Page 22 of Misfit Monsters
Gloss glances our way at that exact moment. Fen clamps her mouth shut even though I can’t see how the other woman could have heard her.
Gnash claps his hands together, and all twenty or so pairs of eyes in the room snap to our teacher.
He prowls from one side of the room to the other. Fen mentioned to me that he’s a tiger shifter, and even in human form, the powerful feline influence shows in his movements.
“There are three types of humans who know of shadowkind and will approach us with malicious intent,” he says. “Collectors, who focus on lesser shadowkind creatures as curiosities to cage. Sorcerers, who use us as tools for their own ends. And hunters, who we’re talking about today. They buy into the myths humans have made up about the various shadowkind they’ve encountered over the ages—mostof which are total lies—and see us as nothing but monsters. Many of them want to not just capture us but to outright destroy us.”
A shiver races over my skin. The one upside to the shadow realm is that while I could starve there to the point of being the thinnest shade of myself, I’d never actually die. When we’re completely immersed in the shadows that made us, they can sustain us.
In the mortal realm, even the darkest night can’t quite match the atmosphere of our home. Here, we’re all mortal too.
Mirage springs forward with a burst of his fox ears from his head and a sharp-toothed grin. “To end us they have a great thirst, but there’s nothing to fear if we smash them first.”
My lips twitch at the singsong rhyme and the illusionary applause that follows it, but Gnash simply glowers at the shifter. “Less smashing, more avoiding attention. Put your ears away.”
Mirage complies with a nimble backflip. It’d be hard for any hunters to catch him in the first place.
Gnash’s peeved expression doesn’t change. He stalks over to the seven higher-level students and hands out batons with streamers of yellow fabric. I think gymnasts—thosehumans who tumble around a lot like Mirage does—use those.
Do hunters also perform gymnastics?
The tiger shifter gives us an ominous look. “One of the hunters’ primary weapons are whips with streams of concentrated light. If the light hits you, it’ll damage your essence—temporarily disabling you. So if you encounter a human wielding one, you dodge until you can make a run for it.”
He motions the higher-level students forward. “Two students to each helper. Take turns avoiding the whip. The fewer times our helpers manage to make contact, the higher your grade will be.”
Fen and I hurry over to join a skinny, pointy-chinned male shadowkind who’s moved to the farthest corner of the room from Gloss.
“I’ll go first!” I volunteer. It’s just a ribbon—no big deal.
The skinny guy lashes it toward me. A sheen on the fabric gleams beneath the overhead lights as if it really is made of light.
I jump to one side and then scramble to the other, my feet skidding on the exercise mats. Despite my best efforts, the ribbon catches my elbow.
After I’ve wriggled free, the student helper speaks up in a bored tone. “Keep track of all your limbs. Don’t just think about your core.”
I bob my head. I thought I was doing that, but I’ll give it a better shot.
I start tucking my arms closer to my body, but the next time he flicks the ribbon against my calf. Taking a deep breath, I prepare myself for another round.
It’s all right. I’m just getting started.
As I dodge another sweep of the ribbon, a twinge of painjolts through my ankles. I stumble—and feel the ribbon snagging on my wrist.
In the next group over, Vim snorts. “Looks like someone’s klutzy with both her mouth and her feet. I bet you’d be scared of humans if you ran into one with a weapon like that.”
Embarrassment sweeps through me. I know it’s flickered in my hair, because her eyebrows leap up.
Tansy has joined Vim and her brawny friend. She tsks her tongue mockingly. “Poor thing. You’ve upset her.”
I paste a determined smile on my face. “I’m all right. I’m sure we can all learn how to survive.”
The brawny woman frowns as if she’s taking that comment as an insult too. I whirl back toward my student helper.
After several more dodges, a couple more flares of pain, and a few more snags of the whip, I welcome the chance to step aside and give Fen a turn. As she begins the dance of dodging, my gaze slides over the other students.
Yellow ribbons are swishing through the air all around the room. Gnash walks between them, pausing to observe one group.
The woman next to him pops her hip to the side and juts her chest out a little farther. The one who’s scrambling to steer clear of the ribbon catches sight of him and leaps up rather than to the side—maybe because that makes her skirt swish with a glimpse of her panties.
