The Fairfield Frightless and the Mournfall Conspiracy: The Fairfield Frightless, #1

By Kay Solo

Her best friend is a demon. Her older sister is the town's infamous spider witch. And she's pretty sure the beautiful gorgon she accidentally tripped in the hallway hates her.

 

As the only human in her high school, Anastasia Graves is used to not fitting in. Despite being adopted by a family of powerful witches, she isn't sure what she's going to do with her future. Her classmates all have special powers, which makes getting ahead kind of tough.

 

When she's assigned her group for senior projects, she doesn't feel much better. Among the others in her group are a siren with no voice, a necromancer who can't control her powers, and a son of the Fates whose visions of the past and future are always wrong.

 

Once she finds out their special assignment is to go to the human world, however, Anastasia starts to feel a little more interested. This interest soon turns to terror when she realizes they've stumbled straight into a plot to take over an entire town. The only trouble is, the one seemingly behind the plot isn't from the human world—and it's someone who seems to have a special distaste for Anastasia.

 

Before they know it, Anastasia and her group of misfits find themselves trying to save the town and uncover the mystery they've been thrown into... and hoping to make it out alive.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kay Solo
• Release date: Feb 17, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215509470

Book preview

Chapter One

Istarted my Friday by accidentally tripping the girl with snakes for hair.

It wasn’t entirely my fault. I was walking into the hallway where students crowded around their lockers, and just as I was turning left to head to class, I heard someone call my name. When I stopped and turned around to search for whoever wanted my attention, I felt someone run into me. Hard. I stumbled and stepped back just in time to see Didrixe Sarena fall to the floor, her notebooks, pencils, and other supplies scattering everywhere. Because this was high school, this was met with laughter and not assistance.

As she hurriedly knelt down to start picking up her things, her snakes—gorgeous rainbow garters, and lots of them—glared at me. My mouth was halfway open to offer them an apology before I remembered I wasn’t exactly sure if they would understand me or not, and that I should probably be apologizing to Didrixe instead anyway.

I would have helped, too. Honest. I just happened to be frozen in place. It didn’t have anything to do with the snakes, either; I wasn’t afraid of them, and hers lacked the paralyzing powers that were otherwise so commonplace with gorgons. It had more to do with Didrixe herself, who was one of the more well-known and liked girls in school. She had always been something of a social outcast, but had embraced that so confidently she ended up coming off as unreachable, which had subsequently made people try harder to get her attention, making her kind of popular. High school social hierarchies were weird.

There was also the fact that she was incredibly attractive, and this helped take away my ability to speak or do anything to help. She usually dressed business casual, which ordinarily would be a bit much for high school, but she pulled it off well. Today was no different; she wore crisply-ironed dress pants and a blazer that came halfway down her forearms, the sleeves of her button-up shirt folded neatly and symmetrically where the blazer’s sleeves ended.

Didrixe finally stood up and shot me a look that was as close to hatred as you could possibly get while still somehow coming off as indifference, her brilliant green snakelike eyes practically glittering in the light of the hall. She was a little shorter than me, but under her piercing stare I felt like she could have been glaring down at me from a mountaintop. The lightest hint of pink touched her cheeks, compliments of the jeering from the students around her, and when she opened her mouth to speak, I caught a glimpse of her fangs, which was somehow both intimidating and entrancing.

An entire hallway and you still manage to get in my way. Watch where you’re going, she hissed. Before I could reply, she started off swiftly down the hall.

Hey, not all of us have eyes in the back of our heads! a voice from nearby called, eliciting more laughter from around us. Didrixe didn’t reply or even stop, but I saw her hands clench into fists.

I turned to look for the source of the voice, the same voice that had called my name, and saw my best friend striding up to me, a wide grin on his face. He was a pretty cool guy for a demon. Not that demons were terrible, but most of them seemed to have something of a superiority complex. Kind of like the gorgons, actually.

Anastasia, my lady, he said, taking my hand in his and making to kiss the back of it. I rolled my eyes and pulled my hand away even as I returned his smile.

Hey. Thanks for helping anger the gorgon I share a history class with, I appreciate it.

At least it’s only history. I’ve got PE with her. You know, the class where she could make my death look like an accident.

Please, like she would ever try to make a murder look like an accident. Anyway, if you’re done making trouble, want to walk to class with me?

I was actually going to ask you if we could skip class instead, he replied, a hopeful glint in his eyes.

You know how much trouble I’d be in if I did that and messed with my perfect attendance, I said patiently. He’d asked every day this week so far. Never let it be said demons were quick learners.

Awh, come on. It’s Friday and you’ve been so good up until now. Who’s going to get upset if you miss one little class?

"No, Laurent. Come on. It’s probably going to be a movie day anyway."

That’s my argument, Laurent protested, but he fell into step beside me anyway.

