Chapter 6

Lenore’s teeth braced against another, a faint hiss muffled in her throat as she stood, bracing herself on the wall. She neared the door. It creaked as she pushed it open, stepping into the room—purely illuminated by firelight. Principal Dort sat behind his desk, hands clasped together on the wooden surface. His stare lay unrelenting on Lenore, who could feel it against her back as she shut the door behind her.

“Miss Yuson.”

Lenore pinned her shoulders back and stuffed her injured hands into her pockets. “Sit,” he gestured towards a leather chair opposite him. She sunk down on it, stretching her legs out. Her head lulled down, and her eyes settled on him, staring up through her manicured brows—something gleamed in her eyes. Dort shifted uncomfortably, and he cleared his throat.

“Outcast’s must work together, we survive on that, especially you wolves. From the rumours around school, you’re quite anti-social, even refusing to become part of the pack, even though you’ve wolfed out; why?” He asked, leaning forward, and Lenore shifted back.

Quiet grew thickly in Lenore’s throat, like mucus, sealing her lips shut—instead of speaking, she looked around the room—her eyes settled on the fireplace. On its blank gaze, smooth stone face framed by curling waves, and under its teeth, in its gaping mouth, embers glowed against the ashen wood; a flame, whose warmth licked at her, even from here, danced over the collapsed pile of firewood.

Dort sighed, shaking his head disappointedly at her stubborn silence. “I have come to a decision, no easy decision, mind you,”—while Lenore remained unmoved, expressionless, her mind screamed at her do something, plead her case.

Before he could finish, or she could say anything—the door behind her creaked open, heels tapped against the floor; she inhaled, a rugged wolfish scent filled her nose, undertoned with something richly sweet and deep.

“Ah, perfect timing.”

Miss Capri approached them, but kept far enough away to watch, leaning against the fireplace, arms folded over her chest; she was draped in a fitting leopard print dress, cinched around her waist with a leather belt. She regarded Lenore with an unconcealed curiosity.

“Anyhow, as I was saying, you need to accept your fellow wolves, and who is better than to help with that than our very own werewolf teacher.” He continued with an uncontained giddiness. Lenore’s patience thinned. “You’ll be Ms Capri’s TA, and will be helping with the orchestra. You will be coming with us on our Outcast camp, too, which will be a great chance for you to bond with your,”—in a sudden snap, and crash, which seemed like a blur; Lenore had leaped up, knocking her chair back which stumbled against the floor. Dort flinched.

Her fingers locked tightly around the desk, her claws left thin, tapering marks in the wood. “That trip is on a full moon. I can’t go.” Lenore insisted.

“Plenty of werewolves will be going; you’ll be fine.” He dismissed.

“No!” Lenore’s voice snapped in a growl; her breathing came heavy. “You don’t understand; I’m not like—” Lenore stopped suddenly, swallowing harshly. She stepped back in a stumble when her knee buckled. “You aren’t what?” Dort pressed.

“Nothing- nothing.” She shook her head—her fingers curled around her hair, and she tugged harshly.

“What happened to your hands?” A gentle, though, curious voice said; Lenore froze. Her hands shook subtly, and they fell to her lap—she became acutely aware of the burn which writhed on her skin.

“Agnes happened.” She said bitterly.

Ms Capri approached her, hand coming up to rest on Lenore’s firm shoulder—the tension softened, only slightly.

“Let me see,” she said gently, hand slipping down her arm, to encouragingly tug on her wrist. Lenore hesitantly held her hand out, though her arm twitched, but she supressed the urge to pull away. Miss Capri’s expression fell into something focused, etched with a subtle concern for her fellow wolf.

Her skin felt soft against Lenore’s, enough to make her stomach shift, and she slowly unwrapped the cloth, collecting the stained bandages in her other hand. They grew more bloody, raw and musky, and an earthy smell hung in the air.

They fell away, and beneath the bandages, a brutal sight lay—in the fiery light, the gashes shined warmly, feathered-out, crusted in blood. Beneath those, on the skin of her palm, a raw, wet blistering ruin lay—a festering burn.

