Page 11 of Misfit Monsters (Pack of Outcasts #1)

Periwinkle

A s we walk down the hall toward the gym, I cock my head, trying to wrap my mind around the rules Fen just explained to me. “So there are five hoops, but you only throw the ball in them when they’re lit up. And you’re supposed to use your powers to move the ball.”

Fen nods. “If you can. Obviously not everyone has powers that would work. The most important rule is that you can only affect the ball, no tripping up the other players. And if you break the ball, that’s not good either. It’s another way to practice our control.”

Control that I’m still feeling pretty shaky about, especially now that the school administration is watching me extra closely. And this game sounds like it requires a chalkboard full of equations.

I rub my forehead. “And everyone has to play morphball?”

Fen shoots me a sympathetic smile. “It’s kind of the main pastime around here, at least for beings who are into sporty stuff.

If you can hold a top five position for a month, you get special rewards.

Coach Brandish mostly lets the enthusiastic students play and swaps out a few of the rest of us from class to class so we get a little practice.

But she always wants to see what the new students can do, so she’ll definitely put you on. ”

I give myself a little shake. It’s just a game—a game specifically designed for shadowkind. It could be a lot of fun!

Even if I’m not very good at it. I laugh. “I don’t think making my hair glow is going to help propel the ball.”

“That’s okay. The best I can ever do is push a splash of water at it, and mostly I miss.” Fen ducks her head with obvious embarrassment. “I’ll cheer you on from the bleachers!”

I guess that’s what I’ll end up doing during most future morphball gym days too. No problem. I definitely know how to cheer.

I’ve been in the smaller workout rooms before, but not the full gymnasium. As we step through the door, my eyes widen taking in the immense space.

The walls must reach up the full two stories of the building. The white ceiling is crisscrossed with metal girders and lighting fixtures high above us, like a giant was practicing weaving with steel. The bleachers on either side have room to seat at least a hundred students.

On the other two walls, five hoops protrude from panes that I’ve gathered will beam light at random intervals.

The panes form the approximate shape of a cross, three in a vertical column and one on either side of it, but the side ones can apparently travel up and down as well as glow.

Because the rules weren’t complicated enough already.

A large screen mounted near the stands shows a list of five students with their photos—the current morphball rankings. Most of them I recognize only vaguely, but Hail’s coolly handsome face gazes out from the second spot.

That must be one more reason our fellow students fawn over him.

A stout woman with slim tusks protruding from her jaw marches over to us. Fen’s voice squeaks. “Hi, Coach Brandish.”

From what I’ve heard, the main gym instructor is a troll. Big, strong, and fierce. I draw myself up to my not particularly impressive full height and offer her a determined smile. “Hi!”

She looks me over. “So you’re the new one. You play on the red side today. Fen, you can stick to the bleachers.”

“Thank you, Coach Brandish!” My friend gives my arm an encouraging squeeze and darts off.

The coach ushers me to the far end of the court where four other players are waiting, wearing varying shades of red. She runs through the rules Fen already told me. I can already tell my main job will be avoiding getting in anyone else’s way.

“You’ll want to change that outfit,” she adds.

I glance down at my typical flowered dress and track jacket. Not standard gym attire.

Closing my eyes, I blink in and out of the shadows, re-emerging in terry cloth shorts and a crimson tee to match my team.

They don’t look particularly happy to have me joining them. One of them, a friend of Gloss’s I think, wrinkles her nose.

The other side of the court doesn’t look any friendlier. It appears we’re going up against Hail along with the player ranked number four.

The chilly, elegant man watches the teams coming together with an air of bored assurance, but Number Four prowls across the polished floor, flexing his bulging muscles. “We’re going to destroy all of you!”

The being standing next to Hail looks up from her examination of her fingernails. “The newbie won’t be any trouble, that’s for sure.”

Hail simply offers a smile cold enough to provoke a shiver. He’s too far away for me to taste any of his emotions, but I have a feeling they’d be equally sharp.

None of them have really gotten to know me yet. I smile back with a hasty wave.

Hail’s smile tightens. Hmm. I lift my arms in an enthusiastic gesture. “We’ll all play a great game!”

I might as well get started on the cheering, since that’s my forte.

Coach Brandish claps her hands. “All right, we need one more for each team. Verve, it’s been a while since I saw you push yourself—go to the blue team. And for red?—”

A tall form that’s all sinewy muscle leaps to his feet partway up the bleachers, his voice a familiar deep growl. “I’ll play.”

The chatter on the benches falls silent other than a couple of gasps. Even the coach looks taken aback.

My antisocial roommate scowls, tension rippling through his sculpted limbs. His buffed-bronze hair drifts forward to shadow his dark green eyes.

Coach Brandish finds her voice. “You have an exemption, Raze. Playing isn’t necessary for your evaluation.”

The huge being’s gaze flicks over the court. Does it stop on me for an instant?

Does he think he needs to demonstrate how fearsome he is so I’ll finally flee our shared room?

“I’m in the mood for a little competition,” he mutters. “I’ll play fair… and everyone else had better do that too. ”

His next glower is aimed very pointedly at the blue side of the court.

