Terrence paused before adding, “Don’t you think the Wild-Lifers have Future Seers too?”
The vampire looked to General Nikit for support. The General nodded.
“Terrence is right. Not only would changing the schedule of the ATTP alert the Wild-Lifers that we were aware and searching for this entity, but it would raise the suspicions of the non-magical populace in general.” Nikit looked concerned—and those who knew him already knew that it would be futile to try and convince him of the idea of changing the date of the ATTP. It was too dangerous—and protecting the people of America was a duty that ultimately fell on his shoulders.
He directed his look to Mrs. Belour, and with sorrow in his words, remorseful to contradict his colleague and former love, he said: “I’m sorry. I can’t back you up with this plan. There must be another suggestion.”
“There isn’t, Arthur.”
It wasn’t Mrs. Belour who’d contradicted him—it was no less than the President himself. He spoke with a tone so dry even General Nikit didn’t try to oppose his point.
“I’m afraid Antoinette is right.” The President frowned. “If you will, Mrs. Belour, turn to the page we’d highlighted in your report.”
Mrs. Belour flicked through the folder she was holding and held up the page the President had referred to.
“Look right here”—the President gestured towards the page being held aloft—“and tell me what you see.”
Terrence read out, “Point five percent of mage-bloods, Mr. President.”
Annoyed with the number—and barely acknowledging that Terrence had read it out loud—General Nikit growled:
“Point five percent. I know that number by heart.” He sighed heavily. “It’s the percentage of mage-blood students the wild-lifers take from us every single year.”
The President continued, “I am not going to let that happen in the next two years—not if so much is at stake. Not if it’s under my watch. Do you want to take a .5% chance of our country being ripped apart from the inside?” He stood and walked around the room, going from face to face among the gathered leaders and looking each one in their eyes. “Neither will any of you let this happen.”
It almost sounded like a threat, and the air thickened with tension.
After striding around the table, the President turned and addressed everybody in the room.
“We’re going to do as Mrs. Belour suggested. We’ll move the ATTP testing two months ahead of schedule.”
It was easy to see a smile stretch across Antoinette’s face—but the moment she saw other people become aware of it, the smile disappeared.
Antoinette scolded herself. This wasn’t about winning the room to her opinion, especially after Arthur supported his second-in-command. It was about something much bigger than them—and right or wrong, egos aside, they all needed to do everything in their power to prevent mage-bloods from siding with the enemy.
“Antoinette, assemble a team of your most capable witches and wizards. Terrence, recruit the best vampires in your network. Arthur will work with the shifters to guard the perimeters of the country. We are not going to let any non-grounder students fall through the cracks this year, nor the following.”
The President turned to leave. He paused at the towering door of the conference room and turned to address those gathered one last time.
“Do not let me down. I want the number of mage-blood students intercepted by the wild-lifers to be zero for the next two years.”
The President left the conference room, and there was silence among those who remained.
There wasn’t much room for maneuver in the President’s instructions. A task had been set, and expectations had been communicated. Now it was time to work on delivering them.
Nevertheless, overseeing an operation that involved the whole country, not to mention running a secret facility, was not a simple task. The President had set his expectations, it was up to the leaders in that room to fulfill them, and that meant finding the prodigy was going to be like playing a high-stakes game of chess against the wild-lifers. General Nikit, Mrs. Belour and the rest of the government needed to keep one step ahead with every move they made, so each new generation of prospective students wouldn’t fall into the clutches of the enemy.
Before leaving the base, one of the President’s guards made a quick trip to the washroom, where he opened his phone, sending a voice message. “It’s true, my lord. Activate the plan.”
A cold voice came through his earpiece. “Good job, my servant. Ezequiel will be happy to hear this. You will be rewarded for your loyalty.”
He closed his phone, washed his hands, and ran to catch up with the rest of his team.
3
"I'm sorry, missy, but you know the rules! No one leaves this house without a rich and hearty breakfast!"
Her voice was soft and warm. Almost anybody else would feel the hug that those caring words were intended to convey—anybody except her daughter.
No—Naya was not in the mood to be nice this morning, or to enjoy the delicious meal her mom had made.
"Mom,” Naya complained, “you know I don't like to be late for class—especially today. Please?"
Seeing the look on her mom’s face, Naya attempted to leverage the very last resource she had left to her—and immediately wrapped her arms around Dad for support.
"Dad, you understand me, don't you?"
Naya’s eyes widened pleadingly, resembling Puss in Boots from the Shrek movies.
"Naya, my sunshine.” Claude, her dad, shook his head. “We've talked about this before. It is very important to eat properly. You’re 14 years old! Teenagers your age need nutrition."
"I know, I know, you've told me this, like, a thousand times."
Naya sighed, accepting that she’d lost the battle.
"Okay, I’ll eat—but don’t expect me to chew!" Naya grabbed one bite of Mom’s deliciously aromatic blueberry pancakes, glistening with syrup on top, and did exactly as she’d threatened. Without stopping to chew, she complained: "This is the most stressful day for all the ninth graders, and they…"
Naya stared directly at the window, pointing to a house across the street.
