Page 5 of A Dusk Of Stars

As always, just like I was taught in my Krav Maga classes, I clench my muscles just before he gives me a punch in greeting. It hurts, but I manage to keep the smile on my face with only a slight gritting of my teeth. Everyone here already knows I’m completely defenseless against them. Hell if I’m going to be drawing any unnecessary attention to it.

“Missed you, Anna,” he says with a smirk, his eyes narrowing as they always do when he tries to get a reaction out of me like this.

“Aw, that’s cute.” Then I grin. “Can’t say the feeling’s mutual though.”

They both laugh and the three of us walk into the Lounge together, the smile sliding off my face as soon as we do. After all, these two are among the most harmless of all my colleagues.

Her being the headmaster, we seem to still be waiting for the Pied Piper. As I take my seat at the round central table with the rest of the faculty members gathered for the meeting, my eyes dart to the front, where I find Serra Naehorn and Lorcan MacArthur sitting to the left and right of the empty headmaster’s seat, leaning over it to chat.

It’s not Serra I’m cautious of. Her cane leaned against the armrest of her chair, the sickly fae woman in a flowy blue jumpsuit and with blonde hair pulled into a tight bun seems to always be in pain, but she handles it with such stoicism and I’ve never seen her snap or be mean to anyone.

My biggest problem in this room is Lorcan, the stocky bear shifter with a crew cut who wears the traditional brown professor’s robe and his family’s signet rings with such insufferable pride. Of course, it’s not that which bothers me about him. After all, he does seem to be a conscientious professor and a good role-model to the kids, which I admire about him.

I see his eyes sweep over the room, locking with mine for a split second and narrowing in hatred.

That’swhat bothers me. His unyielding prejudice against me as a human, despite all my efforts to dispel it.

I shrug it off, going back to enjoying my coffee and being too distracted to join in the chit-chat.

I guess you could say I haven’t been this nervous in a long, long time, but the mere sight of the Lounge is enough to get me battle ready.

When I first saw it, it seemed more than a little creepy, like I imagine any room doubling as a war room would. It’s large, circular and pretty dimly lit considering it’s still early afternoon, the only light coming through the arrow slits carved into the stone high above our heads. The table we’re sitting around is large and made of ancient-looking stone, its severity barely softened by the cozy, colorful armchairs placed along the walls.

But over the years, I started finding the room inspiring. So while we’re waiting for the meeting to start, I keep glancing around, reciting the arguments in favor of my case that I came up with while unpacking.

I know the Library like the back of my hand.

Last year the students named me Librarian of the Year.

I’m dedicated, responsible and passionate about the work.

What snaps me out of my ruminations is the chatter suddenly dying down. I know the Pied Piper has entered the room and my throat instantly tightens. I crane my neck to watch her unusually tall figure in a long black cloak glide over the rough stone floor and stop next to her chair at the front of the table.

I’ve been around Originals for three years now, but there’s something about this woman that still unsettles me. With her smooth pale skin, sharp angular jawline and shiny raven braid, Johanna de Groot looks barely over thirty. But however elusive they are, there are so many things about her that betray her actual age, which was three hundred and four years old when I last checked.

The way her eyes — the sharp, intelligent eyes of a predator — are sweeping over us as if we were little more than children placed in her care.

The way she carries herself — her movements slow to the point of seeming lazy, but the more you watch them, the more you see just how incredibly controlled and brimming with power they are.

Or the fact she barely ever goes to the effort of speaking, as if it almost never happens that something is actually worth saying.

This is it, I think as I watch her take her seat in silence. Her presence is unsettling for sure, but it also never fails to excite and inspire me.

The Pied Piper skims the paper with the minutes for the meeting placed in front of her and gives Serra — who’s not just the Professor of Divine Magic, but de Groot’s right hand as well — a barely perceptible nod to start the meeting.

A rush of thrill floods me from head to toe.

***

As the meeting drags on, I stay on high alert, waiting for the topic of the replacement to be broached. It’s becoming hard, especially since the Pied Piper’s buried her nose in her papers and is letting the children fight amongst themselves in tedious detail.

Finally, Serra concludes the current topic and says, her smooth, sandy voice echoing against the stone walls, “Now onto our next order of business — new arrivals and changes in faculty positions.”

Fuck yeah. There’s never any new arrivals, so it’ll be straight to the matter of my new role. I sit straight, inhaling deeply.

Serra glances around the table with a straight face. “This year, we have a new professor joining us.”

Huh? My eyebrows shoot up as an excited murmur rises all around me. Noweveryoneseems to be on high alert.

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