn died by beheading. Her husband, King Henry VIII, ordered her execution. What was the name of Henry’s next wife?”

  “Um…the third wife?” Reyna asked, still feverishly searching for the right page in her textbook. “Um—”

  “No, not um.” Mrs. Woods cut her off. “You might want to pay more attention to your classes, Miss Felton.”

  I started to hate the teacher with a passion. “Give her a break already.” The words left my mouth before I very well realized it. Reyna Felton wasn’t ruled out as a suspect yet in my book—no one was—but from what I’d seen, she was pretty shaken up about what had happened to her sister, and she didn’t deserve the treatment Mrs. Woods gave her.

  “What did you say, Miss Holmes?” Mrs. Woods asked, focusing on me.

  I gulped. With all of the students’ eyes on me, I wished I hadn’t said anything at all.

  “If you’re so keen to interrupt me, then maybe you can enlighten me. And if you can’t,” the teacher said with a sly grin, “I might be inclined to give you detention, first day or not.”

  “Jane Seymour,” I reluctantly replied, hoping the teacher would stop asking me questions now. I didn’t like being in the spotlight, especially after Mrs. Woods had just insulted and humiliated Reyna Felton.

  Mrs Woods’ expression went from annoyed to impressed. “Good. At least some students are paying attention. Can you tell me the cause of death for Jayne Seymour?”

  I sat up a little straighter in my chair. I debated whether to come up with a clever answer in retaliation for what the woman had done to Reyna Felton, or just give the bat the real answer so at least she would back off and leave Reyna alone. I settled for the latter. “She died twelve days after giving birth to her son, Edward VI. Her death is believed to have been caused by birth complications.”

  Mrs. Woods smiled, impressed. Her smile made her look like the evil witch from the Hansel and Gretel fairy tale.

  “Have you had this class before, in the school you transferred from?” Mrs. Woods asked.

  “No.” I shook my head. “I was homeschooled.”

  “Oh.” She nodded and seemed to find this information even more impressive. “Can you tell me more about Jane Seymour?”

  “She was the only one of King Henry VIII’s wives to receive a queen’s funeral. She was buried beside him in St. George’s Chapel at Windsor Castle, the only one of the queen consorts to receive that somewhat questionable honor.” I shrugged. “What more should I say? I’m better at answering specific questions.”

  Mrs. Woods stared at me with her mouth slightly agape. “In what year did she marry Henry VIII?” she asked after a short while.

  “In 1536. She passed away in 1537, so their marriage was short-lived. However, after her death, the king didn’t remarry for three years, so he was quite infatuated with her.”

  Mrs. Woods narrowed her eyes. “Did you write a paper on the subject? Or just read a book about it?”

  I narrowed my eyes. “No, I didn’t write a paper about the wives of King Henry VIII. And yes, I did read a book about it a few years back. I can certainly recommend it. It’s—”

  “How did you remember all that then? Do you have a particular interest in the subject?” Mrs. Woods asked.

  “No, I just…” I didn’t know what to say. “I read it once in a book, like I said. I’ve read a few books on the subject matter, to compare them. I can write them down, if you want, I—”

  “No, Miss Holmes,” Mrs. Woods said sternly. “I don’t need your book recommendations; I know my subject matter quite well, thank you.”

  She then moved on and started to ask Stephanie some questions. I leaned back in my chair, unsure of whether I had done a good thing or a bad thing by answering her questions.

  I had only spent one hour behind a school desk, and I already felt like I didn’t know any of the social rules that came with going to school. At all.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “Way to suck up to the teacher, half-blood,” Aria Forbes sneered at me as she walked past me in the hallway.

  “Hey, leave her alone,” Wyatt said as he started walking next to me. Aria just ignored him and rushed ahead. Wyatt turned to me. “We have algebra next. Just follow me.”

  “Thanks.” I hoisted my backpack higher on my shoulder. “I think Aria doesn’t like me very much.”

  “Ah, don’t mind her.” Wyatt waved a hand dismissively. “She’s full of this pureblood shifter-only crap. Kind of like in Harry Potter. Consider her Voldemort. You have read Harry Potter, haven’t you? Or do you only read dull, dreadful history books?”

  I didn’t immediately reply, as the thoughts rolled around in my mind. Maybe I’d made a mistake trying to give the teachers the real answers so she’d stop harassing Reyna Felton. Maybe I should’ve played dumb. God, why didn’t schools come with pamphlets explaining how to behave in certain situations? Why was I so socially incapable that I had no idea what the ‘right way’ to act was? I should’ve watched more high school drama on TV rather than bury my nose in stuffy books.

