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I wasn’t afraid of work. I wanted a job in high school, but I was only ever allowed to babysit because my father thought it would prepare me to stay home and raise kids. There wasn’t anything wrong with that, but I very much didn’t want to do that with my life.

This could work. I wasn’t sure how much I agreed with me being a reincarnated god or original. One of the reasons I was backpacking through Europe while the IRS sorted my dad was that they didn’t price gouge insulin here and I could afford it. My father constantly complained about it, like I could help having diabetes.

It caused all kinds of problems when I was younger and a bunch of bullies started all these rumors when the shit hit the fan in class because my blood sugar got too low. I was pretty sure my father only agreed to pay for the continuous glucose monitor that synced with my phone because he was worried about looking bad if something happened to me in church, but it was pretty awesome for me.

When the magic ice cream appeared, I knew it should be okay to eat even with my insulin back at the hostel because I was feeling clammy and things were getting weirder. They grabbed me before I could eat or do anything. If I needed insulin, the other people here should, too, right? They should have some if I needed it.

It was my father talking. He’d already been disappointed I wasn’t a son who would play on the high school football team and then go to seminary school. I was an only child, and I was a girl. Then, I got diagnosed with diabetes when I was five and he acted like I was defective.

But that was stupid. Professor Mykene said I had the birthmark like everyone else. So, I could be a god or an original with diabetes. Fuck my father.

I’d tuned out the good-looking guy who was running his mouth about his money and how he’d never give this school a dime. He seemed to think he was important and there would be people coming to fetch him. It was a shame that the pretty ones were always entitled assholes.

My hand shot up because not only did someone need to shut this guy up, if we were going to be camping and doing trials, there were certain things that needed to happen. I was betting the trials were about surviving other supernaturals, not me going dying because of my diabetes.

My insulin was sitting back at the hostel in the kitchen. I was going to have to get more soon, or those trials were going to be the least of my worries.

“Enough!” Headmaster Mykene yelled. “We are perfectly aware of who you are. We were able to take you because your parents let us. Now, sit down and shut up. Yes, Sage?”

I wasn’t super pleased to be spreading my business among all these people, but she mentioned we’d be doing our trials in teams. It wasn’t safe to keep that a secret from my teammates because I might need their help.

“I had insulin at the hostel you took me from. I can’t be without it and I can’t skip meals. I’m willing to do the trials, but I need accommodations. I’m not asking for special treatment, but I’m not going out there knowing I’m going to die because I have diabetes.”

“Yes, that was one of the things I was going to talk to you about in private. We have everyone’s medical records and that’s how I knew the mark on your neck was removed. We’re aware of your situation. There are some diseases that only affect humans and some that are supernatural diseases. There are other types of diseases that affects us both.

“We have magical remedies and healing tonics for plenty of things, but we don’t have cures for diabetes or cancer either. The healer on campus is well versed in supernatural maladies and things that affect all of us.

“She’s reviewed your file, and we’d never do this unless you consent, but she can do an insulin pump that will help you during the trials as long as you don’t blow through your rations. She can also help maintain it while you are here.”

Wild. They drugged me and kidnapped me, but I guess they had some lines. It was a decent offer. My pediatrician recommended one and kept recommending it as I got older and had issues, but my father thought it was too expensive, even though he was one of those pastors with the mega mansion and private jets. I wanted one, though, and there was no way I could afford it or the upkeep after I went to college back in the United States if I got one in Europe.

But I loved the countries I’d visited so far. If I went to college here, I might love it enough to never go home.

“Yes, I want it.”

I wanted to stay, even if it meant doing these trials.