Rare Form: Descended of Dragons, Book 1 (8 page)

T
he reality was
that I didn’t own much, which made me feel a little better about the move. On some level I always resisted putting down roots. At least I could turn my indecisiveness into a positive, and take the next step in my progressively weird life.

Once the clothes I liked enough to take were packed, I was left with a very large donation box and a few pieces of hand-me-down furniture, which I gifted once more to Lizzie. I took some photos, a few beloved books, a favorite blanket, and that was it.

Gresham grabbed a large suitcase with one big hand, and balanced a lidded bank box with the opposing arm. I slung a large duffel bag full of shoes over my shoulder and grabbed another big suitcase. We stood alone in my living room loaded and ready when I realized that both of our hands were full; I couldn’t connect to him to warp to Thayer.

He looked to me encouragingly.

“You can do this, Stella. We’ll travel together. Simply picture Sabre’s Grand Hall. I will, too, and we’ll reunite there.”

I could only nod my willingness to try, my windpipe suddenly clogged with anxiety, but then I cleared my throat and stood up straight.

“All right. Let’s do this.”

I lifted one foot, imagined one of the worn and supple leather club chairs I had seen the first time I entered Sabre Hall, and when I put my foot down…nothing happened.

For a split second I feared the worst, that I was stuck between two worlds and would never find my way out again.

A jolt rocked me from my doubt. My entire being was a bass guitar string stretched tight and unyielding, and someone had plucked me. Hard.

My eyes squinted of their own volition, my teeth chattered, and the core of my body reverberated, bouncing around within a hollow chamber. When the reverberation slowed, though, and I could open my eyes, I found I was standing beside the leather chair.

I was so happy I let out a proud “Yee-yah!” and looked around for Gresham. He stood just a few feet away at the bottom of the stairs.

I must have looked as jarred as I felt because he smiled and nodded encouragingly.

“Don’t worry. It gets easier with practice. It won’t always feel as though you’ve gone through a meat grinder.”

“
N
ext time
we travel with luggage, Gresham, I wish you would recommend that we aim for my bedroom, and skip the stairs. Hmmm? This is work.”

The duffel of shoes was heavy because, hey, a girl needs a lot of shoes. Lugging it and the suitcase up four flights of stairs seemed incredibly dumb when the whole ordeal could have been avoided. Warping into Thayer zapped a large chunk of my energy, and I was really struggling.

“Well, I’ve not been in your bedroom, so it is hard for me to imagine it,” he replied coolly while ascending the stairs with ease.

“Besides,” he said, his mood suddenly darker, “I don’t consider the effort spent before one gets to the bedroom to be ‘work.’ That’s the good part.”

Wait, whah? Was that innuendo? From Mr. You’re-Too-Young?

I couldn’t see his face since he was a few stairs ahead of me. I was stunned and had unwittingly stopped climbing. Gresham turned around to face me, those amber eyes shining with amusement.

“What? Have I scandalized you again?”

His wolfish smile gave nothing away. Predator or prankster I couldn’t be sure.

I decided to go on the offensive.

“Not scandalized. I’m just shocked. I mean, what would Livia think about you practically propositioning innocent young college girls?”

I gave my best impression of an innocent young college girl and blinked wide virginal eyes at him.

“Oh, I can see right through you, and an innocent you certainly are not. That said, The Root is a training ground for adults. You had better be on guard with a bod…er…well, be on your guard.”

It didn’t escape my notice that he had not addressed the mention of Livia, but I decided to change tracks.

“Speaking of being on my guard, Gresham, why are you helping me?”

I grunted, dragging the two bags behind me as I struggled up each stair.

“Why did you come find me?”

Step.

“For that matter, how did you even know I existed?”

Step.

“And while we’re at it, how did I get into this prestigious school?”

I had stopped climbing, exhausted and ready for some answers.

Gresham turned, but not to look at me. He faced the door to my new home.

“Ah. Here we are. 412.”

“I want answers, Gresham. I’ve been thrown into this new world, leaving behind every friend and family member I ever had. I think I’ve been damned pliable throughout this whole ordeal, but I have questions and I deserve answers.”

I was working my way up to a fit.

“Not in the hallway, Stella. I’ll answer what questions I can, I swear it, but not here, not now. For today, just enjoy your new home and your new friends.”

Timbra had heard my rising voice and stuck her head into the hall. Her cervid ears twitched with curiosity even as she smiled hello.

