Supernatural School Chapter Six

I'm excited to share Chapter Six of I Reap You Not  with all of you! I want to thank those of you who have pointed out some errors in the text--sharp reading! These chapters are from my second draft and don't reflect the edits that were made for publication! It's just that this is the only draft I can easily paste from :) I hope you don't mind!

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Chapter Six

The TV in the principal’s office drones. There’s some sort of human sitcom on, but you can’t make out the words. You’re staring at the cup of water on the table in front of you, head hanging and hair falling around your shoulders. You’d taken it out of the ponytail to try and appease the throbbing in your temples.

Monster.

You’ve spent the last six months knowing that this was a potential outcome of the game you’ve been playing. It’d seemed so harmless at first. You’d forgotten the stakes and now you don’t know how you’re supposed to keep going when everyone knows what you are.

The cuts on your cheek are already iced over, keeping any more blood from leaving your body. Not much can kill you thanks to this defense mechanism, but you wish you could still feel the pain. Anything would be better than the panic that’s steadily creeping in.

The wooden door to your left slides open, mechanics whirring softly. Principal Finn rolls into the room. There are stress lines all around his mouth and bags under his eyes. You don’t know how long it’s been since he had Mr. Tee and Ms. Jan escort you here, but it occurs to you that it’s been more than a few hours. The sun is rising.

“Well,” Principal Finn says as the door whirs shut behind him. He wheels himself to the other side of his desk and mirrors your posture, letting his shoulders slump. “The parents aren’t happy.”

You look at him. You really, really don’t care about the parents right now. “Is Mrs. Burns okay?”

“Depends,” Principal Finn says. He folds his hands over the papers on his desk. “Are there any other negative side effects to being touched by your kind’s power other than cosmetic?”

Your mind flashes to the spray of deathly blue skin that remained after you clashed with your aunt and when Mrs. Burns touched your cloak. Your stomach twists. “Others will know what it means, but...no. Nothing else.”

“Then she’s fine,” Principal Finn says. He pauses. “The baby is too, last I heard. A boy.”

You nod. You don’t know what else to do. The boll had tolled for Sam’s little brother and he’s alive. Alive. All because you went against your one reason for existing.

Principal Finn sighs. “Ms. Raptis, I will be frank. Most of the parents have called for your expulsion. The Weres want you hunted, the Fae want you exiled, and the rest just don’t want you here. However, you are still a student at this school, as Ms. Jan reminds me, and entitled to the protections this administration offers. It leaves me in the awkward position of deciding what to do with you.”

What to do with you? Preferably find some elemental to open the earth under your feet and swallow you whole. “I’m not surprised.”

“You’ve been kicked out of Cayman Hall,” Principal Finn continues. He pauses to let that sink in and then huffs when you don’t react. “The students held a vote before I became aware of the situation. Obviously Under Hall isn’t an option, not with the Fae Queen offering to exile you herself. She’d probably switch to the Weres’ side if we put you that close to her daughter.”

Amanda. The fae have called your kind “Soul-Stealers” for thousands of years. They don’t believe in the afterlife so Amanda probably thinks you’re some sort of...boogeyman. You sink lower in your seat.

“Crowder is historically for demons.” Finn moves his papers aside until he finds the school charter. “Though I don’t believe there’s a rule against you staying there…”

You’re too tired to beat around the bush all night. “You don’t need to ask, Principal. I’ll leave.” 

Principal Finn blinks. “What?”

“That’s what you’re getting at, right?” You smile without humor. “You don’t have anywhere to put me, but you can’t expel me because I didn’t do anything. Well, good news, I wasn’t planning to stay anyway.””

“I,” Principal Finn says, “am not implying you ought to leave, Ms. Raptis.”

“Fine, you’re saying it,” you say. “Or working up to it.”

“I’d prefer if you didn’t, actually.”

You snap. You don’t know if he’s actually oblivious or if he’s putting on an act, but after the stress of the night, you can’t take it anymore. “It’s clear I can’t stay here now, Finn, deal or no. Nobody wants a Reaper living next door. There’s a reason Reapers are solitary. It’s because we’re not supposed to be one of you.” You stand, wooden chair scraping against the floor unpleasantly. “I appreciate the opportunity you tried to give me, Principal Finn, but it didn’t work. I shouldn’t have claimed this place as mine.”

You stalk over to the door, intent on getting out of here. Forget your things, your (former) friends, your claim on this territory. Forget everything. You’re embarrassed that you thought this would work, that you let yourself care this much, that you put everything on the line in front of your family and lost. You just want to go back to those six months you were lost in the Black Forest and stay there.

Your hand meets empty air where you swear there was a latch earlier. You pause and scan the wall for a button or some sort of device to open the door.  The door doesn’t give any when you push on it and you can’t quite get a good enough grip to slide it back.

“I understand your desire to leave after last night’s events,” Principal Finn says. “However, I encourage you to remember that you are bound by certain rules as a special-entry student.”

“Doesn’t matter,” you say, “I quit.” You run your hands along the door frame, looking for a catch.

“Then we have to discuss the terms of your un-enrollment,” Principal Finn says.

