VENEFICA

[01] This Is Where Your Story Begins

Life is chemistry. It sounds complicated, or like something you might hear from a middle school science teacher, but it's true, nonetheless. We're not talking about the chemistry that you would learn in a lab. Life is the chemistry between people. Sometimes it is volatile, violent, and intense, leaving nothing but destruction and chaos in its wake. Sometimes it is bliss, calm, and peaceful. A true union between two souls that combine to create something more, something better. It cannot be predicted. It cannot be synthesized and recreated. What it is, is undeniable. Life is the interactions between people, and each moment in time creates a change in who you are and what you will become.

Remember that.

This Is Where Your Story Begins

She stopped just inside the doorway, fingers locked around the frame. The wood did not give beneath her grip. The walls did not shimmer. The floor did not sway. Everything held its shape with a stubborn, suffocating certainty, as if the room had been built for the sole purpose of proving there was nowhere left for her to run.  At the Ondine Academy of Mer, even the rooms breathed. Corridors curved with the tide. Walls rose in blue-green sheets when lessons began and dissolved when students were dismissed. If Claire pressed her palm to them, the ocean pressed back. Here, nothing answered. The floor refused to move. The air didn't sing. Even her own lungs felt too heavy, as if the place itself was trying to drown her. She was trapped inside it, with no ocean to escape into.
Transferred, the official letter had said. Removed, Claire had heard.
A few students looked up. Not openly. Not enough for her to accuse them of staring. Just quick glances from beneath lashes, over book covers, past half-raised heads. The kind of glances that measured a person before deciding where she belonged. She already knew the answer.
Her bag strap cut into her shoulder. She forced her fingers loose from the doorframe and stepped inside. The air was too dry. Too still. It sat heavy in her mouth, chalk dust and old paper instead of salt and current. Each breath scraped down her throat. For one dizzy second, she pictured herself cracking open like a fish left on shore. Do not shrink. The thought hit hard enough to move her feet. She clenched her jaw as she stepped through the doorway.
The room was rectangular in shape with an upwards slope, which allowed all the students to see the large blackboard at the front of the room. Claire frowned as she noticed the odd placement of desks; The teacher's desk was in the front of the room, down at the bottom to her right, and the students' desks were lined in rows, each row six inches higher than the last. Seven steps led to the upper rows. Seven small rises of polished wood, and each one lasted too long. Her cheeks warmed under the weight of the room's attention. She kept her chin level and her eyes on the corner seat farthest from everyone else. By the time she reached it, her pulse was loud enough to blur the scratch of quills and the murmur of students whispering. She slid into the desk and dropped her bag beside her feet. The desktop pressed against her ribs when she leaned forward, hard-edged and real. She took another breath. A classroom was only a room. Air was only air. She could survive air.
"Quick, open the window!" a muffled voice shouted. A girl's face appeared beyond the glass, distorted by the pane, her mouth moving around another impatient shout. Several students bolted from their seats and crowded the window. Locks snapped. Latches rattled. One student flicked a wand so quickly Claire almost missed the movement.
It hit the floor loudly, and the girl followed suit,  A book bag came first. It hit the floor hard enough to make Claire flinch. Then the girl tumbled in after it, all loose limbs and umber-brown hair escaping from a braid. She landed behind a fifth-row desk, rolled onto one knee, and popped upright as if climbing through classroom windows were a perfectly respectable way to arrive.
Just as her foot made its way over the windowsill, a slender man walked into the room. He was tall—not just 'tall' in the way people usually meant, but unnervingly so. His legs stretched longer than they should, his torso too compact in comparison, giving him the eerie presence of a shadow stretched too far. His skin had a strange, clay-like texture, as if he had been molded into human shape rather than born into it. Even his eyes—dark brown, ringed with unnatural gold—felt more like something observing than simply looking. He stared at the girl by the window and re-adjusted the navy blue tie resting over his blue checkered shirt.
