Solomon Academy

DELLA

On the other side of the mirror, I find myself in a room that could loosely be described as an office. It’s a mishmash of a space, with a desk, papers, books, a couch, a TV, a stereo system, and even a bed.

Sorin pulls me further into the room, with Oz and The Doctor trailing behind us.

I take a second glance around the room. The walls are a rich emerald, almost hidden behind towering shelves, stacks of papers, marble busts of unfamiliar faces, and an unexpected number of globes. It’s like walking into an episode of academic hoarders.

The Doctor maneuvers his way behind his desk. “Boys, you’re dismissed,” he instructs, shuffling through some papers.

“See you later, Della.” Oz winks. Sorin grins at me before they both exit, leaving me alone with The Doctor.

“Please have a seat,” he instructs, suddenly all business—a stark contrast to the man who was just handing out pizza in detention.

I sink into the high-backed leather chair across from him. He hands me a stack of papers that I fumble with, trying to keep them from scattering.

“Okay, Della. We’re going to do your placement and then get your schedule sorted,” he says, handing me a black crystal ball. I take it.

“Describe it for me,” he instructs, pen poised.

I study it for a moment. “Um… It’s small, dark, warm, heavy, slightly chipped, kind of pretty, fragile but strong?” I say, losing myself in the object.

“Very good. That describes you. Now, what do you see inside?” he asks.

Describes me? Did I just call myself fat? I peer into the orb. The shadows inside swirl until I see images begin to form.

Inky sludge slowly bubbles and churns, and four emaciated bodies float to the surface. Then six damning words appear. ~No~, I think, denying the vision.

“I… I can’t,” I say, my voice distant.

“What do you mean?” he asks, suddenly kneeling in front of me, looking into my eyes. His bottle-green eyes are kind—and forgiving.

“My placement scared the shit out of me,” he confesses. “It was all green. And I was drowning in coins. It said, ‘Enough is never enough.’”

“Holy shit. That’s some heavy stuff,” I admit.

“I’m a greed demon. The vision in the globe and the type of demon I am says nothing about me. It’s all about what my powers are. What I feed off of,” he says, holding my hand in his large ones. He runs a thumb along my knuckles, causing my heart to skip a beat.

~He’s a teacher, Della. Calm that libido!~

“I—it’s full of black stuff…like tar. And dead bodies. Ones I’ve killed. And…uh. It says, ‘Your sins will not be forgiven.’” My voice cracks on the last word, but I manage to get it out.

“Oh… That is pretty damn dark,” he admits with a nod before releasing my hands and returning to take his place behind his desk. His seat feels miles away, and I’m ashamed of myself for gawking after him. That’s so clearly not happening.

I look down at my knees and take a breath before handing him the orb back, praying he can’t see the blush on my face. What if he can see auras too?! I’m sure mine is a deep, ~deep~ pink. I love David Tennant, so I am at a severe disadvantage here.

“So…um… What am I?” I ask, trying not to stutter.

“I’m not sure. I’ll have to look into it, actually,” he admits, turning to his desk. I deflate a little. “But we will put you in the demons’ hall. I will put you in some of the basic classes for now until we can find out what class of demon you are. Then we will revisit your schedule.” I nod. “Okay, let’s get you settled in your room.”

I stand up and pull the skirt of my dress down so I don’t accidentally flash anyone. I follow him out into a hallway made of light-colored stone, filled with windows and columns. It looks like sunrise outside, and I just got off work at ten last night.

“Where are we?” I ask.

“British Columbia.” Oh. So sunset.

“Okay. Sure.” Why the hell not? We did travel by magic mirror.

“You roll with the punches pretty well. Most students are a bit more panicked in your situation,” he says, tilting his head to the side as if trying to figure me out.

I just shrug. “I’ve been either weird, crazy, or a monster—or dealing with them most of my life. I’m finally getting answers. I can deal with magic mirrors and being in B.C.”

He gives a silent nod and leads me to a large dark wooden door flanked by two big stone gargoyles.

I let out a startled squeak when the damn things move to look at me. I give them both a small apologetic smile, and they bow their heads and return to normal. Okay then.

I look toward The Doctor and find him staring at me, mouth agape.

“That wasn’t just weird for me, was it?” I ask.

“No, they don’t usually bow to anyone. Sometimes they charge at students, though.”

Great.

The Doctor pushes open the heavy door to reveal a large dark room lit by candles, torches on the gray stone walls, and roaring fireplaces. Dark leather couches are scattered throughout the room, occupied by students in uniforms. Ugh, uniforms. The Doctor leads me past the couches, down another dark hall, and to another dark door. This time there are no gargoyles.

I look up to see my name on a removable plaque. Delaney Hearst. “My last name is spelled wrong,” I mutter, making Doc laugh.

“Actually, that is your true last name—the one you were born with,” he corrects.

“That’s nuts,” I shake my head. “Don’t you think it’s weird that my human parents’—and not my demon parents’—last name is the spelling of the car that carries caskets? I gotta be honest, I find it pretty funny.” I smile.