"…they tend to get more intense than usual."
"It’s just a blood test, baby. Don’t pay any attention to the rumors." Mom tried to calm Naya down, even as her daughter’s face filled with worry and concern.
"Maryanne, darling," Dad addressed Naya’s mom, giving his daughter the support he hadn’t when it came to eating breakfast, "maybe she’s just a little upset because next year it’s going to be her turn to take the ATTP—and she probably wants it to be even earlier, so she can see how the magic works."
"Magic? There’s no such thing as magic, Claude." Naya’s mom, Maryanne, paused to laugh at her husband. "These tests are run to test for that disease the government told us about, and you know it." She shook her head. “Magic. That’s just a crazy conspiracy theory.”
Dad didn’t look so impressed.
Her mom gave him one of her disapproving looks. Dad’s face immediately softened.
"My love, calm down.” He held up his hands. “We both know that. I only meant ‘magic’ as in the process of how performing the ATTP works. It’s quite an operation, to test every ninth grader in the country just before summer vacation."
But then Dad narrowed his eyes and met Maryanne’s gaze. Without a sound, he mouthed the words, “Keep it down.”
For a second, Mom and Dad shared a glance…
…and then Dad turned to Naya.
"Baby, is there anything else worrying you? Besides the test?"
With the last bite of the pancakes still in her mouth, Naya took a big slurp of orange juice and shook her head. "No, Dad.” She pushed her plate away. “I'm finished now. I have to go."
"Okay, sunshine. Be safe!" Mom opened her arms to give her daughter a goodbye hug. Maryanne was a warm woman in every way—her voice, her skin, her hugs… Everything about her was wholesome. She w
as the kind of person you’d go to whenever you needed to feel calm.
But there was a lot more to Naya’s mom than pancakes and hugs. Her knowledge was undeniable. Maryanne was the head of the neurology department. People all across the medical field knew about her, and Maryanne was the creator of many new successful treatments that had lifted her department to the next level, making it one of the foremost in the world.
As Naya gathered her stuff, Mom murmured, "Meet me at the hospital after class, please."
Naya rolled her eyes at her mom.
"Naya! Your dad and I will be expecting you there for your six-month checkup."
"But, Mom! I had plans! And next month will be six months since the last checkup."
"Reading books at the library is not ‘plans,’ my dear." Dad had a pretentious smile on his face. "Nobody appreciates the joy of a new book more than me, but this is important—and even though we used to do it in June, I think it’s better if we move it up this year."
"I don't know why you even want to do another stupid checkup. I’m fine!"
Every six months, ever since she was a little girl, Naya had endured being tested by her mother and father for any signs of disease—which she thought was crazy, considering she’d never shown any symptoms of anything. Not even the flu!
She’d been a healthy kid so far, and this tedious blood test always disquieted her. For one, Naya was not a fan of needles—and watching as her blood filled a tube was not a walk in the park for her. The sight of blood had always made her feel sick and dizzy, especially her own.
"I'm getting tired of this.” Naya rolled her eyes again. “I have to go, Dad. I’m late now."
"It's for your own good, sunshine. You'll understand one day.” As Naya reached the door, Maryanne shouted out, “Be safe! Mommy and Daddy love you!"
It’s the classic phrase every parent shouts at their child whenever they want to express their affection without dealing with the unspoken disagreement between them.
The cheery cry led to Naya rolling her eyes yet again, slamming the front door behind her as she left.
As Naya stomped down the sidewalk, she was filled with irritation. She was supposed to leave the house at 7:30 a.m. It was 7:50 a.m now. She was late.
Not for class—classes started at 8:30 a.m., and she was only a 10-minute-walk away from her school.
No—Naya was late to hide.
Every day, she avoided her classmates by arriving at school early, spending her lunch breaks hidden under the bleachers or in the library, and then getting home as fast as she could.
Naya has no friends there—at least no real friends. There was this one awkward girl who Naya talked to occasionally, or teamed up with for school projects. Her name was Gladys. She was the same age as Naya, and kind of liked the same things.
Gladys always let the popular kids make fun of her. She always arrived at school at the same time as the “cool kids,” and whenever she walked past them, she said “hi” to them.
Did Gladys really think those popular kids were her friends? They were always mocking Gladys for her “grandma” outfits.
Gladys was too exposed by trying to be friendly. Naya was convinced she knew best. She preferred to hide and avoid—and it had been working out so far.
Okay, so that wasn’t 100% true—but only because every time she let her guard down, she’d always ended up being hurt.
After what had happened last year—at a party that her parents had forced her to go to because Gladys had stupidly told them about it—Naya had sworn she’d never make the effort to be sociable ever again.
At that party… Well, once she and Gladys had got there, it seemed to be nice.
The music had been loud, people were weirdly friendly with her, and somehow Naya had found herself having a good time…
But only until Beatrice—one of the “cool” kids, and the girl every boy dreamed about dating (and every girl, except Naya, wanted to be BFFs with)—grabbed Naya by her arm and led her into the center of the room.
Attracting the attention of everybody at the party, Beatrice had announced: "Well, everyone, you know what happens with the newbies at every party!"
