Chapter 10

  New Day, New Blazer, Same Set of Problems

  The next day, I awoke to the aroma of breakfast. It was an odd assortment of smells that seemed to permeate the air, and only my past life memories helped me to realize what the smells might be.

  Still, I knew not to expect food early, and not to expect food that was not freely offered. As such, I took this time to both prepare for my new day, and to get ready for classes. This is when I use my time to focus on improving the same three Skills that I began working on last night. Improvised Weapons to move in controlled ways with objects that are not weighted correctly or seamlessly. Music Theory to keep me motivated and give me an odd sense of a cadence while working. Then finally my Trash Skill to help remove gunk.

  Going over to the sink, I realize that there is at least a working understanding of hydraulics in this world. Where water held at a higher elevation can be used to pressure water from a tap. Seems odd, but with a simple twist of a faucet, I am able to get water and most importantly able to style and manage my hair.

  Fortunately, my hair is relatively straight, no waves or curls, as I believe plagued me in my last life. Now though, like always, I just give a few quick swipes of my fingers, and then apply a simple hair tie to pull the hair out of my eyes and I am done. The last piece of my equipment is my blazer.

  For a moment I panic, as I distinctly remember coming here, or at least leaving the DiVoratore estate with my old school blazer, purple with a silver broach of a devouring skull. Instead, this time I have a vibrant green blazer that has a golden broach depicting a sunflower. The sunflower somehow being the symbol of the Bloom household. Then again how a blazing skull became the DiVoratore family crest is anyone’s guess as well.

  There must be some type of magic attached to the blazer, that or divine timing kicked in at right that moment for not ten seconds later, after she is done arranging the last button and giving a quick check for wrinkles or blemishes in the blazer, someone comes to her door.

  Knock-knock.

  The door opens immediately, not enough for the person behind the door to look into the room, but enough so that the person speaking’s voice might be heard easier.

  “Ms. If you would like some breakfast, we are prepared for you now.” The lead Coachman from last night calls out from the doorway.

  Click.

  I click my tongue against my cheek in annoyance. Not that breakfast is ready, I can always use food, but the idea that no one waits until being called in, to enter a room. A minor inconvenience, I should be more than dressed by this point, but there is still a certain expectation of privacy. Yet, rather than starting off my time here on the wrong foot, or with negative impressions, I take a calming breath and reply.

  “Coming.”

  With that, I follow the butler to the right, away from the apparent privy. Pausing, I realize I have not yet needed to use the privy, a sign that I am likely dehydrated. Making a note to go and get something to drink at the very least, I follow the butler to a room with no less than seven other Bloom heirs.

  As soon as I enter, there is an odd tension.

  “Everyone, this is Catarine, the newest exchange member of the Bloom house. Catarine, this is everyone,” the Butler states oh so not helpfully. Now everyone has the tactical advantage of knowing my name, but I am lost in a sea of nameless faces. Then before I have chance to say anything the butler promptly vanishes, “now if you will excuse me, I will start getting everything prepared for classes today.”

  I nod, not knowing what to say, and the Butler leaves me to fend for myself with the wolves.

  Seeing me, there is a conspiratorial glance given between the Bloom members who have been here longer. Judging by their hair and eye colors, they have likely been born into the family, all green eyed, bronzed skinned angels with deep blond hair. By contrast, I appear pale and pasty.

  Realizing I need to at least drink something, I grab a cup from the table and begin pouring water from a chrome pot. In the reflection of the pot, I can see an upside-down image of at least five of the kids around my age smiling and doing something to the food that is on the table. Then as if to make it even more obvious, two of the girls seem to giggle loudly.

  With a full cup in hand, I drink the cool water and feel it instantly refresh me. Then for good measure, I pour a second cup, as I see the kids quickly putting the altered food on a plate.

  Turning around, I hold my now twice filled cup and observe the kids who have all gathered on the far side of the table.

  “Please sit and eat,” an older female states, I’d place her as the likely the leader of the pack given her strong presence and apparent age.

  “Yes, there is plenty,” a boy with dark hair notes. He clearly is older with some modicum of authority here, but his dark hair puts him either as someone who has not awakened their full Bloom bloodline, or they are a foster exchange like me.

  They all smile the fake set of smiles that don’t reach their eyes. Worse, two of the younger children seem to almost have a sad foreboding look in their gaze as they almost appear sad. Not sad enough to say anything, or do what is right, but enough to let me know that they have not been fully indoctrinated to this Bloom click.

  “Wait, Spooky Catarine the fiend? Is that you?” The third leader, and girl who obviously orchestrated this little event asks with a shocked expression. As if she wasn’t the one I caught altering the very food being offered to me now.

  Realizing there is no point in playing this farce any longer, I decide to shut it down quickly.