“Silver…” Ms Capri muttered, and the muscles in her jaw noticeably tensed, she looked up at Lenore, “Agnes did this?”

“Yeah,” she curled her fingers over palm, covering the burn, which seemed to shiver with life, trying to tear at Lenore’s skin, and dig deeper.

“Why?” Miss Capri asked.

“Nothing you need to worry about.”

Ms Capri gripped Lenore’s wrist tightly, then stepped in front of her; she faced Principal Dort. “Miss Yuson must get that burn seen to, it will fester and get worse if she doesn’t.” She stated firmly, leaving no room for argument. Lenore watched her quietly.

Principal Dort sighed and waved his hand dismissively. “Make sure she gets to the nurses office.”

Lenore’s eyes settled on the flickering flames, which shined in her light eyes, and she absentmindedly cradled her burned hand in her bandaged one, cringing at feeling of air brushing against the writhing burn.

“We should go.” Ms Capri tugged gently on Lenore’s wrist, who tore her eyes away from the fire, and followed behind the teacher—she shut the door behind her, which shook in its frame. Lenore stilled momentarily, letting out a low, long sigh—pressing her fingers against her jaw and tried to massage the tension away.

Miss Capri let go of her wrist.

“No one burns a wolf for no reason if they have half a mind.” She said, arms crossed tightly over her chest as she watched Lenore catch her breath.

“Agnes must be a half-wit.” She responded dryly. Lenore pushed herself off the wall, clasping her hands together in her lap, and brushed past Ms Capri’s shoulder as she slowly walked down the hall; the teacher in question quickly caught up with her.

“Most wolves aren’t so relaxed about a silver burn.” She said as she walked beside Lenore, who had her eyes set ahead, and didn’t even look like she had heard Miss Capri.

“You assume I’m relaxed?” She muttered; a certain bite crept into her voice.

“You aren’t panicking.”

“It isn’t my first rodeo.” She deadpanned.

Ms Capri’s steps faltered, and she turned to quickly face her, brows furrowed deeply in something like concern, or interest. “Most of us never get burned, not once… you’ve been burned before?”

Lenore didn’t reply, only absentmindedly scratched at her bandages as her palm had begun itch. It was a downside to rapid healing—it itches, fervently.

“What does it feel like?” Ms Capri asked.

“Like it’s living—seething.” Lenore said. “I’ve heard of silver burns so bad, they’ve eaten right down to the bone.” It simmered against her palm, an ugly blight on her skin, which stained her flesh red, and it dug deeper with every passing second.

—————

Ms Capri stepped forward, opening the door for Lenore, who hardly glanced at the teacher before entering the dingy, lowly lit nurses office; her nose scrunched up at the strong scent of disinfectant. “You should sit.” She gestured towards clean, white bed, with pristinely folded covers, and the younger werewolf shuffled over. She settled down with a pained grunt, and the sheets scrunched up around her. She smoothed them out without a second thought.

“What happened to your knee?” Miss Capri asked, a certain curiosity on her features, head subtly tilted. “Nothing, just… an old childhood injury acting up.” Lenore said. Her eyes darted around the room nervously, while her less pained leg bounced up and down on the linoleum floors.

A few heavy moments passed, and Lenore could tell Ms Capri wanted to say something, ask her something, but before she could, she spoke up herself, “what do you want to ask?”

“Why did you hurt Agnes?”

Lenore laughed—genuinely laughed, though it wasn’t a carefree or joyful expression, but a bitter, tired one; her eyes rolled up to meet her teachers. “Why do you think? You said it yourself; ‘no one burns a wolf for no reason if they have half a mind.’ Why’s that? Maybe cause it’s dangerous.” She said.

Ms Capri hummed, almost amused, “Mm, I think it’s more than that.”

“Humour me. What do you think it is, Miss?” Lenore jibed.

“Something more. I don’t know what yet, but I will.”

