by Dawn Jansen
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Once I’m all washed up, I crawl into my huge bed and set my bedside alarm for eight o’clock the next morning, which is only five hours away at this point, giving myself about an hour to go scrounging for food before Basic Power Theory at nine. If they’re considerate enough to get me a full collection of lingerie, I’m assuming they provide breakfast too.
Lying in bed, my mind is swarming with scenes of what transpired tonight—the look of horror on the officer’s face as the handcuffs crushed his hands; that evil smirk the Architect gave when she saw my test results; the bizarre list of classes on my schedule. I feel like my whole life has been flipped upside down within the span of a few hours. I know something weird has been happening to me this past year, but the way I manipulated those handcuffs was more extreme—and more dangerous—than any other time my powers have manifested. What am I going to become, if they really do train me to control my powers? One of my classes is called Assassination Theory, for Christ’s sake. Is that what the dean is, an assassin? Am I going to become as weird and robotic as her?
Among all these chaotic thoughts swirling around inside my head, one thing is clear to me: no matter what, I’m not going to let them manipulate me to do their bidding. It took me eight years to gain my freedom from the system, and I’m not about to be dragged back into it. I’ll play along and let them think I’m following their rules, but if any good opportunities to escape present themselves, I’m totally bouncing.
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The morning is a blur as I drag myself out of bed, throw on a uniform, and grab a backpack placed next to the armoire, my growling stomach demanding that I find out where the hell the cafeteria is in this place.
I can hear muffled voices coming from outside my door, boisterous voices that seem to be echoing throughout the other rooms and hallways of the mansion, indicating everybody’s woken up. That’s when I get this familiar knot of anxiety in my stomach. Growing up in foster care, I had to change schools a lot, and one thing I learned was that people can be real assholes to the new girl. I’ve done this before, and I know I’m capable of being tough, but this isn’t exactly like attending a new high school. This is a school for the Empowered. Who knows what kinds of spazzoids my classmates will be?
Not long after I’ve asked myself this question, I get my answer just as I’m leaving my room.
I’ve stepped out into this ornate hallway. There’s a dark green carpet running the whole length of the hallway and molded light fixtures along the walls, which are decked out in intricately patterned wallpaper. The rambunctious voices of other students are more audible out here, and just as I plan to start heading in the direction of the voices—thinking that’s where breakfast is being served—a large figure literally slides out of the wall underneath one of the light fixtures. I stop dead in my tracks and shriek as loud as I can.
“Hey blondie,” says the guy in a nonchalant tone, as if he didn’t just phase out of the wall.
I’m frozen in shock, wondering if this is an acid flashback or something.
“Frankie said there was a new girl,” he says, brushing his eye-length black hair to the side in what looks like a practiced motion, “but he didn’t say you were so hot.” Then he makes this really cheesy feline growling noise.
“Did you just come out of the freaking wall?” I finally manage to stammer out, ignoring his lame attempts to hit on me.
“Ugh! Why does everybody always think that?” he says, scrunching his face up in exasperation. “Isn’t it obvious I came out of the shadows?”
He thrusts his hand back into the wall where the shape of the light fixture is casting a deep shadow, and I watch in outright amazement as his arm disappears into the shadow. Then I hear him chuckling.
“I always get a kick out of how much this freaks you newbies out,” he laughs. “So what’s your power, blondie? No wait, lemme guess.”
He takes on this serious expression, and I can’t tell if he’s messing with me or actually thinking.
“You’re definitely not a psychic, cause you’d be blushing if you could read my thoughts and know what I’m thinking about doing to you right now,” he says, looking me up and down with a devilish grin.
I hate that this makes me blush. I’m no prude, but it’s rare to have a guy come on to me so strong, as I’ve learned to give off a tough exterior. I blame the fact that he just came out of the wall—sorry, I mean shadow—taking me off guard for a minute.
That little quip of his makes me take stock of him, though, and it only now really sets in how attractive he is. At 5’9”, I’m definitely on the taller side for a girl, but he’s easily a head taller than me, and he’s the spitting image of “tall, dark, and handsome”; black hair parted in the middle, deep-set, brown eyes, and dimples that appear on his cheeks every time he cracks a smile, which add a hint of boyishness to his otherwise very manly appearance. He’s wearing a similar version of the school uniform I have on, and the perfect fit shows off his slim but well-proportioned bod. I hate that he’s the type of guy who knows how attractive he is, and is used to having women fall all over him. I can tell because lots of guys are intimated by my height and beauty, but this shadow-phasing bastard has his cockiness turned up to 11. If he thinks he’s getting in my pants, he needs a reality check.
“Pyromancer? No, you’d probably dye your hair red if that was the case. Why do they always do that anyway? Super strength then?” With that he goes to feel for my arm muscle, and that crosses the line. I slap his hand away hard before he gets too close.
“Hands off, dweeb.”
“Tristan, stop harassing the new girl,” I hear a man’s voice from down the hallway behind me.
I turn and see an older man coming toward us. He’s not in a school uniform, so I guess he’s a teacher? He looks to be about thirty, with a dark tan and five o’clock shadow. He has a very athletic build, but his wire-frame glasses give him a more intellectual look.