“How do I open this?” you ask, banging a hand against the solid wood. There’s a bookcase to the left of the door. Could the key be in there? It must be one of those security doors that change its structure every time it closes. You’ve seen those on some of the witch’s door in Cayman Hall.

“Truthfully,” Finn says, “you don’t.”

Your hands still on the door as that sinks in. You don’t.

Ice shoots through you. He sounds so calm, so even, so sure. For the first time you notice how the hair on the back of your neck is standing up and how you don’t actually smell any witch magic on this door.

No, instead you smell rot.

Your back hits the door, instincts taking over as you recognize a threat. Principal Finn’s scent has changed from salt to brine. He’s still sitting behind his desk, but it’s like a veil has been removed from your eyes. His gills aren’t the shallow slits you thought. They’re ridged in spikes and extend up under his jaw, the gills of a much bigger predator than a simple fish. His hair is finer than you realized, green under a small beret, and his eyes have almost no sclera. His skin is mottled blue and green and you can see large teeth pressing through his cheeks.

He’s not one of the merfolk. 

“Merrow,” you say. It sounds like a curse leaving your lips and for good reason. Merfolk are children of the sea. The Merrow are fae.

Principal Finn nods, eyebrows raised. “Yes, well, there aren’t any better words for the males of my species, so that will do. I’m surprised you know that term.”

You don’t answer him. The truth is that you barely know it; your studies didn’t focus on Ireland and its inhabitants. You remember a story your father told you about them, one where he collected the soul of a man who’d been imprisoned by a male merrow far under the sea.

“Back to this idea of you leaving,” Principal Finn says like he didn’t just reveal that he’s been lying about his identity. You’ve never heard of a fae masquerading as another creature and had assumed that they didn’t. (You also heard that they couldn’t lie).  He shuffles the papers on his desk, humming a little when he finds the documents he’s looking for. He holds up a stapled set that you recognize. “As a student, you are not actually able to leave the grounds outside special circumstances.”

“Not a student,” you say. Your senses are overwhelming you with information now. Finn’s aura is so much thicker, murky and moving like the depths of the ocean. You don’t trust it. “It’s not what I’m meant to do.”

“What are any of us meant to do?” Principal Finn asks philosophically. His eyes are dark. “You are a student here, Ms. Raptis. This incident was...unfortunate, but you conducted yourself admirably. You’ve been an asset to the school and I, for one, am not prepared to throw that away.”

If he’d said that when you thought he was a merfolk, you might not have heard the threat under his words. You might have even been reassured at him describing your actions as “admirable.” As much as you hate the hypocrisy of judging other creatures for what they are, sometimes there’s a reason the humans made so many cautionary tales about them. 

“I am,” you say. Your hands curl into fists at the surge of pain leaving brings you. New as it is, this is your territory and your kind don’t let things go easily. “Open the door.”

“Be reasonable,” Principal Finn says, ignoring your command. “You can recieve an education, Ms. Raptis, and pave the way for others of your kind. You have nothing to gain by leaving.”

“I won’t be under a fae’s thumb anymore,” you say. You take the chance and meet his eyes. “There’s that. I won’t make a deal with you, no matter the gain.”

Rather than being hurt, Principal Finn looks amused. He quirks an eyebrow and holds up your agreement again. “Ms. Raptis, you already have.”

You stare at the curl of your signature at the bottom of the page. “That says I can un-enroll at any point.”

“It does,” Principal Finn says, “but only if you can get your parents’ permission.” He smiles and his teeth are different too without the glamour. They’re big and sharp.

“No,” you say. You read the contract carefully before you signed. “I’m an adult. I don’t need anyone’s permission but my own.”

The sun is coming through the window, brighter and brighter as it rises. It catches on Principal Finn’s wheelchair, sending glares onto the wall to your left. Principal Finn’s skin looks like a dead man’s in it. “No one knows when Reapers become adults. It could be now. It could be when you’re 50.”

You stare at him. He can’t be saying what you think he’s saying. “Reapers become full-fledged adults when they start working. I started years ago.”

“Perhaps,” Principal Finn says. He flips through the contract idly, pretending to read when it’s clear that he knows it by heart. “However, the school’s terms don’t take that into account. It states that,  should the maturation age of a student not by known, the student shall be considered a minor until they’ve graduated or reached 25 years of age.” He pauses. “Whichever comes first.”

Frost begins to creep out along the wood of the door as the temperature drops all around you. The sun no longer quite reaches where you’re standing and fog is collecting by your feet. “That’s not what my agreement says.”

“No,” Principal Finn agrees. “However, you did acknowledge that you would be subject to all of the school rules while enrolled in your agreement and that’s code 82-b.”

“How many times do I need to say that I quit?” you say. The color begins to bleed out of the bookshelf next to you. “I resign. I’m done. I quit.”

“It seems that you can’t,” Principal Finn says, eyes flicking over your contract. He doesn’t seem at all affected by your display of power. Maybe he can sense how drained you still are or, worse, see it from the way Sam’s claw marks still mar your face. He spreads his hands, dropping the papers onto his desk as if to say what can you do. “Not without your guardian’s permission.”

