Page 22 of Academy of the Wicked (The Paranormal Elites of Wicked Academy #2)

Legends And Sleeping Cats

~GWENIVERE~

P rofessor Valerian's classroom differs dramatically from Professor Eternalis' structured amphitheater.

Here, desks arrange themselves in concentric circles around a central dais where the instructor stands beneath what appears to be a living model of Faerie's complex celestial system.

Miniature planets and stars orbit in perfect synchronization, occasionally emitting prismatic bursts of light that illuminate specific sections of ancient texts floating open around the room.

I've claimed a seat in the middle ring – close enough to observe details without drawing excessive attention from either Professor Valerian or the more ambitious students clustered in the innermost circle. Zeke sits beside me, his slender form growing increasingly limp as Professor Valerian's melodious voice continues her lecture on historical treaties between Faerie realms.

Despite the fascinating subject matter, Zeke's eyelids have grown progressively heavier over the past twenty minutes.

Now they've surrendered completely to gravity, his head nodding forward in tiny increments before jerking back up in momentary awareness, only to repeat the cycle with increasing frequency. The struggle against sleep plays across his features with almost comical determination — each awakening accompanied by widened eyes and forced attentiveness that lasts mere seconds before exhaustion reclaims its territory.

I observe this battle with growing amusement, remembering my life before all this academy fiasco. The comparison brings unexpected sympathy for my strange new acquaintance.

How I’d try to learn any way I could back home because learning and knowledge were but a privilege for a hybrid like myself. It’s odd to wonder about the past, realizing certain instances seem like distant memories that I can barely touch with a fingertip.

Which is odd?

I shouldn’t be forgetting so swiftly, and yet it’s a bit concerning now that I try to remember things that should be easy to recall. Typical circumstances with Elena, or how I grew up in difficult circumstances with lacking parents. I try to remember something as simple as a day at school and it seems to be drifting away, like a butterfly flying higher and higher in the midst of a grand meadow. Beautiful to watch, but impossible to reach.

I’ll have to ask the others later…

Zeke finally surrenders completely, his head dropping forward as consciousness abandons him to whatever dreams visit cat-like beings during impromptu classroom naps. His position looks precarious and uncomfortable, the angle of his neck is guaranteed to leave him with stiffness when he eventually awakens.

I shouldn’t wake him up though.

Without drawing attention to the movement, I slide my blazer from my shoulders and casually drape it across his slumped form.

The garment engulfs his slender frame, emphasizing how much smaller he is compared to my glamoured physique. His shoulders immediately relax beneath the lightweight cover, his body instinctively curling into the unexpected warmth with unconscious gratitude that triggers another twinge of protective sentiment I hadn't anticipated developing.

Professor Valerian continues her lecture without acknowledging this minor disruption, though the slight pause in her cadence suggests nothing escapes her notice despite her apparent focus on floating manuscripts circling her dais.

I return my attention to the lecture, idly spinning a pen between my fingers while wondering how the others are faring with their first day of classes.

The separation feels odd after spending every waking moment in their company since the trial's completion. The absence leaves an unexpected hollow sensation beneath my ribs — concern mixed with something warmer I'm not quite ready to name.

Opening my notebook to a fresh page, I begin doodling abstract patterns in margins while half-listening to Professor Valerian's elegant parsing of historical nuance.

The designs unconsciously morph into familiar shapes — Cassius's shadow tendrils, Nikolai's characteristic smirk, Atticus's watchful eyes, and Mortimer's scholarly concentration.

Before I realize what I'm doing, the words "I miss you" appear in my own handwriting, the sentiment expressed before conscious thought could censor it.

I stare at the phrase with mild surprise, then quickly shade over it with decisive strokes that obscure its vulnerability beneath layers of abstract patterns.

This isn't the time for emotional indulgence, not when valuable information might be flowing right past my divided attention.

"—which brings us to the legend of the missing heir," Professor Valerian states, her voice shifting to a darker register that immediately captures my full focus. "A tale fundamental to understanding Faerie's current relationship with Wicked Academy and the particular challenges experienced here in Year Two."

