Page 16 of Malcroix Bones Academy (Bones and Shadow #1)

Glancing at him, I nodded, and walked to the carriage entrance near where he stood.

The two-story, bus-like vehicle was massive, and seemingly made of wood, painted dark green with black iron trim.

I walked up the caravan’s few steps and hesitated, one hand on the ornate, rose-covered bar outside the door.

I’d written the school to ask every question I could conceivably think to ask.

Both formal and casual uniforms would be waiting for me in my dormitory, if I would kindly send the school my measurements (I did).

All personal belongings would be delivered to my dormitory directly, right after students got dropped in the town of Bonescastle.

Anything I wanted with me in town on that first day, I should carry on my person.

Yes, I would be required to wear a uniform for the formal assembly dinner that night.

Yes, I had already been assigned a roommate for the year.

No, they would not automatically assign the same roommate next year, not unless both of us requested it.

I took a deep breath, and climbed the rest of the way onto the bus.

Talking, laughter, and a general air of excitement greeted me.

I knocked into a group of people right as the door closed.

I stepped immediately to my left, and nearly fell into the lap of a brawny bloke sprawled on a different seat on that side of the door. Stumbling further into the dim space, I stared all the way around and realized it wasn’t set up at all like I’d expected.

Instead of rows of one-person seats or benches running from front to back, the caravan had a plush, velvet couch that circled every inch of the walls apart from the door.

A circular staircase stood in the center, presumably leading to the upper floor.

Magicals, roughly my age and a few years older, filled most of the available seating on the first floor, too.

Right by where I’d just come in, the cluster of mostly-female Magicals, or magia?or witches, as most female Magicals seemed to be called?sat talking in low voices and laughing.

They looked up when they felt me looking at them, did double-takes, and stared.

Brilliant, I thought. Well done, Leda.

I didn’t expect to see anyone I knew, but I looked anyway, half-hoping Alaric might be there.

I’d spent most of my non-studying time that summer with him, as we both lived in the Keep.

We’d worked on magic, studied together, gone for meals, got ice cream and tea, and even went out a few nights in London by the end.

He’d joked it was a practical exam for me to learn to fend off horny mages in the wild, but it was a surprising amount of fun.

I’d never met any of his mysterious friends, though, and I didn’t see Alaric on the carriage now.

It struck me that I’d forgotten to ask him how he’d be getting to school.

Given the obnoxiously spoiled royal he was, he likely had a far more luxurious means of transport than the one Malcroix provided for free.

Anyway, he was in France, last I knew. He’d likely be getting transport from there, royal or otherwise.

Pushing Alaric from my mind, I scanned the length of the dark green cushion for anywhere to sit that seemed less terrible than the other options.

I finally saw a space near the carriage’s front.

Unfortunately, there were no windows on the first floor, but I had plenty of books in my satchel for the six-hour ride. When the murmuring around me grew more difficult to ignore, I made a beeline for the opening I’d seen, and plunked myself down.

I really should’ve eaten something at the hotel.

I’d packed my lunchbox with a green apple, half a cheese and pickle sandwich, a packet of crisps, and some tea in a thermos, all of which I’d gotten from the wall on my way out, but I suddenly couldn’t imagine breaking any of it out here, given the cramped and crowded space, apart from maybe the tea.

I’d have to wait for Bonescastle, most likely.

Now a tall, dark-haired mage sat to one side of me, and a witch with red hair on the other. The witch immediately turned her back and plunked down her backpack on the couch, presumably to put some space between us.

I fought not to react.

The mage didn’t seem bothered by me, at least.

Sneaking a look at his face, it struck me again that it really was bizarre how good-looking so many witches and mages were.

I’d only just started to pull a book on theurgic rituals out of my satchel, a new one I’d found at a tiny bookstore in Camden Town the day before, when the carriage lurched into motion. Settling back on the surprisingly comfortable cushion, I cracked open the book and began to read.

The mage sitting next to me only glanced at me, at first.

As the monoceri began to pick up speed, I felt his eyes on me more intently, however, and looked up cautiously to where he sat. He flushed at once, obviously feeling caught.

“Sorry,” he said, flustered. “Do I know you?”

I blinked. Then, remembering everything Alaric had been warning and lecturing me about for weeks, I tensed. A heavy feeling settled in my chest, but I kept my voice friendly.

“No,” I said. “I don’t think so.”

“You’re sure?” He looked puzzled. “I swear I’ve seen you before. My friend thinks she knows you, too.” He motioned at the witch sitting on his other side. “I know that sounds like a line, but it’s really not. I’m positive we must’ve met somewhere, or?”

“You don’t know me.” I hesitated, then blurted, “I’m the hybrid. The half-Magical. You recognize me from the newspapers. That’s all it is.”

I tried to say it like it was nothing, as if they had hybrids everywhere in Magique, as if my face hadn’t been plastered all over gossip columns and news articles for months.

Alaric already told me a lot of Magicals would likely act bizarre around me.

He also warned me that the myths around humans and hybrids weren’t exactly flattering.

Most seemed to see us as sex-crazed, animalistic, violent morons, from what I could tell.

It was more complicated than that, but that was the basic gist.

