the school of extraordinary lovers

I

Growing up in Ravenoir is like this:

First, you learn that the town doesn't exist on any map. As a child, this might cause brief bouts of paranoia, centered on the possibility that perhaps you also don't exist. But you do. There's blood in your veins. The wind moves around you, not through you. Ravenoir exists. Humans just don't know about it.

If a human asks where you're from, you mention some neighbouring London suburb and that should suffice.

Second, you don't talk to humans.

Growing up in Ravenoir, like any other town, means attending the same primary and secondary school with the same kids you've always known, and then "leaving home" to attend the magical university a thirty-minute train ride away where those same kids are also headed.

You grow up. Some of you grow up faster or slower than others. But you learn to control your magic or your thirst or your urges. You stick to your own species as they are the ones best suited to help you and the other species can't be trusted. You find your people and you find your place.

And someday maybe, you'll feel individual enough and at the same time ordinary enough to brave the world on your own and leave it all behind.

That's the dream anyway. Harry has a lot of those.

He peers across the store at the old man, dragging a broom through the aisles while humming to himself. At the same time, the man looks at him. "Sorry," he says and stops humming.

Harry smiles. "That's alright."

The old man is Mr Ueda. He runs Katagiri, the Japanese grocery store where Harry works. Also, he's human but harmless. Mr Ueda leans his broom against the wall and peers over Harry's shoulder at the sheet music on the counter. "I think I know this one," he says, pushing his glasses on. "Etude Op.10 No.4. That's a piano piece, isn't it?"

"Historically," Harry says. "But I've been studying the violin part all summer. It's tough—"

"Never stops you," Mr Ueda says. He removes his glasses, attached to a beaded chain, and they fall against his stomach. "First day of class tomorrow, isn't it?"

"Yes. And my new advisor is incredible. He was the youngest person to ever perform the piece on piano. He's done so many incredible things. Performed and taught around the world. Maybe one day I'll be half as great as him."

"If that's what you want to happen, that's what will happen," Mr Ueda says, lifting a stack of boxes behind the counter and heading off towards the supply room.

Very many things have worked out exactly the way Harry wanted them to according to Mr Ueda. There was the occasion in which a drunk man came into the store and began to berate the old man. Harry approached them very calmly. "I want you to purchase what you came for," he said. "And then I want you to leave." With only some grumbling, the drunk did as requested and never returned.

"How'd you get him to do that?" Mr Ueda asked.

Harry shrugged. "I think he recognized me. I run with some dodgy people."

Mr Ueda did not seem convinced, but they left it at that.

In another instance, Harry and Mr Ueda once heard that their favorite pizza shop was shutting its doors for good. "We can't let that happen," Harry told his boss. The following day, Mr Ueda reported that the pizza shop owners had a sudden change of heart. The circumstances that propelled them to close in the first place were simply no longer relevant.

And finally, there's the matter of Harry's employment. When he first applied, there was a nighttime clerk who'd been working with Mr Ueda for years. "I can only afford to pay two people," he'd said. "One person for the day time and one at night." Harry needed the job. He also couldn't work during the day because of his classes. And the Japanese grocery store was so conveniently located near the conservatory.