Chapter 3

Warmth spilled over Lenore and Lorelai’s dorm, sunlight cast through the skylight in the roof, brightening the shadows which clung to corners of room with its golden glow. It shined against the empty, aluminium containers which had been left littering the end of her bed, light catching the metal of her laptop, then finally spilling onto the two girls-onto Lorelai’s intricate dark braids, and onto the warm colour of Lenore’s bronze, freckle dusted face.

Lenore laid on her back, covers pooling around her waist, while Lorelai laid nestled into the crook of her neck, breath feathering against her skin.

The werewolf’s stirred, the golden glow framing her eyes, which opened slowly, illuminating the golden flecks -she quickly screwed them closed as they watered. She groaned deeply, then shoved, which sent the siren tumbling onto the wooden floor, rudely waking her from her peaceful slumber.

Lorelai sat up, glancing around the room, seemingly confused, staring up at the clear sky which showed through the skylight-then her brows knitted together, realisation falling on her, and by her expression; she found herself awfully annoyed.

“You bitch. Did you just push me out of bed?” Lorelai asked incredulously, her voice still carrying the heavy weight of unuse and sleep. “Out of my bed, yes.” Lenore murmured into her silk pillowcase.

“Fuck you.” She said as she pushed herself up from the floor. She trudged grumpily across the room, then fell down on her bed with a grunt; Lenore, however, sat up, rolling her shoulders, then rubbed the sleep from her eyes. She gathered the rubbish on the end of bed, chucking it into the bin.

Her legs ached with protest as she stepped on the creaking wooden floors, then stretched her arms high above her head-a tired mewl sighing past her lips as she absentmindedly readied herself for the day.

—–

Lenore fingers twisted the handle, then her shoulder collided, forcing open the stiff grand wooden doors, which whined pitifully against her strength; their heels rapped against the cobblestone paved pathway, weathered from years of rain, worn from thousands of footsteps, dusty grey stone buildings surrounded the courtyard, while towers loomed high over them, reaching up into the clear sky-a chilly autumn breeze crashed over the school, cascading down into the quad.

A cacophony of overlapping voices screeched against Lenore’s ears, teasing a low growl to rumble up her throat. As the young werewolf gained her bearing against the sounds, vibrations thumping against the ground-the siren, yawned, stretched then promptly made her way towards the food truck tucked in the corner of the courtyard.

Lenore, however, once she had rolled her aching shoulders, shifted around the two bags slung across them-she began her walk through the familiar winding grounds of the school. She wandered blackened under arched gates, telling of the gothic age in which they were built, with streaks of weathering stained against the stone.

Ravens stood amongst crows, one having a milky white eye, sore red scarring wrapping around its dark head, it called out, they perched on the looming battlements. They stared down at her as she walked up, along the dull cobbled paths, over the winding pathway before her. After her brisk walk, she came to a field tucked away in a corner of the school-only a handful of the archers had arrived.

Those who had finished their shooting, waiting for others finish so they could collect their arrows, watched Lenore with both blatant and subtle interest, observing the new head of archery which held two bags, one holding a more archaic bow, the second a more complex, modern bow, fitted with cams and pulley’s.

Lenore settled both bags on the grassy ground, unzipping and removing the complex, blackened compound bow, which held more strength and accuracy in its limbs.

Moments later, after she had clipped quiver onto her waist, arrows stuffed into it; an archer called out, telling everyone it was safe to shoot after they had collected their arrows and waited at the shooting line.

Lenore stood stoically, with her side facing the target twenty feet away, she held her bow up, her fingers curled around the string, she surely pulled it back, her shoulders pinched together, gaining more of what little strength she could-then her fingers went slack; an arrow sailed towards her target. With a dull thwack, it sunk into the outer edge of the inner most circle.

She tilted her head, sending a murderous glare towards the arrow like it had personally offended her. Lenore nocked on arrow, her breathing stilling, pulling it back-her focused sharpened, then she let it go. It dug into the centre of the target. A compound bullseye. A subtle, satisfied smile planted itself onto her lips.

