Page 7 of Beta Lies and Cursed Lives
“So, Mira,” Headmaster Laurant says as he rattles with a pan and some cooking utensils. “Will you tell me about yourself?”
The question catches me off guard. There’s only one thing he could be interested in knowing about.
“Um...as the major said, I’m tactile. Any living mammal I touch turns to ice. It just happens, likesnap,”my middle finger and thumb slide together in a whoosh of fabric-on-fabric.
Headmaster Laurant stares at me, his brows drawn tightly. “That must be…” his voice trails, and his head tilts. “That’s your curse. I wanted to know aboutyou. Mira.”
“Why?” The word comes out before I can stop it.
A small frown forms on his handsome face. “I’m going to be honest with you, Mira. Most of the Cursed who come here have aged out of our sister campus for young children. They’ve been in this environment for many years. They stay at this campus until around your age, and then they’re...gone.”
Sold, he means.
“How old are you?”
“Twenty-two.”
He nods slowly. “I thought as much. I’m thirty-five. I’ve been in the system since I was nine.” The skin around his green eyes pinches, and his jaw sets. “I am Headmaster in name only. I’m really the academy’s counselor. I have no real authority. It’s a token title bestowed upon me because the faculty and Council didn’t want to lose someone with my abilities to another country or army.”
My confusion must show because he lets out a self-deprecating laugh before continuing. “Everyone knows it. A part of me appreciates the protection this position provides.” He busies himself with buttering slices of bread and manning the stove.
I clear my throat, unable to help myself. “What is your curse?”
He looks up at me now. “I’m an empath. I cannot read thoughts, but I can feel the emotions of those around me. It makes me a handy tool for those in charge.” He says the last bit with an edge.
Does that mean he tells the authorities about the Cursed who are disgruntled? Those who are angry? Because I am definitely one of them, despite my exhaustion and shock.
“Ah, here we are!” he exclaims, suddenly chipper while he plates the sandwich. “Squares or triangles?”
I blink at him. Is he serious? “Triangles.” My voice is wary.
He cuts the sandwich diagonally and hands me the plate. “Let’s sit.”
In a daze, I bring my plate and bottled water to the nearest table and place them on it before sitting in one of the four chairs. Headmaster Laurant sits across from me, his hands folded atop the table. “A tactile with your abilities will be forced to train for the front lines.” He says it matter-of-fact.
I already knew this. My father had prepared me, had warned me, had ingrained in me the necessity to never get caught.
What a fucking failure I am.
His words don’t ebb my hunger, and I take my first bite of the sandwich, the scent of which had been invading my senses since he began cooking it for me. The flavor is delectable, and I let out a long sigh before scarfing the rest of the half in my fingers.
“Does it meet your approval?” He smiles at me in that disarming way of his that I’m already growing accustomed to.
Strange since I’ve never been around other people long enough to grow used to them, aside from my father. A part of me is frightened by this notion. Am I already defeated? Have I already given in to the fact that I’ll be spending years here before being shipped off to universe knows where and used as a pawn until the day I die?
“It’s good,” I say, my tone devoid of emotion.
I sip from my open water bottle, and he does the head-tilt thing again as he stares at me. A second later, my bottle jumps from my grasp and tumbles to the floor, water pouring all around me and on my lap.
“Oh!” he exclaims. “One moment.”
He disappears behind me, leaving me completely frazzled. That bottle...I didn’t drop it. I had a firm grasp on it, and it was pulled from my hand by some unseen force. I swear it.
“Here we are,” Laurant says lightly upon his return, dropping towels to the puddle on the ground and placing two more on my lap. He gets down on his knees beside me, one hand placed on my covered forearm. “I’m sure you’re very jittery,” he says.
“We are always watched. Always listened to.”
That...that was his voice in my head!
