A New Tale from the Shadowhunter Academy

2. Enrolling

Dean Deborah Penhallow was just about to set her signature under a request for new rodenticide when a blueish light appeared on her desk that caused her to flinch, so that she smeared a big black line of ink all over her paper. Her face darkened like storm clouds and she looked up to scream down whoever played this trick on her until they were as small as the rats roaming the Academy. Well, that was not really a good comparison because the Academy's rats were immense monsters. They probably fed well on the food the students discarded secretly each time it was not edible. Meaning, constantly.

However, the Dean breathed in deeply, opened her mouth... and froze still, staring. On her desk stood a teenage boy with a huge backpack and a dazzlingly open smile. Not just any boy, that is. Judging from the marine blue skin and the horns protruding from a mess of curly blue hair this was the younger son of Consul Lightwood!

Since she had taken the position of the Dean ten years ago from her sister Vivianne, who had died during the battle against the Cohort, Deborah Penhallow has gotten used to students skipping lectures, sneaking in the forest, and smuggling in lovers. But never before had she to deal with a blue teenager smiling down on her from atop her desk. He did not seem inclined to leave his position. That was not only a rather unfamiliar situation but also made her fear for her desk, which was, as nearly everything in the Academy, even some teachers, a remnant of ancient times. You could call it 'antique'. But 'decrepit' was the more suitable term.

The farm near New York, where the Academy had temporarily been located, had been more comfortable than this ruin in Idris. But as the number of students had risen over the years (luckily, as the depleted numbers of Shadowhunters returned to their pre-Dark War level), the old farm simply could not provide enough space for the required rooms and the Academy resettled, again, in its old home. As a consequence, Dean Penhallow had to deal with vermin-invasions and furniture, which could be made firewood by a breath of wind.

After a few seconds of silent staring, which did nothing good for the Dean's authority, the boy cleared his throat and said: "Good afternoon, Dean Penhallow. I'm so glad I finally found your office. I already accidentally portaled myself in the kitchen, a history classroom and the girls' bathroom. Though the present girls wouldn't believe me that it was just a mistake."

Dean Penhallow finally regained her composure enough to say in a hollow voice: "Um... Good afternoon. Mr. Lightwood-Bane, I suppose? Though it is of course a pleasure to meet you, would you mind if you could leave my desk? Perhaps you could seat yourself in front of it?"

"Sure thing," he said and with a flick of his wrist one of the chairs opposite of her disappeared and reappeared next to her. The boy hopped from the desk and placed himself neatly into that very chair. This caused another moment of stunned silence before the Dean stated with just a little acid tinting her voice: "Normally, my visitors seat themselves opposite to me."

"Really?" Lightwood-Bane seemed honestly surprised. "And I thought where you sit is the front."

Stay calm, the Dean admonished herself. This is the Consul's son so be patient. Why ever he's here, he'll leave soon enough and then you can forget about this embarrassing incident.

She forced herself to smile back at the blue boy and inquired: "Now that you've finally found me, what can I do for you?"

Lightwood-Bane gleamed at her: "I'm here for my enrollment. This year I'll become a student of the Shadowhunter Academy!"

Dean Penhallow felt as if a vampire slowly sucked the blood out of her hands and feet. She stuttered: "I... I'm sorry?"

The boy repeated slowly and carefully as if talking to a simpleton: "I want to enroll at the Shadowhunter Academy."