Page 31 of Magical Academy for Delinquents
The sound of young Derby’s struggle to pull himself up onto the ledge filled the auditorium, all of us held our breath as he peered between the curtains into the parlor.
At first, all we could see was a dull grey room, embers glowing in the fireplace from a fire that clearly needed tending.
His mother banged on the door again, making me cringe.
“Don’t do it!” Someone whispered.
But she had no choice. Her husband and child were inside. She continued to bang.
Derby watched the drapes flutter as a shadow entered from an open door near the fireplace. A shadow with long arms ending in claws.
“A monster,” Derby breathed.
Cold sweat trickled down my neck. I wanted to look away, but I couldn’t blink.
A bang and a creak sounded as Derby’s mother was finally able to open the front door.
“No!” Derby cried, his head turning toward the stoop, hand extended toward his mother. He fell backward, into the bushes, as his mother was dragged into the house.
The mirror went black and then dissolved into golden specks that evaporated, the spell used up.
Professor Wolfe faced us solemnly. “My father and uncle were not successful with the Unnatural Spell. And it was so new at that time, news traveled so slowly … there were no restraints in place for those who attempted it.”
No one asked what happened. It was obvious. An awkward, pity-filled silence weighed down the room for a moment before Wolfe added, “They killed sixty-seven people before they were caught.”
“Caught, how?” a guy asked.
Wolfe shook his head. “I don’t know. They didn’t keep records back then. As far as I know, they didn’t even know how to kill vampires back then. That development came after the spell had become more commonplace.”
“I’ve never seen one. How do you kill them?” One insensitive asshole asked.
The always-good-natured professor didn’t seem to mind. Or maybe, after a century, the memory had lost the sting for him. His answer was curt and factual. “Beheading. Only true method. And it must be with a silver blade. But we’ve gotten a bit off topic. Today, we’re supposed to discuss norm and magical interactions on a much more mundane scale. This,” he gestured through the air, at the spot where the mirror had displayed his most horrific memory, “is simply an example to give you an understanding of the deep-rooted fear and powerlessness that a norm has when faced with a magical. It’s quite similar to what a magical lower on the power scale, say a thirty or so, feels when facing an Unnatural. Or a vampire. Norms like to know who they’re dealing with. It’s also been known to prevent a fight or two.”
“Cause we can wipe the floor with them.” Grayson’s lackey called out as my brain pulled up his name from the school records. Jerome.
“Exactly,” Derby Wolfe’s finger shot into the air. “It’s an unfair fight. And it’s been statistically proven that if you announce your status immediately, there’s a sixty percent decrease in aggressive behavior from norm men.”
“There’s also a ninety percent decrease in sexy times from norm women,” Zavier grumbled from next to the professor. His comment immediately lightened the mood as the class dissolved into titters.
Derby bit his lip. “Well, now that might be true forsomeof you.”
A wolf-whistle went through the class. Even I participated.
“Show me your ways,” Zavier dropped to his knees and bowed, hands and forehead to the floor, earning a laugh.
“That,” grinned the Professor, “is exactly what I’m going to do.”
Chapter 14
I leftthe class with sore ribs. Professor Wolfe had really put on a show to drag us all away from the horror of vamps and into the absurdity of norm and magical interactions. Of course, Zavier had been the perfect pick to help him with it. The boy ate up attention like it was candy.
“Excuse me, can I get past you to grab some pickles?” Wolfe had pantomimed pushing a shopping cart.
“I prefer pickle tickles myself, but sure. Oh, by the by, I’m a magical.” Zavier had winked as the class had guffawed. Wolfe didn’t even bat an eye.
“Pickle tickle, is that a magical kind of pickle?” he’d asked, his British accent lending a posh feel to the naughty joke.
“Oh, it’s magical for sure,” Zavier had responded.