The floating manuscripts rearrange themselves, several closing entirely while one particular volume – bound in what appears to be pale green leather illuminated with silver filigree – expands to hover directly before her.

Its pages turn without physical contact, settling on elaborate illustrations depicting regal figures surrounded by thorned vines bearing roses of midnight blue.

"The Fae, as most of you know, are renowned throughout paranormal circles for certain intrinsic traits," Professor Valerian continues, her long fingers tracing patterns in the air that cause corresponding sections of the manuscript to illuminate. "Pride, beauty, magical affinity…but also less flattering characteristics: ruthlessness, manipulation, and a certain disregard for consequences that affect those deemed beneath their concern."

Several students shift uncomfortably at this frank assessment, particularly those whose fae lineage shows in pointed ears and unnaturally perfect features.

Professor Valerian acknowledges their discomfort with a slight inclination of her head but continues without softening her critique.

"These traits, inherited through cultural practice rather than genetic predetermination, ultimately catalyzed the current restrictions experienced here in the Faerie realms of Wicked Academy," she explains, her tone carrying academic precision rather than personal judgment. "Where once Year Two represented a sacred space of learning and growth, we now operate under the shadow of punishment for betrayal committed against the Headmaster himself."

My doodling stills completely, pen hovering above paper as full attention locks onto her words. This explanation might finally provide context for the strange food currency system Zeke mentioned earlier — academic performance determining whether students eat or starve in a realm otherwise renowned for abundance and excess.

"The betrayal took the form of theft," Professor Valerian continues, manuscript pages turning to reveal new illustration – an ornate goblet crafted from what appears to be crystallized moonlight, its surface engraved with runes that shift and change even within the confines of static drawing. "A chalice of extraordinary significance, created by the Headmaster as a gift for his beloved partner."

The word "chalice" sends an electric jolt through my system, instantly connecting to Elena's desperate instructions about finding that specific artifact. This cannot be a coincidence – the very object I seek apparently stands at the center of Faerie's complicated relationship with Wicked Academy.

"The chalice possessed remarkable properties," Professor Valerian explains, the manuscript hovering closer so students can better observe the shifting illustrations. "Accounts differ regarding its specific capabilities. Some legends claim healing powers that could reverse even fatal conditions. Others suggest the ability to grant wishes within certain parameters. The most intriguing accounts describe power to address fundamental dualities within paranormal beings."

A student in the inner circle raises her hand, slender fingers adorned with rings that appear to be living vines coiled around each digit.

When Professor Valerian acknowledges her with a slight nod, she asks.

"What does 'addressing fundamental dualities' mean exactly?"

Professor Valerian's smile carries an enigmatic quality that suggests multiple layers of meaning beneath simple explanations.

"For creatures of mixed heritage, those with blood from two or more paranormal classifications, the chalice allegedly offered a choice," she clarifies, manuscript illustrations shifting to show transformative sequence depicting being split into twin versions of itself. "The ability to select which aspect of one's nature would become permanently dominant, while the other receded into mere trace elements."

My mind immediately applies this information to my own circumstances — hybrid witch-vampire nature that has defined both struggles and strengths throughout my existence.

Having the choice to become fully one or the other carries implications both tantalizing and disturbing.

Would selecting vampire dominance mean losing elemental affinities that have saved my life countless times?

Conversely, choosing witch ascendancy might diminish the enhanced strength and healing that vampire heritage provides. The prospect of such a choice leaves me profoundly unsettled rather than tempted.

Another student — male with a subtle blue tint to otherwise human-appearing skin – raises his hand with hesitant reluctance.

"Where is the chalice now?" he asks, voice carrying undertones that suggest a personal stake in the answer beyond mere academic curiosity.

Professor Valerian's expression shifts to something more guarded, a professional mask settling more firmly into place.

"The chalice remains somewhere within academy grounds," she states with deliberate vagueness that hints at institutional policy rather than personal ignorance. "Like many ancient artifacts and gifts housed within these walls, it exists for those with sufficient determination and worthiness to locate."

Her gaze sweeps the classroom with calculated precision, briefly pausing on mine before she continues her analysis.