I was grateful for his presence there, and not just because I enjoyed walking to class with a friend. As a broad-shouldered demon who stood six feet tall, he cleared the way pretty easily. He might have even looked intimidating with his deep-set dark eyes were it not for the smile he wore pretty much all the time, even if the teeth in that smile were almost alarmingly sharp. His messy black hair had a streak of white through it, which I personally thought looked great, but it was apparently bad luck according to many demon families. He was, however, otherwise very attractive if you were into guys with horns. To top it off, his voice was deep and smooth and carried the slightest hint of a French accent. I could listen to him talk all day.

Thankfully, due to the weather that was getting better every day, the hallways weren’t as crowded as they had been during winter. I felt like I had never truly learned to navigate them properly. I didn’t have much in the way of a commanding presence, and I didn’t feel like drawing additional attention to myself either way. I already got plenty of that because of who, or rather what, I was.

As we walked, we passed groups of students chatting excitedly with friends and classmates. I could almost feel the excitement in the air. Things always got a little energetic before the weekend, and there were only a few months left until those of us who were seniors were going to graduate. Even as I yawned, I was feeling it myself. Most of our major work was behind us, and it was hard to avoid feeling like we were already pretty much done. In just a few months we’d all be moving on to bigger and better things. Whatever those were.

Several of our classmates were grouping up near the door, and Laurent and I made to join them, carefully stepping over one of our other classmates who lay curled up against the wall. Her head rested on her backpack and her shocking pink hair covered most of her face as she snored quietly. No one else so much as paid her a second glance, and I was about to continue giving her just as much attention when Laurent looked pointedly at me, then down at the girl.

You think we should wake her? She looks like she made it most of the way this time.

You can certainly try, I offered doubtfully. I was vaguely familiar with the girl. She was in our grade and in our core class as well, and she was named after a season or a month or something, but I didn’t know for sure because she was hardly ever there. I didn’t actually remember the last time I’d seen her awake, and knew from experience that trying to wake her up was as difficult as waking the dead—an analogy that seemed especially relevant considering she was one of the school’s few necromancers.

Laurent thought about it for a few moments, then evidently decided against it. He shrugged, then looked up as our classroom door opened. The other students filed slowly inside, and Laurent followed, looking as if it were taking all of his energy to avoid making a mad dash for the exit instead. We took our usual seats together near the wall and got settled with eight minutes to spare.

One of the first things I noticed when I walked in was that the projector screen was down, and I felt a little jolt of excitement just like I did every other time I saw the screen. Especially when it came to Fridays, this usually meant it was movie day, and if any teacher on campus would be willing to placate our contagious lack of focus, it would be ours. She was cool that way. I glanced around hopefully, looking for signs that there might be some kind of snack party as well, but saw nothing of the sort.

I frowned, thinking of the lunch bag I’d left sitting forgotten on the kitchen table at home. When I forgot my lunch in the past, my parents used to put a temporary enchantment on whatever poor creature they could find in the yard and make it bring my lunch to me, but too many of them had been snatched up by other students before they ever got to me. What they did to the animals I don’t know, but I never got my lunch. Incidentally, my parents had stopped trying to make deliveries.

As the last few minutes before class ticked down, the remaining students slowly filtered in. Two sirens walked in, one a student and one an adult. The student’s name was Corana, and I didn’t know the adult’s name, but she served as Corana’s interpreter and I saw her often. The younger siren had bright blue eyes and sharp facial features, and her perfectly straight hair shimmered with a natural rainbow of pastel colors. Her black nails were neatly trimmed but also very sharp, and there was webbing between her fingers up to halfway past the first joint.

Immediately after them came a short boy named Wilfred Hogwood, who looked ordinary enough with his messy brown hair and round-rimmed glasses, but he had a constant slightly-dazed look in his eyes and unusual markings around his face and down his neck that looked like dark runes. He was allegedly a direct descendant of The Fates, but I don’t think anyone was entirely sure. It was hard to be precise with their lineage.

I heard another door open and looked up just in time to see a short middle-aged gorgon coming out from the small storage hall that linked our classroom with the one next to it. This was Mrs. Zestryna Nasran, one of the most well-liked adults on campus. If you were one of the students who got along with her she almost seemed more like a friend than an educator. She was one of the first teachers to succumb to the excitement of upcoming weekends, and though she could be strict, it was clear she preferred to do things the nice way. That wasn’t to say she didn’t have a sense of humor, and she was just as likely as any other student to tease and engage in banter with her students. Almost everyone loved her, and were intensely suspicious of anyone who did not.

Most of the school’s gorgons preferred to wear plain hoods or scarves in order to prevent beings from getting paralyzed and sent to the nurse, but Mrs. Nasran delighted in choosing some of the most vividly colorful headwear imaginable. Today’s was a bright yellow scarf with dazzling patterns of blue, green, and pink, which made her already glittering blue snakelike eyes stand out even more.

After setting down several stacks of paper on her desk, she pulled out an ancient-looking box-like device and set it near the projector controls, much to the delight of everyone who noticed.

Called it. It’s a movie day, I said victoriously, and Laurent pumped his fist. Now I just hope she brought snacks.

