Page 14 of Validus Vale Academy 1
Same, Duncan, same. Except I’m no good at maths either.
“Are you sporty?” I whisper to Willow. She doesn't look obviously jock-ish, but who knows?
She makes a face. “Sort of? I’ve been taking martial arts, tennis, and ballet basically since birth—my parents' choice, not mine.”
“Unfortunately,” Duncan leans over to add, “Defectivum kids have no choice in sports activities. You have to do what you’re assigned.”
I shudder. PE and I don’t have a good relationship.
Finally, the dean calls an end to the assembly. “So, that’s all, folks. I hope you enjoy your welcome back feast—it’s Italian night,” she trills. “So, buon appetito, and let's all have the most magical term ever!”
Willow, Duncan, and I all stand. Both Willow and I are tugging at our too-short skirts. Fully human college kids don’t wear uniforms or have assemblies, but magic academies are all about tradition. This is how it’s always been done, so tough-titties.
As we file out, Duncan keeps his head down, trying to be inconspicuous, but Willow lifts her chin and squares her shoulders. Thata girl. I try to follow suit and walk with a vague illusion of confidence towards the dining hall.
Defectivum House is the last to join the buffet line. Still trying to seem nonchalant, I wait for my turn. Nope, I’m not looking around the room for two matching brown curly heads. Not doing that at all. As my eyes scan all the students, inner thoughts flood my brain to the point of bursting. I really need to get better at shielding this stuff, especially thoughts aimed in my direction.
—Look at the duds, pathetic—
—Losers. Why do they even bother?—
Charming.
Finally, the three of us take seats at one of the long tables. It’s easy to see where each house sits by the color of the uniform. The brown blazers are all huddled at a table by the busing station and overflowing garbage cans. That doesn’t bother me, and at least we’ll be out of the Elite's eyeline.
Willow is telling Duncan about her brother’s experience with Validus Vale dodgeball (not good), but I’m hardly listening. I’ve about enough energy to shovel lasagna in my face and nothing else. Willow tries to engage the other Defectivum students, but I can see what Duncan means; most look like a forkful of pasta away from a nervous breakdown.
Taking a last bite of garlic bread, another wave of exhaustion hits me. That’s it, I’m done. Unless I want to sleep face-first in tiramisu, I need to get back to my room.
Gods. I feel like I’ve aged one hundred years in the last twenty-four hours, my earlier optimism obliterated.
Walking across the nighttime grounds, I think about how stressed out I am. If I’m like this after just one day, how am I going to manage the next four years?
I stumble down the basement stairs and am asleep before I can figure out any answers.
5
First Assembly of the school year, and it’s utterly, irrevocably wrong.
Why?
Because Wes and Donovan are not here, standing beside me. Ruling the academy with me.
Fuck my life.
And then there’s Larrisa Crankshawe. Hmm, I haven't got her measure yet, but the new dean would be monumentally stupid to cross me. The only thing I have on her is that her brother is a member of The Conclave, which means my father owns him.
My father's influence stretches all the way to the top. Everyone dances to his tune.
I decide to give a wide bypass to the ‘Italian feast’ in the cafeteria. Undoubtedly, it would be a bastardized American-Italian version of my favorite cuisine, and I just can’t tolerate even the thought of it. Retreating to the sanctuary of Electis Tower is the only option. Some drone from the staff handles getting me an alternative meal. What’s her name? Donna? Daisy? Something with a D, like the size of her fake tits. Irrelevant.
Also irrelevant was her offer to suck me off. I’d had a fleeting flicker of interest, but quashed it immediately. Staff are off-limits. I don’t mess with the help.
Still, she’s perfectly capable of rustling up my favorite Ferrante's dishes. I throw open the door to my suite, revealing D-cup herself, presenting the steaming bowls of pasta with a flourish.
Darcy? Maybe.
I toss a wad of bills in her vicinity. “Appreciate it. You can go now.” Her wide, vacant eyes start an eyelash flutter routine. I don’t bother to suppress a sigh. “That will be all, Darcy.”