“Oh, you will, huh?” Lenore leaned forward, baring her teeth in a trembling grimace. “Best of luck.” She spat. She settled back down, and kept her head low, huffing out an annoyed sigh.

“Oh, Miss Yuson, here already? It didn’t take long to hurt yourself, did it?” The nurse teased, arms folded over her chest, an eyebrow raised as she looked down at the woman. “What is it this time?”

Lenore raised her hand out, and the nurses teasing, mirthful expression fell immediately, and she took a long step forward, grasping the student’s wrist. “These will need stitches… how did you burn yourself? You know you’re supposed to stay away from silver.” She shook her head worriedly.

Ms Capri waited quietly, arching a perfectly manicured brow as she awaited Lenore’s response to the nurses question, instead she received a steely-eyed glare. “An accident.” Lenore said. The teacher tilted her head, confusion flickering across her features, only momentarily.

“What condition is your other hand in?”

“No burn, just cuts.”

“Unwrap it.” She ordered, before promptly walking off and leaving a tense silence behind as she looked for supplies. Lenore unwrapped her hand, dumping the stained bandages on the table beside her, then she stared down at her hands—her chin trembled slightly, and she pushed away any simmering anger.

Her fresh burn grew sharper, more painful as air freely brushed over it—against her palm, it lay in the shape of chain links, where she had tried to pull them away. Thankfully, neither Enid nor Bruno had been burned, they were evidently more cautious than her.

“You know, I’ve never seen one before.” Ms Capri sat down beside her, making the mattress sink beneath her. “You’ve never been burned?” Lenore asked.

“No, thankfully. I mean, typically, wolves are only burned as a last option when they’re out of control, and they could hurt people.” Miss Capri explained, spinning her rings around her fingers as she spoke.

Lenore pressed her lips together, trying to push away her amused expression, but a few humorous breaths spilled past her lips—earning an odd look from her teacher.

“If you don’t mind me asking, what happened to get you burned?” Ms Capri tapped her palm gently, making Lenore stiffen—it wasn’t her freshly burned palm, however, instead under the patchwork cuts; a thin, puckered, crimson line lay, which tingled with memory.

Everyone, be it wolf or not, knew what a silver scar looked like—they were bitterly angry, persistent wounds which never wanted to close, and only would through help of either magic or alchemy. Even then, they would never fade; they would remain a hateful blight on a wolf’s skin, which seemed to pulse with a life of their own.

“That’s a story for another time… and I don’t know you nearly well enough for that.” Lenore responded.

“That’s fair.” Miss Capri said.

—————

Clear, almost unnoticeable stitches were sewed throughout her hands, and an iridescent balm had been harshly rubbed into the silver burn, which frothed in response, before quickly bringing much needed relief. They were bandaged skilfully, pristine white cloth was looped between her fingers, and over her hands, before being secured with medical tape.

She flexed her fingers, and stretched her hand slightly, feeling the pull of the dissolvable stitches which kept her skin tightly pushed together. She stuffed her hand into her pockets. They burned less, and stinging of the needle which had been jabbed into skin had begun to fade, just a whisper in her flesh.

“Thank you.” Lenore said, earning a soft smile from the nurse, who clasped her shoulder, “don’t get yourself hurt again.” She told the student. Lenore nodded in response, offering a wry smile—the nurse promptly left to care for another reckless student.

Lenore pushed herself up, draping her jacket over her shoulder—she stepped forward, but paused when she heard Ms Capri speak up, who had stayed the entire time, silently sat beside her.

“We have a lesson tomorrow.” She started.

“We do.” Lenore replied cooly.

“Stay after class; we’ll work out our TA sessions and remember the orchestra club is happening on Friday at three.” She looked up at Lenore, tilting her head to catch her eye, and smiled softly. The younger werewolf hummed in acknowledgement—a flash of pain pulled at her features when she shifted her weight. “Aren’t you going to get your knee looked at?”

“There’s no point, it’ll be healed in a few days. I don’t feel like being poked and prodded anymore today, either.” Lenore responded.

