Page 13 of Self Studies

“You could take a picture,” she said. Her green eyes, rimmed with violet, narrowed. “It means you’re staring at me.”

“Sorry,” I said, quickly looking away. “A lot of this is new.”

The girl’s face softened. “No worries, it always is.” She looked at the slightly smudged lipstick writing. I’d stretched out during the night. “I’m Roisin. Moving in on Mercedes territory right away is maybe not the smartest way to start here. Good luck with that. Maybe, stay out of their way. Did you get your class schedule already?”

I nodded slowly. Mercedes must be my red-headed roommate, and apparently, she had ‘territory.’ A word I’d only ever associated with land ownership. This was going to be a steep learning curve.

“Ohh, let me see it,” Roisin demanded. I blinked before remembering she’d asked if I got a class schedule. She took the paper, still folded around my swipe card, and opened it up.

“Oh shit, a swipe card. Wow, no control over your magic at all then,” Roisin said, her tone darkening. “I’m surprised they didn’t put you in a dorm with the other beginners. Hmm. We don’t have any classes together. You must have tested really low to be in all remedial classes.”

I bit my lower lip. “Are those the Aptitudes?”

Roisin gave me a funny look. “That would be a no.”

A rich voice let out a dramatic groan from the bed on the opposite side of Roisin.

“No uniform yet?” Roisin whispered, leaning away from the lump now stirring under the brown comforter.

I shook my head.

Her entire face scrunched up. “That’s kinda weird, but it is the Institute. They might be trying to teach you something.” Roisin stood quietly and tiptoed over to the groaning bed. She came back with a pair of white cotton panties a moment later. “I don’t know how getting a uniform before they assign one will reflect on your Aptitudes, so I wouldn’t risk it. But those fishnets don’t look comfortable. Sandy’s panties might still be loose on you, but they’ll be a better bet than mine.” Roisin patted her round belly. “Last piece of unsolicited advice, keep your stuff close and don’t make friends yet.”

I took the undergarment, blinking rapidly at my roommate.

“Stop talking, Roisin,” came a muffled voice from the lumpy bed. “We had to fight to get the Dealership to take their morning bitchiness elsewhere. Don’t make me turn you into a sheep.”

Roisin’s eyes twinkled. “We call the three bitches we share the room with the Dealership. But only when they can’t hear us.”

A pillow came flying from I assumed Sandy’s bed and nailed Roisin in the back of the head. She let out a quiet laugh before putting her finger in front of her lips. Without another word, she lay back and a paperback appeared from under her bed. The glossy cover had a very handsome shirtless man on the cover.

I had so many questions, but instead of asking them, I changed into Sandy’s undergarments and fished around for my beaten-up slippers. My aching legs protested my change from sitting to standing, and I padded to the door.

The quiet halls grated on my nerves and gave me no indication of the time. A vague memory of Advisor Crowe telling me everything ran on a series of bells floated to the surface of my memory. With no interest in repeating last night’s attempts to get food, I took out my map. Maybe I needed to find the right office to get a gem from.

Wings, comprised of different subjects, made up most of the building’s organization. Although it looked complicated, I’d always been good with patterns.

I froze. I only knew that because Damon had told me. So was I actually good with patterns?

Shoving the question to the side, I began walking. Good at patterns or not, I set myself destinations and made them with very few wrong turns.

Striking out on any room related to gems, I headed to my love seat in the back of the library. I found a book on the history of magic and started reading. It was time to begin discovering fact from fiction.

* * *

Bell, my ass!

I shot to standing, my heart hammering in my chest. Although short, the loud, deep tritone sounded more like a foghorn from hell. The devil’s chord, as Damon had called it. He’d been right about that one.

Taking deep breaths, I put my book back on the shelf and hurried out of the library toward my first class.

More confident in my borrowed hoodie, I slipped into the halls, now teeming with students. At first, I thought I’d be overwhelmed. But the noise level reminded me of being back in a big city, and the flow of bodies had a pattern to it that I seamlessly blended into.

Not many of my peers wore sweaters or anything over their uniforms. It didn’t take me long to understand why. Sweat beaded my forehead, and heat flushed my cheeks. I pulled my braid forward to try to get some air on my neck. Despite the heat, my new garment would not be coming off.

No one bothered me as I made my way through the sea of people rushing and bantering.

Between the missed meals and my explorations yesterday, my legs shook when I reached the top of the ten flights of stairs. Hood up, I squeezed myself against a wall to catch my breath. After a heartbeat, I picked up the front of the hoodie and started whipping it forward and back to get some air. It helped immensely.

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