"The Abundance Tree operates on a similar principle," she continues, the casual mention of our secret lunch location confirming nothing truly remains hidden from faculty awareness. "It appears only to those worthy of its gifts, preventing starvation among students who might otherwise suffer under our performance-based nutrition system."

I glance at sleeping Zeke, wondering how he discovered the tree's location and what criteria determined his "worthiness" to access its bounty. The timing of his showing me this secret sanctuary feels increasingly significant rather than mere coincidence.

He doesn’t seem like a bad student either, so shouldn’t he have coins to use for food and other essentials instead of starving himself?

"These hidden resources center around the Stellarum Archive, most commonly known as our grand library," Professor Valerian adds, referencing what must be the grand library's formal designation. "Which brings us to today's practical assignment."

The floating manuscripts close simultaneously, leather bindings sealing with an audible snap before they arrange themselves in a neat stack on the nearby desk.

The celestial model above Professor Valerian's head accelerates briefly, with planets and stars tracing luminous patterns through the air before settling into a new configuration that resembles the academy's architectural layout viewed from above.

"You will divide into groups of between two and four students," she announces, business-like efficiency replacing scholarly exposition. "Your task is to bring back aerial proof of what Wicked Academy looks like from above. You have until sundown to complete this assignment."

Confused murmurs spread through the classroom as students exchange uncertain glances. One particularly bold student with silver-streaked hair raises their hand with obvious skepticism.

"How exactly are we supposed to get aerial views?" he challenges, expression suggesting he suspects an impossible task designed to embarrass rather than educate.

Before Professor Valerian can respond, a familiar voice cuts through the growing conversational buzz.

"Obviously, you look through historical records in the library," Damien states from his position near the door, his tone carrying insufferable condescension that immediately sets my teeth on edge. I hadn't realized he shared this class with us, having deliberately avoided acknowledging his presence after our earlier hallway confrontation. "There must be books with architectural drawings or historical photographs. Honestly, it's not that complicated."

His small entourage — including the mysterious Raven — snicker appreciatively at this display of intellectual superiority, their sycophantic response only enhancing Damien's already insufferable smugness.

"I'll give you all a hint, from the goodness of my heart," he announces, hand dramatically placed over the chest in a theatrical gesture of generosity that fools precisely no one.

With a contemptuous backward glance, he leads his group through the doorway without awaiting Professor Valerian's reaction to this presumptuousness.

"At least one member of your group must appear in the image," Professor Valerian adds calmly, the additional requirement landing like a calculated response to Damien's premature exit. "Which should provide an interesting challenge to those planning simply to copy historical documentation."

Students immediately begin forming groups, chairs scraping against the floor as alliances solidify with practiced efficiency that suggests such assignments occur regularly.

Through it all, Zeke remains blissfully unconscious beneath my blazer, completely oblivious to the activity surrounding him.

I remain seated, observing rather than participating in the frantic negotiations unfolding around us. Instinct tells me Professor Valerian has designed this task with a deeper purpose than a mere academic exercise, and rushing to form alliances without understanding underlying objectives rarely leads to optimal outcomes.

As the last students file out with varying degrees of confidence and confusion, Professor Valerian approaches our desk with measured steps that somehow convey both authority and consideration simultaneously.

"Mr. Hawthorne," she addresses me with formal precision that suggests an awareness of my dual identity without directly acknowledging it. "Do you require additional clarification regarding the assignment?"

"How long do we have after leaving this classroom?" I ask, practical consideration taking precedence over theoretical concerns.

"One hour from your departure," she specifies, gaze moving to Zeke's sleeping form with an expression that mingles exasperation and reluctant affection. "Though your classmate seems in no hurry to begin."

I lean back in my chair with deliberate casualness, one arm draped over the back in a posture that suggests complete comfort with current circumstances.

"Then I'll wait for Zeke to finish his nap," I state with a casual shrug that belies the protective instinct this decision represents. "We'll tackle the assignment together once he's rested."

Professor Valerian raises a single eyebrow, expression suggesting reassessment of whatever conclusions she'd previously drawn about my character and motivations.

