Andrea stood uncomfortably towards the bank of the foyer, scratching at the irritation caused by the collar of her school uniform. When she had come back from her tour of the school, Andrea found her uniform on her bed, a black blazer, white, buttoned-up shirt and a black skirt. She had worried, for a second that the uniform would not fit. But, like magic, the uniform fit like a glove. Andrea found a note next to the blazer and read it, 'Each individual's connection to the Source is unique. And so, self-expression is not only allowed, but also encouraged. Accessorize to your heart's content.'
His handwriting is… very pretty, Andrea thought, and did not like the fact that she hated that even his handwriting was beautiful.
Wait… am I… a hater?
Andrea shelved the thought for later, when she had enough time to gaslight herself into believing that she was, in fact, not a hater.
She had put on the uniform and admired herself in the mirror. Her Afro sat in the same peacock's tail as her mother's, and complimented her heart-shaped face well. Her big brown eyes did not look so bad now that they were no longer bloodshot. Fuck, I look good…
And she still did, in her most humble opinion, but the collar was eating at her, enough to make her unbutton the top button as Governor Benedict Haleman went on and on about the college's history, and what an honor attending the college was and blah blah blah…
Benedict was a short, stout, and frumpy man who was holding onto his hair by the skin of his buck teeth. He had a prominent nose and lips thinner than Julian's patience. He wore a suit that looked tailor-made for him and his rotundness, with a tie that was either made short or significantly shortened by the girth of his neck. His cheeks were rosy and the rest of him pale, but even Andrea could admit that he had a lovely voice. She had only wished that it had not worn out its welcome with the long speech about a school that was, according to the betting odds, going to kill her.
Had Andrea been using her real surname, she might have been standing towards the front. But 'Salem' won her a standing position towards the back, slap-dab in the middle of a giant Black kid with an Afro that would have never been allowed to live at St. Martha's, and a Caucasian kid with a buzz-cut and the solemn demeanor of an Eastern European coal-miner.
The distance was not the only thing that made focusing on Haleman difficult. Andrea had spent what remained of her afternoon yesterday focusing on stopping the leak. It had gotten better, sort of, but it still required her concentration enough a chuckle here or a yawn there threatens to undo her hard work. She was especially focused right now, trying her best not to let her classmates in on the fact that she might be trash.
But standing here, for the last 30 minutes, was starting to tax her focus.
"Now allow us to go forth into this year focused. Focused on prosperity, focused on achievement, focused on strength. If you would please give a hearty round of applause for Professor Hoffman."
Andrea slowly clapped her hands as a man who looked born to be a teacher stepped forward. He wore a beige jersey over a plain-white buttoned-up shirt and grey slacks over his brown pointed shoes. He was as pale as Haleman, but had a crooked aquiline nose instead of the potato that sat in the middle of the Governor's face. He moved aside a strand of sandy blonde hair and his blue-grey eyes, poorly hidden behind glasses with the prescription strength of an offensive lineman, looked down at a speech he had prepared. He cleared his voice before saying, "Good morning to you all, privileged students of Camelot. We welcome you to the beginning of a long journey. A journey that will make you into the best possible magician and sorcerer that you could ever have envisioned." Andrea groaned as she watched the next 5-minutes of her life wasted on some retreaded ground that had been stepped on by Haleman and his long-ass speech. But thankfully, Hoffman did not seem to love the sound of his voice as much, and got to the point quickly thereafter, "I will now arrange you into different classes. If you look to your left and right, you will find fifteen professors waiting for you. Please go to the class you are assigned to."
Andrea almost groaned again when she thought that over the next however minutes it would take, they were going to be called up one-by-one to their assigned class. But a face flashed in her mind, and she turned to see the same goofy who had been waving in her mind, waving now. She was going band-for-band with Hoffman in the 'Of course they are a teacher, just look at them' department.
She looked like such a teacher that seeing her in a store aisle at a Walmart would break Andrea's mind. Teachers were not supposed to be free to roam the wild like the rest of us, she thought, hesitantly moving towards her. Andrea felt an arm slide through her own, and looked down to see Aisling's silly smile beam up towards her, "What luck!"
Andrea had never been so relieved in her life, and even tightened her grip on Aisling's arm, "Not for you, Bruh. I'm about to ride your coattails to slightly below-average."
Aisling snorted, "Go way outta that, Andrea. Anyone copying my homework should, at the very least, score top 150."
She almost something witty before something dawned on her just then. I'm always so concerned about coming off pathetic, that I never really focus on anyone else…
For all she knew, Aisling could very well be in the same boat as her.
