Shadelings

chapter four

Constance

I don't know how we fucked, but we did. I consider it an accomplishment. The dress I am wearing is a black and magenta nightmare. It goes on in three pieces and is an elaborate affair. Beside me, Noah pulls his pants on. I readjust the skirt and walk over to the railing of the catwalk. This year's competition is tough. There were some years where I couldn't even offer twenty candidates a position in my class-- quite a statement considering I can think of ways to morph even the most out-of-shape students into an assassin.

“Khoghovak,” I say. Beside me, a black pipe shaped in the likeness of an archangel appears. I take it and stare into the dragon's mouth where the bowl is. There's still some ifuru left unburned. I imagine the purple plant smoldering; within moments, it is. I raise the tail to my lips and take a puff. I exhale, and the smoke wafts upward into the darkness.

Noah walks over to where I am and leans over the rail next to me. We glance down at the students below in silence. The catwalk we are on is directly above the room divider, so we can see both sides of the gym; fitting considering erasers are one of the classes that allow both magic and non-magic species into our ranks.

Over the past few days, I have run into quite a few interesting candidates for the erasers. As class head, I am in charge of hiring enough mentors to mentor all the students that are accepted into the class. I never count enough mentors. Or I have too many. Unlike other class heads, I actually enjoy having an apprentice (or apprentices), and I've had several over the years that have gone on to be great assassins. I take another puff.

“So, Noah,” I begin, “do you see any interesting apprentice candidates?”

“I'm looking at a few people,” he says, “but no one stands out for me so far.”

We lapse into silence again. There is one particular girl who stands out to me. A little necromancer named Ashlyn. I try to see through the fireballs and magically-made storms of the magic side of the gym, skimming the crowd for an awkward girl clad in a black hoodie. She's not there. I haven't seen her since the first day of the trial week. Hopefully she didn't give up. A lot of people do during the trial week; the competition scares them away.

“I have someone in mind,” I say after a few minutes' contemplation.

“Who?”

“A necromancer named Ashlyn. She was here the first day, but I'unno where she went off to. She has a lot of potential.”

Noah shifts. I turn to look at him.

“Small, brown hair, stutter?” He asks. I nod.

“The magic classes will want her for sure. I'm not sure if she's cut out to be an assassin, though.” I pause to take a puff. “I don't have a second choice; but I can take leftovers.”

“She's been hiding in the library since the first day.” I raise my eyebrows. That's a relief. I need to go talk to her again. Sober.

“Oh, that--” I trail off. Olivia is walking around the gym floor. She must have just arrived. A mischievous grin splits my face.

“Bia ebe a,” I say, pointing at her. A moment later, Olivia materializes between Noah and myself. She jumps, blue eyes wide. Recognition passes over her face, and she immediately falls into an irritated stance. Olivia crosses her arms and sends a glare my way. I smile back smugly.

“What the fuck, Constance?” Her voice is practically a growl. It's just the type of unamused sound I'd expect out of a vampire.

“Walked into the enemy stronghold. They have a mage. She sees you, teleports you next to her and bam! you're dead.” I know Olivia would never be so reckless, but I have to give her a hard time. “One point for Constance.”