One
Izara
Do you ever have harmless daydreams about ripping a misogynist jerk’s dick off and shoving it down his throat until he can taste his own balls, just so he’ll shut the fuck up for a little while?
Yeah. Me neither.
“It seems you’ve shown little to no abilities, transformations, or talents whatsoever, Miss Castillo,” Headmaster Willms utters for the second time, flipping another cream page inside the folder titled: Izara Castillo, Age 19, Prodigium: Unknown.
The folder title alone is painfully accurate: Prodigium Unknown. What kind of supernatural am I? We have no damn idea. I’m basically a human in this man’s eyes.
Except for the slip up that got me thrown under Academy of Six’s radar in the first place. Yes. I’m completely mundane except for that asshole my poor, innocent monster supposedly killed.
But that’s something I don’t talk about.
Partly because I don’t remember it. And partly because it was my ex boyfriend, and when you kill an ex boyfriend, people start throwing brash words around like ‘temperamental’ and ‘psychotic’ and all that stuff.
Slaughter limb from limb one little ex, one time, and people treat you like you’re dangerous or something.
“That’s me. Little Miss Talentless. Are we done? Can I join the others?” I try to force the snapping words from my lips because it’s easier than admitting how much this place is getting under my skin.
Flat black walls press in from the small space of his office. It dulls the shine of the old metal desk that separates me from the tired, old Headmaster. A little name plate sits at the edge of the desk with an excessive title listed there: HEADMASTER DR. ALAN ABRAHAM WILLMS, MD.
The Headmaster looks over his square rimmed glasses, his aging hazel eyes seemingly trying to search inside me with a single disturbing look.
“And you said you don’t know what your Prodigium even is? A woman your age should know what lives inside her. Fae or siren would be my guess, judging by your alluring but cold exterior. But how do you live nineteen years without a hint of the Prodigium supernatural abilities showing? Is it a weak Prod or just simply ignorance, Miss Castillo?”
I give Dr. Willms another vacant stare and I almost stop myself from wondering if his dick’s even large enough to fill his gaping mouth.
Almost.
“I appreciate the welcome into your prestigious Academy,” prison, “but either assign me my classes to get my Prodigium under control, or let me leave because my shift at the Willy Hog Dog Shack starts in ten minutes and I’d really like to know just how terrible my future for the next two years is about to be.”
Is it going to be customer-service-hot-dog-stink average bad, or like blow myself up during a strange Hogwarts style potions’ class extremely bad?
Now we’re both staring blankly at one another.
Finally.
He’s speechless.
Until he isn’t. “Ah, it seems they failed to inform you…”
Failed to inform me what?
This—this is why my father and I chose the human society of New York City. Humans, they tell you what they’re thinking. All. Of. The. Time.
It’s supernaturals who are conniving. Dangerous.
Deadly.
“Once you enroll at Academy of Six, we give you temporary restrictions. For safety reasons, I’m sure you understand, we do not allow students to leave campus, so I’m afraid your work at the Willy Nilly… Shack… will come to a temporary end.”
The smile against my lips is so repressed it hurts, but I keep it together long enough to hear a long and heavy sigh of apparent disappointment at my lack of reaction to skim from his lips.
“Take the standard schedule Mrs. Warren keeps at the front desk. We here at Academy of Six do not have the time nor the luxury to customize delinquent students’ class schedules. Especially if they’re not going to be around long.” The pause he puts into this moment is so dramatic I wonder if he’s theatrically trained or if he’s just this good at being a total asshole. “You’ll be in Dormitory J, fifth floor. Your schedule will have a room number randomly assigned to you. I wish you nothing but the best in revealing your Prod before it’s too late, Miss Castillo.”
Yeah. Thanks so much for that sincere welcome.
I shove out of the little wooden chair with so much force the legs scrape along the shining black tile floor.
I hope it scratches.
The cool glass of the door meets my palm and I push through it without looking back at the man who arrested me and also took me in. They’re one and the same here at Academy of Six. This is the last stop for someone like me. Because there’s a monster inside me. It either comes out and I learn to control it, showing the other supernaturals that it can play nice in society, or they’ll throw my ass in confinement.
Innocent until proven guilty is a backwards statement in this place.
The door swings closed and the little woman typing away at her computer glances up with a hesitant smile just as she did when they hauled me in here. Her short curled hair is as dark as her eyes, and that half smile on her red lips is the same one you see in retail from cashiers who just know you’re about to steal something.
I guess Mrs. Warren must be used to my type by now.
I grab the top paper she pushes towards the corner of her desk, but I don’t pause to look at it until I’m out of the pristine faculty building and the afternoon sunlight hits my face. Warm air pulls at my inky hair and it finally feels like I can take a breath again. The walls aren’t closing in on me. Men like Dr. Willms aren’t lurking, waiting for me to screw up. Again.
I mean, he is. Just from a distance now.
I just have to be careful. I can be careful.
The tremble that shakes through my hands is so obvious that when I grip the paper harder, it doesn’t even help.
I’m fine. I’m okay. Everything is going to be okay.
My lashes open slowly and I scan the thin paper, noting the scribbled number inked into the top right corner.
Room 503
FIRST YEAR PRODIGIUM
•Introduction to Prodigiums 101
•A History of Races
•Demonology
•Interdimensional Travels
•Human-Prodigium Relations
•Prodigium Health, How to Care for Your Other Self
•Prod Reform
•Gym
What the fuck! Gym? The Academy of Six welcome pamphlet didn’t warn me that it was run by complete sadists.
Fucking gym.
If they tell me to run a mile here, I’ll start at the starting line and not finish until I’m jogging through the doors of Willy Hog Dogs with open arms.
Wait, I can’t.
Temporary restrictions. I glance down at the glowing gold band that now outlines my ankle, having appeared there as if by sparking magic. House arrest indeed.
This must be the only academy in the city that hands out class rings in the form of ankle bracelets.
Great.
I wonder if I’ll implode on the spot if I cross the sharp iron, wrought iron fence that surrounds this “academy”.
I’m still mentally pouting when I glance up at the lush green grass and bristling trees. A dark memorial statue of an angel with wide spread wings is just in front of the entrance here. The script beneath her flowing gown reads: Etheria, Founder of the Six, Former Headmistress of our hearts as well as our Academy. We are forever grateful.