"Elora," the man called out. "You're late..."
The girl straightened and brushed dirt from her skirt. "Mr. Ednill," she said, picking up the bag that she threw onto the floor just moments before. She effortlessly swung one of the straps over her left shoulder. "You see, I arrived 1.493 seconds before you did. Therefore, technically I was in the room before you and cannot be counted as late." She made her way to one of the empty desks in the second row and grinned victoriously.
A few students snorted.
Mr. Ednill adjusted the navy tie over his blue checkered shirt. His expression did not move. "Don't push it, Elora." His eyes showed no emotion, and his expression was stern. "We don't want to repeat what happened last year."
"Last year?" Claire muttered in wonder.
"She hit thirty-two late last spring. Ten of which were for attendance, twelve were homework, six were classwork, and four were field trip related," a girl responded. The girl's short, dark brown, and curly hair seemed to glow in the sunlight that peeked through the window. "I'm Mystic, by the way." She stuck out her hand for Claire to shake. "And judging from your lack of knowledge of who Elora Cole is, you must be the newbie," Mystic smiled. "Also, you're in Abelle's seat."
"Oh." Claire's fingers tightened around the edge of her desk. "Sorry. I'll move." She reached for her bag, already picturing some irritated girl arriving to find Claire planted in her place. The last thing she needed was to make an enemy over a chair.
"I'm-"
Mr. Ednill let out a cough. Not a polite cough. A thick, deliberate sound that scraped across the room and pinned every conversation in place. With one pericing look, Claire knew what it meant.
Her stomach dropped. Of course. She should have expected it. New students did not get to slip quietly into corners. They were displayed. She walked down the tiered steps, careful not to trip under the weight of so many eyes, and stopped beside the cherrywood desk.
Up close, Mr. Ednill smelled faintly of chalk dust and fresh dew. "I expect you have all been wondering about the new student joining our homeroom," he said.
Everyone groaned simultaneously. The groan did not sound cruel, exactly. Tired, maybe. Embarrassed on her behalf. Still, heat crawled up her neck.
Mr. Ednill continued as if he had heard nothing. "Claire Freed has transferred to us from the Pacific Ocean. Is that correct?"
Claire nodded her head in agreement and smiled at the class. They stared back at her blankly. "Yes, that's true, I-" she began.
The door slammed open.
Shoulders hunched, eyes fixed on the floor as if daring it to get in his way, a blonde haired boy stomped into the classroom. He dropped into the front row with a violent scrape of chair legs. His face was flushed red. He muttered something through clenched teeth.
"You're late, Niccolo." Ednill spat out the name "Niccolo" like a curse. The stern look he had with Elora just moments before appeared once again. This time it was for Niccolo.
"It's just Nick!" Nick shouted, "Not Niccolo. Just Nick." He took his seat in the front row of the class.
Claire studied him before she could remember not to. He seemed too angry to care where he sat, yet he had chosen the front row. Close enough for every reprimand to hit first.
Mr. Ednill exhaled through his nose and gestured for Claire to continue.
She faced the class again. Her tongue felt thick. "I am—well, I was—part of O.A.M."
A few students shifted.
"The Ondine Academy of Mer," she added. The name still carried the taste of salt. Saying it here, under this ceiling, felt like holding up a shell and pretending it was the sea.
"So, you're the private school kid." Nick scoffed, leaning back in his chair. "What happened? Not special enough for your old school anymore," he huffed under his breath.
Claire's breath hitched. The words hit sharper than Claire wanted to admit. She could still hear the last conversation she had with her former teachers. The carefully worded concerns. The veiled disappointment. It had been a clean break, but not one she had chosen.
At O.A.M., she had been exceptional. She was a part of one of the most prestigious schools for gifted folk. Here, she was just another student in another classroom, shackled to a desk like everyone else. And maybe that was safer. Maybe that was better. She had moved on from that life, and now she stood, in front of a class of people she barely knew, in a place she felt no connection to, being lectured by a boy she had just met. She could feel Nick watching her from the front row, waiting, ready to pounce. She wasn't about to give him more ammunition.
