Mark of the Harbinger (Book 1)

3 - A Nightclub and a Kidnapping

I left before anyone else had the chance to zip up their backpacks or shut their notes. I groused as I walked the long, artificially lit hallways, watching my reflection ripple in the tinted windows. Around me moved the student populace and harried professors, an influx of night students coming through the doors with fresh faces while the day-wakers were all but stumbling their way out of the building.

The corridor was loud and exceptionally hot with the presence of so many bodies crowding the narrow space. There were young vampires here, their energy swamping the halls like a marsh tide—and there were Fae, their power weaving strong clouds of pressure above our heads, crawling along the ceilings in thick plumes of energy. Other people couldn't sense the imbalance of it all, but I could. The sensation was choking. Perspiration beaded my temples as I held my talent in check with an iron-grip, willing myself to push through the crowds without vomiting on anybody's shoes. 

I had an office space, of sorts, on the second floor. Full-time, tenured professors and instructors had nice, if small, offices will walls and doors that shut. The rest of the university's staff shared a floor space separated into sections by flimsy, gray cubicle walls, the entire low-ceilinged space smelling distinctly of someone's preheated ramen lunch and mold. It wasn't a pleasant combination.

I was a barely tolerated part-time, untenured, and untitled instructor, but I was one of the very few people in my specialized field, and among that number, I was one of the only people with a master's degree. As I said to Professor Hendrick's low-level local history class, national law required all courses to supplement their traditional instruction with ideas, concepts, and histories relevant to supernatural culture. The university muckety-mucks might dislike my demeanor, my clothes, and my instruction style, but they couldn't get rid of me, and they'd be hard-pressed to find someone with my credentials as a replacement. As such, the corner cubicle I claimed as my own was a bit more spacious than some of the others, and since it opened onto a vacant corner of the floor space, I was afforded a modicum of privacy. 

I sat in my squeaky chair at my desk and sighed, listening to the gentle murmuring of other instructors hidden somewhere in the maze of softly lit cubicles. It was an odd, liminal hour. Many of the human professors and instructors had packed up and disappeared just before the sun set. They were replaced by a thin slew of vampire professors—most of whom could have probably qualified for tenure before my grandpa was born. They still strutted around in long black academia robes with golden tassels about their necks, fangs glinting whenever students asked stupid questions. They didn't mix with the low-blood, unlettered instructors—thank God—so my floor was left quiet and subdued in the growing night.

Books crowded the flimsy, build-it-yourself shelves I had leaning against the inner cubicle wall. My desk was dusty and littered with gum wrappers, used post-it notes, and half thought out scribbles of lectures I would have to give in the next week. I poked my keyboard, lost in thought, watching as the digital fish swam on my screensaver and the cool night air came in through the cracked window at my back. Somebody complained loudly about the draft, but I ignored them. My tolerance for the cold was extreme; my tolerance for the dry air being pumped in from the heater was not.

My phone pinged, and I slid it from my pants pocket. I read the text message from Sibbie, telling me she was going to be staying late, caught in the maelstrom of judicial crap coming from the Seelie now storming the station, and that I should leave without her. I shot back a reply before returning the phone to its pocket. I felt bad for her. I thought my job was dull, but at least I got to go home when my hours ended. 

Someone left through the far door, their silhouette visible through the interior windows for just a second before they disappeared. Hearing the heavy silence surrounding me, I hunched in my chair and leaned my elbows on the desk. Hesitant, I pinched the edge of my sleeve and tugged it down to bare a swath of pale wrist and forearm.