Page 10 of Beastkin
I shouldered my bag and headed toward the Elemental Arts building, trying to ignore the stares that followed me. Being one of the few Beastkin on campus made me stand out, especially in my natural form. I could shift to appear more human, but I’d promised myself I wouldn’t hide anymore. Not after what happened with Damien. If the witches couldn’t handle seeing what I really looked like, that was their problem, not mine. This was my life; they were just side characters in it.
The Elemental Arts building was on the far side of campus, an ancient stone structure with crystal windows that caught the sunlight and scattered it in rainbow patterns across the ground. As I approached, I felt a strange tingling across my skin, like static electricity but warmer. Probably just the magical wards that surrounded the place to contain any unforeseen explosions from the students inside.
Inside, the hallways were lined with display cases showing various elemental artifacts. There were stones that perpetually burned without fuel, vials of water that flowed upward instead of down, and chunks of earth that floated in mid-air. All witch magic, all completely useless to someone like me.
Room two-zero-seven was at the end of a long corridor. The door was already open, and I could hear voices inside. Taking a deep breath, I stepped through the doorway.
The classroom was smaller than I expected, with only about fifteen desks arranged in a semicircle facing a large demonstrationtable. Most of the seats were already filled, and every head turned when I entered. I recognized a few faces from before my year off, mostly witch students who’d given me a wide berth even before Damien’s attack. They hadn’t changed a bit.
But what surprised me was that I wasn’t the only monster in the room. Near the back sat a girl with blue-tinted skin and gills visible on her neck, a mermaid or water nymph, if I had to guess. And beside her was a guy whose skin seemed to shimmer and shift like desert heat, probably some kind of fire elemental.
“Mr. Laurent,” a crisp voice called from the front of the room. “How nice of you to join us.”
Professor Blackwood stood behind the demonstration table, her silver-streaked black hair pulled back in a severe bun. She wore simple black robes with silver embroidery along the edges, very old-fashioned and traditional witch attire, but without the usual pure-blood embellishments I’d come to expect from her kind.
“Sorry I’m late,” I said, though I wasn’t sorry at all. “I thought this class was a mistake on my schedule.”
Professor Blackwood, to my surprise, smiled wider. She almost seemed…warm.
“Not a mistake, Mr. Laurent. You are most welcome here.” She gestured up toward the colosseum style seating in the room. “Please find a place to sit. You won’t need your book for the first day, so you can get it from the school store later.”
I climbed the steps to find a seat, hyper-aware of every whisper that followed my movement. The girl with blue-tinted skin caught my eye and nodded slightly. I gave her a small nod back before settling into a seat a few rows up from her, close enough to the back that I could keep an eye on the room but not so far that Professor Blackwood would think I was trying to hide.
The desk was clearly not designed for someone my size. My knees barely fit underneath, and I had to angle myself sideways to get comfortable. The witch sitting next to me, a pale guy withperfectly styled blond hair, scooted his desk away from mine with an obvious scraping sound.
“Now then,” Professor Blackwood said, her voice carrying easily through the room, “welcome to Advanced Magical Method with a focus on elemental spells. I know some of you are here by choice, and others...” Her eyes found mine for just a moment. “Others are here because the Academy has recognized that magical ability doesn’t always manifest in expected ways.”
Great. So, I was the charity case.
“Before we begin, I want to address something,” she continued, moving around to the front of her desk and perching on the edge. The casual pose was so different from what I’d expected that I found myself actually paying attention. “Some of you may have heard stories about my... previous approaches to teaching students from different magical backgrounds.”
A few students shifted uncomfortably in their seats. The guy next to me actually snorted under his breath.
“Those stories are likely true,” Professor Blackwood said simply. “I spent many years believing that magical purity was more important than magical potential. I was wrong.”
The silence that followed was so complete I could hear the crystal windows humming with contained energy. A quick glance at some of the other witches in the class told me they suddenly didn’t think much of Professor Blackwood anymore.
“I won’t ask you to forgive past mistakes, but I will ask you to judge me based on my actions moving forward.” Her gaze swept the room, lingering on each of the non-witch students. “Magic is magic, regardless of its source. And in this classroom, we’re going to explore what each of you is capable of, without prejudice.”
I wanted to believe her. The sincerity in her voice seemed real, but I’d been burned before by witches who said one thing and meant another. Still, something about the way she carried herself was different from the stories Atlas had told me. Less rigid. More... human, somehow. Maybe she really had changed.
“Now,” she said, clapping her hands together, “let’s start with something simple. I want each of you to place your hands flat on your desk and tell me what you feel.”
Around the room, students complied. I hesitated for a moment before pressing my palms against the smooth wooden surface. At first, I felt nothing but the cool wood grain. But then, slowly, something else crept in. A warmth that seemed to pulse beneath my hands, like a heartbeat made of energy.
“Interesting,” Professor Blackwood murmured, and I realized she was suddenly standing right beside my desk. “Mr. Laurent, what do you feel?”
I looked up at her, trying to ignore the curious stares from the other students. “It’s... warm,” I said slowly. “Like there’s something alive in the wood.”
She nodded, her expression thoughtful rather than surprised. “The desks in this room are made from heartwood of ancient oaks that grew within the academy’s magical wards for over two centuries. They’ve absorbed ambient magical energy all that time.” She moved to address the class again. “What Mr. Laurent is feeling is the echo of centuries of magical practice.”
The witch next to me, the blond one who’d scooted away, raised his hand. “But Professor, Beastkin aren’t supposed to be able to sense magical resonance. That’s a witch ability.”
Professor Blackwood’s smile was sharp enough to cut glass. “Mr. Whitmore, I think you’ll find that many of our assumptions about magical abilities have been... limited by prejudice rather than actual observation.”
Whitmore’s face flushed red, but he didn’t respond. I felt a small surge of satisfaction at seeing him put in his place.
“Now,” Professor Blackwood continued, “I want everyone to close their eyes and extend your magical senses. Don’t try to cast anything, just feel what’s around you.”