From the transcript of the interrogation of Florian Quinn by the Academy Prime: “I called for a Life Witch, I would swear it by any oath.”

  Nobody dared be late to the Atrium for the Academy Prime’s address. While the address itself provided critical information for the student body, the prevailing rumour flitting around the Death Dealer common area told Florian there might be more to this address than usual.

  So be it.

  As such, the boys joined the procession of Death Dealers in their quarter of the warm Atrium, decked out in their Academy provided best. Ruthann and her staff ensured the colors of each affinity showed representation via the trim on the long black tablecloths on each table. Blue trim for the Storm Sorcerers, red trim for the Energy Warriors, yellow trim for the Sensory Phantoms, green trim for the Life Wizards, and white trim for the Death Dealers.

  Florian, typically used to multiple wardrobe options for fundraising dinners, courtly assemblies and other assorted gatherings, took his time deciding on his outfit.

  Lane chose quickly; Thad even more so.

  Florian fiddled with his high necked collar. Thad looked similarly uncomfortable, his tie riding as high into his Adam’s apple as Florian’s. Lane ditched the high-collared white shirt altogether, preferring a lower collar, a bow-tie and a v-neck sweater over top. They sat, and Florian noticed Lane’s wandering eyes.

  “You looking for Savona?” Florian asked.

  “Nah,” Lane answered.

  “I know that look, you’re looking for something or someone.”

  “That girl, bro,” Lane replied, continuing to glance from the tables of Life Witches and Wizards on the far left with their touches of green in their clothing and accessories, to the tables of blue tinged Storm Sorcerers and Sorceresses on the far right. In between, Lane looked past the yellow of the Sensory Phantoms and found the red trimmed Energy Warriors. “Which one do you think she is?”

  Thad snorted. “You don’t even know?”

  Lane poured them all a glass of ice water. “I didn’t really see her last time. Man, I’m just trying to see if she’s cute.”

  “If I see her again, I’ll point her out,” Florian said, refusing the urge to call his friend a dummy out loud.

  “Do you remember what she looked like?”

  Florian nodded. “I mean, kinda. You could do worse. Not my type though.”

  Lane grinned. “Oh and what’s your type?”

  “Girls who look like they want to kill me,” Florian said, laughing, remembering the Grinnrock chick who stared a hole through his skull.

  “What about you, Thad? Got a type?”

  Thad took a drink of water, smiling softly. “No idea. I’m scared of girls.”

  Lane roared with friendly laughter, clapping his friend on the back.

  Ruthann’s serving crew started bringing plates. The simple first course - warm bread and spreadable cheese - settled some of the anxiety at the table caused by the Prime’s upcoming speech. As they ate they discussed their timetables for the next day. Thad, predictably, couldn’t contain his excitement, droning on about the merits of their affinity and paradoxically, the good they could do once they mastered the curriculum.

  Lane stopped his futile search for the raven-haired Warrior and chimed in a few times, only being brought to laughter by the overly enthusiastic Thad one time. Thad responded by brushing him off with a wave of the hand. Progress.

  “I’m looking forward to curses,” Florian added after a particularly long Thad tangent where he extolled the virtues of causing rapid decay inside a Rotden before the Darkmonster could spawn.

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  “Curses are cool,” Lane said. “If I knew how to curse, I would have cursed Savona,” he laughed, miming in a very exaggerated way the hand motions he thought casting a curse might use.

  “That’s a great way for expulsion,” Thad warned. “As it is I’m surprised we got off with just a detention.”

  “Better get used to it, buddy boy,” Lane smiled the classic crooked smile of a troublemaker.

  Before Thad had the chance to ask why he should get used to detention, the staff brought the next course. The second course consisted of a small, fragrant soup that Florian thought he’d eaten once before at his sixteenth birthday and a fresh salad, topped off with pecans and a sweet dressing.

  “I do wish we had classes with the other affinities,” Florian mused. “I understand why we’re separated but we’ll all be working together one day, right? Wouldn’t it make sense to start making connections? Chemistry and that sort of thing?”

  “Well,” Thad said, “none of us know anything yet. Despite having our talismans,” he wiggled his ivory skull to accentuate his point, “I don’t know one end of a curse from the other.”

