Crescent Wolves - G. Bailey Page 0,22
of the dorm or the fact that this is a school run by magical beings. Maybe both. Either way, the sun is low in the sky on the horizon, and one glance at my phone tells me it’s seven PM. I slept for eight hours, something almost unheard of for me under normal circumstances. Then again, these aren’t normal circumstances.
Someone has laid a fresh set of clothes outside my door, several clean sets of white leggings and white shirts. Realizing I won’t be able to track down the washroom and take a shower in time for dinner, I change into these, fighting to get my hair in some kind of order before leaving my room and following the crowd of other girls down the hallway and to the lower level. A few of them cast me sideways glances as we make our way across the quad, but being in new clothes puts me at ease a little, and I find myself examining the others, wondering what kinds of shifters they are. The truth is, I have no idea how to identify them when they’re in human form, if there even is a way, and my knowledge of supernatural lore is limited at best.
I’m eyeing a group of older-looking students as we file into the main building when I hear a familiar voice behind me. “Staring’s not polite, you know.” Turning around, I see Hazel sidling up to me, smiling. “Fancy running into you here. Millie, right?”
I nod.
“I was looking for you back there,” she continues. “Didn’t think you’d have changed already. It’s damned difficult to recognize people in these uniforms.” She shakes her head. “Anyway, how are you liking it so far? Are people being nice to you?”
“So far, yeah,” I reply, thinking of Silas. A cluster of students moves to the opposite side of the front room, where a couple of paned glass doors lead into the dining hall. I don’t think I’ve ever seen so much food before.At a buffet table on the far wall are heaps of meat, tossed salad, grains, and gravy. Tall bottles full of soda and water stand at one end, with stacks of plates and utensils on the other. I follow Hazel’s lead to the line, almost paralyzed with indecision. Eventually I pile things onto a plate, wondering when I last had a meal that wasn’t microwaved. Keep going at this rate, and you won’t be able to fit into this uniform, I think dryly.
Hazel leads me to one of the long, bench-style dining tables, where a mix of boys and girls are seated. We take a seat side-by-side, and I’m glad to know someone here as I look from one unfamiliar face to the next. “Can I ask you something?” I say, turning to Hazel.
“Sure,” she replies. “Go ahead.”
“What kind of shifter are you?” It’s a question that dawned on me after she left me earlier. “If that’s not, like, a breach of etiquette, or something.”
She laughs her tinkling laugh again. “Hardly. I’m a siren.”
“Like the sirens from Greek mythology?” I ask, raising my eyebrows.
“A little,” she replies, “although maybe not like you’re picturing. Here,” she adds, leaning in close to me, and I see the tips of her curly hair go briefly from blonde to sea green. “We have scales, too,” Hazel continues, lifting her hand to show me an array of shimmery green scales, much like the ones I saw growing from my own skin back at the warehouse. Quickly she returned to normal, stealing a glance around to make sure no one had caught her shapeshifting, and then turned back to me. “The fun part is the singing, though,” she said in a conspiratorial voice.
“Do sirens really sing?” I ask, my curiosity getting the better of me.
“Sure we do,” she replies. “Although don’t be expecting Adele or anything. It’s more like screeching, really, but it does wonders for getting people to leave us alone. Men, especially. Advanced sirens can lure people to them and seduce them with song. Even to the point of mind control but it takes years of practice, apparently.”
I nod, pursing my lips as I begin to dig into my food. “Speaking of which,” I say, “are all sirens female?”
“That’s where the myth gets it wrong,” Hazel replies, taking a bite out of a heel of bread. “There are plenty of male sirens. Like Landon, here, for instance.” She nods to a boy sitting across the table from us. “He’s a siren. In my class, actually.