Grave (Work in Progress)

Chapter 1.1-Leilia-Visions

 She tossed the manila folder onto my desk. Inside were a photograph and a bunch of official documents. I didn’t care to look at the papers, but I was attracted to the photo. Even though it was just a school picture, the boy in it was gorgeous. He had long blond hair with sweeping bangs, and his face was perfectly proportioned with full pale lips and a slightly upturned nose.

“His name is Kyrce Sirula. He’s a second year demonology student, and he has quite a reputation for troublemaking.” Jennings explained. Kyrce Sirula, huh? Pretty name for a pretty boy. I didn’t care how good-looking he was though. There was no way I was going to stick around to babysit some hoodlum. Maybe one of the interns could take over. I could say I had caught that flu bug going around and needed to go home because I was concerned for the health of others or some bullshit like that.

“His freshman test scores and essay were quite impressive, as well as his magical abilities, but we can’t ignore the danger he poses to the scholastic environment. He’s…eccentric, to say the least.  While there hasn't been an incident since his senior year of secondary school, the student council has petitioned the Dean so many times that we feel it necessary to keep an eye on him."

Well, that's great and all, I thought, but why go to the trouble?

According to his therapist, he used to make up all sorts of stories about seeing monsters and ghosts when he was young," Jennings continued. "Seeking attention, I’m sure of it."

“Wait a minute, seeing monsters?”

“Yes. Outlandish, isn’t it?” Her serious expression told me to keep my mouth shut. “Anyway, since you’re the same age as some of the students, Dean Earlhart thought it appropriate that you could shadow him for a while. That way, we can monitor him while keeping a low profile.”

I glanced at the picture again. Sure, I wasn't into the spying gig, but if I got close to him maybe he would tell me a thing or two about all the weird things happening to me lately. “I’m your girl, Mrs. J. Just tell me where to go.”

Jennings clapped her hands together. “Excellent! Dean Earlhart will be most pleased.” As I stood up, she stopped me. “One more thing, Ms. Hollins. A package arrived this morning addressed to you. The sender didn’t identify himself.” She leaned in closer, purring, “Maybe it’s from a secret admirer?”

Was she attempting to have a girl-to-girl moment? Gag me, please. “There’s that sense of humor again! Mrs. J, you are a comedy gold mine.” I snatched the package from her and high-tailed it out of there.

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 Outside of my sorry excuse for an office, Celeste University was actually an interesting place. Walking through it was like a journey in time. Different parts were constructed at different times, and each represented some piece of Lutetian history. The tall open arches and evenly spaced columns of the East Wing were finished most recently. They allowed the air from the sea to flow freely through the halls, as well as the natural light of the sun. The West Wing, which housed most of the classrooms, had been burned down during one of the wars (no one could remember which one), and was rebuilt with some of the stones recovered from the original hall. Everywhere on campus, some portrait of a monarch or magician-senator could be found, gazing down at passerby with hollow eyes. Each one had been a student here at some point in time. They’d all walked under the famous arch in the courtyard, the one that had the school motto spelled out in brass letters. “Hard work shall lead to greatness.” I had to laugh at that in private. I’d worked pretty hard in my life and look where it got me.

Jennings hadn’t told me where Kyrce Sirula would be right now, so I just wandered around aimlessly, peeking in each classroom to see if he was there, but each time I came up empty. He wasn’t in Continental History, Black Arts Education, or Basic Potion-making. Whenever I mentioned his name, a hush would fall over everyone in the room. The students turned and whispered to one another. The professor, whether a starry-eyed novice or a callous veteran, coughed or squirmed and muttered, “No, he’s not here” and then dived back into his or her lecture on what can be learned from gnome turds or why the Valsparan civil war was a turning point in the country's history. The boy’s name had gotten around. Fast.