“My parents don’t care if I leave,” you say. Your mother’s disappointment is still fresh. You jerk forward. “They won’t--”

“Your parents,” Finn says, “are not your guardians in this case, Ms. Raptis.” He wheels out from behind his desk, matching you step for step. “They were not present when you asked for a place here.”

“Then the contract is null and void.” Your lip curls. “Since minors can’t sign.”

“Many of our students find themselves without a proper guardian.” His eyes are lit with victory. “The school provides where it can in these cases, all in accordance with the rules it was founded on. Why, Mrs. Jan is guardian to half a dozen fae here. Your guardian has chosen not to support your unenrollment.”

“Who?” The question is hissed out through clenched teeth.

Principal Finn bares his in response. “Me.” 

This isn’t happening. It’s not happening. Your dart around Principal Finn to the contract on the desk. You rip through it, re-reading as fast as you can. There’s the part regarding classes, grades, housing, vacation--

At the bottom, regarding permission slips, there’s an asterisk.

*Of age students are able to sign documents pertaining to their actions individually. In case the age of maturation is not known, see Code 82-b.

Your mouth is dry. You grab the school charter and rifle through that until you get to the right section. You feel your power drain right out of you as you compare the asterisk to the code again and again. You didn’t think anything of signing since you’ve considered yourself an adult for four years.

At the bottom of the contract, on the Parent/Guardian line is Finn’s blocky signature.

I’m in trouble, you think. It would be one thing if only you’d signed this contract. That would have been an agreement between you and the school and the administration. As soon as Finn signed it, it became a fae deal. Fae magic doesn’t need to recognize you as an adult to take your word as binding.

Finn squeezes by you to reclaim his place at his desk. The feel of his heavy aura almost makes you sick. He steeples his hands. “Of course, as an educator, I can’t support such a promising student dropping out at the beginning of her education.”

“Of course,” you echo. You wonder if there’s any way for you to rub your signature off of this thing. It wouldn’t help, but it might make you feel better. You set the papers on the table. “Until I’m 25, huh?” You bite your lip to keep it from trembling.

“Or until you graduate,” Principal Finn says.

You focus on breathing evenly. “Guess I better study.”

Principal Finn’s gills twitch. “Indeed.” 

Silence falls between you. Principal Finn is waiting for your next move, poised like the predator he is. He looks like he’s waiting for you to give in, but that’s not in your nature. Mortals are fallible. It’s one of the first lessons your father taught you. You can wait them out.

I can wait him out. You repeat the words to yourself, trying to beat the panic back. You can’t let him see you panic anymore. You can’t let him have all the power here.

“The parents want me gone.” You take the seat across the desk. There’s not much else you  can do so you might as well sit. The sun is hot against your legs, rising fast in the sky. “You said I got kicked out of my dorm.” Your fingernails cut crescent moons into the palms of your hands. “What’s the plan?”

“Crowder Hall has an opening,” Principal Finn says. He smiles and his teeth are human again, flat and dull. “How do you feel about demons?”

“Never met one I haven’t liked,” you say. You haven’t talked to any long enough not to like them. They’re an insulated group on campus, tending to stay in their hall or on the far west side of campus as far away from the fae as they can get. It’s a smart move. The other students aren’t allowed in Crowder Hall and demons don’t die under Reaper eyes.

“Wonderful.” Finn takes a key out of his desk and slides it towards you. “I’ll have Ms. Jan escort you to Cayman to gather your things.”

You take the key. It’s an actual key, heavy and black like wrought iron instead of the card Cayman uses. You can feel magic lurking in its teeth and have to resist dropping it when it nibbles at your aura. “Great.”

“Before that,” Finn says, “there is another matter to attend. The child.” He leans forward. “I confess I’m not entirely sure what happened last night.”

You and him both.  “The less people know the better,” you say. You wouldn’t have trusted Finn with the information before. You trust him even less now. 

“It won’t leave this room.” He narrows his eyes. “I need to know.”

“Everyone lived,” you say. “Isn’t that what’s important?”

“You are required to tell me of all death-related activity on school grounds,” Finn reminds instead of answering. It’s a dumb question. Anything that sets off an Alpha Were like that in the middle of a school is important.  He taps a finger on the desk pointedly. “It’s part of our deal.”

Your stomach turns at the mention of the deal, especially knowing all that it entails now. It’d be easy to give in, to tell him what you know, to start building a better rapport to ease the coming years.  You can’t believe you’re under his control until you graduate. You can’t believe you made such a terrible mistake when you read the contract so carefully.

You’ve learned that, sometimes, people die easy. Other times, they die hard.

“No one died,” you repeat. You meet his eyes and show him that you’re not going to be pushed any further today. “I only have to tell you about them if they die.”

Principal Finn stares at you for a long moment, jaw flexing. “Death-related activities.”

You like that he’s the tense one now. It occurs to you that these next few years don’t need to be only uncomfortable for you. “Death didn’t show. What are you going to do?” You grin and there’s nothing nice in the bite of your teeth. “Expel me?”

Principal Finn’s gill flare with rage and he’s tellingly silent.