Miss Capri laughed softly, followed by a nod of her head, “fair enough.”

She followed after Lenore as she left, who held open the door for her, and they walked silently together—the younger woman would occasionally glance over, catching glimpses of Ms Capri’s fluffy ringlets, and sharp features, framed by the black and red wainscotting, who fiddled with her rings absentmindedly.

The bright glow of sunlight poured in through the open doorway, illuminating the waiting room, and she quickened her pace, desperate to escape the chokingly strong smell of disinfectant and room which felt like it was closing in on her.

She paused, and her hair bristled, and goosebumps formed as autumn sunlight tingled against her warm-toned skin, and she let out a content breath. She basked in the autumnal warmth. Her eyes flickered closed, though only momentarily before she remembered that someone stood behind her; she quickly snapped back into reality, and a subtle flush of embarrassment grew on her skin, she continued forth into the enclosed square.

—————

Lenore’s short nails trailed along the blackened brick, tracing around the carved wooden frames of age-weathered paintings as she descended the chalky stairs, which spiralled downstairs, growing darker as lantern light dimmed as she walked towards the familiar arched wooden door, which, if she wasn’t careful she would scrape her head against the low doorway.

The heavy door whined open—her shoes clunked against the floor. The fondly familiar musky scent of settled dust, old wood and aged paper hit her. She ventured further in. Her fingers brushed against the towering wooden bookshelves, collecting dust as they ran along them.

Grooves had been scratched into the dust, from where popular books had been taken and returned, mostly textbooks and the occasional romance. Lenore paid them little mind, as she contently passed them by, quickly making her way along to the classics section.

“Lenore?” A fierce voice called out—a smile grew on the werewolf’s face, and she spun around; an elderly woman, expression fond, smiled at younger woman. “Had to kick anyone out yet?” Lenore asked, earning a tired sigh and a disapproving shake of her head.

“Kids these days don’t respect books.”

“It’s more of a kid issue generally. I’m sure you were pretty wild in your time.” Lenore laughed as she slumped into a chair on the opposite side of the desk, which was stacked with books, free bookmarks, and several used mugs.

“Lenore, dear, I was like you.” She responded, sharp eyebrow raised at the girl. “Why do I feel like you just insulted me?” Lenore muttered to herself, earning an amused chuckle from the teacher. “Do you think I’m chronically single?”

“Well, if the shoe fits.” She muttered.

“Oi, I’ll have you know, Ester, I’m single by choice.” Lenore huffed and crossed her arms over her chest. “By the choices of others, maybe.” Ester mumbled before promptly spinning around in her chair. Lenore sputtered, and offense was written over her face, before muttering something about getting disrespected by an old woman.

“Maybe you should try and find someone, it’s your last year here. You could always look within your own people, after all, it might be good to try and bond with them.” Ester suggested.

“No one’s interested in me, and I have my own reasons for avoiding them.” She dismissed. “Not that I have much of a choice now, though…” she muttered.

“People are interested in you. Just last year I was getting girls gossiping about how to approach you and asking me about you.” Ester chuckled, a flicker of mischief in her eyes. Lenore blinked through her confusion; brow furrowed in a rather endearing matter as a blush curled at her ears.

“You never have given anyone half a chance, dear—listen, before you protest. I know you have your reasons, which you’ve never told me, but are they enough to stay lonely?” Ester asked.

Lenore’s expression grew weary, like her mask of calculated expressionless had shifted—the rage and simmering dread of her day had finally worn it down. “It’s not choice. It’s… necessity.” It fell from her lips with the weight that spilling your sins at a confessional would. “I’m not lonely, though. I have people. I care about them.” She responded, quickly clearing her throat and pressing her mask surely back on, offering a smile which wavered at the edges.

She raised slowly to her feet and brushed invisible lint off her trousers; she offered Ester a nod, waving over her shoulder as she promptly walked off—though she paused when Ester spoke up again.

“Do they really know you?” She asked—Lenore’s body fell entirely still, if only for a moment before she sighed quietly and moved on.