  “You must excuse me, your faces have made me lose any semblance of an appetite,” I state while finishing my second cup of water and exit the odd dining room. While I am hungry, I ate enough food last night, that I will be find for a day.

  Clap.

  With that, I turn the empty cup over and place it down on the table, causing an open resonance to echo in the oddly formed dining hall. At that, I quickly turn left and exit out the same door the butler took me through.

  Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  Either my comment, or act were enough to give me just enough time I needed, as I left in complete silence as all the Bloom members were completely silent as I left.

  As I left, I remembered the girl from my class, trying to recall her name. Jessica? Veronica? I remember it definitely had an ‘ick’ sound in it somewhere.

  Only once I leave the room, do I hear the name of this now alleged family member, “Ithica, is she the one from you class? The Trash…” The voice of the eldest female asks.

  Gurgle.

  Of course, no sooner do I leave the room then my traitorous stomach lets me know that I might not be as capable of withstanding phantom hunger pains. This is okay, as I have a deal set up with quite a few friendly bakeries along the way. Well along the DiVoratore path to school. Now that I am coming from the Bloom estate, I might need to alter my arrangements.

  But for today, since I am still getting used to everything, I decide to make an extra long loop to school. Circling out to eighth street, then back to main street, so I can pass by my favorite vendors.

  See in the DiVoratore, I could never keep coins or money of any kind, as it would all be confiscated by the family. I will have to check if similar effects are in place with the Blooms, but that doesn’t mean I can’t barter. My biggest chip to barter, my Skill that dissolves Trash and grime easily. Two things bakers need, a clean working spaces, and sanitary conditions.

  While I can’t guarantee sanitary conditions, I can prove beyond a shadow of a doubt that I can create clean working spaces. Which most bakers appreciate.

  Thus, why I run and on my way I stop, use my Skill, which in turn gives me levels in said Skill, after which time I get a free breakfast out of the deal. A win-win for everyone involved.

  Of course, this flocking towards garbage did not go unnoticed, especially not by my peers, which is why I developed a reputation as a Trash picker.

  Once again, as I run to get to my normal route, I again cheat. While I can no longer get credit for increasing my Common Running Skill, I can still use this time to practice my fingerings for different notes on various musical instruments. I’ve found that so long as I mentally think of how the note should sound in my mind and make a general breathing pattern while creating the note, I will get credit as if I am playing the note. Again, it feels like it is cheating, but really requires more attention and focus than my playing the actual instrument would likely require.

  Still, I can see that as usual, everything I am doing is having an impact. Even my thinking about making a wider route to school, so I can keep my prior arrangements with the various food vendors is paying off with my Wild Strategy Skill.

  Not bad for a full night of grinding. Even Trash went up by a level thanks to my constant use to get rid of my sweat and other debris.

  The pace is slow, painfully slow, but they do add up the more you push yourself. It is also a lot easier to level up the lower levels than it is the higher levels, this is why despite singing and now mentally playing a song in my head, all night, I have only gained two levels in Music.

  “Hello Catarine,” Ronaldo the pastry chef greets me.

  Huff, puff.

  I wave, trying to slow myself down, but knowing that I need to hurry up if I am going to get to class on time. That is why I make sure to wave and greet Ronaldo, before immediately heading back to the back of his shop where a giant can of slop resides.

  Forty, thanks to my new Skills and quick level ups, I am now capable of removing over forty cubic inches of Trash from different areas. This is a lot, especially considering that just yesterday I was only able to remove thirty cubic inches of trash. Yet this time, I am able to get rid of everything, and even clean up a few splatter stains of trash that landed nearby the open bin.

  Ronaldo is pushing me, as our original deal was for twenty cubic inches, which at the time would have been done in two ten cubic inch clusters. As originally I would arrive early, cast, eat, then finish up my task before I left. Now though, now I have gone well past the twenty cubic inches as originally agreed upon, and just go until I can’t anymore. Ronaldo ever the astute businessman never comments on the overage, and neither do I. Not like I could ask for more food that would either be confiscated once entering the DiVoratore, or money that would definitely be confiscated. As such, I kept with the status quo. But now, I almost think there should be a bit more to our arrangement.

  “You got it all?” Ronaldo asks, by the time I am finishing up and using the last dregs of my Mana to clean me up again, and then a few odds and end spots of the kitchen.

  “Yes,” I manage, finally able to breathe after resting for a few minutes while casting my Skill.

  “Very good, here is your pastry, figured I’d wrap it on account of you being late,” Ronaldo says while holding out a paper bag to me.

  I nod appreciatively and grab the pastry filled bag.

  Then thinking about it for a moment decide to take the few seconds to remove my backpack from my back and insert my breakfast pastry.

  “Thank you.”