As the late bell rang, Mrs. Nasran picked up a bulky folder from her desk and set it on a nearby table, thumbing through stapled packets inside. The classroom door opened again, and I looked over; it wasn’t common for people to be late to Mrs. Nasran’s class since she had a habit of calling them out in front of everyone in the most embarrassing way possible, so I was curious who the offender was this time.

I did a double take as I saw none other than Didrixe Sarena walk inside. Laurent followed my gaze, and I saw the same confusion on his face. She didn’t share this class with us. What was she doing here?

Whatever it was, Mrs. Nasran already seemed to know. They shared a silent glance, and Mrs. Nasran nodded. Didrixe took a seat as close to the door as possible, visibly uncomfortable; she crossed one leg over the other, folded her arms, and stared determinedly ahead. The fairy sitting at the desk next to her recoiled slightly in alarm as Didrixe’s snakes glanced eagerly around at the classroom and its occupants.

Once it looked like our teacher was properly settled, she cleared her throat, and the room fell silent.

Happy Friday, everyone, she said cheerfully as she greeted everyone with a sharp-toothed smile. I know what you’re all thinking, and I know it will be hopeless to try to get you to focus on anything school related.

So what are we watching today? Laurent asked, and the class chuckled.

Not what you’d prefer, I’m sure, the teacher answered airily. We’ll still watch a movie today, but there’s something else on the schedule first. Before I get into that, let me take roll…

As Mrs. Nasran began speaking names, everyone began talking amongst themselves, trying to guess what we could possibly be doing.

I bet it’s another one of those cheesy safety presentations that teach you what to do if the building is on fire or if there’s an earthquake or something, suggested Innitha, one of the selkies at our table. She had beautiful tangled sea-green hair, and she spoke slowly and enunciated everything carefully. Her voice was soothing and had an almost echoing quality to it.

Maybe it’s about what to do if someone attacks the school, replied Newt, one of the class’s only kobalos. The other, Strik, sat next to him. They were both mischievous sprites, and I didn’t like sharing a table with them because of their teasing, but seating rules were rules.

Who’d attack a school? Innitha asked incredulously.

Dunno. Sounds pretty vile. But Mum says it happens a lot in the human world. You know anything about that, Anastasia? Strik added, staring at me as Newt nodded almost accusingly.

I simply shrugged.

I have no idea. I’ve never been.

Anastasia Graves? Mrs. Nasran said, and I jerked my head up to look at her. I was calling your name. Are you here?

I’m here, I replied quickly, feeling my cheeks threatening to turn pink as a few students giggled.

Excellent. October? October, by chance are you here today…?

The door opened again just then, and the pink-haired necromancer who had been sleeping in the hall shuffled in.

Here, she said tiredly, then walked over to one of the open chairs at our table and promptly fell asleep again.

Well, I suppose it’s better than nothing, Mrs. Nasran commented, and then continued calling roll.

The only student actually paying attention to roll was the siren, Corana. She always did. Every so often she would turn to her interpreter and make signs with her hands, and the interpreter responded in kind. From what I was able to gather, not having actually talked to her before, she had been born without a voice and had learned to communicate by signing instead. I didn’t know what any of it meant, but I thought it was fascinating all the same. I wished they taught such a language here at school, but our campus’ language options were few. As far as I knew Corana was the only one on campus who used it, so I supposed there wouldn’t have been much demand anyway.

Apart from language classes, most students had general requirements that consisted of maths, sciences, and world history, and while not every being on campus had magic, there were still some entry-level magical comprehension courses where we learned about different beings of the world and how their powers were typically put to use. We’d been learning about this since late elementary school, but putting hundreds of students together with various powers and abilities was a situation that easily lent itself to chaos, so this understanding was important. In high school there were also some more specialized classes, such as those for witches and warlocks who learned about everything from enchantments to potions, and there were also night courses for vampires and werewolves where they could practice the full extent of their powers in safe environments. University was where things got more separated by ability and power as well as major, but until then we still had our general requirements to fulfill.

When Mrs. Nasran finally put down the roll sheet, everyone stopped their conversations and stared up at her. No one had been able to provide any reasonable theories as to what we could possibly be doing today, and so the only alternative was to wait for a proper answer.

We’re going to be working on something new today! the gorgon announced excitedly, and a few students exchanged wary glances. The more enthusiastic a teacher was, the more likely it was that we were going to hate it. I’m sure some of your other teachers have talked about this with you in prior years, but now the moment has finally arrived.

Oh no, Laurent said suddenly, and all traces of his usual smile had disappeared from his face.

What? I whispered, but before he could say anything else, Mrs. Nasran pressed a button on the classroom computer, causing the first page of a presentation to pop up on the projector screen.

My heart sank.

It’s time to talk about senior projects! Mrs. Nasran exclaimed cheerily.

