Dawn of Dae: Dae Portals, #1

By R.J. Blain and Trillian Anderson

The morning Alexa Daegberht's macaroni and cheese develops sentience, the world changes. She thought escaping poverty and moving up in the world would be the challenge of her life, but the new arrivals, who call themselves the dae, waste no time proving her wrong.

Some claim it's the rapture of the Christian faith. Some claim the world has been reborn. With millions vanished into thin air, one thing is certain: humanity is in for a fight for survival. There's only one thing Alexa is certain of.

The dae are here to stay.

This is a republishing of an older work, and it has undergone substantial editing, including the addition of new scenes.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Pen & Page Publishing
• Release date: Jun 16, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393352099

Book preview

One

One of these days, Collie, you’re going to piss me off.

My first real memory of my parents was also my last.

It was the refrigerator’s fault I remembered. I should’ve known better than to expect new appliances in my new apartment; I was lucky to have appliances at all. I sure as hell couldn’t afford to buy used ones.

The refrigerator, however, was a problem. Every time I looked at it, I remembered—and my first memory of my parents was how I, Alexa Zoe Daegberht, had killed them with a wish.

The wish had been a stupid, childish one. That haunted me more than anything else. I hadn’t even wished for anything important. I’d just been a stupid, angry child.

Not much had changed beyond my age. I still considered myself stupid, and anger kept me close company. I had changed one thing. I kept my anger and stupidity to myself as often as possible.

The refrigerator would test me. It was the same damned one, right down to its smoke-stained, pebbled surface and its loose handle. The years hadn’t done it any favors, and I wondered if the door would fall off its hinges when I opened it. Then again, they had built things better when I was a child.

It was too bad I hadn’t been built a bit better. A lot of things would’ve been different. If I’d been built just a bit better, I wouldn’t have made that stupid, hateful wish. It hadn’t been my father’s fault no one could touch me without irritating my sensitive skin. It wasn’t his fault he hadn’t been able to kiss my cheek like other fathers could with their daughters.

It had been his fault he’d forgotten; if he hadn’t, my face wouldn’t have been itching and burning. If he hadn’t forgotten, I wouldn’t have run to the fridge, using it as a shield against his touch. If he hadn’t forgotten, I wouldn’t have parroted what he too often said while fighting with my mother:

If you walk out that door, don’t you ever come back.

Because I had believed it, had wanted it, and had prayed for it, wishing on a shooting star that night, I had gotten exactly what I’d asked for. My parents had walked out the door and left me behind, never to return.

The ocean didn’t like giving up its dead, and planes smacking into the water didn’t leave a whole lot to salvage.

I dropped my bags on the kitchen floor, spat curses, and kicked the refrigerator.

It won. Beneath the plastic was metal, and it refused to bend. All I did was crunch my toes, and howling, I hopped around on one foot. Through tear-blurred eyes, I glared at the offensive appliance.

I’ll end you, I swore.

Maybe I could spray paint the damned thing pink. It’d be at least four years before I earned my degree and rank as a Bach, and until then, I was stuck with it. Once I became a Bach, I’d be elevated to a better caste—a caste with a future, and a bright one at that. Once I was a Bach, I could afford to buy my own appliances, and I’d never have to see that make or model of refrigerator ever again. If I scored well enough on the exit exams, I had the slim chance of being accepted for Master training.

Once I became a Bach, maybe I wouldn’t think of myself as being a stupid, angry child anymore. I’d still be angry, but I’d have value.

I had my entire life ahead of me, and it would be a good one. Having an education and receiving my degree would be the beginning of my new life. There was no way I’d let a stupid refrigerator take that from me.

I kept telling myself that, but I didn’t believe it. Not yet. Not until it happened.

Until then, I would work hard. Hopes, prayers, and wishes were for those who didn’t truly believe in the power of their words. I did.

Never again would I make another wish or pray for something I hadn’t earned.

As the refrigerator refused to acknowledge defeat and leave, I gave up and went for my last-ditch resort. If macaroni and cheese couldn’t make things better, nothing could.

I left my apartment to explore my new neighborhood and find work, leaving behind the devil-spawned refrigerator with a week’s worth of macaroni and cheese casserole cooling inside. If any of the other students found out I survived on pasta flavored with neon-orange powder, I’d be the laughingstock of the college.