Once, Lenore finished her first round, scoring all her arrows within the centre circle-but as she pulled her arrows, her ever sensitive ears caught the murmur of conversation, and her name.

“Excuse me,” a young, slightly boy said; he was caught between growing too much, and eating not enough, thinning him out, making his uniform fit him unflatteringly. “Do you know who Lenore Yuson is?” He asked, shifting between his feet nervously.

Before the archer could answer, Lenore approached him, placing her arrows back into her quiver. “That would be me; how can I help you?” She asked, standing over the young boy, clearly new, maybe only twelve or thirteen. “I’m supposed to have an induction with you.” He answered.

Lenore nodded, then gestured for him to follow her-she quickly packed up her compound bow, laying it against the archery shed as they reached a quieter area of the archery field, with targets that sat closer to the shooting line.

“Do you have any experience with archery?” She asked; he shook his head shyly. “Alright, then,”-Lenore kneeled, removing the separate parts of her recurve bow, she absentmindedly put the bow together as she continued to speak,-“we’re lacking in spare bows, so you can borrow one of mine.”

“Are you sure?” He asked.

“Wouldn’t have asked if I wasn’t willing, kid.” Lenore response, a rare warmth present in her voice. “Alright, let’s get started.” She said.

The younger boy watched willingly and listened diligently, caught on her every word and movement as she explained the basics of her sport. He took her stern but kind advice on the chin as she corrected his stance and guided him through the movements of pulling a bow.

Before allowing him to try his hand, she talked him through the different parts of a bow, then shot an arrow herself, which imbedded itself at the edge of the central circle.

As he stood side on, she nudged his foot with her own, twisting at his shoulders and correcting his posture. When she finally handed him her bow, which was years old, dear to Lenore-he hesitated, only taking it when she offered him an affirming nod.

“Pinch it between your fingers.” She tapped at his hand, helping him hold it, in a way that would stop the string from clipping his arm-stopping large hurricane like bruises from forming on his skin. She offered him an arrow, which he took, awaiting her instructions. “These ones should work for you, now clip it between those,”-she gestured at the space between the two metal nocks-“have the colourful side face you.” He clipped it on.

“Pull it into the corner of your lips.” He did so, pressing his fingers between the groove of his teeth, “now aim, then when you’re ready, just let your fingers so slack.” She told him, then stepped back.

A few long moments later, his arrow had dug itself into the edge of the target. She patted his shoulder proudly, “nicely done, once you’re used to that, I’ll help you aim,” he beamed up at her.

Once he had shot all his arrows, only missing the target twice, she then ran him through the basics of aiming, how to adjust his aim. Thirty minutes later; she could tell by his fallen shoulders and furrowed brow that he was beginning to get disheartened.

“You’re doing well, give yourself a break, you’ve only just started. It will take time, trust me, at first, or even for a while archery is infuriating.” Lenore told him, “go on, we can continue this tomorrow. I’ll pack up.” She said; he handed her back her bow, then offered him a small smile. He paused when he walked away when she spoke up again, “I didn’t catch your name.” She said.

“Tomoe.” He replied.

“Well, Tomoe, I hope to see you here tomorrow. I’ll be here from four to six.” She said to him, then nodded the hurried off away from the archery field.

A subtle, almost imperceptible smile tugged stubbornly at Lenore’s lips as she put everything away.

“You being soft, now, I never thought I would see the day.” Teased Lorelai with a hand rested on her hip, which earned a scoff from the werewolf. “I am not soft.” She replied, though with little bite.

“Careful now, if you keep being nice, you might just get an entourage like the Addams girl.” She chuckled, throwing an arm around the werewolf’s shoulders. “Shut up.” Lenore shrugged off her arm, walking away, while Lorelai hurried along in tow.

—–

Lenore and Lorelai shuffled along, talking amongst themselves, the larger werewolf’s arm slung over sirens shoulder, who shivered subtly from the setting night, which had begun to stain the horizon in an inky navy, creeping in over the soft oranges, yellows and purples which hung over the shadowed rolling hills and autumnal forests.