  “See you this afternoon?” Ronaldo asks, his accent causing my ears to perk up as he rolls his ‘r’s in an intoxicating way.

  “Maybe,” I hesitate, knowing that I will likely need to stop by the Park again, but then pause as I realize that I haven’t gotten a single Skill promised by the Madame. Here I was thinking about asking for a raise from my doing double the effort for Ronaldo for the same bartered arrangement, when I was about to work for the Madame for free. “Actually yes, but we should look to renegotiate our deal.”

  “Renegotiate?”

  “Yes, as you can see, I can now do double the work. But am still getting the price I gained as a thirteen-year-old.”

  “Look at you, all grown up, it brings a tear to my eye, but yes. Come back this afternoon and we will discuss changes to our agreement.”

  I nod. For a moment I almost want to stay and talk longer, but something tells me to leave quickly.

  “Well, until then,” I reply as I scoot around Ronaldo and go out from behind the stall, making sure to adjust my backpack as I do.

  Once I am certain the pack is in place, and won’t jostle too much from my strides, I begin running again, while practicing musical scores in my head.

  Only after a few moments do I stop to wonder why I chose now of all times to talk about renegotiating my previous arrangement with Ronaldo. Yes, it was more annoying to have to run an extra half mile every day, but was that really enough?

  It is only once I get to school and give a quick cursory glance of my Status page that I see what might actually be pushing me to make these changes.

  Did that actually go up, due to my posturing to renegotiate my existing contract with Ronaldo, even the idea of making him wait it out all day, as I leave him to stew on what to think about? Did that all factor into giving me a level as a Wild Strategist? If so, then I apparently need to try to do more like this, particularly as I am now nearing my third full point in Luck.

  One more level in my Wild Strategist Skill and I will have three full points. I don’t know what that exactly means, but have a bit more luck on my side never seems like it could be a bad thing.

  For a moment, I almost think today can be a good day.

  I’m at school on time, I have my breakfast, normally I eat it at Ronaldo’s shop, but to save time I skipped my ten minute reprieve to myself where I ate my pastry there, and instead went straight to school. I could still eat, I just had to find a moment to sneak a few bites between classes.

  Bawoof!

  Of course, my Luck stat is still not high enough, as the school security dog barks angrily at me, the same way it always does, every time I enter school. Something about the DiVoratore bloodline that sets animals on edge. Narco, the school’s drug and paraphernalia sniffing dog is no exception. Marco is the actual name, but on account of his position and role at our school, everyone has taken to calling him Narco.

  “Well, well, well, what did you find this time Marco? A Bloom bringing in contraband?” Mr. Wallace, the handler for Narco chirps. Suddenly, I am reminded why I would often leave early to take the ten minutes needed to eat my breakfast at Ronaldo’s before heading to school, so I could avoid this very moment.

  I just scowl, knowing that Mr. Wallace has waited a long time to bust me for something, and his finding my pastry in my bag would be grounds for both confiscation and likely a demerit. Realizing that this is going to take some tact, I scowl at the mutt, making sure to lock gazes with the beast and then hiss out my warning for the dog not to provoke me today.

  “WHAT!”

  Whimper.

  Seeing my gaze and feeling my wrath at the dog trying to take my pastry away from mem, as it curls up tight in fear. Even Mr. Wallace flinches at my reproach. There is a moment where I stare up at Mr. Wallace, locking gazes with the man, all but daring him to accuse me of misconduct again.

  “Ms. Bloom…” he begins, before all hell breaks loose.

  Hell in this case is a larger than life but very intimidated drug sniffing dog called Narco, who chooses the exact moment that Mr. Wallace and I are glaring into each others eyes, to make his break for it. As my awakened DiVoratore aura is apparently too much for the pup, and he decides to run loose into the school in an attempt to get away from me.

  Mr. Wallace sees Narco fleeing, and then glances back at me.

  “Marco, get over here now!” Mr. Wallace hisses a command.

  Skitter.

  Slipping paws prance and slide quickly across the smooth marble flooring in a attempt to get away from Mr. Wallace and me.

  Seeing that I now have my chance to enter, I move past the entry way, go to the first woman’s bathroom, enter the first stall and greedily cram my pastry down my gullet faster than a fat kid on a week long juice cleanse. Once done, I dispose of the Trash with my Skill, destroying all evidence. I even focus on the ground, grabbing and removing any crumbs that might have been left to oust me. Then I do the same for the inside of my bag, and after a minute’s time I feel relatively secure that any evidence of a possible crime are now removed.

  Making sure to flush, I get up from the stall and exit to find an irate Mr. Wallace standing outside the women’s bathroom, waiting for me, sans the giant drug sniffing dog.

  “Now then,” Mr. Wallace begins.