two with Zeke the night I arrived. Kai? He briefly meets my eyes before nodding and returning his attention to Oriana.
The dozen or so students are gathered around the tables, waiting for the next step in their monotonous day.
Nobody sits beside Ethan, but nobody could since he leans forwards, arms spread in a barrier either side of him.
“Ah, Samuel. Welcome.” Francesca holds her arms in greeting to the door, charms jingling beneath her loose pink shirt’s long sleeves.
A kid I’ve not met yet, or seen in the exercise yard, turns beetroot red and sidles through the door. He’s smaller than most I’ve met so far, with childish round cheeks and nervous blue eyes. With a nod, he sits close to the other outsider. Ethan begrudgingly moves his arms and tips his head to look at Samuel, but remains silent. Fingers linked together, Samuel sets both arms on the table in front of him.
“How are you feeling, Samuel?” she asks.
The red face intensifies. “Umm. Better. Thank you.”
“He lost his shit in meditation class last week,” whispers Oriana. “Took two guards to hold him down.”
“I can’t imagine that,” I say, comparing the size of Samuel and Ethan. “What did he do?”
“Started tearing the room apart. Screaming. Lucky he’s a younger kid and avoided solitary.” She taps the side of her head. “If he’s losing his mind, won't be long before he’s down there.”
We’re interrupted as Francesca sets paper and pots filled with coloured pens and pencils onto the desks.
“Time for a snooze,” Oriana whispers.
“What do you mean?” I look around at the kids ignoring Francesca.
Dorian rips his sheet of paper in two. Ethan hunches over his paper, face behind his curls as his broad hand sketches with the charcoal pencil. Zeke taps his pen on the desk and stares into space.
“Remember, if you struggle to find your muse, channel your thoughts," says Francesca and the music continues.
Oriana huffs and grabs a pencil before sketching a stick figure. "This class is dumb but make sure you do what the madwoman tells you. If you annoy Francesca and she excludes you, you might wind up with extra time in the exercise yard."
There's a rip as Dorian tears the sheet of paper again. I glance up and he cocks a brows as he rips the paper a third time. Francesca ignores him.
“Today’s prompt is ‘nourishment’,” she announces and scrawls the word on a nearby chalkboard, adding a curly flourish to 'T' at the end.
I close my eyes in despair. When was the last time I attempted to draw? I struggled with something as simple as colouring between the lines as a kid, so this will be a disaster.
I take hold of a black pencil and look again at her prompt. I can see exactly why Angus dislikes Francesca’s influence inside the academy, although I’d rather this than more physical torture. The idea she can enter our psyches and find deep-seated reasons for our crimes makes no sense. What about those of us born this way?
Like him. Dorian carefully arranges the white squares as if they were a jigsaw. He glances up. "Focus on your own work, witch."
Aware those beside him wait for my response, I turn back to my blank white sheet of paper. I won't be goaded by him and earn a reputation; I need to move myself into the background.
I take the pencil and scrawl a spiral pattern, gently at first and then press harder as I expand the circle. The action is hypnotic and I zone out, tired after last night's bad sleep, and lulled by the dumb music and lavender scent in the room.
My hand jerks and my pencil moves to an untouched part of the paper.
I write my name, but before I can lift the pen, new words form.
Words my hand writes without me thinking them.
Are you missing me?
I try to drop the pencil, but a sharp pain shoots along my arm and my fingers clench harder around the pencil.
I miss you, mon tresor
My heart thuds in fear. Only one person calls me that. The pencil continues to move and I grab my wrist with the other hand and try to pull the lead from the paper.
I’m getting you out of there.
The writing continues: This is what
I manage to drag the pencil away and the lead draws a thick black line across the page.
I'm going to do
Sweat breaks out on my forehead as I struggle but the writing keeps coming.
To you.
I’m assaulted by a vision of blood and pain, as