All things considered, the project didn’t sound so bad by itself. It’s just that when we were expecting a movie and party instead, it seemed like the worst assignment ever given. Once most of us finished moaning like we were on our deathbeds, I realized it sounded pretty simple. We’d be in groups, we had to write a research report on a topic of our choosing—providing it was approved—and we had two weeks to do it. Honestly, the worst part about it was the group part, which usually translated into make the nerd do the work so we all get a good grade.

The presentation took all of ten minutes, which were some of the longest ten minutes of my life, and then the screen went black as Mrs. Nasran turned off the slideshow, resulting in a collective sigh of relief from everyone else in the room.

"You are all so dramatic, our teacher said. If you had trouble with that, you’ll hate this part: I’m choosing your groups."

At once there came a cacophony of horrified gasps and discussion, which was silenced just as quickly as Mrs. Nasran shot the collective room a sharp glare.

I wish it had been the safety presentation, Innitha said despairingly.

The sooner you let me put you in your groups, the sooner we can start the movie! Mrs. Nasran sighed, and this was enough to calm everyone down. For now. "I really am going to push for school to start later in the morning. Dealing with sleepy teenagers is the worst. Yes, even you, Mitchells. Especially you, she continued tiredly as a nearby satyr opened his mouth to object. Now, listen up while I list your groups."

As was tradition with these projects, I paid close attention. I didn’t want to miss who I was being grouped with. The class as a whole was nice enough, but every student individually had their own reputation, and I wanted to know how to prepare.

But as more time went on and my name still wasn’t called, I started to get nervous. The only thing that kept me from being too anxious was the fact that Laurent’s hadn’t been called either, and I hoped against hope that was good news.

Corana Hirei, Laurent Silvestre, Didrixe Sarena, Anastasia Graves, Wilfred Hogwood, October Solace. And that’s our final group! Mrs. Nasran announced. You don’t need to go sit with each other or anything, I’m not that cruel. Although the anguish in your voices sometimes tempts me. Let me just put these papers away and I’ll set up the movie. Oh and, for the last group, could you hang back after class for just a minute so I can talk about the project with you?

As everyone settled back in their seats, looking both relieved and slightly apprehensive now they knew who they were forced to do one of their most important senior assignments with, I shared a glance with Laurent. He and I were together, which was great. Corana seemed nice enough, Wilfred didn’t seem focused enough to be mean, and I only ever knew October from when she was asleep. That at least was predictable. But Didrixe’s presence confused me. She wasn’t even in our class. How did she get put in our group? And why were we the only group being asked to stay after?

Newt snickered, and I heard the insult coming before he’d even said it.

How about that? Looks like every single frightless in the school got put together. That can’t be a coincidence, eh?

Shut up, Newt, Laurent said darkly. The kobalo grinned wider, showing his teeth.

It’s a good thing, in’nit? Strik joined in. Maybe for us, anyway. I was afraid one of you might be in my group instead. I think even Mrs. Nasran knew this project is too serious to have you guys in with the rest of us.

Laurent leaned across the table toward the kobalos, lowering his voice.

You want to meet up after class? I can show you how frightless I am.

Don’t bother, Laurent. They’re too stupid to waste your time on, I said quickly, pulling on his arm. I might as well have been tugging at a tree trunk for how strong he was, but he seemed to get the hint and sat back, still staring down at the sprites. They both suddenly looked uncertain about retorting, and soon looked away. Laurent, who was just as much a frightless as I was, was still a six-foot tall demon with much of the physical power that came natural to them, and as a result even many bullies were wary about getting physical with him.

I’d never thought much of it myself, but of those referred to as frightless, I was the only one it didn’t seem to bother a whole lot. It was a common enough derogatory term. Or maybe I only thought it was common because I heard it so much. To call someone frightless was to imply they were broken or missing some integral part of themselves. To imply they were incomplete. Almost every kind of being in this world had powers and abilities that could strike terror into the hearts of their enemies—or so the romanticized explanation went—and this term implied we had no such ability, that we were instead as harmless as could be. Laurent heard it often because he mostly lacked one power that all demons had, and was considered weaker as a result. I certainly heard it because of what I was. I’d heard it whispered around Corana before since she was a siren with no voice, and I’d sometimes seen bullies go after Wilfred and October as well. I knew Didrixe technically fit into that category, but beings tended to be careful around her, much as they were with Laurent. It wasn’t hard to figure out why.

Still, it was a word that was designed to hurt. It was just a way of calling us useless or defective. It implied we had been born as mistakes, and that there was something inherently wrong with us that could never be fixed. Something that would set us apart from everyone for our whole lives, and something that made us worth less than them, too.

These thoughts weren’t enough to distract me from the movie completely, however, and I had all but completely forgotten everything to do with the project until I was halfway to my feet at the end of class. I would have been farther had Laurent not caught my gaze and nodded over at the teacher. Then it all came flooding back.

I sighed and slung my backpack over my shoulder, waiting awkwardly for the rest of the class to make their way loudly outside, their excitement and laughter a foreboding sign for any of the teachers they’d see later that day who thought anyone would successfully focus on anything.

