PERIWINKLE

As we walk down the hall toward the gym, I cock my head, trying to wrap my mind around all the rules Fen just explained to me. “So there are five hoops, but you only want to put the ball in them when they’re lit up. And you’re supposed to use your powers to move the ball.”

Fen nods. “If you can. Obviously not everyone has powers that would work for that. The most important rule is that you can only affect the ball, no tripping up the other players. And if you break the ball, that’s not good either. It’s another way to practice our control.”

Control that I’m still feeling pretty shaky about, especially now that the school administration is watching me extra closely.

I rub my forehead. “And everyone has to play this morphball game?”

Fen shoots me a sympathetic smile. “It’s kind of the main pastime around here, at least for beings who are into the sporty stuff. If you can hold a top five position for a month, you get special rewards. Mostly Coach Brandish lets the enthusiastic students play and swaps out a few of the rest of us from class to class so we’re getting a little practice. But she always wants to see what the new students can do, so she’ll definitely put you on.”

I give myself a little shake, dispelling my trepidation. It’s just a game—a game specifically designed for shadowkind. It could be a lot of fun.

Although… “I don’t think making my hair glow is going to help propel the ball.”

“That’s okay. The best I can ever do is maybe push a splash of water at it at the right time, and mostly I miss.” Fen ducks her head with obvious embarrassment. “I’ll cheer you on from the bleachers!”

If I can’t do much with the game, I guess that’s what I’ll end up doing during most future morphball gym days too. That’s okay. I definitely know how to cheer.

I’ve been in the smaller workout rooms before, but not the full gymnasium. As we step through the door, my eyes widen trying to take in the immense space.

The walls must reach up the full two stories of the building, the white ceiling crisscrossed with metal girders and lighting fixtures high above us. Tiers of benches rise on either side, with room to seat at least a hundred students.

On each of the other two walls, five hoops protrude from panes that I’ve gathered from Fen will beam light at random intervals. They form the approximate shape of a cross, three in a vertical column and one on either side of it, but the side ones can apparently travel up and down as well as glowing.

A large screen mounted near the stands shows a list of five students with their photos—the current morphball rankings. Most of them I recognize only vaguely, but Hail’s coolly handsome face gazes out from the second spot.

That must be one more reason so many of our fellow students fawn over him.

A stout woman with slim tusks protruding from her jaw marches over to us. Fen bobs her head with a squeak of a voice. “Hi, Coach Brandish.”

From what I’ve heard, the main gym instructor is a troll. Big, strong, and fierce. I draw myself up to my not particularly considerable full height and offer her a determined smile. “Hi!”

She looks me over and speaks in a curt voice. “So you’re the new one. You play on the red side today. Fen, you can stick to the bleachers.”

“Thank you, Couch Brandish!” My friend gives my arm an encouraging squeeze and darts off.

The coach ushers me over to the far end of the court where four other players are waiting, wearing varying shades of red. She runs through the rules Fen has already told me, but I figure all I’m really going to be doing here is making sure I don’t get in anyone else’s way.

“You’ll want to change that outfit,” she adds.

I glance down at my typical flowered dress and track jacket. Not standard gym attire, no.

Closing my eyes, I blink in and out of the shadows, re-emerging in terry cloth shorts and a crimson tee to match my team.

They don’t look particularly happy to have me joining them. One of them, a friend of Gloss’s I think, wrinkles her nose as she looks at me.

The other side of the court doesn’t look any friendlier. It appears we’re going up against Hail along with the player ranked number four today. The chilly, elegant man watches the teams coming together with an air of bored assurance, but Number Four prowls across the polished floor, flexing his bulging muscles. “We’re going to destroy all of you!”

The being standing next to Hail looks up from her examination of her fingernails and shoots the fae man a sideways glance. “The newbie won’t be any trouble, that’s for sure.”

Hail simply smiles a cold, sharp smile that sends a shiver through me. He’s too far away for me to pick up on any of his emotions, but he doesn’t look as if he minds the idea of a little destruction.

Coach Brandish claps her hands. “All right, we need one more for each team. Let’s see, Verve, it’s been a while since I saw you push yourself—you go over to the blue team. And for red—”

A tall form that’s all sinewy muscle leaps to his feet partway up the bleachers, his voice coming out in a familiar growl. “I’ll play.”

The chatter around him falls silent other than a couple of gasps. Even the coach looks taken aback.

My antisocial roommate scowls, tension rippling through his sculpted limbs. His buffed-bronze hair drifts forward to shadow his dark eyes.

Coach Brandish finds her voice. “You do have an exemption, Raze. Playing isn’t necessary for your evaluation.”

The huge being’s gaze flicks over the court. Does it stop on me just for an instant?

The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

Does he think he needs to demonstrate how fearsome he is so I’ll finally let him have the room back to himself again?

“I’m in the mood for a little competition,” he mutters. “I’ll play fair… and everyone else had better do that too.”

His next glower is aimed very pointedly at the blue side of the court.

Hail scoops up the spongy white ball we’ll be playing with and casually spins it on his finger as if it’s part of his body. “We don’t need to break rules to win.”