"You're willing to sacrifice precious assignment time for your new...friend's comfort?" The slight pause carries weight of curiosity rather than judgment, a genuine interest in motivation that doesn't align with typical ambitious student behavior.

I maintain a casual demeanor while choosing words with careful precision.

"You don't move a cat when they're nestled in peace," I explain, the statement carrying more truth than she could possibly realize. "It's bad luck. Besides, he clearly needs the rest."

An unexpected laugh escapes Professor Valerian – a rich, musical sound that transforms her features from academic severity to something warmer and more approachable. The change reveals a glimpse of someone younger and less constrained than the professional persona she typically projects.

"Indeed," she agrees, genuine amusement lingering in her expression. "Though I suspect there's more to your consideration than mere superstition."

She moves toward the door with that same measured grace that somehow suggests dancing even in ordinary movement.

"I'll leave you to your vigil, Mr. Hawthorne. The classroom will remain unlocked until you choose to depart."

With that final comment, she exits, leaving me alone with sleeping Zeke and a room full of questions regarding the chalice's true nature and its connection to Faerie's current restrictive circumstances.

I settle more comfortably into my chair, studying Zeke's peaceful expression while contemplating this unexpected windfall of information. Elena's instructions to find the chalice now carry additional context that both clarifies and complicates my mission.

If the artifact truly possesses healing capabilities as some legends suggest, its potential for saving my sister remains valid motivation. I knew to some extent but this just confirms once more that its the answer to healing Elena. However, its alleged connection to the Headmaster and subsequent theft introduces political complications I hadn't anticipated navigating.

The Stellarum Archive must have more answers to this.

Seeking an object at the center of interdimensional conflict between Faerie and Academy leadership represents risk beyond mere rule-breaking. If caught pursuing the chalice, I might face accusations of attempting to complete the original theft rather than merely borrowing the item for healing purposes.

Zeke stirs slightly beneath my blazer, a small sound escaping that falls somewhere between a human sigh and a feline purr. The noise draws my attention back to immediate concerns rather than theoretical complications.

His features appear younger in sleep, the tension I hadn't fully registered while he was awake now conspicuous in its absence. Dark smudges beneath his eyes suggest chronic exhaustion rather than simple afternoon tiredness, further evidence supporting growing suspicion that his circumstances within the academy involve hardship beyond ordinary student experience.

The "homeless street cat" taunts from other students, his lack of resources for purchasing food, and the resigned acceptance of bullying – all paint pictures of someone existing on the margins of academy society despite the apparent connection to extraordinary resources like the Abundance Tree.

Why though? What’s with all the self-sacrifice? What’s the grand purpose?

I find myself studying the remarkable structure of his face more carefully than propriety might allow if he were conscious. His features carry an unusual blend of delicacy and resilience – high cheekbones and pointed chin creating a framework too angular for conventional beauty, yet somehow perfectly balanced when considered as a whole.

Those extraordinary eyes — currently hidden beneath long lashes that cast subtle shadows across his cheeks — represent the most obvious indicator of his non-human classification.

Their unique coloration and vertical pupils marked him immediately as something other than standard paranormal categories taught in classification texts.

Elena's words echo through memory once more:

Pay mercy to the cat that will crave your company.

The instruction feels increasingly specific rather than metaphorical, with direct reference to Zeke rather than an abstract concept. His feline qualities, protective intervention against Damien, introduction to the Abundance Tree — all suggest he represents the next step on the path toward both the chalice and whatever knowledge I've apparently forgotten.

With careful movements designed not to disturb his rest, I extract my small notebook from the inner pocket and begin listing connections between available information.

Chalice – created by Headmaster – a gift from partner – stolen by Fae – precipitated Year Two restrictions

Capabilities – healing – wish granting? – hybrid aspect selection

Current location – somewhere within the academy – possibly connected to Stellarum Archive

Zeke – "homeless street cat" – can see through glamour – knows about Abundance Tree – "catalyst"

The last entry pauses my hand, pen hovering above the paper as I recall his cryptic self-description from our conversation near the tree.

"I'm a catalyst. Just like you."

What could he possibly mean by comparing us in such specific terminology?

