Page 4 of The Witch & the Wolf

A clatter of plates and cutlery. One person sat down at his table, giving him a pointed stare. Yellow eyes – another werewolf. Arlo sighed inwardly.

“Sixclaw,” the werewolf woman said. “Your lot tends to always enroll at Archon Academy. It’s quite surprising to see such a name here, instead.”

Arlo examined the werewolf. “Why do you even care? Just leave me alone.”

She smirked but didn’t budge. “You know all the other werewolves here will be gossiping. You won’t be able to sit here alone for the next four years.”

He inhaled deeply, closing his eyes for a second. “Okay, fine. Who are you?”

“Skyla Redclaw.”

“Ah.” He grinned, now drumming clawed hands on the table. The Redclaws were an offshoot of two older families – including some distant ancestors of his. “My family really doesn’t like your lot. At all. It would be typical of people like you choosing to attend different academies.”

“Hey, it’s not like every single person of werewolf blood has to attend Archon. There are way more of us in the world than can possibly fit into a single academy. “

“But everyone who has something to prove goes there. Or so they say.”

“There’s a lot of half-bloods and part-bloods there. Something to do with the lack of funding, isn’t it? Maybe it’s because most of them are stuck-up, pretentious morons.”

He couldn’t help but nod. “I mean… I have family members attending Archon now, a cousin and some nephew who’s almost the same age I am.”

“So? Do you like them or what?”

“My mother likes them a lot more than my dad does. But, between you and me, we’re this close to becoming a branch family with a different surname, like yours.” He pinched his thumb and forefinger to demonstrate, and Skyla’s smile turned dark.

“Just as well. Besides, Archon wouldn’t give us what we need, would it?” Something glinted in her eyes, cold and dark. “Not with the kind of magic we have anyway. It’s not the kind of place we need.”

Before Arlo added more, another werewolf slid into a seat at their table. Skyla’s cousin, Lujan. Another one from the same class. Werewolves tended to congregate together, it seemed, and these dearly wanted to brush shoulders with him.

“So, cuz,” Lujan began, “is this a nasty Sixclaw or an okay one?”

“Not sure,” Skyla replied. “But he has potential, I think.”

Arlo shook his head in disbelief. “Are you really talking about me as if I’m not here?”

Lujan leaned on one hand, one side of his mouth upturned. “Yep.”

Arlo’s quiet lunch table had become a lot less quiet, all against his will. It didn’t seem like a smart decision just to get up and walk away since, however rude and straightforward these wolves were – they did seem to be curious about him. They probably weren’t the conniving kind, constantly planning which parties to go to, who to try and talk to and make connections with, whom to ignore, and who to treat like dirt…

Arlo’s eyes shifted for a second to Holly, the woman who’d sat next to him in class, now eating with others at a faraway table. His mother would hate him for talking to someone like her, which was precisely why he would, as soon as he got a good opportunity to do so.

Lujan continued his inquisition, regardless of how nosy he sounded. “Both your parents are happy you’re here? One of them? Neither of them?”

“One is, and a cousin and some other relatives,” Arlo replied reluctantly. “My part of the family is thinking of changing their name to differentiate themselves from the other Sixclaws.”

“Nice.” Lujan nodded. He flicked his wrist, and a glass of water floated to him. It was Arlo’s glass of water, actually. He watched Lujan drink it, torn between being irritated and amused. Amused won out.

“Did you really have to drink my water?” asked Arlo.

“No, but I wanted to show off.” Lujan floated it back to him. “You speak very well in your werewolf form. Most of us try to blend in a bit. We’re taking the suppressants.”

Arlo rolled his eyes. “Obviously.”

They continued to chatter, and when they departed, heading for their next class, Arlo felt a little less alone than before. Overall, everything he’d encountered on his first day had the same vibe as Z’Hana’s class. The professors were more concerned with the students becoming familiar with the place and learning their way around, as well as cautioning them about the wilder elements that existed in the wilds around Dreadmor, things like tree elves and Medusa snakes as well as various other creatures that should never be near a large population of students, and yet were, which probably explained why students needed to sign a waiver before attending the school.

“It’s okay,” Professor Grena said during the last lesson of the day. “There hasn’t been a student death in nearly three years, and that death only happened because some people thought it might be funny to leave their drunk friend in an area known for Medusa snakes. He’s now a statue in the Triscor garden.”

Arlo hoped Grena was teasing, but she didn’t bat an eyelash while telling it. Subsequent research did show that a student was killed three years ago by Medusa snakes. A trip to the gardens the next day confirmed that there was a highly realistic statue of a man. But perhaps not one made by Medusa snakes, hopefully. Opinions appeared divided between the younger and older students as to the statue’s authenticity.

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