Her fingers curled around the strap of her bag, knuckles white. "Actually, yeah." She lifted her chin. "I was a private school kid."
The class murmured, eyes darting between them. Claire's heart pounded. Had she really just said that? But Nick was already smirking, already looking for another jab. If she backed down now, she'd prove him right.
She leaned forward, locking eyes with him. "Anything else, or are we done here?"
"You won't last a week here, Fishsticks," Nick replied with a smirk.
"It's just Claire, actually." She mocked back, ensuring that her voice mimicked Nick's tone on Ednill a few moments before. If he wanted to treat her like she didn't belong, he'd have to try harder than that. Her eyes scanned the rest of her classmates' faces, many of which gawked with their mouths wide open in disbelief. Claire turned to Mr. Ednill. "Is there anything else you would like to know?" she asked cheerfully.
Mr. Ednill shook his head, smiling down at her with some admiration, "No, I think we are all good, that was very... well said, Claire. Thank you for that honest introduction." He motioned for her to take a seat with the rest of the class with a gentle wave.
Claire looked around for another empty desk to sit at. The one besides Mystic had already been taken by who she could only assume to be Abelle. The only other desk available to her was seated right next to the boy who had just publicly mocked her. She shook her head in annoyance and unenthusiastically made her way over to the unoccupied seat.
"This seat is taken," Nick said confidently as he placed his backpack on the chair. Claire rolled her eyes at his childish behavior. The green fabric of his backpack rustled once, then again, as if something inside had shifted its weight. Whatever Nick was hiding clearly wanted to come out. Without hesitation he zipped the bag shut with both hands.
Claire raised an eyebrow. "By whom?"
"Someone who isn't you."
She rolled her eyes again, picked up the backpack by one strap, and tossed it onto the floor next to his feet.
Nick caught the bag mid-air, "Careful! My sis- my raven, is in here!" he corrected, clutching the bag to his chest."My raven is in here. Watch out, she bites," he said with a cynical grin.
Claire sat, placing her own bag carefully on the far side of her desk. "You brought a bird to class?" she asked, skeptical about his absurd statement.
"Yes," he replied, patting the top. "That way, she can't mess up my day. Besides, Lawrence won't even know."
"Nick, since when were you on a first-name basis with Mr. Ednill?" The girl who had previously jumped through the window interjected. She sat comfortably in her seat one row behind Nick and Claire.
"Elora, don't get involved," the girl next to her muttered.
"It's fine, Lily. After all, it's only Niccolo," Elora grinned a toothy smile.
"It's just Nick!"
Claire pressed her lips together to keep from laughing. When she glanced back, Elora flashed her a grin. Lily gave a smaller, apologetic smile, but it was a smile all the same.
Ednill made his way over to the front row. He scowled down at Nick and his backpack. Claire had not heard him approach. Up close, his height became stranger. For one absurd second he looked less like a teacher than an annoyed heron.
"I see you're up to your old tricks again," Ednill said to him with his arms crossed in front of his chest, if reminded Claire of the way a parent would stand when scolding their child.
"Mind your own business," Nick scoffed.
"My business is to deal with things that are not what they appear. Such as what is in your backpack."
Nick sneered at Mr. Ednill's statement and looked down at the bag on the floor at his feet.
"Hand it here."
"No." For a moment, Nick did nothing. Then he began tossing a ring into the air, catching it in his palm, tossing it again. Silver flashed between his fingers. Once. Twice. Three times.
The whole room waited.
"Niccolo Quire, I will not stand for this nonsense! Give me the bag!"
Nick sighed in defeat, tossing his ring up on last time before he shoved the backpack into Mr. Ednill's hands.
"That'll be one week of detention for disobedience," Mr. Ednill glared at Nick momentarily and unzipped his bag, letting the petite black raven fly out and up into the air, "and another two for this little stunt."
