Supernatural School Chapter Four

Hey all! So this is Chapter Four of the book coming out (hopefully!) this Friday! This chapter is one of my frankenstein chapters--chapters I've had to piece together so that later plot points make sense. It's been tough to work with (and it's not perfect yet!) but I'm pleased with this progression. It cuts off a little earlier than my initial tumblr post for pacing reasons.

You can find the original at the link and my edited version down below!

http://caffeinewitchcraft.tumblr.com/post/164940597554/supernatural-school-pt-3

Chapter Four

Amanda hits another target with a sharpened feather, not seeming at all bothered by the blood that wells along her scalp where she plucked each one. She whoops as the last balloon on the board pops, throwing her hands up in the air. Her brother whinnies, the sound amused, and pushes her over with one of his club-like hands.

She catches herself before she hits the ground, strong, dragonfly wings stirring the dust on the ground. She sputters, laughing, and when she pushes her hair back you can see each one of her missing feathers already regrowing. Her mother is watching them fondly, ignoring the lesser fae who skirt the edges of her train or attempt to catch her eye.

You didn’t follow Sam and his family. You think it might have been fine if you had--Mrs. Burns had sent one last lingering look at you--but something besides your usual caution had stopped you. An ache in your chest that hasn’t gone away even as you lost sight of the Burns’ family.

You’re an agent of Death. That’s the truth of the matter and your kind are formed to be that and only that. You’re designed to wander alone until you find your place and, before coming here, that’s what you did. There were no aches or wants back then, but see the warm glow of the families around you awakens something deep in you.

It’s weird that you want that. It’s against nature that you, a Reaper, want that closeness, that bond, that intimacy. So many of your kind spend centuries in solitude and for good reason. What you are means that you aren’t like any of these people. You don’t live like them. You don’t die like them.

It makes being friends with mortals, no matter how long lived, kind of a bummer.

You ease back into the crowd before Amanda spots you staring at her like a stalker. You wouldn’t mind meeting her mother, but you would mind meeting the Fae Queen. She’s probably one of the few creatures here with any hope of guessing what you are. Mrs. Burns, of course, being the exception.

You make your way to the buffet table, letting the crowd carry you to it. There’s so many people here, all ringing with their own power, and it’s a lot to take in even after months of living with their kids. You can see Weres of all types, brownies, elves, things with no name, and a few demons. Magic flares up over the crowd, red lights for warning to harmless sparklers, and you spot more than a few faculty members rushing about with fire extinguishers.

The buffet is popular, especially the middle tables where the human food is displayed. It’s fragrant, meat carefully sectioned away from vegetables, and you recognize dishes from India, Brazil, Spain and France. There are bottles of water with their tags ripped off and a pitcher of steaming black liquid with cups next to it.

You’re not sure why they’ve categorized ectoplasm as “human” food and you’re not sure you want to find out.

Out of curiosity, you swing by the less populated buffet tables. There are words shining beneath the table legs and you can make out rune sequences for scent-blocking, magic-blocking, and substance confinement. You see some more spells flashing in the air around them that you don’t recognize, but can guess what they’re for. It’d be pretty bad if the Queen of the light fae saw kelpie being served to some of the more carnivorous demons.

A shadow demon, dark power undulating up their cheeks, is crouched over one of these tables, hands curled around a leg of something much too big to be a chicken or even a goat. Their black, empty eyes snap up to yours and they bare sharp teeth directly at you, grinning. 

You don’t chance getting closer, stomach turning. Some of your kind enjoy the more...exotic foods, but you’ve never developed a taste for it. You know that one day you’re going to have to Reap a kelpie or a djinn or a selkie and you don’t know if you’ll be able to look them in the eyes if you’ve partaken of their flesh.

You leave the demon to their meal and circle back to the human side of the buffet. There’s a broccoli casserole that smells nice and in no way reminds you of the consistency of meat.