  “Hey, it was just a joke,” Wyatt interrupted as he poked me in the arm. “Mrs. Woods is a nasty piece of work. She likes to ask questions until you can’t answer them, and then she torments you some more. I’m glad someone could finally put her in her place.”

  “Well, I didn’t even realize I was doing that.” I frowned. “I was just ans
wering questions. I felt bad for how she treated Reyna Felton. Cornering her like that.” I looked up at him. “Did I make it worse? I didn’t want to make it worse.”

  He stared at me for a second, then patted me on the shoulder. “No, you did fine.”

  “Did you swallow an encyclopedia or something?” Indra asked, interrupting our conversation. She had been talking to Stephanie Decker when we left the classroom, and I had assumed I wouldn’t see her again until in algebra.

  “Marisol rocked, right?” Wyatt asked Indra, with a smile from ear to ear.

  “She certainly put Mrs. Woods in her place, but I’m starting to think our Marisol here is not entirely human,” Indra said. “More like half-robot.”

  “Yikes. Artificial intelligence is dangerous nowadays, already comes in human packaging.” Wyatt stopped walking. “Well, here we are. Algebra. Not my favorite subject.”

  “Are you as good in algebra as you are in history?” Indra asked me.

  “I…I don’t really know.”

  She pushed me gently into the classroom. “Well, time to find out.”

  Two hours later, lunch break rolled around. Time had flown by, and I had really enjoyed going to class. I should try school more often. However, I’d only made a handful of important observations.

  One, after I solved a riddle the algebra teacher, a pig shifter with an enormous belly—had deemed “unsolvable,” it was established by pretty much everyone besides me that I was a know-it-all.

  Two, neither the algebra nor the history teacher ranked high on my list of suspects. Same went for the literature teacher, Mrs. Bell, a woman in her early thirties with patches of purple and blue in her hair. It had taken me less than a minute to figure out she was a peacock shifter, judging by the way she pranced around the room.

  Three, I’d learned that even if you tried to provide interesting classes, which Mrs. Bell, tried to do by showing us videos, power points, and being as enthusiastic as humanly possible, most of your students would have zero interest in what you were saying. This sad fact was demonstrated painfully by how completely disinterested everyone besides Wyatt was in literature. Aria Forbes had even painted her nails during class.

  “Three hours in, and I’m ready to call it a day,” I told Indra as we walked toward the dining hall. “No one is interested in learning. Did you see how most of them resembled a sack of mashed potatoes in literature? And that teacher was really giving it her best.”

  We started waiting in line for lunch, holding our trays in front of us. My jaguar licked its lips at the thought of food—she was always hungry, no matter if it was night or day. “Newsflash, Marisol,” Indra said, “but teenagers often resemble zombie hordes. Just think of us regular teens that way.”

  “Regular teens?” I let out a deep breath. “I’m trying to fit in with the regular teen crowd. I really am. What else can I do?”

  “Try being less smart,” Indra said. “Vegetable lasagna, please.”

  The lunch lady dumped a tasteless-looking bowl of what could best be described as barfed-up dog food onto Indra’s plate.

  “So, I’m not ordering that,” I said, pointing at her lunch. “Uhm…fried chicken with rice, please?”

  The plate I received from the lunch lady didn’t look that much better than Indra’s, but at least it didn’t remind me of barf. We grabbed our drinks and headed to one of the empty tables to sit down.

  “Also, I don’t understand what you mean by ‘try being less smart.’ How can I be less smart than I am?” I opened my soda can and took a sip. “That makes no sense.”

  Indra pulled a sad face. I wasn’t sure if that was directed at me or at the appalling state of her lasagna. “You’re arrogant, Holmes. Or maybe you’re not arrogant, but you’re certainly acting like an arrogant, entitled brat.”

  “How?” I cut into the chicken and almost vomited when a green, ooze-like substance flooded out.

  My jaguar jumped back like she got stabbed. She looked disgusted—even she wouldn’t eat this.

  “You know the answer to everything. You solve algebra puzzles that the teacher himself says are impossible, in record time. You know more about history than the history teacher—she didn’t know half the things you were saying, trust me. That makes you look arrogant.”

  “So, what should I do then?” I smelled the ooze to see if it was maybe some kind of poison injected into the chicken by the same person who had murdered Elise Felton. “I can’t unknow what I know, can I?”

  “No, but you can pretend not to know.” Indra put a napkin on her lap and grabbed her cutlery to start eating. “Nobody likes a know-it-all. If you have all the answers, no one is likely to give you any answers either. People won’t approach you with information in case they already think you know it all.”

  I decided the chicken was safe enough to eat and started cutting it in small pieces, ignoring the terrible ooze flooding out of it. “Fine. I’ll pretend I know less than I know, even though that sounds slightly insane. And you can say I know it all or pretend I know it all, but here’s a gem I didn’t know: that high school came with all these unspoken rules.”

