Page 6

AVERY

“N ow what’s all this about Mr. Santiago allowing his Drake to emerge in the middle of gym class?”

Headmistress Nightworthy was a tall older woman with pure silver hair cut in a sleek cap that molded to her head and feathered around her temples. Her age was impossible to guess—she might have been forty or she might have been eighty—but whatever age she was, she had impeccable taste.

Her slim body was sheathed in an elegantly cut black dress and she wore sky-high stilettos to match. As always, her makeup was perfect with blood-red lips pulled back to show very long, sharp canines—the mark of an angry Nocturne, as I well knew.

“Headmistress, it wasn’t Saint’s fault—” I began but Coach Vasquez—who had marched us all the way to the Headmistress’s office herself—interrupted.

“It most certainly was. Anytime a Drake comes out, it is because the male in charge of him let him out. Santiago came into my gymnasium and deliberately terrified my students with his Drake for which he should be expelled immediately!”

She was full-on shouting in her bullhorn voice by the end, which works great for frightening kids in gym class. However, it didn’t appear to be working on the formidable Headmistress.

“I see. Thank you for your opinion, Dolores,” she said blandly. Dolores? Was that Coach Vasquez’s first name? It seemed to fit her—didn’t dolor mean “pain” in Spanish, after all?

“I said—” Coach Vasquez began angrily.

“And I heard you say it.” Headmistress Nightworthy’s sharp blue eyes flashed. “Now I want to hear why his Drake came out. What exactly provoked it? Mr. Santiago?” she asked, turning towards Saint.

He and I were sitting in the two straight-backed chairs across from her carved wooden desk and he shifted uncomfortably at her question.

The Headmistress’s office looks like it came straight out of a Victorian novel with brass lamps, a grandfather clock, and an elaborately detailed oriental carpet on the floor.

The light fixtures aren’t quite bright enough to light the whole room—probably because some very old and powerful Nocturnes are sensitive to light—but I could still see the uncomfortable look on my roommate’s face.

“Saint’s Drake came out to rescue me, Headmistress,” I blurted, wanting to save him the confusion and pain of answering.

I’m not sure most guys would have admitted such a thing, but I’m not too macho to admit I might need saving now and then.

And to be honest, Saint really had rescued me in the nick of time—it was the way he had rescued me that was the problem.

Headmistress Nightworthy turned to me, her blue eyes blazing.

“Mr. Connor, did I ask you the question?”

“No, but it’s probably hard for Saint to say,” I said boldly. “His Drake seems kind of…concerned about me for some reason.” That was the nicest way I could put it. “We’re roommates and friends, after all. And I guess somehow he sensed that I was getting beaten up and came to save me.”

Her silver eyebrows shot up.

“Beaten up? This is the first I’m hearing of this. Would that be the reason for the state of your face, Mr. Connor?”

I touched the right side of my face, which was definitely swollen, and winced.

“Yes,” I said flatly. “That’s exactly what happened to my face. I got punched—several times—before Saint came in. And right before that I was chased up a rope and nearly roasted alive when Juan Gonzalez did a partial shift and breathed fire at me.”

“I see—so there were two partial shifts in your classroom today, but you only chose to report one. Is that right, Dolores?” The Headmistress looked at Coach Vazquez again, who had a nasty look on her face.

“It’s a lie,” she snapped. “Connor is lying about the whole thing.”

“I’m lying?” I demanded, glaring at her. “Then how did I get these?”

I held up my rope-burned hands. I was going to have blisters for sure—the raw, red lines on my palms stung and ached.

“And those are?” Headmistress Nightworthy raised her silver eyebrows at me.

“Rope burns,” I said succinctly. “I had to magic my own rope to get down, since Juan was chasing me out along the metal support beam and I couldn’t get back to the regular climbing rope.

I slid down in a hurry once he started breathing fire.

At which point I tried to leave class, but Coach Vazquez told me to stay.

She then went into her office, shut the door, and pulled the blinds,” I finished.

I didn’t add that she had basically left me to fend for myself against a whole class full of homophobic bullies but I didn’t have to—I could tell by the snap and sparkle of anger in Headmistress Nightworthy’s eyes that she understood.

“Dolores, is this true?” she demanded, rounding on the Coach again. “Did you allow such a dangerous situation in your class to continue on purpose? And please keep in mind that I can call Professor Yasmeen in here to do a truth spell on everyone in this room if need be,” she added.