As they made their way downhill, away from school which hung looming and eerie high behind them, their feet crunched against the grass, cautious not to slip on the muddy ground, which had been newly rained on earlier that afternoon.

Music slunk through the still air, fresh-smelling slightly of petrichor and fallen leaves, which crunched under foot-coloured the palette of autumn; as they grew closer to the clearing, the melody in the air began to thump through Lenore’s bones, along with the rising moon, which sat swollen and almost full-her teeth grew on edge, aching like they were doused in cold water from the tension strung through her sharp jaw.

Students had begun to arrive, clinging to another in clumps which circled around the meadow; a circle of lights hung around in a loop, glowing softly purple in the twilight, staining the cold air in their cool colours. Lenore and Lorelai wandered around by themselves, neither knowing any other students well-the werewolf found herself hiding behind the smaller woman whenever people dared to try and interact with her, before scurrying off.

“You’ve got to admit, it’s impressive.” Lorelai said, intertwining her fingers with the werewolf’s, pressing herself closer as she tried to steal her warmth. Lenore tilted her head, looking up at the pyre, made of twisting branches which had been masterfully intertwined, knitting together until they reached their peak, where a towering wooden raven stood, wings wide and arched, like it was waiting to fly. “It is.” Lenore replied.

A subtle smiled crept at her lips, chuckling wryly to herself as she watched the siren shiver. Lenore shrugged off the leather jacket slung over her uniform, which she wore messily-missing the blazer, vest, only having the baggy trousers and partially unbuttoned, untucked white shirt. “Come here.” Lenore said, stepping behind Lorelai, drawing the siren closer.

“You should’ve brought your blazer.” She scolded half-heartedly as the siren slid her arms into the jacket, “why is this so warm?” Lorelai asked, pulling the lapels of jacket, hugging it closer around her slender figure-it hung off her shoulders, fitting her like old elephant skin. “It’s a werewolf thing.” Lenore shrugged off.

“You’re like a radiator.” She commented-Lenore breathed out an amused sigh.

—–

Lenore stumbled forward, whipping around as she opened her mouth to scold whoever had barged her shoulder, she fell silent, however, she noticed Wednesday-her brow knitted together, eyes holding a seething intensity as she looked around the meadow, which was framed by the silhouette of pine trees, which crept up into the dark sky like jagged shadows, while the lilac lights cut through the darkness, illuminating the chill in the air-she looked between the groups of people.

“Are you alright?” Lenore asked, breaking Wednesday from her trance when she placed a hand on her shoulder. “Someone’s going to burn her book at the Pyre.” Enid exclaimed worriedly, tugging at her hair. Lenore’s eyes widened, “do you know who?”

“My stalker.” She responded-Lenore almost choked on her own saliva. She casted worried looks out at the crowd, playing with her jaw muscles. Wednesday rushed off, pulling along Enid by the wrist. Lenore broke her stare from the crowd, turning towards Lorelai. “I need to… just stay in my vision, in the light, okay.” Lenore rushed out, following after the younger girls.

As Lenore approached them, she watched as two girls bumped into Wednesday, prompting her to reach into her pocket, her fingers came away bloody, a cut along the base of her fingers. Lenore’s heart raced, her pulse beating through her ears, muffling the music and crowd.

She pulled a note from her pocket, adorned with razorblades.

Lenore read the note from Wednesday’s shoulder, ‘if you don’t want your novel to go up in smoke, meet me under the pyre. P.S. I found a few more typos.’

Wednesday’s jaw set-determination gleaming sharply in her dark eyes; a pit formed in Lenore’s stomach at the sight. “You are not going under that-”

“-Oh, hey, Lee.” Bruno’s voice cut in, capturing Lenore’s attention where she found Enid standing awkward by her brother and Ajax, seemingly caught in an uncomfortable conversation.

“Yeah, sorry, B. I’m in the middle of something.” Lenore dismissed before turning back around, but to her horror, Wednesday was missing.

“Oh, for fucks sake.” She gritted out; Enid rushed over, leaving the two boys glare at another, while she leaned down and peered into the hole, which Wednesday have made before crawling into the heart of the pyre.