I wanted to create the illusion of having come from somewhere other than the poorest district in the city, and to do that, I needed money. Merit-based students like me paid off tuition and housing in labor; I was doomed to at least four years serving as some professor’s slave. At least I had ranked high enough to have an apartment instead of a closet in the shared dorms, but unlike on-campus students, I was on my own for the basics.

To make matters worse for me, the college scrutinized every move of the merit-based students, so I’d have to keep my nose clean if I wanted to make it through my education. I’d known going in success would come at a price, but as I climbed higher, I realized how much of the deck remained stacked against me.

One wrong move, and I’d lose everything.

But if I played my hand right, I’d prove a nothing could become a something. I’d break free of the chains binding me to some of Baltimore’s worst men.

I’d have to use one of those men to get where I wanted to go, and there’d be hell to pay if anyone figured out the truth. Some gambles were worth making, though.

Change began with me, and I refused to let any man stop me. Not this time.

I’d have to deal with the devil yet again to make it happen. There was one place I could find a job in a hurry as long as I didn’t mind dealing with the devil: the Inner Harbor. If I had come from any other district, if I had belonged to any other caste, I wouldn’t have needed to turn to Kenneth Smith for work. But Kenneth took in those others wouldn’t and made them do his dirty work.

Unfortunately for me, I was good at doing his dirty work. Sighing, I ducked my head, adopted a brisk stride, and headed towards the water.

Baltimore was a large place and grew more each year, and it took me an hour to navigate my way through the city’s heart, skirting around the fringe I’d once called home. On the surface, it was clean and quiet with carefully trimmed lawns, neatly pruned trees, and flowers growing within in painted concrete planters.

For some reason, people believed the paint made the planters fancy.

I saw the concrete for what it really was: a cheap coverup.

The scars of rebellion pockmarked the brick buildings, a reminder of the violence Kenneth Smith and his cohorts had stamped out years ago, turning a slum into a paradise for the rich and famous. They thought the paint, the luxuries, and the lure of wealth could hide the truth.

It couldn’t. I remembered, and so did every street rat living in their shadow.

Despite their best efforts, the elites hadn’t managed to fully erase the past.

Once upon a time, the Inner Harbor had been the entertainment district of Baltimore, a place prone to rioting, a place everyone, no matter what caste, could go and gamble away their money or find other pursuits, many of them illegal. Sporting events were popular—if you could afford the entry fee.

I couldn’t, and Kenneth Smith counted on that. He didn’t want me as a client, anyway.

He wanted me as one of his hounds, a dog of his endless drug war, hunting down his non-paying clients, sniffing out dirt on them, and either luring them into one of his little traps or otherwise acquiring his money. The method didn’t matter; the money did, and that was that.

I hated Kenneth Smith, and I hated the Inner Harbor he lived in. If I had a pack of matches, I’d light it up in the hope of burning the whole place to the ground. My temper soured the closer I got to the townhouse located where the fringe began and the elite’s playground ended.

No one in their right mind would have believed, not even for a moment, that Baltimore’s charming, ruthless, and despicable criminal mastermind lived in such a dingy place, and that was exactly the way Kenneth Smith liked it.

I knocked four times, paused, and because I was in a bad mood, I gave the dark-painted door a solid kick, jamming my already aching toes. I didn’t hop around as I had in my apartment.

One of Smith’s bitches didn’t do something so undignified, not in public.

I wanted the pain; it served to focus my attention and remind me of the misery my boss would inflict if I screwed up. Clenching my teeth to keep quiet, I waited. Inside, someone thumped down the stairs, and several moments later, the lock clicked. The door opened, and Smith’s favorite bitch answered, glaring at me through narrowed eyes.

You again?

I smiled at Lily because it would piss her off. What do you know? It is! Astonishing. Can I come in, or are we going to put on a show for everyone in the neighborhood? I didn’t dress the part. I left my lacy panties at home.

I didn’t own any lacy panties, but all things considered, I was going to die a virgin anyway. A kiss on the cheek was enough to give me hives. What would happen if someone tried to kiss me on the mouth? Or worse, do something far more interesting with me?

I’d probably die.

Lily snarled something incomprehensible under her breath, stepping back to let me in. Prissy bitch.

Blond-haired, blue-eyed, pasty-skinned Lily belonged in a doll shop, but instead of telling her to go back to selling herself on the street like I wanted, I asked, Where’s the boss?

Down in the den. He’s with a guest. Wait in the parlor. He’ll come for you himself, I’m sure. Lily glared at me, slammed the door, and stomped her way up the staircase to the second floor, leaving me to mind my business in the entry.

