Page 5 of Stormbringer (Tracthesian Academy #1)

O rientation week went quickly. Wave traversed around the campus with all the other new students who were excited and nervous about attending the university. Wave could sympathize even though she was a third-year transfer.

Mixing with so many other species might also have something to do with the nerves. Or the subtle signs of factions in play. Most realms had their own schools and ways to run them. Tracthesian Academy blended them all rather seamlessly.

It was also pretty much impossible to tell first-year students apart from older students, or even from some of the teachers or faculty, by looks alone. Age wasn’t a requirement to attend Tracthesian, maturity was.

Spirits matured relatively young into their powers, while some others did not.

Bigger shifters usually manifested around twenty, and it wasn’t rare for an angel to be closer to forty.

After a certain point, the aging slowed down again.

Almost no one had a pure bloodline anymore, and as the powers mixed, aging calculations were thrown out the window.

When Wave looked into a mirror, she saw a pale twenty-something stare back at her, not someone well over thirty.

Maybe she was fixating on this so much because she had lived most of her life among humans.

The unspoken rule to keep peace on earth was not to flaunt other forms or powers among the general population.

It was rare for humans and, what they called, supernaturals to mix or reproduce.

Not unheard of, but rare. Who wanted to see their spouse or kids die long before they did?

Another thing that threw her, after her mostly human-led school experience, was the loose hierarchy among students and faculty. No one else seemed to bat an eye that someone might be a teacher in one subject and then a student in another one.

Okay, they were often long into their studies, but still, there was no clear separation between teaching assistants, teachers, tutors, or long-time students. Professors with tenures, researchers, and administration were the only positions that held a clear-cut position of authority.

Except that it wasn’t that clear-cut. Not when she had to take into account that some of the student body consisted of royalty.

A few of the teachers held some title or another.

Following clear protocol was impossible in most cases when overlapping duties conflicted with rank, not to mention the deference owed to those who had pure power.

To put it mildly, it was a mess.

Being a storm spirit was fine and all, nothing special about it. Ranking-wise, she was pretty much an unimportant mid-level creature. No one paid much attention to nature spirits unless they were the leaders amongst their kind, and even then, the truly powerful didn’t bat an eye.

Now, being half-stormbringer was an entirely other matter.

If nature gifted had any sort of hierarchy in their ranks, being a stormbringer was akin to royalty.

Being a descendant of one of the oldest and purest stormbringer lines added a few layers of specialty to that title.

Her father had equaled a demon prince or an archangel.

Grandfather held a yearly lunch with Lucifer, and in Wave’s opinion, her grandfather was scarier of the two.

Wave’s hair started to float, and she hastily swept her fingers through it, dispelling the electricity. She really couldn’t afford to think about her family here. As far as anyone knew, she was a mere storm spirit, gifted for sure, but just a storm spirit with unknown parentage.

Where her father’s side would get her into all kinds of political trouble and power struggles, her mother’s side would get her killed. If she was lucky.

Sirens had been hunted, captured, and executed for centuries. In fact, there wasn’t a time in their histories when they had been safe. Wave knew that from bitter experience.

The distant rumble of thunder caused Wave to jerk her head up. Thankfully, the corridor seemed empty with nobody around to notice her slip. She really needed to get herself under control. A siren-stormbringer could cook up some pretty nasty thunderstorms, even without much of an effort.

Wave shook herself and turned her feet to march toward the library.

She was working today, and she didn’t want to be late.

All this wallowing could wait until she had retired alone onto some very distant island in the middle of the ocean.

It didn’t take long to reach the library, and then she got to work.

Mrs. Riverson, Wave’s new favorite person, had shown her their old organization system during her first shift, and Wave had attacked the shelves with determination. In reality, that meant that after a week of working after her orientation classes, she had placed five books in their proper shelves.

Wave was frustrated beyond belief, but Mrs. Riverson seemed happy even about her impromptu system of piling books in their correct aisles, if not in their proper shelves. She was determined to get at least one book on its shelf today, even if the pile of ‘tricky’ books grew every day.

Those were the ones that leaked anything suspicious, and the book she was currently holding definitely belonged to the tricky pile. Maybe she should start another pile and label it the ‘asshole pile’.