—————

Lenore had spent her day in the dusty library—basking in the quiet, which hung heavily in the air, especially where she sat, by a stained-glass window, tucked away in the classics section, sprawled out over a desk. Her eyes had begun to glaze over; the words on the page had started to drift, blurring into each other, and disappearing before her eyes. She pressed her palms against her sockets.

Her palm fell limply against the page and her eyes drifted towards the window—it was stained darkly, ash-grey brick framing it in a sharp arch; she snapped open the latch. The window cracked open.

Cold, fresh air tickled Lenore’s face. Her eyes fluttered closed. Only for a moment. She gazed out at the forest, which span for miles over rolling hills, painting them all with bright autumnal colours—which clung tightly to the twisting branches. A faint spark of inspiration warmed her chest. Her fingers twitched restlessly against the aged paper of The Odyssey.

Upon pushing out a weary sigh—the book thumped closed, and she pushed herself up. Her eyes burned with exhaustion. She folded it under her arm and swiftly closed the window.

“Lenore.” Wednesday said sharply—the werewolf’s shoulders fell, and she turned to face Wednesday, who stood at the end of the aisle, hands clasped in her lap. “I heard you strangled Agnes.” Her voice held respect, while her eyes glimmered with curiosity. Wednesday’s curiosity wasn’t something she needed—it wouldn’t mean anything good.

“What of it?” Lenore muttered, bracing herself against the desk.

“Of everyone here, I wouldn’t have expected you to do that.” Wednesday responded. Lenore’s jaw tightened, a snarl twitched at her lip, and she looked quickly away from the brunette. “I’m not discussing it.” Lenore said curtly.

She moved forward, to leave, both the library and this conversation, but Wednesday stepped in front of her. Lenore’s jaw tensed enough to ache. “This isn’t your business. Leave it.” She glared down at the shorter girl.

“It’s common gossip. It’s everyone’s business.” Wednesday countered. A growl crept up Lenore’s throat, making goosebumps raise across her body, hair bristling. “My reasons, the reasons why I did it, are none of your business, pup.” Lenore voice hushed, warning lacing each word as she leaned down, her breath feathering at stray strands of Wednesday’s hair. “You need to learn when to stop pushing.” She pulled herself up, standing tall, stoic.

Wednesday followed closely behind Lenore when she brushed past her, earning an impatient sigh from the werewolf—she craned her neck to address her. “Is there a reason why I’ve obtained a stalker?” She asked.

“Are you going on the camping trip?”

“Yes. I’m afraid I have no choice,”—she pulled open the wooden door, stepping into the stairwell—”my punishment is having to socialise.” She shuttered, even Wednesday looked mildly horrified at the concept of socialising.

“That’s a creatively sick punishment.”

“Inspired, I know.”

Lenore’s feet dragged as her aching legs couldn’t pull their weight—her body began to grow heavy with a cloak of exhaustion; she stumbled up the last steps, bracing herself against the wall. She shoved open the door, bright, artificial light filtered through the gap, pulling tears from her light eyes. Wednesday stepped out after, continuing to silently follow Lenore—like her very own omen of death.

The bustling halls fell silent at the sight of Lenore, tailed by Wednesday, then whispers sparked up, filling the halls with a static buzz—each rumour was pointed at Lenore, and each testing her composure more than the last. She kept her head up, eyes surely set forward, while her companion glared at them all, speed-walking to keep up with the rushing werewolf.

“Where are you going?” Wednesday asked as Lenore turned a corner sharply, almost colliding with someone. “My dorm. I’m tired.” She muttered. Wednesday hummed thoughtfully, looking around at people whispering amongst themselves, “you’ve become quite the topic of gossip, haven’t you?”

“Unfortunately, so.” Lenore said.

—————

Wednesday loomed behind Lenore as they ascended the stairs of Ophelia Hall, glaring at people staring and spreading rumours in a low, biting voice; she looked like a small, murderous attack dog. Lenore’s shoulders crumpled in on themselves, her head hung slow, and her hands were stuffed into her pockets.