“I think you can take it from here,” Gresham said. “Another project requires I be out of town for the next few days. I wish you luck in your first week of courses.”

With that abrupt announcement, he turned and strode back down the stairs, brokering no further conversation.

“What exactly is his role?” Timbra was no dummy. “I know you’re new to Thayer and all, but he seems an awfully menacing babysitter. He helped you move? And is it just me or is he scalding hot for an old guy?”

I nodded reluctantly.

“No one back home knows I’m here. I think he feels he owes me because he’s the reason I’m here alone. He found me and introduced me to Thayer, to The Root. To be honest, I still have a lot of questions, but I’m starting to think he’s intentionally avoiding them.”

“Well, you’re wrong about one thing. You’re not alone.” She smiled warmly. “Here, let me help you inside.”

O
n the first
day of class I was both thrumming with excitement and nauseous with apprehension. Add to those states of mind a double shot chai latte from my favorite in-house cafe, and the result can best be described as “punchy.”

Luckily, most primos had the same course schedule, and my new BFF Timbra was there to guide my twitchy ass across campus to our very first class, Intro to Craft and Ritual. We took seats near the front of the large theater-style classroom that easily held most of our entering class’s 100 students. I spotted Layla, Boone, and Ewan on the way down to our seats and waved hello.

“Who’s that?” I asked Timbra, nodding to a serious-looking guy talking with Ewan before class began.

“Raynor McKellan. From up North. Descended of seals.”

His dark skin was a beautiful deep gray or granite color and seemed somehow denser than most; so thick it was almost shiny. Each time he turned his head, his skin picked up light and vacillated between black, silver, gray and even a lovely espresso. Sleek black hair stood straight up before falling back onto his scalp like dense fur.

Noticing his hair was just an afterthought because Raynor’s powerful face stole any attention placed elsewhere. Regal. He was regal without effort. His strong jaw was set in a square. Mesmerizing clear gray eyes glared from beneath slender arched brows. The severe gaze was almost luminescent, and when it swung in my direction, I immediately looked away before he read my every secret.

A choked, “Intense,” was all I could manage.

“Very,” agreed Timbra. “He’s actually quite…”

Movement at the front of the classroom directed our attention elsewhere and hushed conversations. The professor entering through a door at the side of the dais was not one I expected, and I extracted my syllabus to be sure. No, I was right; the syllabus listed Sid Cromwell as leading the Intro to Craft class. I really thought I had dodged a bullet not having Dean Miles this year.

Please, oh please, don’t let her be the professor.
I repeated this mantra over and over as she left the dais and advanced into the classroom until she stood in the center aisle midway up the bowl of seats. I wasn’t certain if making people uncomfortable came naturally to her, or if she had to work at it. But whatever the effort, the result was the same; she was intimidating as hell. She addressed the class abruptly in her crisp, resonant voice.

“Professor Cromwell has withdrawn from the university at short notice, leaving me inadequate time to find a replacement. Consequently, I will be instructing your Intro to Craft and Ritual class until further notice. I hope you grasp the merit of this circumstance; I have not taught this class in some years. Some of the information I will cover will likely be difficult for some of you to grasp.” Here I swear she looked pointedly in my direction, “But I cannot be expected to dumb down curriculum or hold any hands. Either keep up, or go back home.”

“I really think we need to add ABF to her list of nicknames,” whispered Timbra through one side of her mouth, while keeping her gaze trained on Dean Miles.

To my questioning, “Hmm?” she added, “Active. As in, active bitch face, as well as resting.”

I couldn’t contain the snort of laughter, and knew I was in trouble the moment it escaped. Dean Miles’ head whipped back in my direction and her severely gorgeous face took on a look of evil pleasure.

Damn. I bet she cracks a mean whip in the bedroom.

That thought brought with it unwelcome images of her muscled legs sheathed in dominatrix boots and straddling Gresham as she ran the thong of a bullwhip across his straining pectoral. Even more unwelcome was the knot of unbridled jealousy that made me want to grab a hank of her chestnut hair and slap the bitch right off her face.

Wherethehelldidthatcomefrom?

“…Miss Stonewall? Are you still with us? Have you confused my class for Omens and Premonitions? I’ll ask you to keep your consciousness in the here and now, if you please.”

My gaze, admittedly still throwing green darts, snapped to Dean Miles’ as I realized I had gone on another mental side trip.