I waited by the door.

The parlor always reeked of drugs, but I had kicked my various habits years ago. As always, the parlor made me want a hit so I could forget everything, right down to who I was and what I had done to get by.

I had changed. I wasn’t going to let anyone forget it, myself included.

When the boss came upstairs from his basement lair alone, I worried. Waiting the hour for him to finish wasn’t unusual, but the fact he hadn’t brought his client along meant one of two things: the client had either left through the tunnels, a conceit of the elite, or I was about to be introduced to them.

Nothing good happened when my boss introduced me to his clients. Nothing good came out of meeting with Kenneth right after an audience with one of the elite.

His fellow elite had a way of pissing him off, especially when they thought themselves above paying back their debts.

I examined the shining hardwood, wondering if Kenneth made Lily get on her hands and knees to polish it to perfection. I doubted it; if he had, neither one of them would have gotten any real work done, and that would hurt his bottom line.

It’s not like you to come around here without a summons, my boss said, and his soft-spoken words warned me of trouble.

Kenneth was a lot of things, and passionate was one of them. If he was moderating his voice, it was because he had graduated from annoyed to murderous, and he didn’t feel like killing me today.

I should’ve been grateful for that.

You always need another nose to the ground, sir, I murmured, keeping still despite my desire to fidget.

Lily really had done a stellar job with the floors. While I couldn’t make out the details, the wood reflected my dark hair and bronzed skin. My heritage remained a mystery, dying along with my parents.

Some folks said German because of my last name, but none of the German descended people I knew had such bronzed skin. I rivaled an Italian, but no self-respecting Italian I knew had a last name like mine.

I decided it was a good thing I wasn’t all that pretty. I didn’t want to end up just like Lily, serving the boss to keep him from killing the rest of us when he had a bad day. I had too many scars, and not all of them marked my skin.

If he found out about my inability to handle human contact, he’d probably enjoy knowing he could hurt me with his touch. When I left, I’d have to thank Lily and offer to run errands for her. It was wise to pay back debts, in advance whenever possible.

The silence stretched on. I gave into my restlessness, shifting my weight from one foot to the other. My toes still throbbed from their introduction to his door and the devil-spawned refrigerator in my apartment.

Fine. Come on, then, he snapped, pivoting on a heel to head back in the direction of the basement stairwell.

I followed him, keeping my gaze fixed on his black oxfords, which had been polished almost as shiny as his prized floors. He took the stairs two at a time while I took the more cautious approach. With my luck, I’d snap my neck tumbling down the steps.

Sit, he ordered as soon as I crossed over the threshold into his den.

His den was larger than my apartment, although that wasn’t much of a feat. Someone had been smoking something recently, and the fumes were strong enough to make my nose sting. I took a cautious sniff.

Cigar smoke.

At least my standing at college wouldn’t be risked by inhaling residue from one of Kenneth’s cocktails. If they ever found out I was one of his associates, though, I was screwed. I relaxed and, without looking up from his floor, made my way around the couch closest to the door and plopped down onto it. I heard him sit on his armchair, which squeaked as he leaned back.

I’m not in the mood for your bullshit tonight, my little collie. My boss lit up, and the stench of his cigar choked off my breath. I knew better than to cough, though. All I’d do was piss him off even more.

I chose to ignore the fact he was calling me by a dog breed instead of my name and nodded my agreement. At least he hadn’t called me Lassie.

If I followed the rules, I’d be okay. I’d leave his house just fine—and Lily wouldn’t have any extra reasons to hate me. Speaking only when spoken to, nodding when appropriate, and always, always addressing him by sir would get me through the meeting.

If the boss had a job for me and paid up, maybe I’d buy Lily a pair of lace panties—in silk. I could get them now, as long as I had the cash. All I had to do was survive the meeting with Kenneth and do one last job for him.

You’re a freshman now, aren’t you?

Kenneth’s voice was still soft, quiet, and utterly devoid of emotion, so I drew a deep breath, nodded my head obediently, and whispered, Yes, sir.

Full-merit, he commented, and his tone took on a rueful edge.

Yes, sir.

Now how the hell did a little mutt like you get into Bach studies on full-merit? he demanded, thumping his fist on the arm of his chair. He smacked it several more times before sighing gustily. You’re something else, that’s what you are. I obviously wasn’t keeping you busy enough. I am to blame.

I flinched.