She’d then thrown a shady look at Naya and made a gesture with her hand—something that probably meant “take her,” since that’s what happened next…
It all happened in seconds. The football players had stepped up in front of Naya, and then lifted her and Gladys up.
In some strange way, Gladys had apparently appeared to love it—whether for the attention or the fact that the most handsome guys in school were now manhandling her.
Naya, on the other hand, had instantly tried to escape, but it had been useless. The football players outnumbered her and were so big and strong.
As the jocks carried Naya and Gladys, Beatrice had opened the door to the back yard, leading the crowd of partygoers to the poolside.
She’d then taken her phone and started recording what happened next—announcing loudly: "I hope you know how to swim, bookworms!"
Beatrice had laughed so hard—that hideous, sadistic laugh.
The football players had tossed Naya and Gladys into the pool—fully dressed, and with all their stuff still in their pockets.
And then, sadly, the torture wasn't over.
Gladys had been in the last days of her period, so seconds after being thrown into the pool, a maxi-pad bobbed up out of Gladys’ bag and started floating between them as they splashed and flailed in the water.
It wasn't stained or anything—but it was still a floating maxi-pad, in the middle of the most popular girl's pool, with all of the “cool” kids around to witness it.
Naya had tried to hide it, because she knew Gladys wasn't going to be able to take the embarrassment, but nevertheless, one of the football players, Ryan, had seen it. He was standing with his hand on his side, a cocky grin on his too-handsome face. It wasn’t fair. Guys that horrible should have faces to match their cruel insides. The jerk was obviously flexing so hard his abs looked like they were going to pop out of his chest and his biceps were going to pop a blood vessel. He was too vain to participate in throwing them into the pool, sitting back like a king letting his servants do the work.
He was the quarterback star of the school, and Beatrice's boyfriend. He brushed his mop of wavy hair from his bright blue eyes and his lips curled up in a sneer.
"Naya’s trying to hide her pad!" Ryan had pointed right at where the pad was floating. Everyone had seen it then, of course—and they’d all started to make disgusting sounds.
"It’s not…not…" Naya had wanted to shout out “it’s not mine,” but Gladys had grabbed Naya's arm in the water before she could finish those words and given her a desperate look.
Naya had stared into Gladys’s eyes and felt a sinking feeling.
"It is yours, weirdo!” Beatrice had pointed at Naya, not Gladys. “Get the hell out of my pool!"
Beatrice had acted as if she was disgusted—but she’d never stopped filming.
While Gladys was struggling to get out of the pool, Naya looked up at Ryan and had instantly known something worse was about to happen.
"Pad girl! Get out of here!" Ryan pointed at Naya as he yelled at her. The laughter from the crowd had become even louder then, and his words had become a chorus as he repeated them.
"Pad girl! Pad girl! Pad girl!"
Beatrice kept filming Naya with her phone.
"Smile, pad girl! You have a thousand views right now!"
As Beatrice mentioned those words, Naya had finally clambered out of the pool. Soaking wet, she’d run for the door. She just couldn't have stayed any longer in that place. Her high school years were just beginning, and yet she’d already earned the worst nickname ever.
Even worse, “pad girl” should have been Gladys—but she was a coward. She’d let Naya take the heat for her and hadn’t tried to correct anybody as they’d yelled “pad girl.”
Naya understood Gladys, though. Gladys was too fragile to tak
e all of that embarrassment. Nevertheless, Naya had never looked back. She’d run from that party and cried all the way home.
Her parents had been asleep by the time she’d got home, so Naya had no one to comfort her. She’d peeled off her wet clothes, showered, and gone straight to bed. That night, she’d sworn never to go to another party again—or let Gladys ever step into her home.
Naya didn't resent her, but Gladys could have said that the pad wasn't Naya’s, and then the moment would have been over. Besides, it was Gladys’s loose lips that had created the problem in the first place. Never again! If Gladys ever tried to take Naya to another party, she at least wouldn’t be able to use Naya’s parents to force her to go. No, Naya wouldn't let that happen ever again.
It had taken several months of name-calling, viral videos, and printouts of photos from that night—posted in every classroom of the school—to make the experience as painful as it could be. Eventually, a new incident with a different girl would occur, so Naya’s unwanted fame would vanish, but in the meantime, she’d learned how to hide, escape, and be invisible. Naya never drew attention to herself anymore—not that she’d been trying to before. As a result, she learned how to fade away, to become practically a ghost in her own school.
But the reason Naya had been so irritable that morning was because today marked exactly one year since the birth of “pad girl.” As she stomped her way to school, Naya just wished someone could forget about it by now. Social media had conspired to help users remember every memory from their online life, and today reminders of “a memory from a year ago” kept coming up. That memory.
And Naya wouldn’t be the only one to receive them, so she needed to be extra sneaky today to avoid any attention.
Looking up, Naya realized she was almost at school already. Nothing bad had happened on the way. She’d even seen some football players on the sidewalk opposite, but they hadn’t paid any attention to her. She’d remained invisible all the way.
The Mage-Blood Test: A YA Paranormal Romance (Arumrose Academy Book 1) Page 2