“Oh, good,” she smirked. “It looks like we have a volunteer.”

Dean Miles instructed me to stand on the steps separating the two sides of the classroom. I knew her intent was to horrify me, but I resolutely refused to allow her to do it. I may have been new to her world, but I wasn’t new to the game. I was born with a straight backbone, and she sure didn’t have the stuff to break it.

Damned if she didn’t try to bend it, though.

“Miss Stonewall, please tell the class the most important aspect of craft, spell casting, and magic in general.”

When I didn’t offer an answer she gleefully continued.

“Don’t know? Hmm? Knowledge. Knowledge is the single most important aspect to utilizing the power that is inherent to us….well, to most of us.”

She said this pointedly at me. Again. I really wasn’t sure what I had done to garner such hostility. Surely she wasn’t always so venomous. It was obvious I hadn’t been called up to volunteer, but to serve as a punching bag.

“We must know the threats and the potential of the power around us; we must understand the tools, language, and rituals necessary to manipulate that power, and we must know ourselves. “Do you know who you are, Miss Stonewall? Do you know from where your innate magic comes? I daresay,
if
you posses any, you do not know how to use it or even the first place to look for it.”

Now, I may be a redhead, but it really takes a lot to make me mad. Repeated intentional degradation in front of my peers will do the trick. I stood, seething and tight-fisted, my anger leashed only by my focus on the feel of fingernails digging into my palms.

“You may have heard the term ‘chakra,’ though it has many other names. Aura, third eye, essence, or energy. One’s chakra is his or her access point to all of the power at their disposal.”

At her mentions of chakra and third eye, I felt the familiar burning pressure in my chest that indicated I was having another panic attack.

Just great, Stonewall
, I thought to myself.
Your fight or flight reflex is shit.

But when next my heartbeat thumped, as it was known to do, rather than a fidgety panic, I was exhilarated and teeming with anticipation. I was a destrier fighting against a steel bit in an effort to join the battlefield. Without conscious effort, I lay my hand over my racing, thumping heart in wonder.

“Look,” said a snide Dean Miles. ” She does know something, doesn’t she? Of course, one can have chakras in multiple locations; it varies from person to person.” She nodded at me sarcastically, eyes wide in mocking approval. “That’ll be all, Miss Stonewall. Take your seat.”

God, I hated her. What I didn’t understand was why she hated me.

As I stiffly sat back down, Timbra lay a sympathetic hand on my arm and shook her head in reassurance. I don’t know what Dean Miles said the remainder of class; I tuned her out in favor of exploring my newfound chakra.

M
y schedule consisted
of six classes and one lab, a heavy course load. Besides Intro to Craft and Ritual, I was enrolled in Cosmology 101, Finding Your Metamorphosis, Tools of the Trade, The Elements, History of Herbalism, and Breaking Bad: Psychic Self Defense.

I was happy to find my new friends shared my schedule. Timbra had a particular interest in the Herbalism class, though that was more a product of her predilection to eat herbs than to smoke them. A particularly bad hair day had me running behind schedule and I told Timbra to go ahead without me. After giving up and pulling my hair back into a high ponytail, I raced to Intro to Cosmology only to find the seat next to Timbra taken by Boone. She shrugged in apology and I sought seating elsewhere. Ewan raised his hand and indicated a free seat next to him.

The available seat was mid-row, and Ewan had to stand to let me pass. He was so big—both tall and broad—that even though I had turned sideways to face him, my breasts still inadvertently brushed his hard stomach. Though he tried to be discreet, I was certain that he made a deep, long intake of breath through his nose, not so much a gasp as sniffing me. Startled, I looked up at him. He didn’t even have the good sense to be embarrassed.

His chocolate curls hung lazily around his brow and jawline, and his perpetual five o’clock shadow was in full effect. I held his gaze until he broke the connection, shamelessly raking my lips, my neck, and the tops of my breasts before boldly meeting my gaze again. He stood for what seemed like minutes just looking at me like…well, he looked at me like he wanted to devour me. I wasn’t sure whether to be turned on or afraid. But when I realized I still stood within licking distance, crowding him at his chair rather than moving on to the next seat, I opted for embarrassed and sat down as quickly as I could.

Lost in my thoughts—about what I will not divulge—I failed to notice when the professor entered the classroom.

“Good morning, and welcome to Cosmology 101,” boomed a deep voice that elicited visions of an Irish James Earl Jones. “I’m Aemon Lochlan.”

