Chloe's letter had told her to find the entry hall. Careful to stay away from the students with the sharp pointy things, and those with the big, bright, frightening stuff, she made her way to the castle steps.
Straightening her back and attempting not to look as freaked out as she felt, she climbed the five sets of stairs separating her from the main entrance. The hulking oak doors, no less impressive than the gates, twisted on their hinges with a rattling noise. And a good thing, too—she didn't think she had the strength to make those heavy wooden beams pivot.
Still, Chloe’s eyes widened as she looked around, hoping to spot a camera or some sort of sensor. But there were none. Was someone watching her?
She forced herself to breathe out. She was not going to freak out because of the magical equivalent of an automated door, dammit. If this spooked her, she was going to have a damn heart attack before the end of the semester.
Finally, she stepped into the Institute.
Wings and Smiles
"Hey, newbie, are you Miller?"
Chloe's apprehension when hearing her name wasn't going to end anytime soon.
"Yeah, that's…I'm Chloe."
"Awesome. Blair," said the woman approaching the entryway, hand extended. "Glad you made it in one piece."
Blair was both exactly what she'd expected and exactly the opposite—a conundrum.
Considering her round handwriting and cheerful, florid prose, Chloe had envisioned a bubbly beauty type with perfect nails, hair, and makeup. A grown-up cheerleader.
She did get a bubbly beauty, with perfect nails—painted dark green—hair—red curls with black tips—but no makeup at all. Wearing combat gear, the woman was more badass than anything else, but her friendliness and enthusiasm were on point.
"Excuse the stench, I’ve just finished training. I asked everyone to let me know if they’d seen you, though. I didn't know when you'd make it."
Damn, Blair was taking the mentor thing seriously.
"Thanks?"
"Of course, it would be so much easier if mobile phones were allowed on school grounds, but the board vetoed it. Again. What a bunch of antiquated douches. Of course, most of them are hundreds of years old, so I get why they're stuck in the past. Right, so, it's my duty to show you around, show you your classes, the dorm, and basically be there whenever you have a question. That way, you leave the teachers alone."
Chloe's eyes widened in surprise. "Seriously? You’re doing all that on top of your own studies?"
Blair beamed and nodded. "I'm trying to earn brownie points to become a teacher here after I present my thesis. First, they give us mentees, then some minor class to teach, and if we survive, we can hang around. So, I'm not gonna mess up." She said that very forcefully, as if trying to convince herself. Then, to Chloe, she added, "Please don't die on my watch, all right?"
Chloe chose to laugh. That beat the alternative. "I'll do my best. How about the dorm first?"
She was really freezing. Nothing in her backpack was much warmer than the long cardigan she wore now, but presumably, the dorm would have blankets. Her letters had said that bedding was provided.
Blair didn’t seem to share her priority.
"In a bit. The dorm is outside of the walls, and we’re already here. I’ll show you the important stuff first. Do you have a lot of luggage?"
Chloe pointed to her backpack.
"That's it?" Blair blinked her long lashes fast. "That wouldn't fit my boots."
Chloe laughed. "I'm…well, I haven't really kept much stuff these last few years."
Some clothes, two pairs of shoes, her laptop, an e-reader, and that was that. Chloe had stayed in NOLA the longest, but five years of belongings didn't amount to much. Before leaving the city, she'd donated the garments that had aged, and traveled with the rest.
"Fair. All right, no sense in chartering it around; leave it down here. No one steals here. Well, except for Tristan the klepto, but he can't help himself, and he always gives back whatever he takes."
Chloe didn't like the idea of Tristan the klepto getting his hands on her stuff—what if he sniffed panties or something equally gross?—but she decided not to question Blair yet. She slid her backpack off her shoulders and left it against the wall before following Blair. Her mentor was walking at a fast pace, crossing the hall and taking a long corridor.
"First, communication,” Blair said. “As you know, phones don't work on the grounds, but they do work in Adairford and in the woods."
"Adairford?" she repeated.
"The miniscule town outside the walls,” said Blair. “There are stores, but they sell the basics, and that’s it. The dorm is at the end of the village, and there's a bar, a gym, a restaurant…you know, so we don't die of boredom. The closest town is over a hundred miles east, and there's no city anywhere near us, so basically everyone hangs out there unless they get invited to a party on the hill.” She was quick to add, “Don't wait up for your invite, though. I've been here since I was a freshman five years ago and I stepped on the hill, like, once. Anyway, I was saying, no phone. For communication, we use these."
