Pinehurst

by Nicole Grane

  Chapter 2

  I stood on the front steps of Administration—building A. “You have got to be kidding me!” I said aloud. How stupid did they think we were? I couldn’t believe it. The student dorms were actually mapped as buildings D 1 through 8. I scanned the rest of the map. Yes, there was no question; they had to have thought the entire student body was made up of total morons. Biology—building B. Chemistry—building C, Fundamentals in Magic . . .

  The whole campus was organized by the flippin’ alphabet! Lucky for me there were also foot signs along the path every fifteen feet or so, pointing out which direction each building was in— just in case I was a total idiot!

  I made my way along the sidewalk toward the dorms. According to my paperwork, I was in building D-5, a girls-only dorm for juniors. D-6 housed the boys.

  I took in the immaculate grounds along the way. The plush green grass, the trimmed hedges, and numerous flowerbeds with signs posted “keep off” provided a warm feeling that only Ms. Leech could offer. I rolled my eyes as I passed the sign, noting the “designated mingling area for students.”

  I juggled two bags, one over each shoulder, and pulled one behind me. My dad had seen to it that I had enough clothes to last me well into my senior year—or so he thought! There was no way he was getting out of a shopping trip. Not after ditching me in this dump for the rest of my school existence.

  I trundled along wishing Miles were here. Miles was my personal body guard/servant. Okay, he wasn’t technically my servant, but he did carry my bags, open my doors, and drive me anywhere I wanted to go. Once I tried to get him to do an essay for me on French Impressionists. He said no but ended up helping me anyway. God, I missed Miles!

  George had hired him to look after me during the hours I wasn’t in school. Being the daughter of a high-ranking diplomat had its perks. He’d been with me for the past five years. Before that I had Rolf, an uptight German guy who didn’t like to shop. Miles was by far an upgrade and younger too. I’d had a slight crush on him even though he was almost twice my age.

  I found my way, thanks to the hundred or so signs leading me, to my dorm. I’d just started lifting my luggage up the stairs when a soft voice greeted me from behind.

  “Can I help you with that?” I looked back. A girl with long blond ringlets and soft blue eyes greeted me. She smiled brightly. “Hi, I’m Iris.”

  “I’m Evie.” I took her hand and shook it.

  “Let me help you.” She motioned to the big suitcase I’d been trying to lift up the steps.

  “Er, thanks.”

  “I haven’t seen you before. Is today your first day?” Iris was doing her best in heaving the suitcase up the steps. I think it was heavier than she’d thought.

  “Yeah,” I answered half-heartedly. “Here, let me just magic it up.” I couldn’t stand watching her struggle; she was worse than I was. I reached out toward the suitcase.

  “Are you crazy?” She looked around nervously. “If any of the teachers see you using magic out of class, you’ll be in Ms. Leech’s office faster than you can say ‘remedial discipline.’”

  “We can’t use magic out of class? You must be joking.”

  “No. It’s the number one rule in fact. ‘All magic must be used in the presence of an adult only.’ They say it’s a safety thing. There were too many underage Mageia using it and not being able to control it properly,” Iris explained matter-of-factly.

  “Well, what they don’t see won’t hurt.” I reached for the suitcase once again.

  “No!” She batted my hand away. “They’re very strict about it. Last year, one of the boys set fire to his room. He was doing a Floga charm when his whole room lit up like a bonfire!”

  I snorted. “It’s not my fault he can’t manage a simple fire charm. Why should the rest of us be punished for his stupidity?”

  “You can do a Floga charm?” Her eyes widened.

  “Of course . . . can’t everyone?”

  “No, they can’t. I can’t! We’re just learning it.”

  I stared at her in disbelief. She was just learning to do a Floga Charm? Weird. I’d mastered that at the age of five. I would have thought all the kids here were years ahead of me having attended Mageian schools their whole lives.

  “What school did you come from?” Iris asked.

  “Huh? Oh, just some school in San Diego. You wouldn’t know it.” I took up the handle on the suitcase and helped her lug it the rest of the way.

  “You don’t mean a public school . . . for humans?” Her eyes were so wide I’d thought they might pop out.

