Chapter 2: The Gates of Redpaveley Academy ( Part 1)
The first morning in Redpaveley didn't taste like a fresh start. It tasted like dust and the metallic tang of the synthetic blood-substitute my father had managed to scrounge up for breakfast. I stood in front of a cracked mirror in our new, cramped bathroom, trying to flatten my hair. My skin looked even paler against the dark circles under my eyes. Back in the city, I could blend into the crowds of exhausted humans. Here, in the crisp morning light of a supernatural village, I felt like a smudge of grey on a vibrant painting.
"You're going to be late," my father called from the kitchen. His voice was tired, stripped of the anger from last night.
"I'm going," I muttered, grabbing my bag. The strap was held together by a clumsy knot I'd tied after it snapped yesterday. Seeing it reminded me of her—of the way she had looked at the locket, and the way her hand had felt like a lightning strike against mine.
I stepped out of the house and onto the streets of Redpaveley. The snow from yesterday had turned into a thick, slushy carpet that crunched under my boots. The village was waking up. I saw a group of students ahead of me—witches, probably, based on the way their scarves seemed to float and flutter as if caught in a wind that wasn't there. They were laughing, huddled together, completely at home.
I kept my head down, my hands shoved deep into my pockets. I felt that familiar wall rising up around me. Don't look at them. Don't let them look at you. I knew what they'd see: a broke, city-vampire with a dead mother and a father in debt. Not exactly the kind of person you invite to sit at the lunch table.
The Academy loomed at the end of the main road—a massive structure of dark stone and ivy, looking more like a fortress than a school. As I reached the iron gates, I stopped. My heart, usually a slow, steady thrum, began to race. I had no idea where I was going. I pulled out my crumpled schedule, squinting at the room numbers that made absolutely no sense.
"You look like you're trying to solve a math equation with your eyes, City Boy."
That voice.
I didn't even have to look up to know who it was. The air around me suddenly felt five degrees warmer. I slowly raised my head, and there she was, leaning against the stone pillar of the gate.
Wolfie.
She wasn't wearing the heavy coat today. Instead, she had on the Academy uniform, but she'd styled it her own way—sleeves rolled up, boots scuffed, and those glasses sitting slightly crooked on her nose. She was holding a coffee cup that smelled like cinnamon and something wild.
"I'm not lost," I lied, my voice sounding more defensive than I intended.
Wolfie laughed, and the sound made the tension in my shoulders drop just a fraction—an effect she had on me that I already hated. "Right. And I'm a pixie," she teased, pushing off the pillar and walking toward me. "The entrance for new students is that way, Drayan. Unless you were planning on staring at that gate until it opened itself?"