It’s as your filling up your plate for the second time that the wards on the eastern side of campus cease to exist. Your plate tumbles from your numb fingers and your fork soon follows suit as you turn in that direction, nostrils flaring.

It almost feels like an intrusion but...not. An intrusion comes with debris, the smell of magic, the sound of aggression. But this--this almost feels like the wards have just chosen not to exist which is impossible because they’ve chosen to exist for thousands of years--

“Ah, there you are, Ms. Raptis,” Principal Finn says. You jump, not having heard his wheels on the soft lawn, and whirl to find him sitting behind you, eyebrow quirked. “I didn’t think your kind could be surprised.”

He also didn’t think your kind could have kids until you approached him. “We can,” you say. Half of your attention is still on where the wards are slowly slinking back into place. Their return doesn’t mean everything's okay. It means that something got in. “Finn, there’s--”

“Hopefully I have another surprise for you,” Principal Finn says, not seeming to notice the urgency in your voice. He’s smiling, a smug little gesture that brings out the green under his skin. “I know the rules surrounding this academy are strict when it comes to--” he waves a hand in a circle “--your people.”

The silencing spell takes even you by surprise, despite it coming from your hand. There are too many supernatural creatures around, too many with super hearing, too many with extrasensory abilities. The spell is common enough that anyone with a magical core can accomplish it, but you wince as it strikes off another dozen creatures you could be from Lexi’s list. “Not here.”

“Oh hush,” Principal Finn scolds when he recovers. He paws at his opposite arm, frowning at the film the spell left on his skin. Merpeople are fairly sticky when it comes to magic. “Nobody is eavesdropping. They’re too busy enjoying themselves.”

“I’m not,” you say, pinching the bridge of your nose. Sometimes you can’t believe that Principal Finn’s been the head of this institution for as long as he has.  “Can we save this conversation for later? There’s something wrong with the wards. I think something got through.”

“If you’d listen rather than react,” Principal Finn says, still rubbing at his skin, “then you’d know that there’s no cause for alarm.” He gives up with poor grace, clearing his throat. “Now, as I was saying, I know that this academy’s rules are rather strict when it comes to your kind.”

You stare at him, brow furrowed. “They’re not allowed.” Principal Finn hadn’t known if the wards would even let you in when you made the deal. That turned out to be a needless concern though since the wards didn’t even seem to register when you crossed-- Your stomach flips. “Right?”

“Usually,” Principal Finn says, snapping his fingers for emphasis. “However, after some negotiation, I have arranged permission for your family to attend the festival.”

“What?” You can’t think of anything else to say. Your mind is blank. Your family here? In your territory? The longing for family you felt earlier is nowhere to be found. There’s a reason you left home at 14. “How did you even find them?”

Principal Finn must not be reading you right because he’s smiling. “Trade secret, my dear.”

You flail. “Why?” Your voice is close to a squeak and you imagine the only reason the Weres drifting to your right don’t flinch is the silencing spell still floating around you.

“I,” Principal Finn says, raising his chin, “am a progressive.” He reaches out and pats your elbow comfortingly. “Anything for family.”

And then he rolls away, shrugging off the rest of your spell like water.

You feel rooted to the spot. There’s a gap towards the east that you can’t sense, a moving clump of nothing that’s sending chills down your spine. The food in your stomach is sitting like a rock, the decadent flavors dead on your tongue.

You haven’t seen your parents in--in years. Not since you found your scythe and left to find your territory. That was three years ago? Four? You have no idea what they’ll think about you being enrolled in school like a mortal.

Or, worse, you do.

I’m my own Reaper, you think and are finally able to suck in a breath. Then another. This is my territory. It doesn’t matter that you’re part of this community like your father had always warned you to avoid. You can be a part of something and still act as a Reaper. You can.

You turn on your heel and make your way east, twining past a small group of nymphs and ducking under an ogre’s arm. It takes you past the carnivore’s table and you don’t have the energy to be unnerved by the creatures happily tearing into flesh. All of your attention is focused just ahead where you can see a small group of people emerging from the shadow of the administration building.