I looked around the front of class for the professor, but couldn’t see the speaker. I shot a questioning look at Ewan, who shrugged good naturedly and nodded toward the podium. I looked again, and then I saw him. It was the tiny professor that Gresham had brought to meet me at the coffee shop. I was thrilled to see him again. He looked just as stereotypically old world as I recalled. His tweed suit was in a blue herringbone pattern this time, with a matching blue sweater vest underneath. His thick white beard, while manicured, was long enough that it almost met a navy polka-dot bow tie. All that was missing was a pipe and a tattered copy of Walden.

He pushed horn-rimmed glasses up his nose authoritatively and continued, “I’ll be your guide through this journey into Cosmology, which is defined as the study of the origin, evolution, and eventual fate of the universe…”

“Dum, dum, dummm…”

This from Ewan beside me. I grinned, and snuck a peek at him to see if I was still in danger of being eaten. The outlook was unclear, though he did seem to be trying to lighten the mood. He smiled at me charmingly. I know I must have given the wrong impression as I stared at him, moving my head from one side and then the other in deep contemplation of what his genetic makeup must be. He gave off a decidedly predatory vibe, but for the life of me I could not find any physical indicators of which predator.

Maybe he was just homo sapien, like me…no, not like me. I had no idea what secrets my elusive ancestry held. I was really looking forward to Finding Your Metamorphosis class.

For the remainder of Cosmology, though I faced forward, I could often feel Ewan’s gaze. Tingles of warm attention caressed my neck, my cheeks, my collarbone, my eyes. I never faced him; I wasn’t sure I could endure another soul-deep assessment and not reach out to him. I longed to touch him. I wanted to run my thumb along his dark brows, to pull one of his curls just to watch it spring back. That initial attraction I had noticed was no fluke, and the forcefulness of it was frightening.

I was unsure of my feelings about Ewan, unsure of the magnetic pull between us when I barely knew him. I did know one thing, though; getting involved with the wrong guy was not a good idea at this point in my life. I had some in-depth self discovery to conduct, and needed to avoid distraction. Without looking his way again I shot from my seat as soon as class dismissed and hotfooted it for the courtyard beyond the ancient double doors.

T
imbra
and I lunched at a lovely cafe along the river. The dishes were so complex and handcrafted with ripe fruit, roasted nuts, and other goodies that calling them ‘salads’ was a real injustice. Unfortunately, the Southern sweet tea phenomenon had not found its way to Thayer, but water was okay in a pinch.

Our next class, Finding Your Metamorphosis, was after lunch and I became more anxious of it with each passing moment.

“I’m nervous, too, Stella. That’s normal.” Timbra’s confident air betrayed no nervousness whatsoever.

“Why would you be nervous?” I asked astonished. “You know what you turn into.”

“I may know what, but I don’t know how. I’ve never done it. I have the ears already, sure, but I’ve never taken my animal form. It’s strictly forbidden until we learn the process at university, and even then only under the guidance of a mentor.”

“Oh. Well. I guess I just thought maybe your parents had shown you; that it was something you grew up around.”

“I have only seen my parents change a handful of times. Most only do it to hunt or fight and our family, you may have guessed, doesn’t do much hunting. Very little fighting, apart from my raucous cousin Sadie and her sisters,” she said with a grin.

“What’s changing like? Is it violent? Messy? Scary?”

“No. From what I’ve seen it’s just…natural. A normal part of life.”

“If it’s so normal, then I really don’t understand why kids here aren’t taught how to control their forms from childhood. It seems like you’d have more control if you had grown up with it, had more experience navigating it.”

“Oh, gods,” she said, and threw her head back. “Imagine if teenage boys could change. My kind would be head butting over girls until they concussed, and other species would rip each other’s throats out. Literally. No, the knowledge of how to take animal forms is smartly reserved for when we’re mature enough to handle it.”

“How long until we learn, I wonder.”

But what I really longed to know was how long until I discovered whether I slithered or barked.

O
ur third and
final class of the day proved to be the most fascinating, but also the most difficult. Metamorphosis was a smaller class of about thirty students since it was hands-on rather than straight lecture like Craft or Cosmology. Groups of four to six students sat on low-backed metal stools around tall rectangular tables. I sat with Timbra, Boone, and Layla, while Bex, Ewan, and the lunar-eyed Raynor shared a table with two other students I didn’t know.