“You’re in the wrong place, pretty bird,” he coos, invading my personal space.
“Can you tell me where it is, then?” I hedge, defiantly meeting his eyes despite our height difference. Jesus, he’s got to be well over six foot. He studies me, and something in his eyes sparks when I startle as my back hits the door frame, like a predator seeing his prey cornered.
“Where did you come from?” he ignores my question and reaches out to touch my hair, but I slap his hand away on reflex, and we both freeze.
“Dude, what the fuck is wrong with you?” I demand, but then gasp when his other hand wraps around my neck and squeezes. I grab his wrist with both hands, swallowing nervously as I try to stop this stranger from strangling me in front a goddamned useless teacher as a witness, for fuck’s sake. He releases my throat just as suddenly, and before I can even draw a full breath, I sprint down the hallway, desperate to put as much distance as possible between me and whoever that psychopath was. I don’t look where I’m going, but when I finally pause to to erase the memory of his touch, I realize I’m standing right in front of the Headmaster’s office.
Because that’s not creepy at all.
I take a moment to compose myself, and a very Santa-esque man pulls it open and beams at me.
“Ms. Byrke, I presume?” he asks, ushering me into the large office.
“Uh, yes. Headmaster Church?”
“That would be me, Ms. Byrke,” says a lightly accented voice from behind Santa, and I turn to see a man in his fifties stand from the imposing desk and offer his hand for me to shake. His dark suit is expertly tailored to fit his tall frame, and every bit of him—from his styled salt and pepper hair to the gleaming gold watch on his wrist, exudes control and poise.
“Ms. Byrke, I’m Headmaster Nathanial Church,” he says, shaking my hand, “and this is my colleague, Wolfram Brandt, retired professor and our current ombudsman. I trust you’re settling in alright?” he asks as I sit in the armchair next to Santa.
“All things considered,” I respond with a tight smile. I don’t want to mention that little strangulation incident until know who it was. For all I know, they’d congratulate the fucker for it.
“Ah yes, I heard about your retrieval,” Professor Brandt says with a scoff. “I’ve always thought kidnapping was a bit extreme.”
“Yes, well, your situation is quite peculiar,” the Headmaster says, “I can understand why the High Council took drastic action.” I crook my eyebrow at him and he puts his hands up in mock surrender. “Not that I condone it, of course.”
“Of course,” I say, dripping sarcasm
“Let’s begin, shall we?” Brandt steeples his fingers on the arms of his chair and I cross my arms, waiting for the Headmaster’s spiel. “First, allow me to formally welcome you to the Dreadhurst College of Dark Magic. In spite of the unorthodox circumstances in which you arrived, we are happy to have you join us,” he says with a kind smile, and my shoulders lower just a fraction. “I can only imagine how you must be feeling right now, and while I cannot promise that your integration into the magical community at large will be without issue, we will do what we can to support you during your time at Dreadhurst.”
“Why?” I ask bluntly. He flicks his eyes to Brandt briefly before meeting mine once more. “In fact, why am I even here? Do other students get to meet with the Headmaster when they’re abducted from their homes in the middle of the night?” I turn to Brandt beside me, but he remains silent. “All I’ve heard since you people blew up my life is that power is everything here, and I sure as shit don’t have any. So why me?”
“If I may, Nathaniel?” Brandt interrupts when the Headmaster opens his mouth, and he nods for Brandt to continue.
“Our world revolves around certain immutable truths, Ms. Byrke. When Fate plucks our souls from the stars and weaves our existence into the universe, it is to ensure the cosmic forces that govern us all remain balanced. An apt analogy is Newton’s Third Law: for every action there is an equal and oppositereaction. Our souls are thus tethered to preserve that universal balance—as our fate is also tethered.” He pauses, probably for effect or some shit, before continuing.
“You, Ms. Byrke, are an aberration—a contradiction to that previously-held immutable truth. Others are pulled one way or another over the course of their lives to fulfill whatever purpose Fate has determined. You, however, are not. By attending Dreadhurst and becoming a dark wielder instead of a light wielder at Edenwood, you’ve already set into motion a series of events outside the universal laws of our world.” My hands tremble at his words, but I refuse to break his stare.
His next question, a dark, whispered warning, sends chills down my spine. “Can you understand why the High Council, composed of the most powerful and most influential individuals that oversee our society, would be interested in someone living outside the bounds of Fate?”
“Wolfram,” the Headmaster warns, but the professor is undeterred.
“Nathaniel,” he volleys back, and the Headmaster sighs. “You are here, Nyx, because the High Council doesn’t know what to do with you, except to keep you close. Once your epiphaneia reveals your affinity, that may change. It may be all for nothing, in the end—” he shrugs, “—but they’re not willing to risk you slipping through the cracks, again, on the off chance it isn’t.” He finishes and waits for my reaction.
“So… I’m here because they want to babysit me, basically,” I respond with glib sarcasm to disguise how shaken I am.
“While you are here, Ms. Byrke,” the Headmaster rebukes, “you will also have access to a world-class education in dark magic, magical history and society, science, and more. You will be in a safe environment with the resources to guide you through epiphaneia and whatever abilities you may possess. You will be fed, clothed, and housed for the next four years, and when yougraduate—no matter what abilities you may or may not end up having—you will be well-situated to become a member of our society,” he says it like a reminder of all the things I should be grateful for, but all I hear is the threat of what could be taken away just as easily.
When I don’t respond, he turns to Professor Brandt. “Thank you, Wolfram. Are you sure I can’t persuade you to come out of retirement?” he asks a rueful grin.
“Not a chance in hell,” Brandt replies easily.
“Ah well, maybe next time. Now that’s out of the way, I’d like to continue with our agenda for this morning. Wolfram will confirm your Order, and then we will create your preliminary class schedule. Most of these classes are considered remedial, but I want to ensure you have a good foundation of knowledge as you pursue your studies. You can appeal for reassessment next term, should you wish. I also recommend that you accept Professor Brandt’s generous offer to meet regularly for private study, which will help bring you up to speed in addition to your regular classes. Wolfram—if you please?” he asks, and I turn to Brandt as the Headmaster rifles through some papers.
“Right. Ms. Byrke, please hold out your hand,” he asks, but I look at him warily.
“Please tell me you don’t need my blood or anything for this,” I ask.
“Not this time.” He winks and despite my reservations, I give him my hand, and he drops a smooth, dense spherical object in my palm from our of nowhere.