“She’s in there?” Enid asked, worriedly combing her hand through her hair. “Yeah,” Lenore forced out, pacing the length of the pyre. Her heart strained against the enclosing bones of her rib cage, and her pulse jumped in her neck. The glow of moonlight caressed her skin, beginning to burn in an achingly familiar way.

“What do we do?” Enid questioned.

Lenore breathed through her gritted teeth as she struggled to form a coherent thought of the buzz of the crowd, pulse of the music and racing of her thoughts. “I don’t know.” She muttered.

Her panic heightened, screaming like a whistle in her head when she looked around the field, unable to find Lorelai in the swarming crowd which had collected around the stage.

Lenore’s head snapped up, wincing when microphone feedback squealed against her ears-her claws snapped out. “Good evening, Nevermore.” An enchanting voice, which rung familiar to Lenore said; swathed by moonlight, wearing a baggy overcoat stood the woman from last night-her curls were ruffled from the wind, strands caught by the light. “Good evening, and welcome to The Founder’s Pyre.”

Lenore’s feet moved without her permission, crunching over grass, sliding over mud and towards the stage-her heartrate slowed. “Tonight, we’re going to start by singing the Nevermore alma mater.” Her voice loosened something in Lenore’s chest, the crushing weight of the moon slipped off her chest, allowing her breath in deeply.

She gestured towards the chair, then settled down on the seat of the piano. Her voice of the instrument easily cut through the noise of the crowd, silencing them quickly. Lenore didn’t care for the choir; she simply zoned in on her, how her voice slunk through Lenore’s ears, slipping through the chinks in her armour, through the scabs on her skin, and the space between her fingernails.

A flinch shook through Lenore’s body roughly-the sudden change of music snapped her from her trance, allowing her heartrate to ramp up, dread curling up in her stomach again. A subtle growl rumbled up from her throat when the microphone whined again, sending a jolt of tension up her spine.

“Hello, fellow outcasts-” the crowd cheered loudly, “-And welcome back to Nevermore.” Dort exclaimed. Lenore glanced nervously over her shoulder-Wednesday hadn’t come out; she bounced restlessly between her feet. “I’m your Principle Barry Dort.” The crowd fell silent. The music cut awkwardly through the silence, tension palpable. “…And tonight, we celebrate a new area.” He continued. “Now, I know change can be scary, but you don’t have to be afraid. You know why? Because we are Outcast strong.” He announced.

Lenore sighed wearily, half a hiss which was caught in her throat. She turned back, finding Enid crouched over by the Pyre, “you gotta get out of here. They’re gonna light this thing any second.” Enid shouted. Lenore grasped her shoulder, earning the blonde’s attention. “There’s no point, she won’t listen. I’m going to get help.” She told her, then ran off, towards the stage-her eyes widened in fear, watching as Dort flinched a spark towards the pyre.

Her footsteps slowed to a stop, freezing in horror as she watched flames curl up the pyre, dancing in the wind as it crept higher up the pyre. They licked up, wrapping around the raven perched high on the mound, reaching high into the darkness. Slowly, the raven’s wings shook, beginning to beat the air. They flexed forward, straightening out as it prepared to take flight.

Finally, time caught up with her-she burst out into a run-her feet slammed against the floor, muscular legs moving like a piston. She shoved through the crowd, sending people stumbling around-earning her dirty looks and curses, her shoulders knocked against people. Lenore pushed out of crowd, staggering forward-gaining both teacher’s attention.

“Wednesday is under the pyre!” She yelled, gesturing back the flaming pyre. A flinch ripped through tense body, pulled tight like a string when the raven exploded above them, sending sparks flying through the air like a spill of stars.

“Don’t panic.” Dort said-Enid joined Lenore soon after, they watched as the crowd parted like the red sea. Wednesday slowly walked through, staring forward intensely-she was covered in ash, smoke curling off her and her book-miraculously unburned, though.

