The Academy

Chapter 10

The heavy, oppressive silence of the afternoon was a physical weight as Nyssa crossed the main courtyard. The vision from the lower levels still throbbed behind her eyes, a rhythmic pulsing that synchronized with the dull ache in her tear ducts. She needed the library. She needed the Restricted Section. She needed to understand why a door in the basement of a school for supernaturals was whispering the word Omni as if it were a prayer.

​She was ten yards from the massive oak doors of the North Wing when the air around her curdled. It wasn't the cold, clean frost of the basement; it was the hot, musky scent of a predator in the Haze-aftermath.

​"Leaving so soon, Crypt-Kicker?"

​Nyssa stopped. She didn't sigh, because sighing required an emotional investment she wasn't willing to make, but her jaw tightened. Kingsley stood blocking the path, flanked by three other female werewolves from the primary pack. They were all wearing their black-and-green plaid skirts, but they’d rolled them up at the waist, their posture wide and aggressive. Kingsley looked particularly feral, her honey-brown hair windblown and her golden eyes narrowed into slits of pure, unadulterated venom.

​"I have a date with a book," Nyssa said, her voice a flat, dead monotone. "Unlike some people, I prefer my companions to have a spine and a coherent vocabulary."

​The girls behind Kingsley snarled, a low, guttural vibration that made the air hum.

​"You think you’re so clever," Kingsley stepped forward, her boots clicking menacingly on the cobblestones. "You think because the Alpha had a momentary lapse in judgment—because he’s confused by your pathetic little freak show—that you’re protected? A mistake. A glitch in the system."

​Nyssa tilted her head, her amethyst eyes boring into Kingsley’s with the vacant intensity of a shark. "A glitch? How flattering. I’ve always preferred being a systemic error to being a repetitive background character. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to get to the library before the books decide to rot out of boredom from being in your presence."

​Nyssa moved to step past her, her shoulder barely inches from Kingsley’s. She didn't fear the wolf; she didn't really feel much of anything except a gnawing curiosity about the basement.

​"I'm not done with you!" Kingsley hissed. She reached out, her hand slamming onto Nyssa’s shoulder to spin her back around.

​The moment Kingsley’s skin made contact with Nyssa’s hoodie, the world went white.

​The whispers in Nyssa’s head didn't just speak; they screamed. It was a cacophony of a thousand voices, a wall of sound that felt like it was trying to burst out of her skull. They weren't mourning anymore—they were terrified. They were protective.

​NO! the voices shrieked. DO NOT TOUCH THE VESSEL!

​Nyssa felt a cold, violent surge of energy boil up from her marrow. It wasn't the controlled, buzzy magic of the witches in De La Vega’s class; it was an abyssal, heavy pressure. It erupted from her chest in a shockwave of purplish-black light.

​The force was immense. Kingsley and her trio of packmates were lifted off their feet, thrown backward as if struck by a physical battering ram. They hit the stone pillars of the courtyard with a sickening thud, the impact cracking the masonry and sending a cloud of dust into the air.

​Nyssa stood frozen in the center of the blast radius. Her hands were raised instinctively, and for a terrifying second, they were cloaked in a faint, smokey aura of that same purplish-black light. It felt like liquid shadows, pulsing with a life of its own before slowly, agonizingly, fading back into her skin.

​She stared at her palms, her eyes wide. She hadn't cast a spell. She hadn't even thought about a hex. It was as if her body had reacted on its own, a defensive reflex she hadn't known she possessed.

​"You... you f*****g b***h!"

​Kingsley pushed herself up from the base of a pillar, her face twisted in a mask of rage. Blood trickled from a scrape on her forehead, and her golden eyes were completely blown out. She let out a guttural, half-shifted roar, her claws extending as she prepared to lung.

​"Is there a problem here?"

​The voice was like a bucket of ice water. Kingsley froze mid-lunge. Elisa Croft was standing at the edge of the courtyard, her arms crossed over her emerald turtleneck, her silver hair shimmering in the afternoon light. She looked perfectly calm, though her eyes were narrowed as she took in the cracked stone and the cowering werewolves.

​Kingsley’s demeanor shifted in a heartbeat. The predator vanished, replaced by a trembling, fragile girl. She began to sob, the "waterworks" starting with professional precision. She limped toward Croft, clutching her side as if she’d been disemboweled.

​"Assistant Headmaster! Thank the Moon Goddess you’re here!" Kingsley wailed, her voice cracking. "I was just... I was trying to apologize to her! I felt so bad about how I acted before the Haze... I told her I wanted to be friends. I wanted to help her settle in!"