Claire jerked back as wings beat the air inches from her face. Students ducked, shrieked, laughed. The raven circled above the desks, glossy feathers catching the light each time it banked. Claire followed it with her eyes, pulse skittering. After several moments of the bird circling the room, everyone watched as it finally stopped to perch itself on the empty desk next to Mystic.
"Change her back, Quire," Ednill demanded.
Nick persisted, refusing to even acknowledge Ednill's presence.
"Okay, four weeks detention."
Nick sighed as if the entire classroom had inconvenienced him. He lifted one hand, flicked his fingers, and snapped. He remained the same, expressionless and defiant.
"Want to make it five?"
"Finem face," Nick sighed as he placed the ring back on his finger, waved his right hand and snapped to complete the spell. He refused to turn his head around, "There, happy now?"
A ray of gleaming purple light engulfed the bird. Feathers blurred. Wings folded where arms should be. The beak softened, reshaped, vanished. Where the black raven was once perched, was now a girl with jet black hair past her shoulder blades, big brown eyes, and a strange resemblance to that of Nick. Her eyebrows furrowed in anger as she glared in Nick's direction. It was clear that she was much more than just unhappy with Nick. She was livid. The girl let out one last gurgling croak and proceeded to brush off the loose feathers that stuck to her dress. She took her seat next to Mystic in the back of the class.
No one screamed. That was the worst part. Around Claire, students settled back into their seats. Someone laughed under their breath. Someone else opened a textbook. Mystic leaned toward the transformed girl with concern but not surprise. Claire stared. Nick had turned his sister into a raven and brought her to class in a backpack, and the room was already moving on.
"Abelle, are you alright?" Ednill asked, concern evidently plastered on his face as he looked at her.
"Just peachy..." she sarcastically responded. She looked down at her brother from her desk with narrow eyes.
Claire did not envy her. Mortified did not begin to cover it. If anyone had done that to Claire, she would have dragged them into the deepest trench she could find and left them there until they learned manners.
Mr. Ednill gave Abelle a short nod, as if too much concern might make things worse. "Volk has requested to see you before the end of the day. I trust you will make an effort to do so."
Abelle sighed and nodded back. Her anger shifted. Only a little. Only in the way her shoulders drew in and her eyes dropped for half a second before snapping back to Nick. She nodded.
Claire looked from Abelle to Nick, then to Mr. Ednill. Something passed between them.  She wasn't sure what unsettled her more—that Nick had so easily transformed his sister, or that she was the only one who seemed surprised by it. Around her, students had already moved on, flipping open textbooks, whispering jokes to each other. As if this was normal. As if she was the strange one for staring. Even Ednill had moved on too quickly, his attention flickering back to the lesson like nothing had happened. Like he already knew.
The air around the Quires seemed charged, as if a storm had gathered beneath the floorboards and everyone except Claire had agreed not to mention the thunder. A strange pull moved through her chest. It reminded her of skipping stones over still water—the brief touch, the widening rings, the expectation that the surface would smooth again. But whatever had begun inside her did not fade. It struck once, then again, then again, each ripple sharper than the last.
Nick finally turned his head. For a heartbeat, Claire caught his face unguarded. Was it a smirk, or a sigh? Then it was gone, and Nick faced the blackboard as if she had imagined the whole thing.

-------- Author's Note-------

Thank you so much for reading the first chapter of Venefica: Stories From Your Memories! Venefica means a lot to me on a personal level. The stories of these characters have helped me move past my own troubles and life sorrows. I share these stories with you in hopes they will have an impact on someone else too. Even if the words on this page only make one person feel better on a rainy day, this story will have been successful.

This chapter's question: Have you ever met a "Nick" like-person in your life? If so, what was your reaction to them?

Leave your thoughts in the comments below!

And as always, thank you for reading Venefica!