Whoever had been meeting with him before I had arrived had left Kenneth in a bad mood, and his ire was directed at me. Any other day, I would have told him to go cry a river and fill the Chesapeake. I wanted to tell him to stuff it, but I needed the work, and he needed me.

I could go to the places he couldn’t, and he knew it.

I studied, sir.

You studied. No shit, Collie. What I want to know is how you got through the application process right under my nose without me knowing a thing until Lily went out earlier to summon you. Your pad’s already been taken over, if you weren’t aware.

The vultures had likely swooped in the minute I had left, but I kept my mouth shut. If I said a word, it would be something I’d regret. Granted, I likely wouldn’t regret it for long, but that was a different matter entirely.

I nodded and resumed studying the floor. Lily had missed a spot, and I’d been around Kenneth Smith long enough to recognize dried blood when I saw it.

At least it wasn’t fresh.

Cat’s got your tongue? Fine. Maybe that’s for the better. You’d open your mouth and make me want to shoot you. You’re right. I want your nose. Son of a bitch elite backed out on his debt. He’s in Bach studies just like you. Sniff the bastard out for me. He’s got a taste for crystals and a head for scents. He also seems to believe he can back out on his debts to me. Get close to him, learn his haunts, and report to me. I want to know who or what can be used against him, where he lives, and any significant people in his life—preferably women. Better yet, make yourself a significant woman to him. You need to relax.

I risked lifting my head and stared at Kenneth Smith.

It amazed me I didn’t break out in a rash just from looking at him. In so many ways, he was an average man; not too tall, not too short, not too anything, which conspired to make him right in all the wrong ways. My brown eyes were too dark for any sort of warmth, while his were melted chocolate, tempting and sensual.

Despite the annoyance of his tone, the corners of his mouth quirked up in a smile.

I hated Kenneth Smith. Every time I saw him, I wondered what it would be like to kiss someone. It was his damned mouth, which could flatten to a line or curve into a ripe smile, shifting with his mood. I could always tell his mood from the movements of his lips.

His voice said angry, but his mouth promised all of those interesting things I couldn’t do and Lily could—and would, probably as soon as I left the house.

What’s his name? I asked, reminding myself Kenneth was a dangerous, foul man. A smart girl didn’t deal with the devil or take him to her bedroom.

I’d already struck out once in the smart department. I’d probably punch my own ticket if I tried anything with him. If I didn’t die from an allergic reaction to him, he wouldn’t appreciate me throwing up on him.

Men had that effect on me.

Kenneth sighed, and I echoed him.

I wondered if he realized we were probably sighing for the same reason. He had already slept with all of his other bitches, leaving me as the one who always got away.

If he found out about my allergy, I’d never live it down.

Sir?

Silence wasn’t like Kenneth. He chomped on his cigar, grunting his acknowledgment of my question. I waited, lowering my gaze to the floor to stare at the brown splotch marring the hardwood.

Terry Moore. His father runs the stadium. He got hooked six months back, paid for three months’ worth of supplies, and decided he was above paying the rest of the balance.

I did some mental math, clucking my tongue as I ran through the various costs of crystals and scents. Crystals appealed to those who enjoyed tasting their drugs, slowly dissolving them on their tongue. Scents came as either incenses or other forms of inhaled narcotics. Big league players often spend thousands a week for the good stuff.

The elite settled for nothing less.

If Terry was studying for his Bach like me, he had friends—elite friends. Buying friendships through drugs wasn’t uncommon, especially among those who were supposed to be too good for the trade.

A hundred and fifty thou, I said, straightening my back and lifting my chin, defying my boss with my glare. Small change for you. There’s gotta be more to it than that. You don’t move against the elite for pennies. I paused, sucked in a breath as I remembered I wasn’t supposed to piss him off, and added, Sir.

Kenneth’s smile widened to a grin. Can’t let anything slip by you, can I? You’re right. It is small change. Under normal circumstances, I’d let it get up to at least half a mil. He made off with some of my new stuff, and I want it back.

Reaching down beside his chair, he lifted up a metal cage containing a variety of test tubes. They were filled with a red liquid with the same viscosity as blood. He lifted one out, sloshing it around. Little Bachs don’t want to get caught on the tests, so he wanted something to use while attending school. This baby doesn’t register on any of the current tests. You can dry it into a powder. You can inject it, and you can even drink it if you want. It’s mellow enough, long-lasting, gives one hell of a nice high, and it doesn’t impair function much. Best of all, it doesn’t seem to cause much damage when it wears off.

