The first thing I notice is the smell, it reeks of mildew. It’s like the carpeted floors are seeped with mold. Something I feel once my white shoes squish into the material. I sweep my gaze around. Half of the carpet is torn out in strips, as if it had been abandoned in the middle of a renovation. The room overall looks like disastrous shit that doesn’t want to be here any more than I do.
Really, the only thing in the room that looks new is the whiteboard, sprawled with large bold lettering that glitters and waves like a magical banner.
INTRODUCTION TO PRODIGUMS 101
The funding of this place is completely bizarre. My outfit looks like it stole the budget and I’m not even sure why it matters what I’m wearing. Will my monster GPA just completely crumble if I walk in wearing a Jonas Brothers reunion shirt and ripped jeans?
The desks seem sturdy enough, the chairs less so. People are seated two to a table, and it reminds me of human high school biology when I had lab partners. Most every place is occupied by people whose expressions range from solemn, to pissed off, to on the verge of committing mass murder.
Well, at least I know I’m in the right place, I guess.
“You’re late!” a stout man accuses. His stiff brown tweed suit reminds me of a children’s story book character but I can’t place him. His balding head glows under the harsh fluorescent light of the bulbs. He has a smattering of hair behind his ears and on the back of his head. You’d think he’d find a spell to make himself look less like an amphibian. Unless he shape shifts into a frog or something. Seems a little odd, but who the hell knows with this place.
Saint shrugs too casually, almost mockingly. “It seems I am.”
Wow. Suddenly he’s a bit more attractive than his literal cocky dick lead me to believe.
The teacher goes red in the face. “Tardiness will not be tolerated.”
“Oh, don’t take everything so seriously. I was showing the newbie around.”
My face flames at being referred to as the newbie. He’s as new as I am, fucking vampire.
“There are rules to uphold, and we punish tardiness with confinement.” The teacher speaks directly at me.
As if it’s my fucking fault our juvie dorm is miles away from this building. As if it’s my fault Saint said he had to stick to the shadowed parts of the buildings or else he’d burn to a crisp and explode like crackling Rice Krispies—which I later found out he fucking lied to me about. The moment we arrived and sunlight washed over his porcelain fucking skin and there was no combustion. Unfortunately. As if it’s my fault no one bothered to explain the rules of this shithole to me.
“Won’t happen again,” I answer with forced obedience as I make my way to a table at the very back of the room.
“You’ll find notebooks and supplies in the closet at the back of the room.” Mr. Toad sniffs haughtily as he gestures with a fat, triple-jointed finger.
There seem to be a lot of prestigious students at the academy, a lot of poor ones as well. The school is obviously funding the supplies, and I can clearly see they took the cheapest route. Thin binders sit in stacked rows in the small closet. Plastic things with the stamped insignia of the academy on the cover as if we might be confused about who really owns these. Each one is filled with roughly ten slips of paper. I know because I flick through it the moment I pick one up.
Cheapskates.
I take a pen in a cup and avoid Saint’s gaze as he does the same, his wrist bumping mine just lightly. When I take a seat, he slips in right beside me. Like fucking glue I can’t get rid of. Like that one smear of paint on a shirt that, no matter how many times you wash it, it just won’t come out.
Like shit that just won’t rub off the bottom of your shoe.
The teacher, Mr. Toad in my mind, clears his throat. “As I was saying, there are three types of creatures in this world: Humans—or fecks as we may call them— are beings with no special significance whatsoever…”
My lip curls at the description. A feck... is that like fuck or frack? Just a week ago, I was basically a fucking human frack, and so far every word spewing out of his mouth is infuriatingly racist.
“... Supernaturals: beings with powerful monsters—or Prodigiums—living inside them, contained and living safely among everyone else.” He gives a pause as his gaze sweeps around the full classroom, stopping with particular attention on Saint. “And then there’s you: the bottom feeder supernaturals who don’t even know how to be a supernatural.”
The pause he lets linger is short lived before he carries on.
“In this class, we will cover all Prodigium creatures, from your everyday feline shifters, to your banshees and burlhorns...”
His tone drones on and on and I’m not sure if I should waste my ten precious sheets of paper on this or just stare dumbfounded.
I choose the second.
And so my first day at the Academy of Six begins.
I spend the next hour listening to Mr. Toad go on and on about the different types of Prods. Everyone looks bored. Finally, I jot down the different types as he explains them, staring at the words on the pricey little lined page. Perhaps, if I look at one term long enough, then I’ll feel a jolt. I’ll feel something to indicate, to give me some type of clue as to what lies dormant inside of me. What killed my ex boyfriend?
The thing is, I don’t remember that day. There’s nothing but a shadow of darkness where memories should be, something essential missing in my mind that landed me in this joke of a place. To be honest, I’m not sure I even want to remember. The Prods that arrested me that day showed me pictures of the carnage afterwards. There was nothing left of him but an assortment of limbs, blood and guts. Do I really want to remember that loss of control? Do I really want to know what vicious beast lies inside of me that is capable of completely ripping apart a grown man?
Adam was more of a man baby, really.
The point is, I don’t have a fucking choice.
I need to find out what’s inside me, no matter how painful the truth may be. Even if it wakes me up in the middle of the night heaving and gasping for breath, begging for forgiveness that I don’t deserve, I need to know and I need to control it.
Because what happened to my ex can never happen to anyone else ever again.
My heartbeat becomes a loud drumming sound in my ears. I try to focus on anything else, my hand drifting with the pen, twirling with inky colors and lines to distract myself from my own worries.
I’m so lost in my thoughts, I don’t realize when class ends, and I’m still doodling against the edges of the page absentmindedly. Claws and teeth, wings, and a disfigured body in bloody remains.
Fuck.
“You’re a pretty good artist,” Saint compliments, tugging the page of my notes towards him.
I pull it back, slip it into the little plastic binder, and gather my things to leave without a word . I can feel Saint prowling behind me. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he’s being purposefully creepy just to make me uncomfortable. Either that or he really wants to drink my blood.
“Mr. Von Hunter, a word, please.” Mr. Toad’s voice cuts through my thoughts with all the subtlety of a croak. My steps falter, and I hear Saint let out a soft curse behind me before his feet are redirected to the teacher’s desk.