Page 9 of The Witch & the Wolf

Arlo walked, hands tucked in his pockets, not enjoying the visit from his family, which included his necromancer brother, father, and a much younger nephew who was also hoping to make their way into Dreadmor someday. The nephew goggled at the gardens before dashing up to the famous statue that was rumored to be a real person turned to stone by Medusa snakes. There were other myth-like stories like that about the place, which is why it was considered legendary.

He glared at his brother. “I just think it’s interesting how they’re grouping us together on the same cases.”

“They didn’t have a medium when I went,” Rican growled. “There were two other necromancers, however. The people teaching us didn’t have a great opinion of mediums, and you can’t blame them. Half the ones who claim to be mediums are fakes.”

“No, no… her power’s genuine.” Arlo glanced at his father, who watched their discussion without interruption. “She was able to get all the answers from a corpse. I couldn’t do that.”

“Pah! You’ll soon outstrip her. You just need more practice, that’s all.”

“I guess,” Arlo said doubtfully. He didn’t know how to explain how impressive Holly’s powers were. His family seemed to have a preconceived dislike for mediums.

I did, as well, he thought in frustration.

Funny how one clear interaction and demonstration could change someone’s opinion.

Now, his father spoke. “You seem to like this medium. Is she a werewolf?” Arnak, his father, said casually but with zero subtlety.

“No, she’s not a werewolf. And – no, I like her. Just not the way you’re so tiresomely hinting at.”

“Might be interesting, Rican said, grinning at Arlo’s discomfort. “Wonder what medium and necromancer offspring would be like.”

“Shut the hell up,” Arlo snapped. He held back an urge to punch his brother, though a small part of his mind now contemplated Holly just a little more than before.

Of course, he needed to say he wasn’t interested in her. It was too soon and too distracting for his family. But… he was not entirely uninterested in her either.

“Is she cute? Hot? Do you have pictures?”

“I swear to God, I’m gonna punch you…” Arlo said through gritted teeth.

Arnak intervened. “Now, now, stop teasing your brother. There’s something I wanted to discuss with you anyway, Arlo.”

Arlo looked up at the sky, clear for once, enjoying the pale blue and the tiny wisps of cloud that drifted by. How he wished he weren’t surrounded by his family. How he wished his father wasn’t interrogating him at this moment. But here they were. He sighed. “Sure, what is it, Dad?”

“How are you doing in school? Has your mother been trying to contact you recently… or anyone else from the clans?”

Ah. The courteous start, followed by the real reason for the sudden interest. “School is… well, good but still new. I haven’t done anything more challenging than a trip to the village to take part in a fake death investigation. I did meet a Raintotem werewolf, though, who was a necromancer. She was the one leading the investigation and instructing us.”

“Ah, the Raintotems,” Arnak said. “Some of our families are in contact with them, as there’s a commonality of magic. Seems both our clans had similar ancestors – two necromancer brothers some hundred years back who split and married into our clans. They’re not nearly as divided as we are with the Sixclaws, however. Is this the only of the clans who tried to speak to you?”

“The Redfur cousins, too. They attend the school and are the same year.”

“Nothing from your mother, then?”

“No. She hasn’t contacted me. Or sent anyone if that’s what you’re trying to find out.”

His father didn’t try to deny the fact, and his brother made a small tsking noise.

“Be careful,” his dad eventually said. “I’ve heard on the grapevine that there are some plans to try and steer you back to Archon Academy. It would look good socially for your mother if that were to happen – since the school is more prestigious to them.”

Arlo snorted at that. “It’s all nonsense. Archon isn’t even a pure-blooded werewolf school anymore. I don’t see why you have to go there to amount to anything.”

“It’s not a pure-blooded werewolf academy, true, but you must have werewolf ancestry somewhere to attend. So, it will always be seen as a bastion of education and influence for our kind.” His father’s eyes gleamed a dark yellow. “Dreadmor to them is a darkness that rots away at families. The other schools don’t register with them. But Dreadmor is a powerful institution in its own right, and there’s a fear that more and more of the elite werewolves will opt to come here instead. Archon’s funding, for all its wealth, is precarious, so they always want to be the premier academic institution for werewolves.”

Great, Arlo thought. More werewolf politics that he couldn’t care less about.

Arlo enjoyed talking with his family when they weren’t trying to feed him the dirt about the dramas going on back home. He pointedly wanted nothing to do with those dramas, but by virtue of his blood, they always hovered him like a shadow on his day.

“If Mother contacts me or sends anyone, it’ll have to be a damn good offer for me even to consider leaving Dreadmor. This is the place where I can be free to use my powers. No more sneaking into the woods, Dad.”

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