Page 2 of Misfit Monsters (Pack of Outcasts #1)

Periwinkle

W hen the door to my cage finally opens, I’ve been crammed in here for what must have been multiple days, lifted and jostled more times than I can count.

And I’m a very good counter.

I know better than to try to leap straight toward possible freedom. If someone’s mean enough to put you in a cage, they’ll probably be just as mean when you’re out of it.

So I stay contracted in my shadowy form amid the searing lights that burn away every hint of darkness within the metal box. Beyond the door, there’s a sliver of shadow along the base of the cage. It calls to me.

Off past the blazing lights, someone intones several syllables in a language that pummels right into my essence.

Come out and show your human-like form . Then stay until you’re dismissed.

I can’t resist the sorcerous commands. I flit out and solidify into the human-like figure that comes naturally to me, complete with my daisy-print dress and rainbow-striped hoodie.

Hmm. I’m not sure the room outside is any better than the cage.

Dour gray walls surround me. The only furniture is a big kidney-shaped table made of stainless steel with seven matching chairs set around the outer curve. I don’t think the seats even have padding.

Could anyone be happy in this place?

Someone should introduce these people to the concept of interior decorating. How about cushions for comfort? Maybe a rug? Art on the walls could liven things up.

The beings studying me from the six occupied chairs don’t look like they’re in the mood for lifestyle advice. Proving my point about the atmosphere, the strongest vibes they give off are curdled-milk apprehension and stale-bread boredom.

Not a meal I could even subsist on.

The first face my gaze lands on makes me flinch. It’s the sorcerer who dragged me into the cage—obviously he’s the one who ordered me out.

His eyes, a deeper hue than his cedar-brown skin, hold mine from beneath his wavy black hair. His broad shoulders are rigid. But despite his stern appearance, a pang of his guilt hits me like a shot of lemon juice.

Huh. The other sorcerer I knew never felt guilty about anything. At least, not when he was around me.

Next to the young sorcerer sits a shadowkind similarly shaped to myself—female, youthful, short and curvy—with a head of blond curls and dimples in her cheeks where she’s smiling widely.

I can’t tell whether she’s hiding happier feelings under her apprehension or her smile is a lie. Not knowing makes my skin itch.

Her other neighbor is a tall, wiry woman with a few silver streaks running through her sleek black bob. Like the sorcerer, she’s human.

No smile from her—her lips press in a flat line.

The other three members of my audience are shadowkind.

One pushes her long, dark blue hair back over her slim shoulders with a melodic sigh. A big, muscular man gives me a feral impression, his thick fingers curving against the tabletop like claws—I think he must be an animal shifter.

Most of the boredom emanates from the last figure: a man in an old-fashioned suit whose skin is so pale it might be translucent. I suspect that if I stared hard enough, I’d see his bones through it.

Why would shadowkind lock up another being like them? Why are they working with a sorcerer?

Is there any way I can lighten this situation?

I push my mouth into a smile of my own. “I think this must have been a misunderstanding. What are we all doing here?”

The wiry human’s lips press even flatter at my question. The shadowkind with the blond curls lets out a tinkle of a laugh.

The woman with the long blue hair leans forward.

Her voice sounds as melodic as her sigh did.

“Unknown shadowkind, you’ve been brought in for assessment because you’ve been causing inappropriate disruptions in the mortal realm.

” She motions toward the sorcerer. “What exactly did this one do again? ”

The sorcerer sits up straighter. “We believe she’s responsible for multiple incidents in Greenville in the past year.

Mostly bright waves of light that temporarily blinded human citizens and caused car accidents, falls, and other damage.

At least once, there was a flood of darkness with similar results. ”

Yikes. How long have these people been paying attention to me?

“I didn’t do any of it on purpose,” I blurt out. “I never wanted to hurt anyone, I promise.”

The pale man’s eyebrows arch. “An immediate admission of guilt. Convenient.”

The blond woman beams at me. “Let’s start with the basics. What’s your name? What kind of being are you?”

A genuine warmth seeps through her words as if they’ve been spread with melted butter.

I like her. I don’t think she wants to shove me back in the cage.

My answering smile comes easier. “My name’s Periwinkle—but usually I tell people Peri, because it sounds less strange to humans. I don’t know if what I am has a name.”

The muscular man drums his fingers on the table. “What do you do ? Other than blind mortals.”

His hint of a snarl has me wincing. “I absorb emotions. I kind of… eat them. But eating them doesn’t hurt people. They don’t even notice.”

The wiry woman gives me a skeptical look. “And yet you’ve managed to harm quite a few people just in one year.”

My cheeks heat. “Those… those were accidents. I haven’t had a lot of practice at this.”

