Page 7 of Misfit Monsters
Eyebrows rise around the table. My scalp tingles.
I didn’t pull my hood up—my turquoise hair is emanating a desperate pea-green glow.
“Well, that’s certainly something,” the blue-haired woman—Shanty?—says in a dry tone.
Mr. Muscles pushes to his feet. “Are you trying to blastuswith light? How dare?—”
“No!” I clasp my hands in front of me. “My hair lightsup when I’m feeling something a little strongly. No one’s ever gotten hurt from just that. But I can’t help it. Unless… maybe you could teach me how to turn it off too?”
It’d be handy not to have to worry about my hair blinking on like a nightlight with every shift of my own emotions.
The blonde sweeps her hand in my direction. “Listen to her! She’ll obviously work hard to avoid getting banished. We don’t see that kind of dedication often. Or are you afraid you can’t handle a little unruliness, Gnash?”
The muscular man glowers at her, but Shanty nods slowly. “Rollick founded the academy on the principle that every shadowkind deserves the opportunity to enjoy the mortal realm. He would say to give her a trial period. Especially if she’s a type of shadowkind that needs something from the mortal realm for nourishment.”
“He’s not here to say it, though, is he?” the pale man says tartly.
The wiry woman glances around the table. “He hasn’t made his convictions a secret, Al. Shanty’s right.”
“I agree,” the sorcerer says.
My gaze flicks to him. It’s the first time he’s spoken since the questioning began.
He doesn’t look at me, only his colleagues. A thin draught of emotion reaches me: a cluttered mix of sour, bitter, and a softly sweet tang that I can’t untangle.
The blonde lifts her head with a triumphant air. “There you go. It’s four to two even without Rollick’s vote.”
Gnash growls but gives a flippant gesture of acceptance. The pale man—Al?—inclines his head. “So be it. Jonah?”
The sorcerer fixes his deep brown eyes on me.
“I’m sorry,” he says quietly. Then a few more syllables of sorcerous compulsion roll off his tongue and wind around my being.
As the command to remain within the school’s grounds sinks into my mind, I stare back at him.
What was he apologizing for? And why does the emotion coursing off him now carry a stodgy porridge flavor of sadness?
3
Periwinkle
“Ithink you’ll like it here,” Pearl says with a swish of her blond curls as she leads me through the pale blue halls. “There are so many interesting students with different stories. Lots of emotions flowing. You won’t go hungry!”
The most upbeat of my interrogators volunteered to show me to my dorm after her colleagues finished my initial orientation. At least this area is a little more vibrant than the dreary room where I met Pearl.
I peer around me at the various doors with their frosted glass windows. “And there’ll be classes that will teach me how to control my power?”
“Yep! And all sorts of other support to help you exist among mortals.” Pearl pats my arm. “Lots of shadowkind prefer hanging out in this world rather than the shadowrealm. You’re in good company. Just follow the rules, and you’ll be fine.”
The rules. I look down at the badge attached to my dress—the metal crest Shanty pinned there right before I left the interrogation room.
You start at level one, the more solemn woman told me, tapping the number imprinted at the top of the crest. Then she touched a triangle underneath it.You’re in the reform division, for beings who’ve been actively struggling with their behavior. The weekly schedule for each level and division is posted in the dorm areas. We expect you to attend all your assigned classes. Show commitment and perform well, and you’ll graduate to the next level.
There’s something I forgot to ask. I glance over at Pearl. “How many levels are there?”
How much graduating do I need to do before I can be sure it’s safe for me to leave?
“Five!” Pearl replies. “And level five is really just some final finessing. Once you make it even to three, you’re well on your way.”