If he was speaking the truth, he had likely found the Holy Grail of the drug world.

How many uses in one of those vials?

A few, he evaded.

I narrowed my eyes, considered the few clues he had given me, and shrugged. How many vials did he make off with?

A dozen.

And you haven’t killed him yet? I blurted.

Kenneth arched a brow at me. He can’t pay me if he’s dead. After he’s paid, I’ll think about it.

I grimaced. One day I would learn to keep my mouth shut. All right. I’ll get the info and retrieve the drugs if possible. Anything else, sir?

I wouldn’t say no to you bringing me my money along with the info and the drugs.

Somehow, I kept from saying even one of the hundreds of snarky, sarcastic comments flitting through my head. Any one of them would piss him off even more, and there was only so far I could push him before he decided to go for his gun. I don’t think I can carry that much cash, sir, and I really doubt he’ll give me his bank account details.

You could always sniff them out for me. You’re good at sneaking off to places you shouldn’t go—like college.

I scowled. I said I would sniff, not bite, sir. Biting is Lily’s job.

One of these days, Collie, you’re going to piss me off.

Screw it. He hadn’t shot me yet, so maybe I’d survive even if I ran my mouth at him. I widened my eyes, raising my hand to cover my lips. You mean I haven’t already?

Every day. Get out of here, bitch. I don’t want to see your face at my house until you have his info and my drugs. And don’t you even think about forgetting about my money.

I escaped while I could and risked taking the steps two at a time.

Two

My first problem would be getting close to my target.

If I wanted to hunt Terry Moore the way Kenneth wanted me to, I needed to infiltrate his inner circle or break into his house.

Neither option appealed to me in the slightest. I didn’t have a whole lot in my arsenal when it came to making friends with the elite. They scorned merit-based education almost as much as I loathed how they flaunted and hoarded their wealth. Why should those born at the top of the system have to share space with someone like me, who existed at the very bottom of it? It was a reality I would face each and every day of studying—and a prejudice I’d have an easier time ignoring once the elite needed my skills.

My first problem would be getting close to my target. The usual ways of bypassing caste restrictions wouldn’t help me; I wasn’t pretty enough to gain the attention of picky, elite men in love with money, and since human contact left me sick—sometimes for days—I wasn’t exactly good at flirting. What was the point in even trying?

In any case, I couldn’t even begin to sniff him out until the start of classes in the morning. Why did my first day of Bach studies have to be tainted by Kenneth? Why couldn’t he have given me an easier mark?

Why had he given me a job that could cost me my entire college education?

I knew the answer, and it annoyed a strangled scream out of me, which in turn earned me a lot of weird looks by those lingering on the darkened streets.

How else to keep me? If I failed to become a Bach, I’d be forced to keep working for him until I ceased being useful.

I cursed myself all the way to my new apartment, wondering how the hell I was going to juggle slaving for some elite professor and sniffing out Terry Moore without being caught. Maybe my new academic employer would have access to student records. If I could hack my way into the college’s databases, I could probably learn a lot about my target without having to meet him, including his address, which Kenneth hadn’t been considerate enough to provide.

Consideration was not a word in Kenneth’s dictionary.

I had a hard time believing one of Baltimore’s most notorious criminals didn’t know where one of his elite buyers lived. He was omitting the information to either piss me off or test me, a guaranteed way to piss me off.

Kenneth liked making me angry almost as much as he liked making money and preying on the targets I tracked down for him.

Maybe one day I’d snap and shoot Kenneth before he had a chance to do me in himself. The thought lifted my spirits a little. Killing people wasn’t my way, which was probably why he chose the collie as my breed. For him I’d make an exception; instead of saving him from some damned well, I’d shove him down it head first and turn tail when he called for help.

His good looks wouldn’t be enough if he gave me sufficient motive—and I decided to put an end to him.

Maybe that’s why he hadn’t given me a gun for the job. Lily probably had seen me kicking the door and had warned him I was in a sour mood, too. Would he have provided a weapon if he thought I would need it? Probably. I didn’t have much faith in him, but at least I had the cold comfort of knowing he probably wouldn’t kill me until I had nothing left to give him.

I lived a screwed up life.

I opened the door of my apartment, sighed, and stood in the doorway, wondering what the hell I had gotten myself into this time. The place didn’t feel like home; it didn’t even look occupied. The little I had fit in two duffle bags, which were where I had left them on the kitchen floor. The refrigerator hadn’t gone anywhere either, much to my disappointment.