Lenore sighed out in relief, it, however, didn’t last long as a blanket of heat washed over her, rage flickering her eyes like a candle-a sense of seething biting at her as she watched as Dort pretended like nothing had happened. A shroud of misty red blurred the corners of vision as her dread was replaced by an anger curling up on her chest-crushing the air from her lungs.

She stumbled away, putting space between her and crowd before she would do something she regretted-once she cleared the crowd, she broke into a run. Her raspy breathing grew louder than the wind, blood rushing through her ears like rapids.

Lenore’s foot clipped a rock, sending her slamming against the grassy slurry of dirt, mud stained her uniform, rubbing against her face. She pushed herself up, kneeling on the floor, claws digging into the ground, grass tickling against her hands.

Moonlight teased at her skin, burning against her, making every muscle in her body ached with the force of the moon. Her canines grew, digging into her full lower lip. Light pooled in her soft eyes, and she glared up at moon, which looked back from its place, strung high with the stars, its silver body slightly obscured by dusky clouds.

Lenore counted to ten, then back in her head; she tied together the last few strands of her frayed composure, then prompting pushed herself up, wobbling before settling safely on her feet.

—–

Lenore’s muscular shoulder collided roughly against her door, making it shake nervously in its hinges, before popping open, sending the werewolf stumbling across her room. She shoved the door back into its frame, it slammed, then clicking closed.

She ripped open her clothing draw, rooting through, clothes falling onto the floor as she grabbed baggy joggers and an oversized shirt. After chucking those onto her bed, she walked into her bathroom; it was cool, black tile covered the walls, floor-while a rendition of the night sky lay painted over the ceiling.

She pulled the handle to the coldest setting, then turned it on. Lenore stripped from her muddy clothes, which stuck uncomfortably to her sweat covered body-she was still burning and when the water hit her skin, it was a welcome relief.

Her forehead rested against the wall, fridged water streaming down her toned back, raining down on her broad shoulders. She breathed in slowly, then out.

Once, Lenore finished, stepping out of the shower, her curly mullet was slicked back against her head, her bleached ends brushing against the nape of her neck. She slumped back on her bed, looking down at the patterns that moonlight had carved into her floor as she scrunched her curls dry, throwing on the clothes had gotten out earlier.

She simply rested there for a while, tracing shapes in her blankets, until the shine of metal caught her eye-the buckles of her violin case reflected the light. With a weighty groan, she pushed herself to her feet, grabbing the violin case surely-then made her way into the silent hallways of Nevermore. Her destination was clear; the music hall.

A watchful darkness shrouded the ornate, olden halls of Nevermore, hiding in the corners, where moonlight couldn’t touch burn it away-the silver light cast pattern against rich oaken floors of the halls, which Lenore’s trainers tapped against mutely. She avoided the cold light, needing no more of the moons influence.

Her usually taut body relaxed, appreciating the rare silence which permeated the school-even when Lenore stalked her usual haunts, during the dead of night, it wasn’t entirely silent. Be it breathing, footsteps, talking, something would ruin her much adored quiet.

Lenore’s palm pressed against the door of music hall; it whined against the silence as she pushed it open. The door shut behind her with a click. She walked past the empty rows of chairs, draped in an eerily darkness, caught by only a hint of light.

The wooden stairs creaked under her weight, and she stepped onto the stage, and shunted a chair out of her way. She laid down, then unzipped her violin case-she set it down, plugging her amp in, then into the socket in the wall.

She took centre stage, breathing in softly as she laid her violin against her shoulder. She ran her bow against the strings mindlessly, testing it–to her surprise, it was in tune.

Then, she sucked in a breath, rapidly moving her bow along the strings, while her fingers moved skilfully, forming chords. The jarring jolt of sharp notes cut through the air. Her breathing paused, head tilting back in bliss as her eyes fluttered closed. She threw her bow off the string, then continued.

The dramatic, rich tones of Vivaldi’s Summer poured through the still air, into the music hall, slinking into the corners where silence lingered, like behind the ornate curtains at her back, and at the far end of the hall. Her foot tapped against the floor absent mindedly.