Once the room was mostly empty, I walked up to the front of the room with Laurent, determinedly avoiding eye contact with the others, especially Didrixe. There was realistically a small chance she was still angry enough that merely looking her way would mean my demise, and I just didn’t want to risk it. Not before the weekend, anyway.

Thank you for staying back a moment, this won’t take long, Mrs. Nasran said. I just wanted to talk to the six of you because your project will be a little different than the rest.

That sounds ominous, Laurent said.

Oh, it’s not so bad, Mrs. Nasran scoffed. In fact, you might like it. Apparently some higher-up in the district has created a pilot project for students, and Fairfield High is taking part. One senior group will take on this project, and the principal himself requested the six of you. Now, this will mean you won’t get to choose a subject as broadly as the other groups, but I think you’ll like what you’ll need to do!

Corana signed at her interpreter, who then asked, And what is it we need to do?

Mrs. Nasran smiled mischievously.

Now that, I’m afraid, will have to wait until after we get back on Monday.

What? Why? I asked, frowning.

Because there’s lots to go over, and I think the principal himself will want to get involved. So you’ll just have to wait. Go on now!

Five aggravated groans echoed through the room, followed shortly by the teacher’s impish laughter.

After a few more classes it was lunch time, which for many seniors meant it was pretty much the end of the day. With most of our classes taken care of in earlier years, leaving early was a privilege well earned and heavily envied by everyone in lower years. My parents had tried to convince me to take extra classes, but since I had already maintained my straight As and perfect attendance—and even acting as teacher’s assistant and tutor for two different classes—they accepted my protests and let me leave early with the others. Among my many arguments I’d said that if I had to stay behind to take classes I didn’t need, I would draw even more attention to myself than I already did. My parents didn’t say what ended up convincing them, but I think that had a lot to do with it.

Still, since we weren’t technically allowed to leave until lunch ended, Laurent and I settled with finding a table where we could eat in relative peace. Again I regretted forgetting my lunch as I bit down into a cafeteria burger. My lunches were usually healthy sandwiches and fruits and things, and my dad liked to make them himself, so I couldn’t help but feel a little guilty as well. I usually liked to eat well when I could, and if there was one thing the cafeteria did not do right, it was healthy food.

So! Got any grand plans for the weekend? Laurent asked easily as he stretched his arms above his head. Gonna catch up on sleep or take a family trip or anything?

I don’t think so. I want to keep my sleep schedule, and my parents usually keep their spontaneity to themselves. I’ll let you know if they go anywhere so we can have a house party, though.

Oh, man. I know you’re joking, but I love Haven parties, he continued eagerly, using the name my family used to refer to our house. Think you could convince your parents to throw one instead?

I’m not sure. Even with how spontaneous they are they usually like to plan in advance for stuff like that, I mused. That’s okay, though. If they didn’t tell me to prepare for anything, that pretty much means I’m free, so we’ll get plenty of hangout time. I’ll get to rescue you from your parents.

Laurent smiled, but suddenly looked uncomfortable, and he scratched at the back of his neck.

I might have to take you up on that. I wanted to take that trip out of town this weekend, but my parents don’t want me taking any solo trips until I’m eighteen. Crazy how they act like they don’t want me around sometimes but then stop me from actually going anywhere.

I frowned and put a reassuring hand on his arm.

"Well hey, I’ll totally rescue you whenever you need it. You’re welcome to sleep over if you want, too. I’ll keep you out as late as you like, and I’ll give your parents every excuse I have. And listen, if they get mean, I will fight both of them—"

And those would be the bravest two seconds of your life, which would end right there, Laurent interrupted, grinning. I appreciate it, though. We’ll see what we can do! We’ve got plenty of time, after all.

As the last few minutes of lunch wore down, time started doing that thing again where every time I looked at the clock on my phone it seemed to be moving half as fast. I was far past ready to leave campus, and having slept very well the night before, I wanted to get a quick run in on my way home. The energy of a restful night’s sleep combined with the excitement in the air that came with a Friday afternoon at school made me feel antsy.

Mercifully, the bell to signal the end of lunch sounded only a few minutes later, and Laurent and I started heading toward the front entrance, watching students in younger years scurry toward their next classes while watching us enviously.

Could I convince you to let me walk you home? Laurent asked casually.

I shook my head.

Sorry. I still want to do some laps before I head home.

This is how you want to start your weekend? Laurent teased.

It’s fun for me! I’m not going to spend any time studying, I’m not that bad.

Suit yourself. In that case I’m going to go straight home and take a nap and wake up whenever I feel like it, just because I can.

I shot him my very best are you kidding me look.

I like how you tell me off for wanting to go running when you plan on going right to sleep instead.

It’s the principle of the thing. Running is one of those things responsible beings do; no one’s going to get mad at you for that. But sleeping when you shouldn’t? That gets the adults all riled up. And that’s why I have to do it.

You’re so noble. Students everywhere will be cheering your name.

