PERIWINKLE

As we leave our Mortal Culture class, Fen gives a little shudder. “I don’t know how humans can listen to music like that and enjoy it. It gives me a headache.”

I laugh, a little of the rhythm still resonating through my bones. “It did have a good beat. I guess you’re not much of a dancer?”

She giggles in return. “That’s fair to say.”

“Maybe you just haven’t found the right music yet. There’s lots that’s more floaty and less thumpy.”

Fen makes a skeptical sound. “We’ll see. I’ll be happy if I can master walking without ending up dripping.”

At the junction of the halls, I swerve toward the cafeteria, but my friend touches my arm to halt me. “I’m sorry—I almost forgot. I’ve got to go over to the voluntary student building for a meeting with my study buddy.”

I blink at her. “Study buddy?”

Her smile turns sheepish. “That’s just what the teachers like to call it. After you’ve been at the school a little while and they’ve gotten to know your strengths and weaknesses, they’ll pair you with another being who’s farther along in their studies as a sort of mentorship thing. You’ll probably get assigned one in a few weeks.”

The thought perks me up. I haven’t really hit it off with anyone except Fen since I arrived at the Academy. It’d be nice to have at least one other shadowkind I could turn to, especially one who’s been through more of the rehabilitation process already.

I lean in to give her a quick hug. “That’s all right. Have fun!”

Fen brightens so much at the friendly gesture that I walk the rest of the way to the cafeteria feeling as if I’ve just earned top marks. I’m glad I can say there’s someone at the school I’ve brought a little happiness to.

I just have to keep working on how to spread that happiness farther. It’s hard when most of the students seem to interpret every gesture in the most negative possible way, but I’ll figure it out.

I enter the cafeteria buoyed by my upbeat resolve and stall in my tracks just inside the door.

The large room is decked out in much fancier trappings than I’ve seen before. Stark white tablecloths with a silky sheen cover the round tables, laid with crystal wine glasses and equally silky napkins folded into the shape of flowers. Subdued instrumental music flows through the space. As I watch, a being dressed in a formal black suit brings a plate to one of the already seated students.

This is obviously one of the types of human meals the teachers want us to practice. But I have no idea what the rules are for anything this elaborate—and it feels like there must be a lot of rules.

At a huff and a waft of sour exasperation from behind me, I turn my head. One of my dormmates, a slim female shadowkind who’s among Gloss’s friends, glides over and catches my elbow. “You don’t have a clue, do you? Come on, you’d better stick with me or we’ll all be humiliated by association.”

My skin prickles at the insult, but it sounds like she’s actually going to give me a little guidance. I follow her to her table, where a few other woman including Gloss are already sitting.

Seeing Gloss, my legs balk. But her friend is dipping her head in answer to the elegant shadowkind’s piercing glance. “I thought we could make sure she isn’t too much of an embarrassment.”

I’m not sure what to make of the emphasis she puts on that last word. Is she really that concerned that the teachers will think badly of my dormmates if I mess up? Only faint emotions emanate off her, but what’s I catch is crisp and sharp-edged like cheddar crisps.

A small smile curves Gloss’s lips, and she nods her head in acceptance. “Good thinking, Fleet.” As I seat myself, her cool gaze lingers on me as if she’s already finding me wanting.

The only emotion I taste from her is the faintest whiff of resigned satisfaction, like champagne on the verge of going flat.

“I certainly didn’t come here to watch shadowkind act like boars,” she says evenly. “I assume you’ve never eaten at an upscale restaurant before?”

I shake my head, wondering if I’m increasing her general irritation with me by staying. But who else in the cafeteria would care about me sitting there cluelessly? At least she and her friends seem willing to advise me, even if it’s out of distaste.

Gloss rests her slender hand against her pointed chin as if contemplating the situation. “First, of course, you’ll need to order. It’s important that you catch the waiter’s attention with the right utensil. Pick up the larger fork and wave it high in the air in a circular motion.”

Gamely, I select the larger of the two forks at my place setting—why would we need both?—and swivel it in the air over my head. Gloss’s instructions appear to work, because another being in a suit trots over with a twitch of his face before I’ve made more than a few rotations.

He draws himself up stiffly. “Would you like the filet mignon or the linguine al limon, madam?”

I don’t know what either of those things taste like. In my momentary hesitation, another of Gloss’s friends jumps in. “You should get the linguine. The rest of us will have the filet mignon, but it’d be too much for you to handle, I think.”

The other women around the table nod, so I do too, with a smile at the being playing waiter.

As he hurries off, Fleet motions to the bottle of wine that most of the others have poured from. “Are you going to have something to drink? You need to stand up and bow to your glass before you pour, or it’ll look like you don’t appreciate the fine foods we’ve been provided with.”

I’ve never liked the bitter tang of alcohol before, but it seems as if sampling it is an important part of the customs. I stand and dip low over my glass before I fill it halfway.

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

Giggles carry from a couple of the nearby tables. It sounds as if people can still have fun despite all the strict rules. Hopefully the food will taste good.