Coach Vasquez gave her an ugly, mutinous look.

“You don’t have to work a truth spell on me,” she spat, glaring at the Headmistress. “I’ll admit it. Yes , I left Connor to fend for himself. I did it because he’s a nasty little mariposa— a man-lover—who deserves whatever he gets.”

Headmistress Nightworthy’s eyebrows climbed so high they nearly disappeared into her chic cap of silver hair.

“You’re openly admitting that you deliberately put a student in harm’s way because you disapprove of his sexual orientation?” she demanded in a low, dangerous voice.

Coach Vazquez lifted her chin defiantly.

“Damn right, I did,” she snapped. “His kind have to be taught a lesson. Maybe he’ll think twice next time about flaunting his sexual choices in front of everyone.”

“First of all, it’s not a choice ,” I said in a low, level voice, though I was boiling with rage inside.

“And second, who are you to judge me for the way I was born? Do I judge you for having black hair? Or tiny little eyes? Or a nasty look on your face like someone smeared dog shit under your nose and you’re smelling it all day? ”

“All right, Mr. Connor, that will be quite enough,” Headmistress Nightworthy said, though I thought I saw the corners of her mouth twitch.

“Good—expel the little mariposa! ” Coach Vazquez demanded. “I refuse to have him or anyone like him in my class ever again!”

“Oh, I don’t think that will be a problem, seeing as how you will no longer be teaching at Nocturne Academy.” The Headmistress’s eyes were snapping blue fire.

“What?” Coach Vasquez demanded. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about the fact that your employment at Nocturne Academy is hereby terminated immediately,” Headmistress Nightworthy snapped. “Take your things and go. I will not be giving you any kind of a reference either, so please don’t bother to put my name on any future applications.”

“What? But I’ve worked here for years!” Coach Vasquez’s nasty little eyes had widened with surprise. “You can’t fire me just like that!”

“I can and I have. And if you’re thinking of appealing my decision, please remember that you admitted to putting a student in harm’s way and allowing him to be attacked by other students because of your hateful views,” Headmistress Nightworthy said sharply.

“Now please go . I have nothing more to say to you and the very sight of you sickens me. We are here to teach the next generation—not judge and abuse them. You sully the name of ‘educator’ with your despicable actions.”

The coach didn’t seem to know what to say about that.

She simply glared at the Headmistress with hate in her eyes and I had the feeling that if she’d had a Drake of her own inside, she definitely would have let it out at that point.

But since she didn’t, the only thing she could do was stalk angrily out of Headmistress Nightworthy’s office—presumably to collect her things and move out.

Maybe she could find a job somewhere else where they didn’t mind student abuse and homophobia. We were in Florida, after all—it might not be too hard for her, I thought. I just felt sorry for the students wherever she landed.

But then, just as she was about to close the door behind her, Coach Vasquez turned back.

“You know you’re harboring a cursed Drake, don’t you?” she asked, pointing at Saint. “That thing inside Santiago is a killer. It’s killed before and it will kill again if you let him keep roaming your halls.”

This was news to me. Kaitlyn had hinted darkly about my roommate’s past, but she had ultimately told us his story wasn’t hers to share—which we all respected, though to be honest, I was burning with curiosity.

I stole a look at Saint, who had his elbows on his knees and his face bowed.

I couldn’t see much but I thought his cheeks were flushed with shame.

But though the ex-coach’s words surprised me, Headmistress Nightworthy took her words in stride.

“Yes, I am well aware of Mr. Santiago’s past,” she said coolly. “I do not allow any student to matriculate here until I have run thorough background checks. Thank you, Dolores, you may go now.”

It was a clear dismissal and Coach Vasquez knew it.

Her face darkened again and she slammed the door behind her—or tried to, anyway.

No matter how much she grunted and tugged on it, it refused to close the final inch.

Only when we heard her angry footsteps stomping off down the hall did it quietly snick shut.

I let out a long, relieved breath. Well, aside from the scary revelations about my roommate’s past, things had ended much better than I could have hoped for.

Instead of Saint or myself being expelled, it was Coach Vasquez who had gotten the proverbial boot.

Things were definitely looking up, I thought.

Then Headmistress Nightworthy turned her sharp blue eyes on the two of us and frowned.

“Don’t look so pleased, Mr. Connor,” she said. “We’re not done yet—not by a long shot.”