“Stop that,” she hissed as the book lashed at her again. This one wasn’t harmless or curious. It was malevolent and determined to get its claws into her. The bell from the reception desk rang. “Be right there,” she called out, focusing on wrangling the book.

“I don’t have all day,” an annoyed voice soon said straight behind her. Wave gasped, and the book decided that its time had come. Even as Wave desperately tried to clutch it tight, her fingers slipped, and the book flared open.

“Duck,” she screamed and dove to the floor. Luckily, the person listened and hit the ground almost at the same time as she did. Black smoke billowed out of the pages, turning the air around them hazardous.

Wave turned to check the person next to her. Brown eyes, decorated with golden flecks, glared at her. There was nothing warm in them, and even before Wave looked further, she got a sinking feeling in her stomach.

“Idiot,” Jarred muttered loudly enough for her to hear, and then turned to glare at the smoke hovering above. He was wearing a black pullover that molded to his arms and chest nicely, and his brown hair looked messy in a good way.

The book was floating, and Wave was sure the damn thing was cackling. Normally, this wouldn’t be a huge problem to solve, but the power she would need to contain the mess wasn’t something she could exhibit in front of him. So, she would have to get resourceful.

“Mrs. Riverson,” she spoke into the stone in her necklace, “we need a cleanup at aisle five.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Jarred, lying beside her, growled. That voice was too rumbly to belong to just anyone.

“Cat shifter?” Wave asked, actually curious.

“What? No! Who let you in here?”

“I work here.”

“Not for long,” he growled again. “And this is ridiculous.”

Wave pointed at the cloud. “Any ideas then?”

“Yes.” He managed to look disgusted and hot at the same time. In her mind, Wave wrote ‘hot jerk’ on a sticky note and stuck it on his forehead. The mental image helped her to keep her temper in check.

“Feel free to share those ideas anytime.” Wave couldn’t hold back her snark.

“I’d rather not.” He took a deep breath, released it, and clapped his hands decisively, like slamming a book shut. A rush of power radiated from his hands, and the book slammed shut, pulling all the smoke back inside in the process, and it fell to the floor with a thump.

Wave marveled at the ease and precision. “Neat,” she said, not able to help the smile. Power used precisely was her weakness. When it came in a glaringly hot package, she had a hard time resisting.

“Oh dear, what’s going on in here?” Mrs. Riverson asked as she hurried over.

“Your witless new assistant dropped a book and released a spell,” Jarred said and climbed back to his feet. “I’d highly reconsider keeping her around.”

“Now, that’s not very nice, Mr. Whitfurst,” Mrs. Riverson admonished him. “I’m sure Wayla did no such thing.”

“You startled me,” Wave huffed as she climbed to her feet, too, and pointed at the offending book. “And that one needs its own pile. I’m going to label it ‘antagonistic asshole’.”

Mrs. Riverson, well-versed in Wave’s habits of labeling everything by now, snorted out an unladylike laugh before quickly smothering it.

“Language, Ms. Spinwell,” she said, managing a straight face. Jarred threw his hands up in frustration and glared at Wave.

“I came to pick up the books for Professor Kilkenny. I don’t have a whole day.”

“You said that already,” Wave retorted. “Clearly, if you’d had more time, all of this could have been avoided.”

“The books are at the back. Wayla, would you mind going to get them? I’ll handle this… rascal,” Mrs. Riverson said and toed the book experimentally.

“I placed a containment spell on it. Should hold for a couple of hours at least,” Jarred told Mrs. Riverson with a much more moderate tone.

“That was very kind of you, dear,” Mrs. Riverson replied and gently picked the book up. “I still need to go and put it in its place. Wayla?”

“Sure. Follow me, Mr. Grumpypants.”

“I’m not grumpy,” Jarred snarled.

“Oh? Maybe you are hungry then? Would you like a saucer of milk? I think we have some coffee cream in the back.” Without waiting for an answer, Wave walked past him.

Mrs. Riverson was polite enough to hold in her laughter until they were past the next shelf, but Wave could still hear her soft chuckles.

“No,” Jarred growled. “Just get me the books.”

“Sheesh,” Wave huffed. “You could use a personality transfer. That body and face are wasted on someone like you.”

Jarred stopped his marching and looked over his shoulder, blinking owlishly. “What?”