This new mage blinked at me in surprise, then glanced at his friend.

The witch sitting on his other side peered around him to look more closely at me in the dim carriage. She had a startling face, not only because it was extremely pretty and dimpled, but because she had lavender hair and shocking, lavender irises.

“So you are,” the new witch said, dumbfounded.

The red-haired witch on my other side, the one who’d stuck her large backpack between us and turned her back, giggled.

“I’m pretty used to that, from the bridging course.” I motioned behind me, and flushed. “If you want to sit somewhere else, I’m not bothered?”

“Why would we want to do that?” The lavender-eyed witch, who was clearly friendly enough with the dark-haired mage to feel comfortable leaning on his lap, arranged herself there to talk to me more easily.

She sounded a touch offended. “Not all of us are close-minded, bigoted little weasels, you know. Or the daughters of weasels.”

She spoke up loudly at the end, clearly wanting to be heard.

The witch sitting behind me stiffened, and I noticed only then that her primal, perched on her shoulder, really was a rust-colored weasel.

The weasel and its witch turned their heads and darted furious glares at the pretty, lavender-haired witch and her handsome friend.

Then the red-head bent closer to her friends and the four of them began talking in agitated whispers.

I lifted an eyebrow, then turned to face the two Magicals who still hadn’t moved away, or attempted to shove bags between me and themselves.

I noticed the lavender-eyed witch had a golden corgi made of light at her feet.

The handsome, black-haired Magical had a golden lion.

The two primals were scrabbling together on the carriage’s carpet, wrestling and snapping and growling, which looked even funnier than it might have, given they were identical in size.

The corgi tackled the lion just then, and they rolled over and over, each trying to gain an advantage.

I looked up at the black-haired mage.

“Do they always fight like that?” I asked curiously.

The two Magicals still hadn’t moved away.

The black-haired mage grinned at me, his mouth full of oddly-perfect, shockingly white teeth. He snorted at the wrestling primals.

“Always,” he assured me.

“Peach?” the lavender-haired witch offered, holding one out.

It struck me suddenly, why their voices sounded so strange, yet so familiar.

“You’re American,” I said, startled.

The witch grinned. “Well-spotted, as you Brits say. Do you want the peach? I’ve got lots of them. My grandmother has a tree in Pasadena, and sent me a whole bag.”

“But, I mean…” I swallowed, then reached out and took the peach carefully from the other witch’s hand. “You’re from California?”

The lavender-haired magia beamed. “I am. Draken’s not.

Technically. But he’s lived there on and off for years.

He was born in Scotland, but he’s lived in Asia and Los Angeles and a bunch of other places.

” She nudged the tall, broad-shouldered mage.

“We went to the same boarding school in Zurich. Along with our friend, Luc.”

I glanced past the witch to see whoever might be sitting on her other side, but the witch shook her head.

“Luc’s not with us. He was staying in Surrey so couldn’t take the same carriage. We’re meeting him there.” She held out a hand. “I’m Miranda. Miranda Rook.”

I stared at her hand.

It struck me again that neither of them had made any attempt to avoid touching me.

I’d brushed Miranda’s fingers when I took the peach, and the other witch hadn’t even flinched.

My leg touched the black-haired mage’s accidentally when I turned, and he hadn’t flinched, either, or subtly inched his thigh away.

That hadn’t exactly been my usual experience in Magique so far. Even the teachers in my summer bridging course seemed loathe to touch me, or even get too close. Alaric had been the one exception, and my one bright spot, as I said.

That, and the magic itself, of course.

Now I took the other witch’s hand carefully and shook it.

“This is Draken.” Miranda inclined her head.

“Don’t let his looks intimidate you. He comes by it honestly…

with a rich, famous, disgustingly handsome father who married an even more gorgeous model.

As one does.” She grinned. “Anyway, he’s a giant goofball, so when he pulls his sexy bedroom eyes schtick, feel free to laugh at him. I always do.”

I shook his hand, too, smiling at both of them.

It all felt so strange I wanted to laugh.

True, Alaric touched me, like I said, but Greythorne was somehow different. So many people had avoided touching me for so long, it was almost surreal to have two complete strangers offer their hands and sprawl on the couch next to me as if it were nothing.

“I’m Leda Shadow,” I said, figuring to get that part out of the way, too.

Draken and Miranda exchanged looks.

“I thought you were Leda La Fey?” Miranda asked.

“That was my mother’s maiden name,” I explained. “But growing up, we all took my father’s name. So I’ve always been Leda Shadow.”

Another silence.

Then Draken broke out in a disbelieving laugh.

“You’re a hybrid… the hybrid… and your family name is Shadow?” He snorted, and clapped me on the shoulder. “That’s honestly hilarious. Did your mother do it on purpose, do you think? Did she have a darkish sense of humor, your mum?”

“Don’t ask her that,” Miranda admonished, smacking him. “Jesus, Drake. Her mom’s dead. You insensitive baboon?”

“No, no, it’s okay,” I assured them. “Really. It’s fine.”

I thought about Draken’s question then, and smiled.

“And yes,” I said, looking between them. “She did have a dark sense of humor, I think. Much more than I ever realized.”