And scorning yours for not taking part in such a time-honored tradition. And you earned this by working so hard! Come on, you can do this with me. Ten minutes, just promise me you’ll nap for ten—

I pushed him away playfully, though with the size and strength difference between us I mostly just ended up forcing myself back.

Look, if I take a nap you’ll be the first to know. And I’ll try to sleep in a little in the mornings just for you.

Laurent beamed.

We walked out of the gates together, chatting and joking as usual, until Laurent paused mid-sentence and stride, looking over toward the sidewalk.

Hang on. Is that…?

I followed his gaze. Many of the other students around us were doing the same, glancing at their friends with eyes wide as they pointed. At first I couldn’t see what everyone was looking at, but then I saw her.

A witch stood nearby, evidently having just arrived by the way she held her broom in her hands. She was pale with long wavy black hair that fell almost to her waist and partially covered her pointed ears. A wide-brimmed witch’s hat sat atop her head, the underside of the velvet brim sparkling as though a piece of a starry night had been cut out of the sky itself and placed there. Her eyes glowed faintly gold in the shade of her hat, captivating and mysterious. She wore a black cloak that partially covered a black top with long sheer sleeves and dark blue jeans. Even as I watched, two large spindly black spiders with leg spans at least sixteen inches across crawled out from underneath the cloak, one sitting on the witch’s shoulder, the other crawling to hang upside down from the brim of her hat. When she brushed some of her hair from her face, I saw a crimson mark on the back of her left hand in the shape of an hourglass.

She was easily recognizable. She had been a student here a few years ago, and while she had been here she had established a reputation for being one of the most powerful witches ever to attend Fairfield High. She set multiple records that still had yet to be broken, some of her work was used by teachers as resources or guides, and she had graduated at the top of her class before moving on to attend one of the world’s top universities.

Her reputation had been gained for more than just her academic skills, however. When she was in third grade she got in trouble for causing a boy’s entire body to go numb after he made fun of one of her friends. In middle school she subtly used school bullies as her own personal experiments by causing them to collapse from weakness, chills, and dyspnea, her powers manifesting much like the symptoms of a bite from the black widows that were her familiars. In high school, when one of the girls two years ahead of her tried to humiliate her by stealing her backpack and dumping its contents into a trash can, she responded by calling upon every spider in a six-mile radius that very night to cover the girl’s entire house in webs so thick that a team of specialists had to come cut them away. Not only could she be dangerous when she wanted to be, but she occasionally seemed to take pleasure in it, and the nature of her powers was such that beings didn’t know when they became her target until it was already too late.

The witch glanced around, her expression mostly passive as she searched through the crowd of departing students, many of whom stopped completely in their tracks to look at her.

And then her eyes met mine.

Yup. That’s her, I said quietly.

The witch jogged over to me, a wide smile crossing her face, and she pulled me into a tight hug.

Surprise! I got home a little early so I wanted to see if I could catch you before you left, she exclaimed.

Despite the sudden discomfort I felt at this physical contact, I returned her embrace. Apart from Laurent, she was one of the only people who could so effortlessly elicit such a positive reaction from me.

I also couldn’t help but notice, with a twinge of amusement as much as embarrassment, the looks and whispers of shock from some of the students nearby. Some at school already knew about this—at least, the ones who knew my name did. For those who didn’t, however, seeing such a casual encounter between a nobody like me and this particular witch was probably a big surprise.

There was a good reason for this, though. This young woman, one of the most powerful and well-known witches in the city, was Vixel Graves.

My older sister.

Hey, you. What are you doing here? I asked as I finally managed to pull away from her.

Oh, I just wanted to come visit home this weekend, Vixel answered airily. Something about her tone told me there was more to it than that, but before I could ask, she continued, It’s been a little while. Besides, flying during spring is the best. If you don’t have allergies, that is. Want a ride home?

"I already had plans, but I guess I could go with you if we’re flying. I haven’t been on a broom since the last time you visited. Did you have to come get me in front of the whole school, though?"

No, but I wanted to. I love coming back to visit this old haunt sometimes. And I figured you’d get home faster if I flew you there. It’s the weekend! No time to waste.

I almost laughed at the sheer joy on her face. It was like she was more excited about this than I was, which was saying something. It was hard for me to believe this was the girl who’d made herself a reputation for being so dangerous. I knew her mostly to be warm and often too affectionate. Physically, she was even less imposing than me; she was a solid two inches shorter and smaller in build, too. I had some visible muscle from my regular workouts, which was certainly not a hobby we had in common. Still, she was the one who struck fear and admiration into the hearts of anyone within visual distance of her while I was the one who struggled to get down a high school hallway because people didn’t pay any attention to me whatsoever.

Heyo, nice to see you again. Been a while, Laurent said cheerfully, holding out his hand. Vixel glanced up at him, and then pulled him into a hug, too.

You too! How’s school? How’s life?