"Good morning everyone!" Their professor beamed, dressed in floral-patterned dressed over her own khaki-colored slacks. Her stringy, short dirty blonde hair, and her poor chin was closer to the middle of her throat than it was to her bottom lip. Her eyes were beady and brown, and her cheekbones were sharp and high.
"Come in, come in, and we will begin introductions. I am so very excited to meet all of you."
"Are there any American Professors in this school?" Andrea whispered, and Aisling frowned, "Andrea, in England?"
She snorted, "Okay, point made. Can't blame a girl for asking."
They entered the classroom and Andrea frowned, quickly taking a step out to look at the classroom from the windows, before stepping back inside.
"Bruh, what the fuck is going on?"
Aisling giggled, "You're aware that we're in a magic school, right?'
She nodded her head slowly, "Seems like it'll take awhile to grasp that."
"Sit wherever you wish," the Professor said, gesturing towards the massive classroom that, from the outside, looked half this size. At the back was a door to what she presumed was the storeroom. And running alongside the same wall were lockers enough for the thirty of them, arranged from 1-to-30. Along the sides of the classroom, were two rows of two blue desks smashed together, each row had six pairs of tables. In the middle were six rows of three desks smashed in much the same way as the other two rows were. In the front was a carpet between the front seven tables and the chalkboard, and directly across from the door was the teacher's desk, which was covered in the usual papers, books and pens. As well as the unusual skull and bad-juju accessories.
Maybe she's like, a biology professor or something, Andrea wondered. Aisling pulled her out of her mind by pointing to the front two desks closest to the teacher, and Andrea snorted, "Never! Not even if you paid me, Bruh."
Aisling pouted, "Where do you suggest then?"
She was going to point towards the back, but those rows were filling up fast. And so she moved quickly to place her schoolbag on the pair of tables that were third from the front, nearest to the door.
Aisling rolled her blue eyes before moving to join her, "Winter is going to harm us."
"Then we'll learn a spell for it." Andrea said. Their Professor waited for everyone to be seated before clapping her hands together, and it was only then that Andrea noticed her dirty and long her yellow fingernails were, "What the—"
"For introductions, I think it only fair that I be the one to start. I am Professor Smith, Adeline Smith, from the Smith Family of Lancaster."
Aisling gasped, along with half the class, and Andrea gasped a second after, because FOMO was a hell of a drug.
Aisling was not buying though, and leaned in to whisper what Andrea –
Apparently – should have known, "The Smith Family are old, like served the Normans old! Last I heard, they currently have a Herald, maybe even two! And the last God-vessel of Greed came from them! The man must have been as tight as a duck's asshole to achieve that..."
She sat back and frowned, "Bruh, you speaking in English? I don't know half the shit you said, and I'm pretty sure I miss heard the other half."
"Now," Professor Smith said, "Allow us to go from left-to-right, my left that is, and may each student stand up and introduce themselves."
Andrea gulped and looked at Aisling; her already huge eyes must have seemed buggy right now, "Aisling! Aisling I cannot speak."
She snorted, "You acting the maggot? What are you doing right now then?"
Andrea almost let the control of her aura slip, taking a deep breath to try and stop leaking all over the place, "I mean, I cannot speak in front of people! I will throw-up."
"Aim for the window then," Aisling said, giving her a wry smile. "Relax, Andy. Penny down that everyone here is just as nervous, yeah? I know a couple of these people, and my stomach is in knots. You'll have to follow my mess up, so don't worry!"
That actually made her relax, and hearing the kid in front of her stumble over his words made her feel even better. Oh my God… I am a hater...
Professor Smith clapped her hands together once he was done, "Lovely to meet you, Thomas. And Aisling, if you could introduce yourself."
Andrea raised an eyebrow and looked at her friend with boombox-volume levels of auburn hair stand and wave, "Hi everyone! I am Aisling Ryan, of the Ryan Clan of Ireland! I am from a small village far off in Munster, but spent a lot of time in the magic city of Dunbar, right in the middle of Dublin. I enjoy all sorts of magic, but especially the kind that contains color! And yeah, that's about it. Boring I know, but I hope to meet and connect with the lot of you. Thanks!"
Andrea gasped in horror as her bubbly friend sat back down, having eaten, no consumed, no devoured, a simple introduction that she no doubt was going to butcher.
"A pleasure as always, Ms. Ryan," Smith said, looking towards Andrea. "And who might you be, ma'am?"
Andrea almost spoke before realizing she had not stood up yet, "Oh-uh, I'm Andrea, Andrea Salem. Hello. I am American, obviously. Oh but I'm from Tennessee, not just America. Well, I mean, Tennessee is in America so same thing really. I like running... running in track meets I mean. I don't just run, that would be weird, hah. Could you imagine? Just leaving your home and gunning it… Well, I mean, people do actually do that, like going for jogs and stuff, so maybe it's not that crazy," she heard laughter that she hoped was with her and not at her, "And I'm new to magic. No magic family for me, despite what the surname says, hah. Okay, thanks."