  “What of it?” I asked defensively. Why did every Mageian get their panties in a bunch every time they found out I went to a public school? I’d spent most of my life growing up around humans. I’d long since dropped my opinion of them being inferior. Naturally, every culture has sub-standard “air wasters” as I liked to refer to them; Mageian’s certainly had their share. But I didn’t see what the big difference was—magic aside.

  “It’s okay.” Iris interjected, still smiling. “I was just curious. I’ve never met one, a human that is.”

  “You’ve never met a human?” I nearly choked on the words. “What, you’ve been stuck in this place your whole life?” The look on Iris’s face suggested that she had, poor thing. “Don’t your parents take you anywhere?”

  “Oh yes! They pick me up every break. Sometimes we visit The Islands!” The Islands are an exclusive get-a-way for the Mageia. They were located somewhere in the Caribbean. I say somewhere in the Caribbean because the location cannot be found on any map. It’s invisible to humans; like our schools are. I’d been there many times on vacation myself. I’d guilt George as often as I could into taking me. It was a prime spot to host the Volleyball Nationals—an event I rarely missed.

  “Here we are.” Iris led me through a set of double doors into the dorm common area. It was bursting with life. Tables were scattered about, filled with students pretending to study. A big screen TV in the corner, surrounded by plush couches, held a group of giggling girls enthralled with the Junior Division of Mageian beach volleyball. With all the commotion of being ditched, I’d forgotten there was a match today—I stopped to gawk.

  “Ms. Spencer, we have a new girl, Evie . . . I’m sorry, what was your last name?” Iris nudged me on the arm, claiming my attention once more.

  “Huh? Oh, Hollyander.”

  Iris did a double take. “As in George Hollyander?”

  “Yeah, he’s my dad.” I suddenly felt self-conscious. “How do you know my dad?”

  “Everyone does dear.” Ms. Spencer looked just as all women did at the mention of my father’s name—flushed. “Well Evelyn—”

  “Evie,” I corrected her. “It’s Evie.” I was still thrown by Iris’s reaction.

  “Yes of course. Forgive me, Evie. I’m the dorm matron.” She smiled warmly. “I’m going to put you in room 204. That’s next to Iris,” she smiled excitedly, obviously hoping that I’d made a new friend. Don’t get me wrong, I liked having friends, but I wasn’t sure I wanted to be best buds with Iris here. She was nice enough, but there was something about her that screamed sweet. I wasn’t exactly wicked myself, but sweet I was not.

  “Wonderful!” I tried to sound as enthusiastic as Iris looked. For all I knew, I was her only friend in this place, and being that I was the new kid, I figured . . . why not?

  “Come on, I’ll get you settled.” Iris was more than excited that we were going to be “practically roommates.”

  I followed her to an elevator, thanking the architect we wouldn’t have to lug my bag up another flight of stairs to the second floor; my room was only a few doors down the hall. I put the key in the lock and opened the door to reveal a pale blue room. There was a large window that overlooked the gardens I’d just walked through. The room was simple. A twin bed, a desk that held an ornate reading lamp and an armchair that looked comfortable. Part of me wanted to collapse in it then and there. But something more pressing had to be
addressed.

  “No bathroom!” I searched the doors. Closet—yes, bathroom—no!

  “Oh, the bathroom’s just down the hall,” Iris offered quickly.

  “We share a bathroom?” The very idea was appalling, and it had nothing to do with the overwhelming amount of girls I was suddenly going to be living with. I could deal with living in a dorm, I guess, but having to share a bathroom was ridiculous, bordering on cruel. I added another item to my grievance list that I was going to take up with my dad ASAP.

  Iris laughed. “You only have to share with the girls in our hall, silly. Don’t worry; there are several sinks and showers, so the wait isn’t long.”

  “Wait?” The very word was foreign to me. I plopped into the chair, exhausted now. I never had to wait for anything.

  “So, what classes do you have?” Iris made herself comfortable on the bed. Apparently she had nothing else to do.

  I handed her my class schedule.

  “Oh good, we’ve got Shielding together, and third period Biology with Mr. Mayer!”