You can feel them now, their presence like wet cloth over your eyes, nose and ears. Everything goes...funny when more than one of your kind are together, especially when you’re all adults. You meet people through their souls and none of you have one. Instead you have Death’s Gifts and Tools and that much power in place is like filling a room with fog.

They’re close enough now that you can see that it’s not just your parents. It’s everyone. Your mom and dad are leading the way, dressed in dark greens and blacks with the same blank look on their face. Behind them is your Aunt Alexis and her husband Chris, both wearing some sort of toga. Coming up on the rear is your grandmother wearing a smart suit with all her long, black and grey hair pinned up on the top of her head. They’re all equidistant, unnaturally so, and none of them look the least bit pleased to be here.

You know the feeling.

As they reach the edge of the crowd, even the demons begin to unconsciously move closer to the center of the festival, away from them. You force your mouth into a smile and pick up the pace so you meet on the very edge of the buffet tables, well away from most people.

“Mom,” you say and bow your head to her. Her hair is speckled with gray now and, like her mother’s, it’s a style choice rather than a sign of aging. Her black eyes fasten on you and you hope you’re not imagining the bit of warmth you see in them. “I didn’t know you were coming.”

“We didn’t know you were in school,” she says. “We didn’t know you could be in school.” She tilts her head and her long hair slides over her dark green shawl.

You lick your lips, eyes flicking from impassive face to impassive face. “I, uh, sort of wandered here.” If they ask, you’ll tell them about the deal.

You hope they don’t ask.

“I wandered for fifteen years before I found my first territory,” your dad says. His eyebrows are low over his eyes, thick like yours. “Longer until I found my second.”

“Geez,” Aunt Alexis says, pushing past Dad. Well, not so much pushing as walking a little closer to until he moves voluntarily. Her toga is a gaudy red and matches the red gems in her ears. “Does nobody in this family say hi anymore?”

“Anymore?” your grandmother mutters under her breath, folding her arms. It’s disconcerting to have to use your eyes to see her instead of actually seeing her. All of your family smells precisely of nothing and you feel half-blind around them.

Aunt Alexis ignores her and you have the distinct feeling she usually doesn’t listen to your grandmother. “Niece, you’ve grown.” Her nose wrinkles. “I don’t like it.”

You shrug, putting your hands back in your pockets. You know what she means. The young of your kind feel like terry cloth to the senses, not the low grade sandpaper currently scraping over your skin. “I Rea--I work. I work now. Here.”

“Really, here?”  There’s the scorn you were expecting. You look up from under your lashes at your father. He’s tall and wafer thin, imposing in a slim-cut suit. His eyes flick over the campus and his lip curls. “I was hoping at least past the wards as well. When I was your age, I was in charge of Romania.” He steps around Alexis to loom over you. “All of it.”

Your mother draws him back with a gentle touch to the arm. Your father doesn’t flinch, though you can tell the contact surprises him by the way his eyebrows twitch. While their bond keeps them from feeling the horrible, abrasive sensation from each other, they’ve never been very physically affectionate.

“She’s young,” your mom says, “and when you were young there was no Romania.”

“I used to walk to school uphill both ways,” Alexis mocks, blowing a raspberry at your dad. “Grow up.”

Your father swells. “I’m just saying that, with her lineage, she ought to be looking for better opportunities--”

“I think it’s a great starter territory,” your grandmother says. When she speaks, you can almost hear the bell in her voice. You don’t know how old your grandmother is nor do any Reapers you’ve ever met. She’s always been working. “A lot of variety.”

“I’ll say,” Uncle Chris says. He’s been staring out over the crowd, largely ignoring the family argument brewing in front of him. “I’ve counted at least three types of demons and practically every Were known to man.” He pauses. “Well, if man means us.”

“How’d you manage to get into this place anyway?” Aunt Alexis asks. She makes a show of looking over the grounds, eyebrows climbing higher and higher as she spots the dining hall and it’s spires, the dorms and their giant stature, the trees and the magic in them. She whistles. “Never heard of any school willing to take in our kind.”