Laurent smiled, but I saw the way he took a small step back as soon as Vixel let him go. He was used to being around her since he’d been coming over to my house since we were seven or so, but this regular exposure to my sister’s powers had done next to nothing to rid him of his fear of spiders, especially her familiars. I snickered as I saw him attempt to suppress a shudder as he looked at the spider on Vixel’s hat, which had just been all of a few inches from his face.

All’s good here, he answered, clearing his throat and shooting me a glare. What can I say, I’m living the high school dream. What about you? How’s ECU?

"Oh, it’s great. I’m loving my classes, and people were not exaggerating about the night life there around the winter holidays. I guess that’s to be expected when you’re in vampire territory, but wow do they throw some amazing parties there. I went a whole seventy-two straight hours awake once between going to social events and classes."

You get a chance to kill anyone slowly and painfully yet? I asked, only partially jokingly.

"No, but there have been a few people who needed to get bitten, just because they didn’t seem to understand that they shouldn’t try to— I meant bitten by my spiders, Laurent, not me!"

The demon, who had tried unsuccessfully to hide his smile, burst into laughter again. I snorted before I could stop myself, quickly disguising it with a cough and clearing my throat when Vixel looked my way.

We should probably get home, Vix. We’re keeping Laurent from some very seriously important weekend plans, I said seriously.

Oh yeah? What are you doing? Vixel asked him.

She’s making fun of me. I was just going to go home and take a nap, Laurent said, looking highly offended.

What? That’s great! That’s one of the best things you can do once the weekend starts.

"I know, right? She wants to go for a run."

Oh, gross. It’s okay, I’m not letting that happen.

I threw them both a withering look. They had both teased me about my workouts since I started, and showed no signs of slowing down.

Well, let’s not keep the man waiting, I said quickly, taking Vixel by the shoulder and directing her back toward the sidewalk. As if sensing we were about to travel, her enormous black widows both started to make their way toward the safety of Vixel’s cloak, though not before the one next to my hand gave me a small wave. At least I thought that’s what it was. I’ll text you tonight! I called back over my shoulder.

See you later! Laurent returned before setting off on his merry way.

Vixel tossed her broom toward the sidewalk where it remained hovering over the ground. A long branch curved near the end of the broom, providing a place where its rider could place her feet while she flew. Vixel waved her hand over the broom, and another branch grew almost immediately, forming itself in a similar fashion closer toward the center. Because of course she flew a two-seater.

I hopped on without hesitation, fully aware of just how many people were staring, and once I was settled I engaged in the challenging task of somehow avoiding eye contact with all of them. Vixel took her seat ahead of me, waited until my arms were securely around her waist, and then we shot up into the early afternoon sky, leaving Fairfield High far behind for two and a half wonderful days.

Chapter Two

My alarm went off at six the next morning just as the first hints of sunlight began to make their way through my window. I shut it off and blearily got dressed in leggings and a blue tank top, deciding not to tell Laurent I’d kept my alarm set to my usual wakeup time on purpose. Knowing him, he was probably only just going to bed.

After lacing up my shoes, washing my face, and pulling my brown hair into a ponytail, I paused to look at myself in the mirror. Compared to gorgons, demons, sirens, harpies, and other beings, I wasn’t a whole lot to look at. My brown lightly-freckled skin glistened from having been washed, and my dark brown almond-shaped eyes looked back at me tiredly. I did truly like getting up early, it just didn’t always look that way in the first ten minutes or so after getting out of bed.

I took a moment more, looking at my body in the bright bathroom light. Regular running and exercise had done me well; I was starting to notice the muscles in my arms and legs and core, and seeing this progress helped motivate me further.

After a quick snack of a banana I headed out into the morning for my usual jog. The cool and quiet was refreshing; I couldn’t believe most people my age liked to sleep late whenever they got the chance. There was so much they were missing out on. Then again, if everyone got up this early, it wouldn’t be as peaceful as it was. That would just have to be another way I stayed different from pretty much everyone else.

I reached the end of the street and turned right, passing a line of comfortable homes with wide front yards. Some were larger than others, but each distinctive in its own way. I’d gotten used to seeing them and how they represented those who lived inside. I waved as I passed Mrs. Wellsmoore, a friendly and elderly centaur who was just coming out to pick up the morning paper. She waved back cheerfully, then turned around quickly to head back inside. On warmer mornings I often found her sitting outside enjoying the sunrise. Sometimes she offered me homemade muffins. They were always delicious, and it made for good motivation to get out of the house.

I’d also long since learned the markers that made up my rough estimation of distance. The hedge at the house on the corner that was trimmed to look like something different every two weeks was the quarter mile mark. The half mile mark was a crumbling wall of red stone, three quarters of a mile was the dented stop sign at the end of the third street on my route, and arriving back at home gave me almost a perfect mile.

Since I was practically on autopilot, I disappeared into my thoughts as I ran. When I’d first started running I was hoping for speed since I thought that would be most impressive, but now my focus was on endurance and the practicality of it. How I judged a successful run was not how quickly I finished the first mile, but how well I felt as I started my second, and so on. I found that, with enough consistent running, I could actually keep myself going longer than I’d ever thought I could.

