Page 43 of Gemini Queen
Swiftly I straighten, adjust my tie, retract my fangs, and retreat to the refuge of my chalkboard.
For the love of God, what pedagogical point was I just in the midst of making?
“It’s the sovereign’s most sacred duty,” I resume, after an exceedingly awkward pause, “to ensure the survival of the four races. How does she do this? By learning to wield her witchcraft with control and conviction for the betterment of her people. And by taking the powerful mate or mates who are most worthy to support, cherish, love, and defend her. The mates most capable of propagating her powerful witchcraft to the next generation.”
I pivot to pinpoint Zarina with my stylus. “If the queen fails in her most sacred duty, the outcome will be catastrophic. We will witness in this century the dwindling of the arcane races beyond hope of recovery, thus damning ourselves to inevitable extinction and the certain doom of the witching world.”
Having now abandoned all subtlety, I trust that I’ve delivered my point with sufficient emphasis to impress our stubborn future queen. Unfortunately, the impact of my message is blunted by the presence of that damnable aroma which is growing steadily more potent. Judging by the prevalence of grimaces and wrinkled noses now apparent across my classroom, all the students are noticing.
I’m likewise noticing an epidemic of grins and snickers from the notorious aisle near the window those little hellions from Villa Tiberius have claimed as their turf.
My lurking suspicion crystallizes to a dreadful certainty. Alarmed, I pivot to Zarina.
That appalling odor is definitely originating from her vicinity. She’s frowning, glancing under her desk, trying to pinpoint the source, while the entire class watches with ill-concealed mirth. Suddenly she drags toward her the backpack she propped against the wall when she entered.
Neo leaps to his feet, apprehension exploding across his face. “Wait, Zara, don’t—”
But he’s far too late. She’s opened the backpack.
A veritable eruption of scaly orange-and-white bodies pours flopping and gasping onto the floor, accompanied by a stomach-heaving tsunami of stench. The miasma is so foul I barely master the urge to vomit.
Her backpack is absolutely stuffed with dead and dying fish.
And I needn’t look far for the culprit. One of the rotten little monsters from Villa Tiberius is the Pisces scion, and teleportation is her special talent. While I lectured away obliviously up here, that witch has teleported the entire juvenile koi population of the schoolhouse pond into Zarina Gemini’s backpack.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake. Are you people for real?” Zarina takes in the unappealing mess and the snickering students in a single fulminating look, then scrambles to her feet in a flurry of plaid skirts and teal hair.
Most freshmen who are hazed this brutally are inclined to flee the scene. An occasional scrappy student will attack the presumed culprit, either with fisticuffs or witchcraft.
I’m braced for Zarina to do either.
In fact, she does neither.
Instead, she fires into action, deftly tossing the distressed young koi back into her pack. Some of the juvenile fish are too stupefied by oxygen deprivation to move, while others are flopping and flailing. Handling the suffering creatures with a gentleness I wouldn’t expect under the circumstances, she transports the fish handily into the pack and rushes out the door with them.
It’s my responsibility to maintain order in this classroom and I fully intend to do so. Regrettably, there’s no preventing an immediate exodus as the entire class streams after its victim, with Neo at the head of the pack. Ronin brings up the rear in more of a saunter than a run. His uncharacteristic lack of haste reminds me sharply, with another pang of remorse, that he’s suffering.
And that it’s all my fault.
“Ronin—” I attempt.
“Don’t.” Roughly he pushes past me into the corridor without meeting my gaze. My wolf whines in disappointment.
Jaw clenching, I surrender to the clearly inevitable and follow.
The classrooms at Icarus Academy occupy the former cloister of this deconsecrated church. Consequently, the rooms cluster in a quadrangle around a peristyle courtyard under a thick leaded glass roof. The heated central courtyard holds the conservatory, with its overgrown tangle of tropical trees and flowering plants, as well as the mossy grotto, the tumbledown ruin of the gazebo, and the koi pond.
Zarina’s kneeling on the muddy stones beside the pond, decanting each gasping fish into the water with absorbed care. Her attention to this unsavory chore is absolute, her scowl ferocious.
She grimly refuses to acknowledge the Pisces scion and her cliquish Tiberius sidekicks, all of whom are howling with demonic glee.
Solid citizen that he is, Neo hunkers down alongside and provides assistance. Zarina accepts, her gaze eloquent with gratitude, since their combined efforts are returning the distressed fish to the water faster. Ronin leans one hip against the overgrown gazebo and observes this rescue operation with inscrutable eyes.
Only once the final fish has been restored to its watery home does Zarina rinse off her own hands as best she can in the scummy water and arise, brushing briskly at the mud stains on her stockings.
Her smoldering gaze rakes her howling tormentors with blistering scorn.
“Cheese on toast!” she bursts out. “How old are you people? Twelve? You just about killed those poor fish, and for what? To try and make me feel bad about the smell? I’ve got news for you kiddies. If you want to make me suffer, you’re gonna have to trywayharder.”
