Shadelings

chapter nine

Noah

Constance is late.

For exactly twenty-seven minutes, the rows of the round auditorium have been filled with students and mentors. I lurk in the back row with the other mentors, my wings awkwardly sticking out over the arms of the chair; whispers fill the rows. Everyone is wondering where the class head is for eraser orientation. Wherever she is, it can’t be good.

I lift my wrist, check my watch. Twenty-eight minutes late. “Damn it, Constance,” I mutter, “where are you?”

As if I summoned her, she stumbles in from a door by the stage, then trips in front of the podium. I wince; obviously, someone has been drinking. Fuck. She stands up, and her image is projected onto the holovision in the background. Her hair is some sort of buns and braids… thing, ridiculous as always, and she’s in some kind of weird black and magenta gown.

How the hell am I supposed to get that off of her? It looks like some sort of Stone Age death trap. I shudder. Still, she’s beautiful (wasted and looking like an idiot but beautiful), and her boobs are popping out of her dress because the corset is laced too tight… Fuck, I’ve spent so much time with her that I know what a corset is. That needs to change.

She conjures her pipe and takes a hit of ifuru, then sets it down on the edge of the podium. After another spell, presumably ikowa, to amplify her voice, she says, “Silence, children and adults!” The words are a little slurred, but she’s overall understandable, at least. She moves her hands around on the podium, and her projected image changes to a blank white screen. She pulls out a tablet pen and draws a black cat, the eraser emblem, and a fox head in dark pink.

“I am Constance Rivera Dreamweaver, your drunkard class head,” she says with a cheery smile before ducking below the podium and coming back with a bottle, taking a sip and then setting it back down.

“Fucking hell, Constance.” I rub my hand over my face and sigh.

She continues with her slurs: “All of you alcoholics out there know that I’m more than willing to share whatever I have in my penthouse. You’re all welcome in my room for any reason.” Her eyes lift to the back of the crowd. She winks, and her voice lowers into a husky, suggestive tone. “Any reason.”

I snort. She doesn’t have to tell me twice, that’s for sure.

The word Basics is scrawled below the symbols in her god-awful handwriting. She takes a few steps over to the screen, draws a rapier from the folds of her dress, and points at the word on the board. What the fuck goes on in women’s clothing?

“Students, either myself or Olivia Winnlock have accepted you into this lovely class because you possess the potential to kill people for a living. You’re all going to regret choosing this class,” she begins, and I can hear some whispering throughout the students and a few chuckles from the mentors, “but you’ll grow to love your job. I promise. We can make a killer out of anyone and everyone, but first, you have to know some really basic basics, other than stabbing things and sneaking around, to get started.

“For one, girls, you gotta learn how to use these,” she says, pushing her boobs up and then letting them fall down, “to your advantage. Most men won’t think twice when you shove boobs in their faces. Boys, you’re going to learn how to deal with girls! If any of you are virgins, it’s not going to last very long.” More laughs and whispers follow; I cringe. “I promise you’ll enjoy it, though. It’s totally worth losing whatever morals you have to your name! Or you can lose it to me if you’re overage; I will eventually have to get to know all of you.”

I’m not actually here. I don’t know her. I’m in Xidwin or Altshof or maybe Zann. War and tyranny is almost preferable to listening to this speech. I know that somewhere in the bottom rows, Ashlyn probably agrees. I can picture the nervous blush on her cheeks while she stares at the ground and twiddles her thumbs. The best part is, she’s Constance’s apprentice.