I hadn’t always been like this. Up until I was eleven or so I’d had a schedule similar to most other kids my age. I didn’t dislike exercising, but I always conveniently found myself without the time to.

Once I reached middle school and found high school looming, however, things started to change. As we grew older and more self-aware, the surface-level differences that were so often poked fun at in younger years became deeper. You didn’t just look or act or dress different from other students, you were actively excluded because of it. Everything was fair game. As adulthood drew ever closer, along with all of its myriad responsibilities, everyone suddenly became focused on finding themselves, their passions, their interests, and their identities. A big part of the way they did that was to find contrast in other beings—namely, their fellow students.

I lived in a world filled with beings of myth and legend. And there I was, the one single completely normal and ordinary human trying to find my place among them all.

Nobody was quite sure how I’d made it here. Use of the portals that allowed for travel between this world and others was highly regulated, but I’d been found on this side of our nearest portal all the same. The running theory was that a being from this world found me abandoned just on the other side and took pity on me, but if that was the case, no one had come forward to say they were the one to have rescued me. That part made sense. If anyone got caught bringing living beings through a portal they’d surely lose their privileges and clearance.

Beyond that the process had been normal enough. I’d been placed into the foster system and quickly adopted, early enough that I didn’t actually remember my time in foster care. As far back as I could remember, I’d been with the Graves as one of them, and I had no complaints at all. I had felt the occasional curiosity as to where I’d come from, but the older I got the more I understood just how impossible it would be to find out, and so I resigned myself to never knowing. It was a small price to pay for growing up in a family as loving as mine.

I’d always been teased for being different, just like I’d always been teased for being adopted. None of it really bothered me in principle. Even as a kid I thought it was silly that others would try to poke fun at me for things like having loving parents. The horror. As we all became teenagers, however, I started to realize how different I was. My fellow students had magic, special powers, great strength, all sorts of unique things. When fights broke out at school, they were certainly interesting. But I had… nothing. I’d grown a little taller, but that was about it. No powers. No super strength. I couldn’t paralyze people by letting my hair down, couldn’t force people into a trance by starting to sing, couldn’t effectively mind control others through sheer force of will. And as these differences became more and more apparent, this bothered me.

And so I’d taken to running, lifting weights, and other activities. I hated the idea that I might develop any sort of inferiority complex, so I decided to improve myself. Maybe I didn’t have powers, but I could be quick, agile, and strong. It probably wasn’t enough to make a big difference all things considered. I was still human. But in the process I’d found I actually liked doing it a lot more than I thought. And so I kept it up, now primarily for fun.

That was why Laurent made fun of me, of course. I couldn’t really blame him.

As I approached the end of my second mile, the scent of breakfast drifted to my nose as I neared my house again, and I decided to call it there. It smelled delicious, and I didn’t want to go too much longer without food.

I paused on the driveway for a moment to catch my breath, and I looked up at the place I called home. We called it Haven, or sometimes the Witchhome. It was a three-story jet-black house that looked something like a haunted house from books human children read. A black iron gate surrounded most of the property, and several intimidating-looking stone gargoyles sat along the edges of the roof, staring down unblinkingly at anyone who dared walk under them. Just above the double doors leading inside was a statue of a mermaid with two tails. Small wisps of smoke drifted from one of the chimneys, another sign that more of the house’s occupants were awake. A slight fog hung just above the ground, a fog that curiously only seemed to be within the confines of our yard. A spindly tree with black bark and sharp red leaves grew by the walkway leading to the front door, and several crows perched upon it, tilting their head as they peered at me. Spiderwebs wet with morning dew covered the gate, and the spiders themselves looked like they were getting ready to crawl back into their hidden corners until evening.

Just when I was ready to head inside, one of the house’s gargoyles, nearly seven feet tall and made of pure dark grey corundum, suddenly landed in front of me. Its weight and impact were so great I felt it in my feet through the concrete between us.

When I stared up at it, it handed me a towel.

Whew. Thanks, I breathed, taking the towel and wiping my face and neck. Is dad cooking this morning?

The gargoyle nodded wordlessly, then pointed toward the front door.

Awesome. Oh, I’ll take this in with me, I said as the gargoyle held out its hand for the towel. It nodded again, extended its wings, then took to the sky back toward the roof with agility most people wouldn’t expect from something made entirely of living stone.

The smell of breakfast got ever stronger as I took off my shoes at the door and walked inside. A moment later a voice called from the kitchen nearby.

That you, Ana? Come get some breakfast! Toq’s just finishing the toast.

I grinned and practically skipped to the kitchen. Its wide windows looked out over the driveway and part of the back yard. It was my dad’s favorite place. The dream kitchen, he called it, big enough for a large island in the center and a long darkwood table and all its chairs to fit comfortably.

Dad handed me a glass of cool water as I arrived, which I gulped down gratefully. As soon as I was finished