Smith somehow kept her smile as she nodded her head, "Always a pleasure meeting our rebellious cousins from across the pond. Welcome Andrea."
"Thanks."
Andrea refused to meet Aisling's glare; focusing instead on the back of Thomas' head, "Wow, when you said you couldn't speak, I did not think you meant it like that."
Introductions went by quickly after that. And soon Professor moved to stand by the chalkboard, chalk in hand as she explained the curriculum to her students.
"Okay, well, I hope you all feel comfortable enough now to become a closely knit group. I love have a classroom that is filed with comradery and friendship. My own first year class -- oh my how long ago that was – were very close. We still keep in touch, well, those of us strong enough to still be alive."
On that joyful note, she turned to write on the board 'supply and demand' before clapping her hands free of any dust.
"I am certain that I do not have to alert any of you to the consequences of failure," she said, her smile and eyes bouncing from student to student as she spoke. "But to reiterate for those of you who may not be up to date on things. The bottom 10%, so about forty of the four hundred students we have, will be sacrificed to the Source. Now I do not need to tell you that some might wonder why this is necessary. I mean, surely failing students can just reapply to repeat the year, as would be the consequence of failure in any other school. Do any of you know why it is that we must do this?"
No hands were raised, and Professor Smith frowned, "Oh come now! I am certain some of you from magician families have heard something that might give you an idea as to why."
A hand tentatively came up and Smith pointed towards a boy whose face was a battleground of freckles and acne; a ginger-haired child with brown eyes and crooked white teeth, "Yes, Frederick."
"Is it because we do not want to associate with the weak?" Andrea gulped as Professor Smith pondered the answer for a moment before shaking her head, "Not quite. But you are on the right track."
"Is it because of population control?" Another voice asked, and Professor Smith shook her head again, "No, but you are getting warmer. Thank you, Penelope."
A boy who was sat in the back raised his long arm. He had the build of a swimmer mixed with the looks of a supermodel. His sharp jawline met in the middle of a cleft chin, and his lips were full. His eyes were the same color of his complexion, a light brown. His black hair had been cut short with a taper, and his uniform was a plain white shirt worn underneath his black blazer, his black jeans ran down onto black combat boots. His one ear was pierced on the lobe, and the other on the top.
"Yes, Edison."
"Thank you, Professor," he said, in an accent indicating that he came from somewhere in Latin America, "It is because of the supply of the Source being spread too thin. Too many people on Earth at once, I think."
Professor Smith snapped her fingers and smiled, "Exactly! You will expand upon this in your other lectures, especially Arcane History. But essentially, the Source is, as far as we know and believe, finite. And so, the more magicians and sorcerers in the world, the less of the Source there is to go around for the rest of us."
She turned to write 'Where there is supply and demand; there will always be the rich and the poor; the haves and have-nots.' before turning back to her students, "The intricate details of this all will be expanded upon in your other lectures. I, as your register-class professor, just wish to explain to you what is at stake should you come up short and fail."
Professor Smith smile returned, but this time, it was as stomach-churning as the introduction-phase had been for Andrea. "We cannot stomach the weak, for their existence steals from us. It takes from us, the worthy, and makes us weaker for it. And that, my students, will not do. And so, we must cull you. I am certain that none in my class will embarrass me by suffering such a fate," Andrea gulped once more, "But should it come to it, do not take it personally. It is no personal affront or insult. It is just nature, running her course as she had once done, and honestly, should do now."
There was an awkward silence as Professor Smith; her lifeless and terrifying smile still stitched onto her face, looked out at each and every one of her students. And Andrea may have imagined it; but her eyes seemed to settle on her a microsecond longer than anyone else.
The bell ringing saved them from what had been the worst first period of her life, and it seemed to snap Smith out of her deranged staring, "Oh, and there goes our first morning period! Remember, do not fail me, but should you do so," Smith laughed. "Well, know that there is a safety net of sorts. I will take your soulless corpses and add them to my collection."
Andrea frowned as she left the classroom, walking alongside an Aisling who seemed far too chipper for what was just said, "Bruh, what the fuck did she mean by collection?"
Aisling looked at her as if she were born yesterday, "Andrea, she is a Smith. As in the family famous for being necromancers? Raising the dead is literally their familial magic."
Her stomach fell as Aisling laughed, entirely oblivious to Andrea's mind shutting down. "They say that Baron Smith was so greedy, that he resurrected peasants who died early. 'Even in death, they will serve!'" Aisling put on a passable British accent before she laughed. This time Andrea did not laugh with her, FOMO be damned…