She stopped in front of a wide door. Chloe's jaw hit the floor. "You're kidding."
"I wish,” Blair retorted with a wince.
"For real?" Chloe couldn’t believe her eyes.
"Yeah, I know, welcome to the Middle Ages. Leave the technology at the doors."
"That's awesome," Chloe said, stepping inside what appeared to be a giant drafty bird cage where hundreds of ravens were hanging out, entirely free to leave through the dozens of open windows. "Hello, birdies," she cooed.
Some of the birds rushed to her, flying around, and the most curious one actually landed on her arm.
"This is so cool. So, we send each other messages with ravens? How do we do that?"
But talkative as she was, Blair didn't answer at first. Chloe turned to find her still at the door. A short, plump man stood next to her.
"You don't," he stated, somewhat short. "You write your letters and clearly state a destination. I send the birds."
Oh. She'd overstepped, apparently.
"Sorry. They're just so cute and friendly."
Blair looked like she was trying her best not to laugh. The short man appeared to have suddenly swallowed bitter lemons.
"Well, you wouldn't know how to spell them to reach the correct destination, so it's my job."
"Of course." Chloe nodded for good measure. "I can't do any spells at all. Regular," she said, pointing to her own chest with her free hand, since the small bird was still perched on her other arm.
That response seemed to appease the prickly dude.
"Very well. If you'd state your name, I shall add you to the register. I'll need a drop of blood or a strand of hair, too."
Stepping out of the bird house, she combed her fingers through her hair a few times without success. Her hair didn't shed much.
"Do you have a needle or something?"
Blair replied, "No need," before lifting her hand and hovering it over Chloe’s.
A warm sensation brushed her fingers, and Chloe saw a strange golden light emanating from the woman's palm. Then, feeling a very minor prickle, she watched in wonder as a drop of blood appeared on her middle finger.
Chloe lifted her hand toward the mail guy.
"What should I do with it?"
"Nothing," he replied, with a wave of his hand.
The blood disappeared. "I can't physically store every student’s blood trace. It'd be too dangerous. Can you imagine? If someone got their hands on the register, they could track anyone in it with their blood. I just store them in my mind."
Chloe was going to pretend she understood the mechanics of that. It sounded like he had a bunch of files in his brain, and she took the information at face value.
"Doesn't that make your brain dangerous?" she asked.
The man smiled, and not in a nice way.
"Come," said Blair, interrupting their conversation. "I'll show you the cafeteria."
Chloe wasn't sorry to leave the mailroom.
She smiled as she noticed that the bird was still perched on her—he'd moved from her arm to her shoulder. She was surprised the caretaker didn’t yell at her for that.
"What was that?" Chloe whispered once they were further down the hall.
"That was Martie. He's a nightmare. Mean and temperamental. But everyone puts up with him because he's the only one who can tame those beasts. Blair pointed to the raven on Chloe’s shoulder. "Those birds are not nice, trust me. Martie probably got this one to spy on you."
Chloe glared at Blair before cooing at the bird, "Don't listen to mean Blairy-Bear. She's just jealous ’cause you don't want to play with her."
Blair snorted. "Yeah, right. Are you sure you're a regular, by the way? The raven thing is creepy."
Chloe shrugged her unoccupied shoulder. "Maybe they like regulars.”
This wasn’t the first time that a sup had questioned whether Chloe was a regular, actually. Chelle had even tested her blood once to be sure. She possessed a little bit of magic, but nothing more than a spark. Chelle had said that most of the regular population did unknowingly have a sup ancestor, often a witch. But with so little magic in her, she wasn’t anything special, and couldn’t perform any cool spells.
It was entirely possible that the raven had taken to her because of that little bit of witch blood; who knew? She decided that it wasn’t worth mentioning and turned the conversation to Blair.
“So, you're a witch?"
"Indeed. I actually come from Salem, and I'd sell my soul to never return there. Come, food's that way."
The food was well worth the three-thousand-per-year meal plan—the cafeteria was a large hall with many round tables. To their left, windows provided a view of the training court, and to their right, an open kitchen. Some meals and sandwiches were ready for the day, but Blair was quick to point out that the chef would cook anything they required if they didn't mind waiting.