​Kingsley looked over her shoulder at Nyssa, her face a mask of faux-terror. "But she just... she started calling us names. Horrible names. And when I asked her to stop, she attacked us! She used some kind of... magic! She tried to kill us!"

​The other three girls followed suit, whimpering and nodding, holding their arms as if they were broken.

​Nyssa rose a single, skeptical eyebrow. She looked at Kingsley, then at the "crying" pack members, and finally at Croft. "Are you f*****g kidding me?" she muttered in a dead monotone. "That was a more convincing performance than your last history essay, Kingsley. Almost."

​Kingsley let out a fresh sob, burying her face in her hands.

​Nyssa rolled her eyes, let out a short, frustrated huff, and shoved her hands back into her hoodie pockets. The shadows at her feet were still twitching, agitated by the lingering energy.

​Croft looked at the crying werewolves for a long, silent moment. Her expression was unreadable, but Nyssa saw a flicker of something—amusement? Intrigue?—pass through her eyes.

​"That’s enough, Kingsley," Croft said, her voice smooth and clinical. "Take your sisters to the medical wing and get patched up. I’ll deal with Miss Knox."

​Kingsley shot Nyssa one last, triumphant smirk behind Croft’s back before limping away with her pack.

​"Follow me, Nyssa," Croft commanded, turning on her heel.

​Nyssa took a deep breath, the cold air stinging her lungs, and followed. They walked in silence through the manicured gardens, the only sound the click of Croft’s heels and the heavy thud of Nyssa’s boots.

​"You know," Croft said, not looking back, "of all the supernatural entities on this campus you could have chosen to antagonize, you chose Kingsley Rivers. That’s a very specific kind of talent."

​"I didn't choose anything," Nyssa said, looking straight ahead. "She touched me first. It’s a very simple narrative."

​"Regardless of the narrative," Croft replied, her voice cooling, "students are strictly forbidden from using magic against one another outside of Defensive Class. We have rules for a reason, Nyssa. Blackwood is a delicate ecosystem."

​Nyssa tightened her jaw, her gaze drifting down to her right hand. She could still feel the phantom hum of that purple light beneath her skin. "I didn't mean to do it. I don't even know what I did."

​Croft stopped abruptly, turning to face her. They were standing near the entrance to the Onyx Wing. Croft reached out, her fingers hovering near Nyssa’s wrist without touching it, her eyes scanning the girl with a terrifying, clinical focus.

​"And yet," Croft whispered, "it was quite an explosion. To conjure that much raw force without a conduit—no wand, no staff, no circle—is unheard of for a beginner. You have potential, Nyssa. More than your file suggested."

​She stepped back, a faint, chilling smile touching her lips. "With the right training, the right... guidance... you could be one of our 'Crown Jewels'. We’ve had many exceptional students pass through these halls and go on to change the world. You could join their ranks if you learn to control that power. Consider this a warning," Croft said, her voice returning to its professional lilt. "Try to stay away from Kingsley and the other wolves as much as possible. Kingsley is a very vengeful... lady. And her father is not a man you want to be on the radar of."

​Nyssa nodded once. "Understood."

​Croft gave her a light, final smile and walked away toward the administrative wing.

​Nyssa stood at the base of the stairs for a moment, her heart racing. She began to climb, her mind churning. She reached the third floor and started down the hall toward Suite 666. She just wanted to sit in the dark and process the fact that her hands had turned into weapons.

​As she reached her door, she heard it.

​The rhythmic, wet thud-thud against the wood, accompanied by Angelique’s high-pitched, breathless moans and Quinn’s low, guttural chuckles.

​Nyssa closed her eyes, her forehead resting against the cool stone of the wall. A surge of irritation, hot and sharp, flared in her chest. She took a deep breath and let out a low, predatory growl that vibrated in the back of her throat.

​She wasn't going in there.

​She turned on her heels and walked back down the hall, her boots hitting the stone with a newfound aggression. She wasn't going to the library anymore. She just needed to walk.

​As she made her way toward the North Tower, she thought back to the courtyard. The way the whispers had screamed. The way the purple light had protected her.

​It was the first time she’d felt safe in years. It was as if the dead weren't just haunting her anymore; they were guarding her.

​But why? And what was an "Omni"?

​Because you are the end, a voice whispered, softer than the others, almost like a caress. And the end must be preserved.

​Nyssa stopped at a window overlooking the dark forest. She looked at her hands again. They didn't feel like a witch's hands. They felt like something older. Something that had been waiting in the basement for a long, long time.