“It’s discrimination,” Chris agrees. He turns to you and jerks his chin. “So what? Forged paperwork? Change in policy? Unlawful blackmailing?”

“Uh,” you say and swallow hard. What you’ve done--made a deal--is against everything you’ve been taught. You represent Death. Death doesn’t deal. But you did. “I, um, just turned in my paperwork.”

“Paperwork?” your mom asks. “What paperwork? We’re still your legal guardians, you know, we should have had to sign.”

There’s a moment of silence as you all look at each other. Alexis darts an uncertain look at you and grandma keeps her arms neatly folded. Finally, your father says, “Dear, Anita, you know that Tana is not actually under our--”

Your mother throws up her hands. “Oh for goodness’ sake, Kallipos, am I not allowed to joke anymore?”

“Implying you joked ever,” Aunt Alexis says under her breath.

“Oh dear,” says your grandmother and she takes a healthy step back.

Maybe, you think, she didn’t hear that.

Your mother heard that. Her eyes flash as she looks at her sister. “At least my sense of humor doesn’t end with a cult of death-defyers--”

“No, yours just end with century long feuds--”

Your mom gasps. “I wasn’t the instigator of that--”

“No,” Chris says, coming to stand next to his wife. “You just had the last word.”

“Stay out of this,” your mom hisses at him. Fog leaks from the corners of her mouth and you’re surprised none of the creatures around you can seem to feel the temperature dropping. “I’m tolerating your presence only because of her, goodness knows why she settled for such low pedigree--”

“Low pedigree?!” Your aunt sneers. “Do you hear yourself, Anita? You sound like a fucking fair--”

Your grandmother darts forward, clapping a hand over her youngest daughter’s mouth before she can finish saying fairy. Her eyes flash to sightless silver and then back. “Careful. There are more than Weres here today.”

You look over your shoulder where you can see just the edge of wings, bark and dark, raven hair. You swallow and carefully shift so your back isn’t entirely to the crowd anymore.

You mother pinches the bridge of her nose, much like you do when stressed. “We’re together so infrequently. Can’t we put the past aside and pretend to enjoy it?”

Aunt Alexis narrows her eyes and stubbornly doesn’t respond.

“There’s food,” you blurt into the tense silence. You wring your hand and then hide them behind your back so they can’t see. “We should get food.”

At last, the heavy atmosphere disappoints. Aunt Alexis huffs audibly and shakes out her dark hair until its ends curl against her red toga. “I could eat.” She doesn’t wait for you to lead, instead strolling past you to where the supernatural buffet is. “Oooh, is that roasted kelpie? How’d they get that?”

“How’d they manage not to offend the Fae Queen?” Chris wants to know. He avoids your mom and follows his wife, squinting into the crowd. “Wait, that’s literally the Fae Queen, isn’t it? How in the fu--”

“We didn’t come here to fight,” your mother says to you. She tucks a strand behind her ear. “When I found the invitation, we were worried. We came to check on you.”

“I came to see why you’ve tucked yourself away,” your father says. He frowns, mustache twitching over his lip. “Squandering your gifts--”

“You,” your grandmother says wryly, “used to Reap peasants. And you were happy about it until my daughter found you.”

People think Reapers have no blood. Your father proves them wrong by turning a furious red. “I was young--”

“And so is she,” your mother reiterates. She nods your father after Chris and Alexis. “Let’s see what vittles they’ve laid out, hmmm?”

Your father grumbles, but allows himself to be lead. “I’m just saying that this is a start. She’s always been so in tune--”

You watch your grandmother follow them to the table and the careful way they all keep several feet of distance between themselves. When you’re sure they’re too busy with the food to see, you let your lips quirk into a small, pleased smile. Despite the grating feeling, despite the argument, despite the surety that someone is going to spot the hoard of Death in their midst, it’s...nice to see family.