  “You’ll learn soon enough. I’ve arranged for us to see Morant during our free period. A cab from the city will take us the coroner’s office.”

  “Good. I have a few matters to discuss with her, like her sheer inability to look past the obvious, or why she was so keen to jump to conclusions about the perpetrator being a jaguar shifter.” I pushed a piece of chicken into my mouth and had to resist throwing up. It tasted like someone had dumped plastic in a microwave and cooked it.

  “Yeah, case in point.” Indra pointed her fork at me. “That there is arrogance. Hubris.”

  I frowned at her, and she smiled self-assuredly.

  “See, I know a few fancy words too.” She lowered her tone. “Wyatt is here.”

  And sure enough, he was heading straight toward our table. “Ladies, mind if I have a seat?” he asked, flashing those brilliant white teeth.

  “Nope, have at it,” Indra said before I could reply.

  “Thanks.” Wyatt put his plate down next to mine and then grabbed a chair and sat down. “So, how was your first day? Did you get to know the people a little? Did you like the classes? If you have any trouble keeping up with anything, let me know and I can tutor you so you’re up to speed. Although I doubt that’ll be a problem for Little Miss Genius over here.”

  “I’m not a genius.” I pressed my lips together. “I just… It wasn’t that complicated, and I wish everyone would stop making such a big deal out of it.”

  Wyatt held up his arms in surrender. “Hey, hey, just a joke. I’m glad classes are going well for you. Better than having to catch up.”

  “Sorry,” Indra said on my behalf. “Marisol is a little cranky today. She woke up at an ungodly hour—and of course, she had to wake me up, too.”

  “It was six o’clock. Hardly ungodly,” I countered, although I remembered referring to it by exactly that same term earlier today.

  “Anyway,” Indra said, dismissing me, “I liked literature. Algebra not so much, but I’ve never been fond of the subject. We still have biology this afternoon, which happens to be one of my favorite classes.” She practically glowed as she shoved another bite of the filthy-looking lasagna into her mouth.

  “I’ve never seen anyone so happy for a biology class before,” I commented dryly.

  “And do you have any plans this afternoon?” Wyatt asked. “If you want, I can show you around the gardens. We never got around to that yesterday.”

  “Sorry, we already have plans,” I said. The second bite of my chicken tasted as dry as the first, and I had to use all my willpower to force myself to swallow it.

  “Oh.” Wyatt looked down at his own plate—he’d also chosen the dreadful vegetable lasagna.

  “Marisol is being blunt,” Indra said quickly, “but she means that we still have to head into town this afternoon and buy new clothes and supplies for our stay here. Some other tim
e?”

  “Yeah, sure.” This made him perk up a little. “I didn’t consider that maybe you’d still need things.”

  I wondered if he had a lot of friends. People seemed friendly enough toward him, but he was sitting with us, the new kids, during lunch, and no one really seemed to miss him. No one gestured for him to come over and sit with them. Nobody looked at our direction wondering why their friend was sitting with us.

  “So,” Wyatt continued, “how do you like Waynard Academy so far, besides the classes then?”

  “The people are nice enough,” Indra said.

  “Besides Aria Forbes.” I stabbed my chicken angrily at the thought of her. My jaguar snarled, baring her teeth.

  “What did she do? You mentioned her earlier already.” Wyatt sighed. “I know she’s a bit of a hothead. She was a good friend to Elise, though, and she’s been really hurt by what happened to her.”

  “When we went to the bathroom last night, we met Aria and well…” Indra took a deep breath while she looked at me. “Let’s just say she wasn’t too nice toward Marisol. I don’t think she likes…” She lowered her voice. “People who are half shifters.”

  “She wasn’t too nice about my mother, either,” I said.

  “Well, either way, Marisol told her off good.”

  “I can’t believe she did that.” Wyatt put a hand on my hand in a supportive gesture. “I’m sorry. I thought she could at least be neutral toward you. She’s…” He paused, struggling to find the right words. “The shifters at school think that the murder of Elise Felton was committed by a jaguar shifter. That’s probably why Aria is so upset at you.”

  “So, she’s upset at any jaguar shifter she comes across? I feel sorry for the other jaguars here.”

  “There aren’t any,” Wyatt said. “That’s probably why she’s letting it all out on you. Not that it’s fair or anything. Just saying.”

  I decided the chicken had ruined my appetite and pushed my plate back. “What do you mean? So, there are no other jaguar shifters here but me?”

  “Nope.” Wyatt shrugged. “Well, we did have this one shifter. Roan Black.”