  “Shielding?”

  “You’ve never done shielding?” Now she looked appalled. “It’s self-defense.”

  I looked at her blankly.

  “You’ve never taken a self-defense class?” She leaned in closer.

  “Why should I? I can hold my own.” Actually, I was pretty good at holding my own. When I was fourteen, Miles taught me how to throw a punch, “just in case I’m not there,” he’d joke. My natural knack at delivering a wicked blow earned me several detentions for giving a black eye to more than one overly presumptuous male at my previous school. In doing so, I’d become somewhat of a novelty. The girls hated me because of all the attention the male species gave me—no doubt due to my good looks and charm—as if. And the boys wanted to see who could get past the first punch and score.

  The question was: why were they teaching self-defense in high school?

  “But aren’t you afraid of the Daimonas?”

  “The what?” My answer was a bit surlier than I intended. What the heck was this girl talking about?

  “You mean to tell me that you don’t know what the Daimonas are?” Iris asked. She reached over, took my hand, and pulled me to the bed to sit beside her. Her expression was grave. “Evie. How can you not know about them? Everyone does!”

  “Well apparently not everyone,” I corrected. My dad isn’t the fairy tale type. He’s more . . . grounded.”

  “George Hollyander knows better than anyone who the Daimonas are. They aren’t a fairy tale, Evie. They’re only the deadliest creatures our kind has to fear. Not to mention the humans. Your father must have told you about them.”

  I stared at her and then gave her my most sympathetic smile. Clearly she was, as my mother would say, “touched in the head.”

  “Look Iris,” I pulled her up gently by the arm and led her to the door. “I really do appreciate your help, but I’m really tired—”

  “Evie, I’m serious!” She protested.

  “I’m sure you are . . .” I pushed her out the door. “We’ll talk later, okay?”

  “But Evie—”

  “Bye, bye, now.” I shut the door and leaned up against it, sighing in relief. “What a nut job.”

  I went to my purse and pulled out my cell phone. My call was expected—my dad answered on the first ring.

  “What the heck were you thinking sending me here?” I thundered, not bothering to say hello. My dad was getting it now; I hardly let him get a word in.

  “You can’t leave me here! I hate this place, and Ms. Leech wants to eat me alive!”

  My father sighed. He was used to my . . . disgruntled attitude. A trait I’d inherited from my mother as he’d said on more than one occasion.

  My mother Gwendolyn, a pampered trophy wife, spent most of her days vacationing along the French and Italian Riviera. They stayed married for appearances only. Hollyanders did not get divorced. The scandal of such a thing was, well . . . scandalous.

  She had little to do with me—like I cared. She’d done her duty by producing a child for George— “it isn’t my fault I had a girl,” I’d heard her say before. My mom was not about to ruin her figure with another pregnancy on the off chance she might produce a son to carry on the family name—as if I wanted a sibling.

  My dad blabbered on about giving things a chance.

  “I did give it a chance,” I yelled over him. Why wasn’t he listening to me? “I’ve been here a whole hour!” My voice was getting louder by the second. Usually by the time I’d reached this octave, my dad had caved and given me my way . . . but this time he was holding firm. Since when did he grow a backbone?

  I tried a more dramatic approach, something I used often in my younger years. I added a touch of desperation for good measure—sure to make the old man crack.

  “Daddy, you can’t leave me here. There is a really weird girl in my dorm that is convinced that there are some demons that are trying to kill us. Is this the sort of environment you want your only daughter raised in? These are my formative years after all!”

  The phone got deathly quiet. The silence was surprising considering my dad was a man of many words.

  “Daddy? Dad?” Nothing. And then he started to speak again—I lost it.

  “What do you mean you’ll explain when you see me?” My dad was trying to give me the brush off.

  “Hello? DAD!” I slammed my phone shut and tossed it across the room.

  “He hung up on me!” I growled as I kicked my bed in a pout—thank heavens no one else witnessed my tantrum. This conversation was so not over. I stormed out of my room and strode down the hall looking for Iris. I was not going to wait until George decided to grace me with a visit. I wanted answers, now!