A brief whoop rises up in appreciation of his comment, but for the most part our audience remains unnervingly quiet. My skin prickles.

What do they think Raze is going to do?

Coach Brandish appears to trust him at least enough to give him a chance. She motions for him to join us on the court. His ropey limbs flicker briefly as he swaps the black Henley he was wearing for a bright red tee.

The coach holds out her hands, and Hail tosses her the ball with an effortless throw. Cradling it in one arm, she raises her whistle to her lips. “First side to twenty-five points or whoever’s ahead at the bell wins. We start now.”

She blows the whistle and launches the ball into the air in the middle of the court.

Immediately, there’s so much movement around me that it dizzies me. Three of the panels behind the blue team’s hoops flare white. My teammates surge forward to snatch at the ball. The blue team rushes in too, with a gleaming shard of ice materializing in the air and knocking the sphere straight into Hail’s waiting hands.

The fae man grins and springs across the court, gliding most of the distance on more ice he’s conjured beneath his feet. As the red team converges on him, he whips the ball over our heads to Number Four, who’s charged over at the other side.

Three of our nets have lit up too. The beefy shadowkind hurls the ball toward the one at the top of the column with a warble of supernatural force. The net swishes with the goal.

A digital scoreboard next to the list of top players gleams to life. Apparently that basket earned the blue team three points.

Frustration wafts off my teammates with pickley sourness. “Don’t let them run right by you,” one of them snaps at me. “Can you do anything useful?”

I suppress a wince, and the ball is in the air again.

This time, Gloss’s friend manages to snatch it out of the air with a thrum of energy. She darts toward the far end of the court, and I pelt after her in case I can assist.

Number Four barges into her way, and I leap into his. But the jump sends a jab of pain through my ankles. I stumble and end up sprawled on my belly.

“It shouldn’t be so hard to keep track of your feet when you’re that close to the ground,” someone taunts. I shove myself upright to sneers aimed my way—and Hail’s icy stare for the instant before he’s swiveling back toward the ball.

Gloss’s friend passed it to one of our other teammates, but Hail closes in on her, sending out a blast of wind to snatch at the ball. The chill ripples over me even where I’m hustling behind them.

The woman squeaks and flings the ball toward the nearest red shirt, which happens to be on Raze. My massive roommate grabs it, the white sphere tiny in his sinewy hands, and launches it at one of the glowing nets.

Which stops glowing a splitsecond before the ball smacks into it.

Gloss’s friend mutters a curse under her breath and shoulders past me with a purposeful bump. “Maybe you should just stay on the floor.”

A low snarl carries from Raze’s direction, with a sizzle of jalepeno-hot anger. It didn’t sound like my roommate was that avid a player, but he must be pissed off at my performance too.

The game goes back and forth several more times, with four more goals for the blue team and only two for ours. They’re up to twenty points, and I’m panting and sweating through my T-shirt, thinking I’d rather play with the hunter kind of nets than keep up all this dashing back and forth. My feet are throbbing with stings of pain that resonate up through my calves.

Just this one game. Next time I can sit on the benches with Fen, who’s cheering my name every time I manage to race from one end of the court to the other without tripping over my own feet.

The smallest member of the blue team snags the ball. He bounds across the wooden floor with far longer strides than his slim frame should be capable of, propelled by his supernatural talents.

I scamper after him, but of course Raze gets there first. He shoves in front of the other player just as the smaller guy springs higher into the air.

The airy man was already hurling the ball toward one of the nets with a crackle of power. Electricity sparks all around the white sphere and smacks into Raze’s face.

My roommate staggers sideways with a howl of pain that’s echoed by a surge of searing emotion only I can feel. A gasp of sympathy jolts from my throat.

The ball bounces off the rim of the net. The guy who threw it—and, strangely, all the other nearby players—scramble backward, away from both the ball and our injured classmate.

I’d wonder what’s wrong with them, but I’m already well aware that compassion doesn’t come naturally to most of these shadowkind. I hurry over to Raze’s side. “Are you all right? Do you need someone with healing powers?”

The looming man is still clutching his face, shadowy essence leaking from splits in his flesh. He blinks, and just for an instant behind his splayed fingers, I catch a glimpse of eyes that aren’t the green I saw before but pure, depthless black.

He jerks his head away. “Leave me alone!” With a tremble of the air, he vanishes into the shadows.

My hands drop to my sides. I look around, wondering if Coach Brandish will intervene—either to get him help or chide him for shedding his physical form—and realize everyone is staring at me. Both the other players and our audience on the bleachers.

They all look vaguely stricken, as if I’ve done something horrifying like puke up worms on their shoes or sprouting pus-seeping boils.

I check my arms just to make sure there aren’t any seeping boils there that I somehow didn’t notice, and Coach Brandish finally hustles into the middle of the court. “All right, it’s almost time for the bell. Let’s call the game now. Zing, I’m docking two points for that foul.”

My gaze slides back to the spot where Raze disappeared. I can’t sense him nearby anymore. It’ll be easier for him to heal in the shadows.

But doesn’t anyone care that he was wounded?