Catalyst suggests chemical reaction, transformation accelerated by presence without being consumed in the process. The implication that we share this quality raises questions about my role in events unfolding around us.

Am I merely seeking the chalice, or participating in something larger that requires catalytic presence to progress?

Zeke shifts again beneath the jacket, this time with more purpose that suggests imminent awakening rather than simple repositioning. His eyes open gradually, unfocused at first before sharpening with returning consciousness. The vertical pupils contract rapidly in the classroom's ambient light, adjusting with efficiency that further emphasizes his non-human nature.

Confusion flickers briefly across his features as he registers the weight and warmth of my blazer, hands rising to touch the fabric with questioning fingers before comprehension dawns.

He sits upright with sudden embarrassment, cheeks flushing with color that stands out vividly against his natural pallor.

"I fell asleep," he states unnecessarily, voice rough with lingering drowsiness. "During class."

I nod, maintaining a neutral expression rather than indicating either amusement or judgment.

"Professor Valerian assigned a group project while you were napping," I inform him, deliberately casual to minimize his evident embarrassment. "We need to produce an aerial image of the academy with at least one of us in the picture."

He blinks several times, processing this information while carefully folding my blazer and returning it with meticulous neatness that suggests respect for possessions beyond ordinary teenage consideration.

"I'm sorry," he offers, genuine contrition coloring his tone. "You should have woken me instead of letting me sleep through the assignment."

I accept the returned blazer with a casual shrug that dismisses his concerns as unnecessary.

"You obviously needed the rest," I respond, sliding arms back into sleeves with practiced ease. "Besides, we still have plenty of time. Professor gave us one hour from when we leave this room, and everyone else has already gone."

Zeke's expression shifts from embarrassment to calculation, those extraordinary eyes narrowing slightly as he considers the implications.

"So we can take a few minutes to plan while they're all rushing around without strategy," he concludes, an unexpected smile transforming his features with quiet delight. "That's actually advantageous."

I find myself returning his smile, appreciation for strategic thinking overriding usual caution about forming new connections.

"Exactly. Most of them ran off to the library based on Damien's suggestion about finding historical images."

"But we need to appear in the picture ourselves," Zeke adds, demonstrating he's quickly grasped the assignment's key complication despite having slept through its presentation. "Which means we need actual aerial vantage point rather than historical documentation."

The rapid assessment confirms the earlier impression of intelligence beneath his sometimes timid exterior. Whatever Zeke's limitations might be, lack of cognitive ability certainly isn't among them.

"So how do we get an aerial view of the academy?" I pose the question directly, curious about his approach to problem-solving. "Any ideas?"

He tilts his head slightly in a gesture that appears unconsciously feline, consideration playing across his features with unguarded transparency.

"There are several possibilities," he begins, fingers tapping a rhythmic pattern against the desktop that suggests organizing thoughts through physical movement. "The astronomy tower would provide a partial view, though the angle might be too oblique for proper aerial perspective. The Stellarum Archive's central dome offers a better vantage point, but access requires special permission unless?—"

He stops abruptly, expression shifting to something more guarded as if suddenly remembering caution previously forgotten in the enthusiasm of problem-solving.

"Unless what?" I prompt, curiosity piqued by his obvious self-censorship.

Zeke hesitates, internal debate visible in minute shifts of expression before a decision crystallizes behind those remarkable eyes.

"Unless you know the back ways," he admits finally, voice lowered despite the empty classroom. "There are passages not on official maps – maintenance corridors and servant channels from when Faerie still employed lesser beings for menial tasks."

The revelation carries weight beyond the simple navigational advantage, suggesting knowledge of the academy's hidden architecture that exceeds what ordinary students should possess.

"And you know these passages?" I ask, keeping my tone neutral rather than accusatory.

His gaze drops momentarily before rising to meet mine with surprising directness.

"I've had to learn alternative routes through the academy," he acknowledges, the explanation offered without specific detail yet carrying implications of necessity rather than idle curiosity. "When you're someone others enjoy tormenting, knowing how to avoid main corridors becomes survival skill rather than academic interest."