“I was just offering to show her around, Mr. Hill,” Tristan says in a voice that just oozes insincerity.
“Save it, Tristan. You know new students are off-limits the first week.”
I’m not sure exactly what he means, but I’m thankful this Mr. Hill showed up when he did.
“I would never think of breaking Academy regulations,” Tristan says with that same hint of sarcasm, and then he turns to me. “See you soon, blondie.”
“Barf,” I reply, and then watch as he melds back into the shadow on the wall, which is still as unsettling as it was the first time.
“Better get used to that,” Mr. Hill says to me now that the two of us are alone in the hallway. “I don’t know what your background is, but not everybody can handle this place. Our powers are fueled by our emotions, so we don’t do anything to limit students’ expressions, good or bad. Any emotional energy is seen as fuel that makes us stronger. You’ve got a lot to learn, though, and that’s just the tip of the iceberg.”
“I’m used to idiots like him,” I say, kind of annoyed that he doesn’t realize I can handle myself. “I just didn’t expect him to be able to move into the shadows that.”
“Well, you’re gonna see some powers that are a lot weirder than that, so you should prepare yourself. And at least try not to look so shocked. Some of the students can be ruthless here, and they’ll latch on to any weakness they spot. Let me see your schedule.”
I hand him the index card the dean gave me last night and he nudges his glasses down to get a better look at it.
“Power theory. That’s with Ms. Fischer. Her classroom is near the greenhouse on the first floor,” he says, handing the card back to me.
“Thanks,” I say, stuffing the card into my skirt pocket.
“One last thing, Mazzy,” he says, evidently having seen my name on the schedule. “I don’t know how much the Architect told you, but this place is sink or swim. You’re going to be tested like you never have been in your life.”
He pauses for a second before nodding approvingly, a slight smile spreading across his face.
“Alright then. Maybe there’s hope for you yet,” he says before checking his watch. “It’s already half past eight. The cafeteria is down the main stairs to the left. Better get some food in you before your first class.”
I watch him walk down the hallway, half-expecting him to disappear into a shadow or something too. I’m starting to see there’s a lot I have to learn about my new school. Last night I actually thought everybody here would have the same abilities as me, but now I realize we all seem to have different powers. Psychism, super strength—those were some of the things Tristan mentioned. What other abilities are there?
A rumble in my stomach reminds me I have a more important matter to attend to; they might all be powered by their emotions, but I’m definitely powered by food, so I decide to go find the cafeteria.
Chapter 3
Tristan
Why does music always sound so much better in the shadow realm?
I’m finally getting the hang of being in here for longer and longer periods of time, and as I phase into the shadow realm after my meeting the new girl—total babe, by the way—I decide to finish the rest of the Def Leppard tape in my Walkman in here before going to my first class.
I had debated for a long time whether I should call it the “shadow realm” or the “shadow plane”, but I figure the former sounds more badass. And the cool thing is, I can call it whatever the hell I want because, as far as the Academy knows, I’m the only EMP to have ever displayed this power. I try not to let that get to my head, but it’s pretty ace.
As I’m listening to Phil Collen go absolutely ballistic on “Photograph,” the sounds of his righteous guitar solo seemingly amplified by the weird vibrations inside the shadowverse (just thought of that right now—might be cooler than shadow realm?), images of Blondie keep popping into my head, especially that feisty look in her eyes when she slapped my hand away. Most girls get week in the knees when I’m around, so it’s not often that I provoke that kind of reaction. In fact, I can’t even remember the last time a girl put up that much of a front around me, and that makes Blondie a very intriguing anomaly in my world.
I was hanging out with Frankie last night (oh right, I forgot he wants to be called “Mindbender” now, which I’m still on the fence about) when he said he could sense a new presence in the school. He could tell it was a girl, and that immediately got my attention. The empowered gene manifests itself much more frequently in men, so it’s rare that we get new female students here, and I like to be the first to “try them out.” After all, you never know which ones are able to stay alive long enough to score with. Frankie also said he could sense a serious blockage in her, like an entire portion of her psyche was walled off, something he’s never experienced before. I was expecting her to be shy because of that, but I was pleasantly surprised when she turned out to be so fiery.
The more I think about the new girl, the more my link to the shadow realm strengthens, and I can tell that she’s going to be an incredible source of empowerment for me. I haven’t even banged her yet, and just the image of her in my head—her long golden hair, the considerable bust trying in vain to hide beneath her Academy sweater, and most of all that defiant look in her deep blue eyes—gives me the power to flow through the shadow realm with greater ease than ever before.
Remembering what Ms. Fischer always says—to embrace the emotions that strengthen our powers—I give free rein to my imagination, letting myself fantasize more about Blondie, wanting to see just how far I can push my link to the shadow realm. There was a point during our interaction earlier where I know I saw a hint of lust in her eyes, a feeling that she pushed away as quickly as it came, but I know it was there. I imagine her staring at me with that look as I pull her sweater up over her head, revealing a white lacy bra. Her golden hair falls down over her collar bone and her cheeks flush with excitement like they did this morning. My erection stiffening, I feel closer to the shadow realm than I ever have before, and I imagine reaching behind Blondie to unclasp her bra, our lips locked together passionately, her whimpering moans blending with the melody of “Stagefright” when all of a sudden... my freaking tape jams.
