Witch Born - LJ Swallow Page 0,11
her.
This morning is giving me whiplash. I perch on the edge of a bean bag, trying hard not to sink backwards, scared I'll end up sprawled on her floor. The beans crunch beneath the blue cotton cover as I settle.
“I do hope Angus hasn’t frightened you. He can be rather aggressive.” Her Scottish accent has a soft burr which adds to her gentleness.
“He was okay.” I clear my throat. “I mean, he didn’t send me outside to run five laps around the academy.”
She chuckles. “That’s later today. I do wish he wouldn’t leave you all exhausted before my classes though.”
I glance at my surroundings again. “Do you hold classes in here?”
Her small mouth spreads into a smile. “Yes. Including group therapy and individual counselling. Pushing you all to physical extremes or starving you might teach you humility, but for some offenders this treatment makes no difference.” She places a hand on her chest, over her heart. “Every resident at this school has good inside. They’re lost souls. Nobody is inherently bad.”
I can’t help but reply with a laugh and her warm expression cools. “Even Dorian Blackwood?” I ask.
She moistens her lips. “Well, yes. He’s an unusual boy.”
Firstly, I wouldn’t call the guy’s body a ‘boy’s’, and secondly, unusual is not the adjective I’d use for Dorian. I force my lips into a smile. “I don’t know him.”
“Yet. Everybody in Ravenhold must interact to understand each other’s struggles and strengths. To be aware how we all interlock in this world.”
The beans in the bag shift and I sink lower. What’s worse? Her delusional ideas, or Angus’s military regime? Nobody I’ve met so far could possibly be swayed by her ideas. Perhaps Oriana, because I think she’s one of the few I've met who has a good side.
Yet she’s lived here for three years. What's stopping her release back into the world?
“There’s another member of staff you’ll meet in a few days’ time. Marcus Dmitri. He recently began working at Ravenhold as a counsellor and helps students who struggle to deal with their stay here. Marcus usually checks in with new students after a week, once they’ve time to settle.”
Does anybody settle here? “Okay. I think I saw him in the hallways. Does Marcus have white hair?”
“Yes. Such a caring man. I’m glad the Confederacy decided to bring somebody in to help with the troubles.”
“Troubles?”
Francesca looks away and suddenly the paper in front of her appears fascinating. “Some students struggle more than others. Do you have your class list with you?”
I stare in confusion and Francesca nods at the paper in my clammy hand. “Oh.” She takes it from me and produces a silver pen. With a flourish, she signs the paper with a fountain pen filled with peacock blue ink.
“There. Now you won’t be in trouble for missing your first lesson.” Her short nails shine with pale varnish that dances with reflected rainbows as she hands me the paper. “I think your next lesson is written on there.”
I stare.
“Not quite a lesson, but one of Angus’s physical exercise classes. I do hope you ate plenty of breakfast. If not, I suggest finding a light snack while you change into your physical education uniform.”
Struggling to stand, I glance outside at the uninviting day, then read the sheet.
10 a.m. – Physical Education, rear courtyard.
I glance at the window. In the rain?
Chapter Seven
Dorian lurks outside Francesca’s room, directly opposite the door. He rests on the wall with his legs stretched in front of him, hands in his jeans pockets.
It’s simple to see how he lured people to him when he was loose in the world, where supernatural and human alike fell victim to him. The Blackwood genes blessed him with startling blue eyes and softened the sharp features inherited from his vampire-half into something more human.
Dorian. The name amuses me. Did his parents deliberately name him after the book character, Dorian Gray? Dorian's namesake is the depraved man whose youth endured, with a face unmarked by his age or immorality. Instead, Dorian Gray owned a portrait hidden away whose face showed every line of his ugly soul. Each sin he committed added more ugliness to the painting, but his real face remained untouched.
I can see the resemblance, and this Dorian’s painting would frighten.
Dorian doesn’t speak, and I presume he’s waiting to see one of the heads, so I walk away. He catches up and steps in front of me, and I almost knock into him as I halt.
“If you know who I am, why