Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 77293 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 258(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77293 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 258(@300wpm)
Her slim body was sheathed in an elegantly cut black dress and she wore sky-high stilettos to match. As always, her makeup was perfect with blood-red lips pulled back to show very long, sharp canines—the mark of an angry Nocturne, as I well knew.
“Headmistress, it wasn’t Saint’s fault—” I began but Coach Vasquez—who had marched us all the way to the Headmistress’s office herself—interrupted.
“It most certainly was. Anytime a Drake comes out, it is because the male in charge of him let him out. Santiago came into my gymnasium and deliberately terrified my students with his Drake for which he should be expelled immediately!”
She was full-on shouting in her bullhorn voice by the end, which works great for frightening kids in gym class. However, it didn’t appear to be working on the formidable Headmistress.
“I see. Thank you for your opinion, Dolores,” she said blandly. Dolores? Was that Coach Vasquez’s first name? It seemed to fit her—didn’t dolor mean “pain” in Spanish, after all?
“I said—” Coach Vasquez began angrily.
“And I heard you say it.” Headmistress Nightworthy’s sharp blue eyes flashed. “Now I want to hear why his Drake came out. What exactly provoked it? Mr. Santiago?” she asked, turning towards Saint.
He and I were sitting in the two straight-backed chairs across from her carved wooden desk and he shifted uncomfortably at her question. The Headmistress’s office looks like it came straight out of a Victorian novel with brass lamps, a grandfather clock, and an elaborately detailed oriental carpet on the floor. The light fixtures aren’t quite bright enough to light the whole room—probably because some very old and powerful Nocturnes are sensitive to light—but I could still see the uncomfortable look on my roommate’s face.
“Saint’s Drake came out to rescue me, Headmistress,” I blurted, wanting to save him the confusion and pain of answering. I’m not sure most guys would have admitted such a thing, but I’m not too macho to admit I might need saving now and then. And to be honest, Saint really had rescued me in the nick of time—it was the way he had rescued me that was the problem.
Headmistress Nightworthy turned to me, her blue eyes blazing.
“Mr. Connor, did I ask you the question?”
“No, but it’s probably hard for Saint to say,” I said boldly. “His Drake seems kind of…concerned about me for some reason.” That was the nicest way I could put it. “We’re roommates and friends, after all. And I guess somehow he sensed that I was getting beaten up and came to save me.”
Her silver eyebrows shot up.
“Beaten up? This is the first I’m hearing of this. Would that be the reason for the state of your face, Mr. Connor?”
I touched the right side of my face, which was definitely swollen, and winced.
“Yes,” I said flatly. “That’s exactly what happened to my face. I got punched—several times—before Saint came in. And right before that I was chased up a rope and nearly roasted alive when Juan Gonzalez did a partial shift and breathed fire at me.”
“I see—so there were two partial shifts in your classroom today, but you only chose to report one. Is that right, Dolores?” The Headmistress looked at Coach Vazquez again, who had a nasty look on her face.
“It’s a lie,” she snapped. “Connor is lying about the whole thing.”
“I’m lying?” I demanded, glaring at her. “Then how did I get these?”
I held up my rope-burned hands. I was going to have blisters for sure—the raw, red lines on my palms stung and ached.
“And those are?” Headmistress Nightworthy raised her silver eyebrows at me.
“Rope burns,” I said succinctly. “I had to magic my own rope to get down, since Juan was chasing me out along the metal support beam and I couldn’t get back to the regular climbing rope. I slid down in a hurry once he started breathing fire. At which point I tried to leave class, but Coach Vazquez told me to stay. She then went into her office, shut the door, and pulled the blinds,” I finished.
I didn’t add that she had basically left me to fend for myself against a whole class full of homophobic bullies but I didn’t have to—I could tell by the snap and sparkle of anger in Headmistress Nightworthy’s eyes that she understood.
“Dolores, is this true?” she demanded, rounding on the Coach again. “Did you allow such a dangerous situation in your class to continue on purpose? And please keep in mind that I can call Professor Yasmeen in here to do a truth spell on everyone in this room if need be,” she added.
Coach Vasquez gave her an ugly, mutinous look.
“You don’t have to work a truth spell on me,” she spat, glaring at the Headmistress. “I’ll admit it. Yes, I left Connor to fend for himself. I did it because he’s a nasty little mariposa—a man-lover—who deserves whatever he gets.”