Having a living room was a novelty, and it even had a television, although I had no idea if it had any services connected to it. Kicking the door closed behind me, I headed for the couch and flopped on it, snatching the remote from the coffee table.

I had twenty channels, most of which were dedicated to the news. Laughing at the absurdity of so many news channels all spouting the same bullshit, I gave up the effort.

Tomorrow should have been the start of a new life rather than a continuation of my old one, but I’d make it work somehow. I sighed and went to bed, abandoning my dinner to the refrigerator.

Maybe I’d have the stomach for it by tomorrow—after I found out how deep I had dug my own grave by relying on Kenneth for work.

First day jitters soured me against breakfast, and instead of eating as I should have, I went to the college early.

Working with Kenneth had exposed me to more elite than most women from the fringe typically encountered, but it did little to prepare me for the reality of sharing classes with them. We came from two different worlds, and my ignorance worried me. I had a job to do, I had classes to ace, and I had an entire college of people to trick.

I had no idea how I was going to pull it off.

It’d been difficult enough surviving the selection process to go to primary school, coming to the system as late as I had. Surviving through secondary education without anyone knowing I had won admission had cost me sweat, tears, and every penny of the money I earned from sniffing out debtors for Kenneth. To make matters worse, I was several years late to start Bach education.

I was twenty-one to their seventeen or eighteen, and thanks to life on the fringe, I thought I looked older than my age. Near-death experiences did that to a girl.

I arrived first, and as I had during secondary education, I grabbed a seat in the back of the room so I could watch my classmates without having anyone behind me.

Old habits died hard. While I didn’t expect a bullet in the back, why take unnecessary risks?

If the elite found out I was one of Kenneth Smith’s hounds, they’d kill me. Well, they’d hire someone to kill me. My grave was getting pretty deep. At the rate I was going, maybe I could hop in the hole and emerge in China.

China had a caste system, too, but at least they viewed merit-based students as prodigies instead of a scourge on the system.

Students entered in twos and threes, filling the room until there were thirty of us crammed in a space meant for twenty. I spotted three other merit-based students in the crowd; they wore the college’s colors of blue and gold.

I, at least, had my own clothes. Kenneth insisted I be able to mingle with any caste from the day I’d started working for him, and I had several outfits designed to let me slip in and out of society. Some I had acquired through him. Others I had purchased for myself after a good hunt.

When I had gotten up and dressed, I hadn’t even thought about my clothes. It had been pure luck I had chosen something someone from one of the upper castes would’ve worn to make some sort of statement or another.

It wasn’t about the cut of the clothes, but the material, and silk was a good fabric; elite didn’t tend to touch silk clothes, and I wore long sleeves to lower the possibility of someone grabbing my arms.

If they did and their oils or sweat got through the material, at least they wouldn’t be able to see the redness or the rashes. I should have worn gloves. Tomorrow, I’d have to, or face a lot of unwanted questions.

Like the elite, I had come to class with very little. I had a digital pad and its matching stylus with me, but I wouldn’t use it for taking notes.

I used it for taking pictures, pictures Kenneth would pay good money to get his dirty hands on.

I’d regurgitate my notes once I returned to my apartment, typing them into my laptop to test my memory and hone my ability to retain important bits of information. I smiled.

Kenneth was right: my progression to Bach studies was his fault. Without him, I never would have learned to remember the important bits, sift out the irrelevant information, and think on my feet. I observed my fellow students, discreetly snapped their pictures, and wrote down their names for Kenneth’s benefit.

Terry Moore wasn’t in my class, but I’d find him one way or another.

I had three classes on my first day, all of which bored me to tears. History, art studies, and basic economics taught on a secondary education level left a sour taste in my mouth. I’d heard the lectures before; I had heard them years before.

If those classes were an indication of the next four years of my life, I was going to blow a gasket long before I graduated as a Bach. Maybe Master-level studies weren’t out of my reach after all. With air-headed elites with no motivation to learn anything as my competition, the only thing I’d have to worry about was falling prey to mediocrity.

I didn’t do mediocre. Mediocre became a death sentence for a hound like me. Mistakes led to capture. Capture could mean many things, from death to enslavement in a prison camp. Kenneth would never accept responsibility for us; he went out of his way to make certain, that on paper, we didn’t even exist.

No wonder colleges used merit-based students as part of the academic staff. The teachers probably didn’t want to waste their time on elite students who didn’t care about what they were