As it climbed to its crescendo, her bow arm and fretting hand moved without thought, naturally, she had played it far too many times for it be anything less than instinct. Her heartrate thumped surely, not racing-just calm, as she pulled in a breath with each rasping note.

The final note echoed around the hall, bouncing off each dark wall; she settled her violin in the case at her feet, playfully spinning the bow in circles as she raised from her music induced trance.

Lenore flinched noticeably as clapping cut through the silence-upon looking around, her eyes settled on a familiar figure, darkened by night, moonlight carving out her features like Michelangelo had given her personal attention.

Her senses sharpened, lip twitching in an almost snarl when the sharp rap of heels against the floor grew closer. The figure drew nearer, leaning against her desk, illuminated by a river of moonlight cast through the windows.

Lenore’s heartrate quickened-thumping like the crack of the drum, racing through her ears. Her eyes flickered down, only momentarily, releasing she wore the same outfit as earlier-she must have just gotten back, she surmised.

“What drives you to perform like that?” She asked-playfulness caught in the hint of husk in her voice. Lenore didn’t reply, earning a subtle, thoughtful smirk from the teacher. “Vivaldi’s Summer is an interesting choice, you know, his genius truly lied in translating images into music.” She began. “He’s thought to be the first example of making music into such a story.”

She approached Lenore, her movements slow, bordering on predatory as she circled her. “Do you know what story Vivaldi’s Summer tells?” She asked as she stopped close behind her. 

“A scorching sun, birdsong, and an extreme thunderstorm.” Lenore replied, earning an approving hum.

She drew even nearer to Lenore, her feathering breath hot against her ear. Despite herself, the younger werewolf found herself baring her neck.

“You left early, why?” She asked.

Lenore craned her neck, glancing behind her. “I’m not a people person.” She bit. 

“Mm, so I’ve heard.” She replied. Lenore turned sharply, a deep furrow on her brow. 

“What do you mean?” Lenore questioned. 

She kissed her teeth, “after you announced Wednesday had crawled under the pyre, glared at the Principle like you were about to murder him-” she chuckled softly, “-and promptly left. I was… curious, especially after last night, so I asked Wednesday and Enid about you.” She explained.

“What did they say?” Lenore pressed.

“Enid didn’t know much, other than you’re the elder sister of Bruno, have few friends, and though you’ve wolfed out, you avoid the pack like the plague. While Wednesday informed me your usual haunt is the library, you’re awfully familiar with the secrets of Nevermore, you are now head the archery club, and that you two have a competition going on who will get their book published first.” She responded-returning to her pacing around Lenore. “Though… I didn’t catch your name.” She mused.

“Lenore Yuson. Yours?” She breathed out shakily-though she didn’t want to admit it, she was… nervous, she wasn’t often the victim of intimidation–in fact, she never was, until now.

“Isadora Capri, new head of music.” Miss Capri answered.

Lenore tilted her head; she knew that name, from where, she couldn’t place. “That tracks.” Lenore muttered, recalling the teacher’s earlier performance. “Why spurred you to join Nevermore?”

Miss Capri smiled, almost shyly. “Well… I was inspired by a group of young people who saved their school. It prompted me to give back to my own community.” She explained. “If my memory serves me right, you were one of those people. You fought Crackstone.”

Lenore’s face hardened. She breathed in sharply as the fractured memories of her fight with Crackstone returned, her mind straining against the mist which shrouded her memories. “I did.” She muttered.

“You don’t seem to be proud.” Miss Capri stated.

“Wolfing like I did is nothing to be proud of.” Lenore said, nails digging into her palms. “You don’t relish in the freedom it brings?” Miss Capri pressed, curiosity written across her features.

Lenore stayed silent, leaving her question unanswered. Instead, she walked away from her and yanked her amp’s cable out of the wall; she packed everything away quickly, purposely avoiding the streams of moonlight, which she was sure Miss Capri noticed as she could feel the weight of her stare pressing down on her.

As Lenore reached the door, which lay slightly ajar-she paused. “Goodnight, Lenore.” Miss Capri murmured into the darkness.

“Night,” Lenore muttered stiffly, then she disappeared into the hallway.