Her jaw reminded tight, muscles flinching in pain with every heavy step, which slammed against the floor as she quickened her pace; a desperate attempt to get away from the rumours—which she could hear clearly, even when their voices were hushed in a whisper.

An impatient, simmering anger had begun to play in her chest, warming her face, and she quickly grew flush in the cheeks. She bit her tongue to keep her words drowned in her throat, so she wouldn’t snap at the nearest student. She couldn’t afford to further worsen her social standing.

As Lenore approached her dorm, thunderous footsteps shaking the rickety floorboards, a hand wrapped around her wrist. She spun around. It was Wednesday. “She knows.” She stated simply—it was solemn enough to make Lenore’s stomach twist. “About what you did.” She clarified, though she didn’t need not to. Lenore knew what she meant.

“Okay.” Lenore muttered tightly. “You should go.”

Wednesday didn’t argue—not when the werewolf’s tone bled with a dire sort of seriousness, and she nodded curtly, spun on her heel and stalked off; the sharp click of her heels slowly grew dimmer, though it drilled into Lenore’s mind.

Lenore’s hand flexed around the brass door handle; inside, she could quick breathing, pacing—she breathed in deeply. Her ears twitched, the cacophony of yelling, laughing, footsteps, and wind fell away into silence—what remained was Lorelai’s steady, fast heartbeat. It thumped against Lenore’s skull, echoing a fearful melody. She could smell the anxiety. She didn’t make the siren wait any longer and stepped into the room.

Lorelai’s pacing stopped. Silence stretched between them. Neither dared to say anything. Lenore closed the door but hung by the exit. The siren, dressed in a mini-skirt, and cropped shirt, adorned by silver and gold jewellery which played off the warmth of her skin, stood by the window. The gentle, cold light carved at her features, making her appear near gaunt.

“Why?” It hung heavily, a simple, almost humorous breath—it wasn’t anything like mirth, though—it was undertoned with far too much bitterness. “You strangled her!” She snapped suddenly. Lenore flinched.

Lenore’s shoes scraped against the floor restlessly, and she didn’t dare look up, and rung her hands in her lap. “What were you thinking?” Lorelai sighed out. “I wasn’t.” Lenore muttered, quietness cracked in her voice as she trailed into silence.

“Clearly.” Lorelai bit.

“No.” Lenore assured sternly. “I literally wasn’t thinking. I don’t remember doing it.” She gritted out. Lorelai’s breathing halted and she stepped back.

“What do you remember?”

“Agnes messing with me, and then Bianca leading me off to the Principal’s office.”

“You’re in trouble then?”

“Yeah.”

“What’s going to happen? Are you getting expelled?”

“No—”

“—Good.” Lorelai breathed out in relief.

“—From now, I’m Miss Capri’s TA. She’s supposed to help me control myself.” Lenore said.

“Maybe it’ll be good for you.”

Lenore’s head snapped up finally, looking heavily at Lorelai, brows furrowed, and lips pressed together. “Seriously?” She muttered in disbelief.

“You’re slipping. She’s a wolf, maybe she can help you with,”—Lorelai gestured to her entirety.

“Oh, I’m slipping? You’ve been here less than a week. I hadn’t seen you for months before now; how do you know I’m slipping?” Lenore bared her teeth, voice trembling subtly.

“Your eyes are dark, Lenore.”

Lenore’s head snapped over, towards where her mirror stood on her nightstand; she stepped closer and leaned down. She braced herself on the wood. It dug against her palms. Her reflection shined back shamelessly—”you look high. Your pupils are massive.” Lorelai muttered. Her bed creaked under her as she stumped down on it.

“Do they know? Did you tell them?” The siren asked.

“No. I didn’t.”

“…maybe that’s for the best.”

“Maybe it is.”  

—–

Hi, just wanted to thank you all for getting this to one-thousand reads, more at the time I’m posting this; you’re all amazing, thanks for reading this, and I hope you continue to enjoy it.