He lets out a gentle chuckle, probably just to be polite.

“Speaking of my birth parents… Who are they?”

“Well, your mother is a lust demon named Zeve Hearst. But we don’t know who your father is,” he admits.

“Well, his last name can’t be worse than the Hearse’s, right?” I smile. “Okay, enough stalling.” I push open the door and it’s yet another dark room. I do have a window, though. There’s a large bed with dark purple blankets and a sturdy dark wooden frame. There’s a wardrobe in the corner made of the same wood as the bed. And a matching desk and a small washroom to the side, complete with a shower. It’s warm and clean. All in all, a very large step up from the asylum.

“Dinner is at six and breakfast at seven every day. Oz lives down the hall. I’m sure he’ll show you around. Your first class is tomorrow at nine. I’ll send word when I find out about your classification.” His eyes linger on my face, a small frown creasing his forehead. “Good night, Della.”

“Night, Doc.” I smile and watch him leave. Oh, that man is going to kill me. I close the door and start unpacking my backpack. I have all my knives laid out on the bed when there is a knock on my door. I open it and smile.

“Hey, Della. Welcome.” Oz smiles down at me.

“Hey, Oz. How’s it going?” I say, letting him inside. “Don’t mind me, I’m just unpacking.”

“Is that all you have?” he asks.

“Yeah. I had to leave in a hurry.” Not a lie, but he doesn’t need to know I was homeless, either.

“We can ask Dr. Tenn to send us back to grab your stuff,” he offers.

“That’s sweet, but I got all the important stuff,” I say, turning back to my bag.

“Okay. If you’re sure,” he mumbles. “So, did you find out what you are?”

“Nope. Doc is looking into it. I’m just weird enough for him to not know.” I chuckle, but it sounds a bit hollow.

“I’m sure he’ll figure it out. He’s ridiculously smart. The youngest teacher here—well, consultant. I think that’s what his official job title is.” Oz shrugs.

“Yeah, it would just be nice to know,” I say, dumping my few clothes in a drawer. I set my knives in another drawer and take the one in my bra out and put it under my pillow out of habit.

“You’re paranoid, aren’t you?” he asks with a smirk as I pull my hand away from my pillow.

“It’s not paranoia if I end up needing it. And I’m not happy to say I’ve needed it far too often,” I confess.

His eyebrows pull down. “What on earth have you been through?” he asks.

“A lot,” I shrug. “But it’s okay. I’ll live.” I smile, patting him on the shoulder. I head back to my bag and pull out my thin blanket. I fold it up and put it in the wardrobe. I probably won’t need it here; that bed looks so warm and comfy. I turn back to my bag and start putting away my books.

“Is that a book about auras?” Oz asks.

“Yeah. I got a few books from New Age shops to try to understand what I can do. Some of them actually helped a bit,” I say, offering him one.

He takes it and flips through the pages. “What color do you see?” he asks.

“What do you mean?” I ask.

“Well, I see pinks.”

“On me?” I ask.

“Yes. But, like, on everyone,” he clarifies.

“Oh…um… It depends on the person. You have pinks and oranges. Sorin has blues and oranges.” I shrug.

“You can see more than one?” he asks, intrigued.

“Yes. You can’t?”

“No. I can only see pink. Most of us can only see the colors we eat. What do you eat?”

“The black.”

“Black?” he asks.

“Yesss…” I’m a bit nervous.

“I’ve never heard of black,” he admits, pursing his lips.

“Oh. Well, the books said if someone has black in their aura, it means they did something bad. But I’ve seen the black form, and what the books said about it isn’t quite right,” I explain.

“Huh,” he says.

I nod awkwardly.

We sit and talk for a while. I quickly learn that Oz has a great sense of humor and he’s openly gay. He’s apparently got a thing for one of the vampire students at the school.

“Who all goes here? I know demons, mages, and now vampires. What else?” I ask.

“All you’re missing is Nephilim.”

“As in angels?”

“Well, half-angels, but yeah. They’re kind of assholes to be completely honest. Most of them buy into the Bible a bit too much,” he conspires. He catches me trying to hide a yawn and stands up. “I’m going to leave you to sleep. I’ll knock tomorrow and we’ll grab breakfast together.”

“Thanks. I’ll see you tomorrow.” I smile as he leaves. I grab a quick shower and slip into what has to be the softest bed in the world. I am asleep before I know it.

I’m in my usual dream of fog and shadows, lost and searching for the same unknown thing. I see the towering shape of my new school in the distance. It seems so familiar now even though it’s so new to me.

Another new addition is a red string. It glows as it stretches from my chest before branching off into four directions and disappearing into the fog. My finger traces the string and my heart pounds in…excitement? I’ve never felt anything like this. It should be terrifying, but I can’t seem to feel afraid. Instead, I’m eager to find out what—or who—is on the other end.

Movement in the sky catches my attention and I look up to see two figures of writhing black miasma. These two mean to do me harm. I can feel it in my bones. The black shapes dive toward me and I scream, desperately gripping my red string for support as they overtake me.