Page 24 of Savage Hope

P

My name?

My freaking name!

His words collide in my mind repeatedly, making it impossible for me to process them. My breath turns to pants as my face heats and I track his every move.

Professor Whitmore is far too level-headed to be dropping bombshells like that; his shoulders are relaxed, his smile is one of ease, and his entire demeanor makes it clear he’s having a good time. The sparkle in his eyes is the only thing making it abundantly obvious that he’s enjoying this.

He must get some pleasure out of telling every set of new students that there’s information up for grabs. Information that we should already have, but the way he’s dangling it like a carrot in front of my face, damn, the semantics don’t even matter.

A shriek from my left startles me from my thoughts as the room comes back to life around me. The shocked moment of silence has been shattered, and as the weight of surprise lifts from my shoulders, it takes a little of the brain fog with it.

Apparently, there's a sigil on me, hiding my name, just like everyone else from Florentine’s. I don't even know what a sigil is,or what it might look like, but if I were to take a guess, I would say that it had something to do with magic.

The prospect of learning my name has me more than ready to jump through the hoops that Professor Whitmore may place before us.

Hope.

That word is deep, nestled straight in my soul, and I'm powerless to it. I am powerless to the knowledge that I may learn something about myself today.

“Now, if we would all like to get to the good part, shall we begin going through the list in alphabetical order? We’ll have each Florentine student join me on stage when their name is called, and then you will join your appointed faction within the academy,” Whitmore explains, clapping his hands together excitedly. The moment his hands collide, the other students join in, cheers rippling through the hall as a few of my fellow Florentine students clap along too.

A woman appears on the stage, handing Whitmore a rolled-up piece of paper before scurrying back off the stage. Professor Whitmore instantly refers to the parchment now in his hands, unfurling it to reveal the first initial on the list of the fifteen new students, myself included.

“B, please,” he summons, and my gaze whips to the other side of S. B's eyes are wide, his jaw slack, and his knuckles white as they lay curled into fists in his lap. He nods slowly, rising from his seat, likely aware that all eyes are set on him now. He takes the steps cautiously, meeting Whitmore at the center of the stage, and the professor guides him to the table I noted earlier.

“Now, let me quickly explain how this works while, unfortunately, using you as an example, B,” Whitmore states, a warm smile on his face as B nods nervously. “This chalice is filled with enchanted water. You must scoop both hands into the liquid and bring it to your lips. In doing so, the sigil will revealyour supernatural ability, and the chalice shall call out your name. Do you have any questions?”

B shakes his head warily, staring down at the chalice before him, and I think my heart is going to explode in my chest.

Slowly, without any further prompt, B does as he's asked. His hands scoop into the water. The tremble is noticeable from where I sit, and I watch with intense rapture as he brings the liquid to his lips. The moment it reaches his mouth, his head jerks back, his eyelids closing as another booming voice rings through the air.

“Benjamin Flasker.”

I gasp, disbelief curling through my stomach as the truth falls free. I don’t know where the source of the sound is coming from, but it’s there.

Benjamin.

Benjamin.

I tilt my head as I look at him with fresh eyes. It actually suits him. A shy smile teases the corner of my mouth as I play his name on my tongue, and the second the whispered word leaves my lips, a thought comes to mind.

B.

B equals Benjamin.

Would that mean P stands for a name that begins with a P?

Have we had the initial for our true name this whole time? I guess I’m going to find out when my time comes.

“It seems, Benjamin, you are indeed a human cursed by blood,” Whitmore states, pointing toward a shimmering symbol glowing on the chalice. It looks like the outline of a pair of hands, but my focus quickly whips back to B, I mean Benjamin, watching as he stares at Whitmore with confusion morphing his features. “I understand the disappointment, Benjamin, but please join the humans on the far right; they are now your quads.”

Applause comes from the group Whitmore indicates, encouraging B to head in that direction, despite how reluctant he seems. His steps are slow and almost sad as he loses everyone’s attention before he makes it even halfway. Seems we’re all just as desperate to move on to the next person.

One after another, I watch more of my peers approach the stage and repeat the process. There's an array of wolves, vampires, witches, and a few more humans called out. I get lost as more and more repeat the method until the one letter I’ve been waiting for with bated breath comes.

“P.”

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