At keeping control over my reactions rather than having someone else drive them.

I shove away those chilling memories. “If I get full of too much emotion all at once, it bursts out of me. I don’t know how to stop it from happening. But I think I’m getting closer to finding the right balance—so I’m not hungry but I don’t get overwhelmed.”

Her gaze rakes up and down me. “And that’s all you want? Just to eat some emotions?”

“And make people happy. Spread the good emotions around.”

Bring joy into mortal lives until I can count more of those than the lives I’ve wounded.

I don’t think these beings will be very happy if I mention my more distant crimes, so I keep those to myself.

The muscular man lets out a snort. The blonde shoots a quick glare at him before returning her attention to me. “If we could teach you how to control your power better before you go back around humans, would you like that?”

They kidnapped me to offer me lessons?

I hesitate. “Teach me how?”

The blue-haired woman takes over. “We run a school for shadowkind who are having trouble integrating into the mortal realm. We’d rather humans stay unaware of our existence—and that you don’t give those who are aware any additional excuse to call us ‘monsters.’ Sometimes beings who could use our guidance are unaware of our… services.”

“Which is totally not their fault!” the blonde pipes up.

The wiry woman narrows her eyes at her companion, but with a waft of ginger-snap affection that I absorb in one gulp. She isn’t all dourness.

The blue-haired woman continues. “Either you commit to working through our program here at the Quinn Moody Academy for the Shadowkind until we judge that it’s safe for you to mingle with humans again, or we banish you to the shadow realm. ”

Images swim up of the vast, blank darkness where I emerged into being and lurked between my visits to the mortal world.

So much dreariness, so little to do other than marinate in your thoughts, listen to other beings drone about theirs, and make pointless power plays to own a tiny corner of the murk.

Or avoid the ones making power plays, which is more my vibe.

Sunshine or gloom—why would anyone take the second option? We “monsters” might all come from the shadow realm, but the mortal plane is so much more delicious.

Before I can speak, the pale man makes a disgruntled sound. “Are we sure we should be giving her a choice, Shanty? It sounds as if she’s caused a lot of harm already with her unpredictable powers.”

A lump fills my throat. One death, seven major injuries, and twenty-three minor wounds just in the most recent incident.

I told you I’m a good counter.

The muscular guy hums in a rumble. “We’ve never taught a being like her. I’ve never seen her specific power before. She might disrupt the students too.”

I fumble for my words. “I won’t. I’ll do whatever you ask me to do. I want to be better! I want to make everything better. Please. I’ll starve if I can’t leave the shadows—emotions are too hazy there. I can only feed properly in the mortal world.”

Eyebrows rise around the table. My scalp tingles.

I didn’t pull my hood up—my turquoise hair is emanating a desperate pea-green glow.

“Well, that’s certainly something,” the blue-haired woman—Shanty?—says in a dry tone.

Mr. Muscles pushes to his feet. “Are you trying to blast us with light? How dare?—”

“No!” I clasp my hands in front of me. “My hair lights up when I’m feeling something a little strongly. No one’s ever gotten hurt from just that. But I can’t help it. Unless… maybe you could teach me how to turn it off too?”

It’d be handy not to have to worry about my hair blinking on like a nightlight with every shift of my own emotions.

The blonde sweeps her hand in my direction. “Listen to her! She’ll obviously work hard to avoid getting banished. We don’t see that kind of dedication often. Or are you afraid you can’t handle a little unruliness, Gnash?”

The muscular man glowers at her, but Shanty nods slowly.

“Rollick founded the academy on the principle that every shadowkind deserves the opportunity to enjoy the mortal realm. He would say to give her a trial period. Especially if she’s a type of shadowkind that needs something from the mortal realm for nourishment. ”

“He’s not here to say it, though, is he?” the pale man says tartly.

The wiry woman glances around the table. “He hasn’t made his convictions a secret, Al. Shanty’s right.”

“I agree,” the sorcerer says.

My gaze flicks to him. It’s the first time he’s spoken since the questioning began.

He doesn’t look at me, only his colleagues. A thin draught of emotion reaches me: a cluttered mix of sour, bitter, and a softly sweet tang that I can’t untangle.

The blonde lifts her head with a triumphant air. “There you go. It’s four to two even without Rollick’s vote.”

Gnash growls but gives a flippant gesture of acceptance. The pale man—Al?—inclines his head. “So be it. Jonah?”

The sorcerer fixes his deep brown eyes on me.

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly. Then a few more syllables of sorcerous compulsion roll off his tongue and wind around my being .

As the command to remain within the school’s grounds sinks into my mind, I stare back at him.

What was he apologizing for? And why does the emotion coursing off him now carry a stodgy porridge flavor of sadness?