Jordan had descended into a serious phase. Possibly because of the aforementioned demon wandering about. It wasn’t something Irene would have thought would bother him, what with his whole shadow thing. More likely, he had been acting as he had due to his father being around town.
Mr. Anderson had a way of stalking around that sent chills up Irene’s spine. And that wasn’t even related to the fact that he could do the whole shadow thing and plenty more besides.
As for Shelby, she wasn’t acting the same either. She still sat next to Jordan, yet she wasn’t so talkative. Not once since the incident had she reached over to touch his elbow during a shared laugh. Even now, as they sat in class, she leaned away from him, preferring to doodle on a notebook rather than to pursue her attempts to engage Jordan in conversation.
They both were… subdued.
Irene wasn’t all that different, but she had always been far more introspective than the others.
Someone towards the front of the classroom cleared their throat, ruining her peaceful reminiscence.
Dolt, Irene thought. They had been sitting in peace and quiet. Left to her own devices, she was more than happy to read through textbooks.
Drew–of course it was him–just had to ruin it.
Their substitute glanced up from the front desk’s computer at the noise. Upon seeing Drew’s eager glare, she rolled her blue eyes.
Irene joined her. At least that was something they shared; a mutual disdain of that idiot.
Eye-roll complete, Catherine–she never had mentioned her last name–finished a few quick keystrokes at the computer before standing. She sauntered around to the front of the desk. She rested against the desk, sitting on the very edge with her feet pressed firmly on the ground.
As she leaned forwards ever so slightly, almost the entire class sat up straighter. The motion wasn’t confined to guys or girls. Even Shelby sat up straighter, Irene noted with some disdain. Jordan did as well, though it felt different in his case; he was giving her attention as deserving of their professor rather than attempting to sneak a peek down her shirt.
Apart from Irene, the only other student who didn’t move for a better view was Timothy Dewey. He was one of the ones with a smarter head on his shoulders, so maybe there was some correlation with that as to why Irene didn’t care for the teacher. Everyone else seemed to enjoy her a little too much.
The substitute had to be doing it on purpose. The cut of that shirt alone should be against school rules. Not to mention the skirt–or lack thereof. It was a good thing that her legs were pressed together.
At the same time, Irene had a feeling that she couldn’t shake. Like the professor wasn’t actually trying to do anything. It was all just her natural state of being. There was a certain casualness to it that Irene had to admire, as if she had been doing it her entire life. It would never be something that Irene could just do.
“Well, class,” she said with clear disdain. The rest of the students didn’t seem to notice or care. “While I am certain that you are all itching for a continuation of yesterday’s lesson. Unfortunately, I’ve been told that such lessons are strictly off-limits pending excruciatingly painful punishment.”
Thank goodness, Irene thought. She did not need to learn how certain objects placed in very specific places would lead to various magical effects. Even more pleasing was that she wouldn’t be doing the continuation. Which, by her words yesterday, would have implied that Catherine herself would be demonstrating such magic.
Predictably, there were several groans from most of the class. Shelby included.
Irene vowed to punch her sister in the arm later.
“Today’s lesson plan, according to notes left by Baxter, was to be on the Stratogale Principle.”
Irene sat up even as most of the class slumped over. That was a topic she had been looking forward to discussing.
“But,” she said, prompting a groan from Irene. “Even with all the magical remedies and life extensions available to mages, not a single one of you will live long enough for it to apply. If you did live long enough, you probably would have done something to get reapers or some other minion of Death on your tail.”
Irene blinked. Death? She could almost hear the capitalization in Catherine’s voice, yet the substitute punctuated her statement with a casual wave of her hand. And she mentioned minions as well, as if He was a real thing and not some bogey man to scare children.
She shuddered anyway.
“The only beings that need worry about the Stratogale Principle are non-mortals. Demons, for instance.”
The hackles along the back of Irene’s neck all rose. That was a word she had heard far too much of in the past few weeks. There was no chance that it was a coincidence.
During her thoughts, Catherine had continued talking. Irene quickly tried to pay attention. “–ends up not affecting demons much at all. Only a few especially stupid actually suffer for it. Since it is a vastly more interesting topic and one that, ironically enough, is quite related to you all, who can name a type or race of demon?”
Irene stiffened. This was definitely not a coincidence. At her side, Jordan stiffened as well. They shared a brief, worried glance.
Max–that traitor–lifted a hand in the air. He probably wanted to show off for his new best friend, Drew. Or Catherine herself. Probably the latter, more likely.
At Catherine’s nod in his direction, he said, “Arachne?”
“Incorrect,” Catherine said. “Arachne is an individual. She has no siblings, spawn, or progenitor to share her name with. Should she, Void forbid, decide to breed one day, that might change. There is, however, a demonic race of spiders called jorogumo, but they aren’t sentient. Not that you would be able to tell the difference. Anyone else?”
Jordan, to Irene’s great surprise, was the next to raise his hand. “Succubi,” he said without waiting to be acknowledged.
Catherine’s face split into a lecherous grin. “Ah yes, succubi. Arguably the most well-known race of demons among humans. And for good reason. We–” She stopped and cleared her throat for a moment. “We often hear tales of how beautiful and wonderful and perfect those enticing beings are.”
A sinking feeling settled into Irene’s stomach as the substitute went on about succubi. There was no sign of her diatribe slowing, nor a hint of an end.
There was, however, a small nagging feeling in the back of Irene’s mind. It made her look at the substitute in a new light.
And not necessarily a positive light.
— — —
Alicia Heiden gasped for breath.
She sucked in the air as fast as she was able.
It had only been thirty-seconds–she’d counted the first few times–but her lungs were burning all the same.
As soon as her head emerged from the water, the cranks of the wheel slowed. The clicking became audible as water drained from her ears. The rest of her body had to sit in that murky liquid until the wheel turned enough. By that time, she would have her head at the peak of the wheel. There wouldn’t be time to dry before she started back towards the water.
And then she would be fighting off all the blood rushing to her head. Once again, she would be sitting on the edge of passing out.
Every turn of the wheel made Alicia that much more exhausted. That much more tired. That much more likely to succumb to passing out.
She couldn’t sleep. She couldn’t nap. Early on, she had guessed that each revolution took roughly one half hour–that included the times the wheel sped up while her head was underwater. If she could guarantee that she would only sleep during the upward motion of the wheel, Alicia would take the chance in an instant.