  “Me either,” Lane grudgingly admitted, tipping the balance of his soup into his mouth.

  “So I think they want us to show a basic level of skill before complicating everything.”

  Florian sighed. “I might have been putting the cart before the horse. Do you know anything about power levels? I want to get powered up quick.”

  Lane tried to balance the empty soup cup on its edge without success. “Fuck all, buddy,” he said, trying again, eyes widening when he got close, then looking crestfallen when the cup tipped back down.

  “That’s why I wasn’t asking you,” Florian laughed.

  Thad took that as his cue to spout knowledge. “From what I’ve read, and it’s not a lot mind you, power level is an extremely inexact science. The texts believe your gross power level is generally predetermined but your net power level could fall far short of your gross,” Thad scrunched his face in concentration. “Well, this is the part that isn’t clear. Basically anything can impact your development. Training, access to instructors, injuries, even emotional pain can dull your net output. The one thing all the books seem to agree on is that progress isn’t linear. At all.”

  Lane twirled the soup cup, restless fingers finding something to do. He played with his collar, scratching his neck scars. “What’s that mean?”

  Thad started miming, using his fingers to draw lines in the air as if on a graph. First a direct line from bottom left to top right. “Doesn’t work like that.” Then, he returned his finger back to the bottom left, drew it horizontally to the right then shot it all the way up vertically, then a few inches to the right then a few inches down, then repeated the motion for emphasis. “Works like that. We’ll suck for a while, make some progress if we work hard at it, then suck again and on and on.” Thad noticed the staff collecting empty plates and hurriedly chomped on a forkful of crunchy salad. “That’s what the books say, anyway,” he added through chews.

  “Bro, how much did you read?”

  Thad swallowed hard and looked away. “There’s a nice library at my house,” he answered. “What about you, Florian? There must have been a nice library on the Quinn Estates? Did your parents allow you unrestricted access?”

  Florian’s expression hardened. “Not really.”

  Thad looked like he wanted to protest, to insist that on the Quinn Estates of all things, the library must have been sublime.

  Lane, sensing the mood, got there first. “I don’t see the Prime at the staff tables. Do you guys?”

  “I don’t even know what the guy looks like,” Florian said, far too much ice in his tone for the question. The mention of his parents and of the Quinn family compound sent frost over his good mood. He shook his head.

  His father had a fancy title like the Academy Prime. His mother made people wait on her like the Prime seemed to be making them wait on him. Fuck them both. He’d find a way to make them regret casting him out.

  Lane frowned. “Come to think of it, neither do I. Huh.”

  The staff brought the third course to their tables, expertly reaching over shoulders to place down a steaming plate of sizzling steak, spears of roast asparagus, cut carrots and seasoned mashed potatoes. They also offered a glass of a rich red wine which everyone but Thad accepted. His face displayed immediate regret of his choice to decline once he saw both Lane and Florian accept the glass but he said nothing. Yet Lane noticed, calling for the attention of the staff and allowed Thad a chance to reverse his choice. Soon thereafter the three of them were twirling their wine glasses, pretending they knew what to smell and taste for.

  “Anyone know a toast?” Florian asked.

  “I got one,” Lane said, flashing that smile Florian was beginning to associate with mischief. “Hail Mary, full of grace, take off your jeans and sit on my-,”

  “Stop, I beg you,” Florian cackled, stifling a laugh. Thad had both hands on his wine glass and blew his cheeks out, trying to hold the wine in his mouth.

  “Yeah, you’re right, that’s more of a prayer,” Lane smirked.

  Florian raised his glass. “To new friends.”

  Thad raised his glass next to Florian’s. “To trying new things.”

  Lane raised his glass and they all clinked.

  They ate in companionable silence, taking their time with the mouthwatering food in front of them. Not for the first time, Florian’s mind wandered to the vast resources of the Saberwyn Academy. How could they afford all this? As far as he knew, they took no tuition. They were likely mired in government contracts, but the extent of those must surpass even his wildest imaginations.

  As he let the last bit of steak melt in his mouth, he heard a commotion by the entrance doors, punctuated by gasps and shrieks from the more excitable students among them. Florian whipped his head around, almost choking as he did so.

  The Prime. Rage etched on every line of his face.