As the music abruptly stops, so does my fantasy with the new girl, and I come skidding to a halt, my connection to the shadow realm weakened significantly. The best way I can describe movement in the shadow realm is like snowboarding, only without the board. The world inside here has a certain topography, like undulating waves. The first time I came here, which was totally accidental, I felt helpless, like an elephant thrown into the ocean. As I’ve learned to control my powers, though, not only am I now able to stay within the shadow realm for longer, but I can also navigate it with great agility, surfing along its mysterious slopes and valleys. What they teach in the textbooks is true: the strength of our powers is directly related to our ability to tap into our emotions, so just now I tried seeing how my sexually charged encounter with the new girl would affect my ability to flow throughout the shadow realm, and it worked pretty damn well.
I pop the cassette out of my Walkman and start carefully winding the mangled tape back in, counting it a blessing that at least it didn’t snap. It’s bad enough they don’t let us watch TV here, but at least I’ve been able to keep my Walkman from getting confiscated. One day I’ll make the case to the Architect that music can be a powerful emotional stimulant for our powers too. Maybe after I graduate.
Checking my watch, I see it’s already 8:50 A.M. I have to make it to power theory in ten minutes, so I better get moving. It’s almost impossible to explain the somewhat intuitive relationship between the shadow realm and the real world—how shadows in the real world relate to locations in the shadow realm—but I’m familiar enough with the Academy to know how long it will take me to get to Ms. Fischer’s class from where I am now.
Besides, I’ve been in here for nearly half an hour now, which is enough to start feeling fatigued without any special emotional stimulus to keep me going. Pressing play on my Walkman, I hop onto a cresting shadow wave and make my way toward my first class of the day.
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“Dude, I’m telling you, they’re making a fourth movie where Luke is the bad guy. My uncle works at Lucas.”
Gate is rambling on about Star Wars to me when my jaw drops—Blondie just walked into the classroom.
“Whoa, new girl.” Even Gate stops blabbering long enough to notice her.
The whole classroom suddenly transforms into a battleground, an arena where I’ll be competing with the other guys for the opportunity to court the new girl. I size up my competition. There’s about a four-to-one ratio of guys to girls at the Academy—and among Empowered in general—so most of my classmates are possible rivals. Gate, my lab partner, has a cool power, the ability to summon portals, but he’s too much of a spazz to be any real threat. Besides, he’s already shacked up with one of the other girls in the class. Then there’s Paul, who would have been a serious threat with his super strength and admittedly great looks, but he hasn’t been the same ever since he lost his arm during the Test. Hey, at least he didn’t die and still gets to retake the Test when he’s deemed ready.
As I’m going around the room reevaluating all the males in the class, I hear Ms. Fischer call the new girl’s name.
“Mazzy Martins,” she reads off the attendance sheet when she notices there’s a newcomer today. Mazzy is still standing by the doorway somewhat awkwardly, not sure where to sit.
“Mazzy.” Not what I expected, but not a bad name either. It suits that unique aura she has about her.
“This seat’s open,” Ms. Fischer says, pointing at a seat near the front. “It says here you’re still a Class A,” Ms. Fischer
adds, which provokes a few mean-spirited giggles from some of the other students. “We’ll have to change that today.”
I’m a little shocked by how angry I become when I feel like Mazzy is getting singled out for being a Class A empowered—the lowest categorization, where you can’t control your powers and they only manifest under extreme situations. Why do I have that reaction though? It’s not like Mazzy’s my girlfriend. Besides, a girlfriend is the last thing I want. I remind myself that Mazzy is just a prize, another notch on my belt; yet still, I can’t help but get defensive when I feel like she’s getting bullied.
Mazzy takes her seat next to Overcharge, whose powers give him the ability to absorb electricity and use it to energize himself. He and I are normally pretty cool, but I feel my body heat up with anger when I see Mazzy sit next to him, and a jealousy like nothing I’ve ever felt before washes over me. Even more than that, I feel the shadows inside me stirring, awakened by Mazzy’s presence in the room and by my frustration at seeing her so close to another guy. This is a side of the shadow realm I’ve never felt before; usually I let my anger, sadness, or grief fuel my connection to the shadow realm, not my jealousy, which is not an emotion I’ve felt very often in my life. This is a new experience, and it shows me the enormous power of the shadow realm in a way that was previously unknown to me.
Ms. Fischer is already into her lecture—something about the different types of powers there are—but I can’t keep my eyes off of Mazzy. Each time a lock of her straight hair catches a ray of morning sunlight coming in through the classroom window, I feel a corresponding glimmer in my heart, which is accompanied by an expectant twitching in my cock. My greedy eyes roam down her back and take in the way her plump thighs fit into the curve of her seat, the base of which seems to cup her buttocks, and I imagine myself there, Mazzy’s weight pressing down on my lap and groin, my chest pressed against her back.