Hail scoops up the spongy white ball and spins it on his finger. “We don’t need to break rules to win.”

A brief whoop rises up at his comment, but for the most part our audience remains unnervingly quiet. Prickly-tart apprehension washes over me.

What do they think Raze is going to do?

Coach Brandish appears to trust him at least enough to give him a chance. She motions for him to join us on the court. His ropey limbs flicker briefly as he swaps the black Henley he was wearing for a scarlet tee.

The coach holds out her hands, and Hail tosses her the ball effortlessly. She raises her whistle to her lips. “First side to twenty-five points or whoever’s ahead at the bell wins.”

She blows the whistle and launches the ball into the air.

Three of the panels behind the blue team’s hoops flare white. My teammates surge forward to snatch at the ball. The blue team rushes in too.

A gleaming shard of ice materializes in the air and knocks the ball straight into Hail’s waiting hands.

The winter fae grins and sprints across the court, gliding most of the distance on more ice he’s conjured beneath his feet. As the red team converges on him, he whips the ball over our heads to Number Four.

Three of our nets have lit up too. The beefy shadowkind hurls the ball with a warble of supernatural force. The net pings with the goal.

A digital scoreboard next to the list of top players gleams to life. Apparently that basket earned the blue team three points.

Frustration wafts off my teammates with pickley sourness. “Don’t let them run right by you,” one of them snaps at me. “Can you do anything useful? ”

“Yay team?” I say hopefully. He rolls his eyes.

Gloss’s friend snatches the ball out of the air with a thrum of energy. She darts toward the far end of the court, and I pelt after her in case I can assist my teammate.

Number Four barges into her way, and I leap into his. Or at least I try to.

Shoving my feet against the floor sends a flare of pain through my ankles. I stumble instead and sprawl on my belly.

Not my most graceful move ever.

“It shouldn’t be hard to keep track of your feet when you’re that close to the ground,” someone taunts.

I bounce back up to sneers aimed my way—and Hail’s icy stare just before he swivels toward the ball.

Who cares what he thinks? We can still win. “Let’s go, red!”

Gloss’s friend passes the ball to one of our other teammates, but Hail closes in on her, sending out a blast of wind. The chill ripples over me even where I’m hustling behind them.

The woman squeaks and flings the ball toward the nearest red shirt… which happens to be Raze.

My massive roommate grabs the ball, the white sphere tiny in his hands. He launches it at one of the glowing nets.

Which stops glowing a split-second before the ball smacks into it.

Gloss’s friend mutters a curse under her breath and shoulders past me with a purposeful shove. “Maybe you should just stay on the floor.”

“I wouldn’t want to trip anyone,” I point out helpfully.

A low snarl carries from Raze’s direction with a sizzle of jalapeno-hot anger. I suppress a wince. He must be pissed off at my performance too.

The game goes back and forth several more times, with four more goals for the blue team and only two for ours. They’re up to twenty points, and I’m panting and sweating through my T-shirt. My feet throb with stings of pain that resonate up my calves.

What’s so bad about hunter nets again? I think I’d rather play with those.

I only have to make it through this one game. I can keep giving it my best shot.

Next time I’ll sit on the benches with Fen, who’s belting out my name every time I manage to race to the other end of the court without tripping over my feet.

The smallest member of the blue team snatches the ball. He bounds across the wooden floor with longer strides than his slim frame should be capable of, propelled by his supernatural talents.

I scamper after him, but of course Raze gets there first. He shoves in front of the other player just as the smaller guy springs into the air.

The airy man was already hurling the ball toward one of the nets with a crackle of power. Electricity sizzles all around the white sphere.

A burst of stray sparks smacks into Raze’s forehead.

My roommate staggers sideways with a howl of pain that’s echoed by a surge of searing emotion. A gasp of sympathy jolts from my throat.

The ball bounces off the rim of the net. The guy who threw it—and, strangely, every other player—scrambles backward, away from both the ball and our injured classmate. Even Hail’s nonchalant stance has gone rigid.

Right, because almost all the shadowkind in this school are compassion-challenged.

I hurry to Raze’s side. The immense man clutches his face, shadowy essence leaking from splits in his flesh. He blinks, and just for an instant behind his splayed fingers, I catch a glimpse of eyes that aren’t the green I saw before but pure, depthless black.

My throat constricts with worry, but I keep my voice soft and bright. “That looks painful, but we can make sure you’re okay. We just need someone with healing powers to?—"

He jerks his head away. “Leave me alone!” With a tremor of the air, he vanishes into the shadows.

My hands drop to my sides. I look around, wondering if Coach Brandish will intervene—either to get my roommate help or chide him for shedding his physical form.

The room is silent. Everyone is staring at me—both the other players and our audience on the bleachers.

They all look vaguely stricken, as if I’ve done something horrifying like puke worms or sprout pus-seeping boils.

I check my arms to confirm there aren’t any seeping boils that I didn’t notice, and Coach Brandish finally barges into the middle of the court. “All right, it’s almost time for the bell. Let’s call the game now. Zing, I’m docking two points for that foul.”

My gaze slides back to the spot where Raze disappeared. I can’t sense him nearby anymore.

Doesn’t anyone care that he was wounded?