The simple honesty of this statement cuts deeper than elaborate justification might have, the truth of his experience laid bare without self-pity or dramatization. Just factual reality of navigation that is required when existence itself invites cruelty from those who perceive the difference as an invitation for torment.

"These passages could get us to a vantage point for an aerial view?" I confirm, accepting his explanation without pressing for details he's clearly uncomfortable providing.

He nods, relief at my lack of interrogation evident in the slight relaxation of his shoulders previously tensed for potential criticism.

"There's a specifically useful access point to the central dome that few know about," he explains, energy returning to his voice as the discussion returns to practical problem-solving rather than personal circumstances. "We could reach it within fifteen minutes from here, leaving plenty of time for capturing images and returning before the deadline."

"Then that's our approach," I decide, gathering notebook and remaining supplies with efficient movements that signal readiness for departure. "Lead the way when you're ready."

Zeke rises with that strange fluid grace that seems effortless despite his evident physical limitations, movements economical yet somehow beautiful in their precision.

Despite the obvious exhaustion that had claimed him during the lecture, he now moves with renewed purpose that suggests a mission provides energy that ordinary existence might not.

As we exit the classroom together, I find myself studying his profile with renewed curiosity.

The contradictions he embodies — fragility and courage, vulnerability and hidden knowledge, apparent social isolation yet connection to extraordinary resources like the Abundance Tree – make him both a more intriguing and potentially valuable ally than the initial assessment suggested.

Whatever catalyst role he claims we share remains puzzling, but his utility in progressing toward the chalice seems increasingly evident. His knowledge of the academy's hidden architecture alone represents an advantage worth cultivating, quite apart from the kindness that prompted him to stand between me and Damien, despite the obvious physical disadvantage.

"What are you thinking about?" Zeke asks suddenly, those extraordinary eyes catching my contemplative observation with unexpected perceptiveness.

The question deserves an honest answer rather than deflection, though careful framing seems prudent given complex circumstances.

"I'm thinking that finding you asleep in class might be the most fortunate thing that's happened since arriving in Year Two," I tell him, truth offered without revealing the complete strategic assessment his presence represents.

His smile returns – smaller than before but carrying genuine warmth that suggests the rarity of such positive acknowledgment in his experience.

"Mostly people just find me inconvenient," he admits with surprising candor. "Or useful when they need something specific, then inconvenient again afterward."

The statement carries weight of repeated experience rather than an isolated incident, a history of conditional acceptance that leaves lasting wounds beneath a seemingly resilient exterior.

"Their loss," I respond simply, truth offered without elaborate justification that might diminish its impact.

His step falters momentarily, surprise registering before a carefully controlled expression returns. The brief glimpse of vulnerability makes something in my chest tighten with unexpected protectiveness I hadn't anticipated developing for someone known less than a single day.

We turn down the corridor that appears unremarkable until Zeke approaches a specific section of paneling, fingers pressing precise sequence against what look like ordinary decorative elements. The wall slides silently inward, revealing a narrow passage illuminated by soft blue light that seems to emanate from the walls themselves rather than distinct fixtures.

Zeke glances back with an expression that mingles mischief and caution – an invitation extended with awareness of trust it represents.

"Ready to break some rules?" he asks, voice carrying notes of both challenge and hesitation, as if unused to leading rather than following.

I step forward without hesitation, answering both spoken questions and unspoken concerns with decisive action rather than mere words.

"After you, catalyst," I respond, deliberate use of his self-designation acknowledging the connection he claimed without yet confirming its validity. "Show me these back ways of yours."

His smile widens into something approaching genuine delight – a rare emotion judging by how it transforms his features from guarded caution to momentary joy that feels earned rather than freely given.

As a secret passage seals behind us, cutting off conventional routes through the academy, I find myself wondering what other pathways — both literal and metaphorical — this strange cat-boy might reveal in pursuit of the chalice that stands at the center of both Elena's salvation and Faerie's complicated punishment.

The blue light casts everything in the ethereal glow that makes ordinary reality seem distant, reinforcing the sense that we've stepped beyond conventional boundaries into territory where different rules might apply.