“Oh!” another of the women pipes up. “We forgot to tell her how to handle the napkin. You need to pull it carefully all over your hair to show that you haven’t brought anything unsavory on you to the table before you set it on your lap.”

Humans seem to spend a lot of time worrying about what’s on top of their heads. I run the soft cloth over the top of my hair and along the teal waves that course down my back and shoulders.

Just as I’m spreading the square of fabric on my lap, three waiters arrive with two plates each. They set them in front of each of us—mine a heap of long, flat noodles with in a pale sauce flecked with shreds of cheese, the others with thick rounds of meat and a cluster of glazed vegetables.

The woman who suggested my order flicks her fork toward my plate. “The linguine is simple. You raise one end of a noodle to your mouth and suck the rest in as quickly as possible. The louder you are about it, the more it shows you’re enjoying the food. We have to fiddle around with knives and try to carve our steaks properly.”

She shakes her head as if this will be a tricky process.

My dish certainly sounds easier. I poke at the noodles with my fork to find an end, spear it, and raise it to my lips. With a deep slurp, I suction it into my mouth.

It tastes delicious, a little sour but also creamy. As I chew, a vibe of merriment colors the air, more fruit punch than wine. Gloss and her friends grin at each other as they pop delicate morsels of meat into their mouths.

I offer a smile of my own and snag a second noodle. I’ve just finished sucking it between my lips when a full-bodied laugh breaks out at the table next to ours.

I glance over, curious to find out what the joke might be… and realize all the beings sitting there are watching me, some of them chuckling, others covering their mouths as if horrified.

As I stare back at them, bewildered, more guffaws break out all across the cafeteria. Shadowkind at seats all around us are pointing my way and vibrating with hilarity they can’t suppress.

My lips part in shock, and giggles burst out of Fleet. She claps her hand over her mouth, but when my head whips around, all the other women except Gloss appear to be fighting similar bouts of amusement.

Gloss merely arches her eyebrows at me with the same cool little smile she gave me when I first arrived at the table. “Thank you so much for that fantastic demonstration of ridiculousness.”

Embarrassment scorches my cheeks. A renewed wave of snickers tells me my hair must have light up with the emotion, but I’m already too ashamed to care.

Ashamed and hurt. I thought—they acted like they were going to help me, however begrudgingly.

They tricked me, used their knowledge against me.

Just like—

A flare of a queasier emotion brings me to my feet. I shove away from the table and power-walk to the cafeteria door.

It doesn’t matter if I’m messing up my fine dining practice even more. I need to get away from the taunts and hostility faster this time and simmer down before I come to a boil.

A louder barrage of laughter chases me out the door, but I ignore it. My feet fly all the way down the hall, around one bend and then another. I breathe in and out as steadily as I can with alongside the rhythm of my steps.

If I can just get to my bedroom… There definitely won’t be anything that’ll stir up more emotions in there. Even after I tried to help him on the morphball court yesterday, my roommate has stuck to pretending I’m not around unless I force the issue.

To my relief, the dorm’s common hallway is empty. Of course. Everyone else is still at lunch. I should be completely alone.

With a quiver of hope, I shove open the door to my bedroom—and freeze.

The sight and smells smack into me simultaneously. Brownish-red smears slash across the walls, the covers on the beds. The air stinks like rotting meat. Lumps of something that looks unnervingly meaty lie strewn across the floor. A few deep gouges rake across both of the mattresses, ripping through the blankets amid the carnage.

The little bit of lunch I ate lurches up my throat. I clamp my mouth shut against a groan and scramble backward. My shoulders slam into the door that swung shut in my stupor.

The image blurs, flashes of memory assaulting me. Torn limbs. Spurting blood. Splintered wood. Shredded fabric. The shrieks and the groans, and the pain—oh, the pain, lancing through me again and again with every wound—

With a force so intense the air ripples, Raze snaps out of the shadows. My body tenses instinctively, but before the question of whether he had anything to do with this has time to fully form in my mind, his shocked expression knocks it out of me.

He jerks toward me, his lips drawing back from his gleaming teeth. “What’s this supposed to be? Why would you do it?”

His tone is so accusing that I flinch. I open my mouth to protest that I didn’t, it’s nothing to do with me, but all that comes out is a whimper.

I didn’t do this, but I did other things. So many other things. Oh, no. I’m never going to fix them all.

As the wave of hopeless guilt sweeps over me, Raze snarls and lunges back into the shadows. I grope toward the bed, but there’s no security in those savaged, stained sheets.

It’s coming back. It’s going to happen again, even though I got away.

This is what I do.

I jack-knife over with a cry, and the horror blasts out of me.

Searing darkness. Vicious misery. Figures crumple and voices squeal, and all I can do is clutch my knees against the sensation of losing all grip on myself. Clutch my knees and count.

One, two, three, four, five, six…

And on.

And on.

So many more hurts added to the tally in my head.