♣♣♣

♣♣♣

The wheels of the sleek black van trudged through mud and rocked over tree roots. The path--yes, path. It could hardly be considered a road--was overgrown. Grassy and flowery, covered in leaves, the whole works. Fog hung low in the sky, blocking the view of the forest outside. It didn't matter much anyway, since the windows of the van were so darkly tinted that you couldn't see much, even from the inside.

It was typical weather for late September considering the usual climate. Not that Letti Hayes knew anything about the usual climate of the area.

Letti sat in the back-most seat of the van, headphones over ears. They weren't wearing their seat belt. The driver of the car hadn't said anything about it. Or anything at all, for the record. There was a glass screen in between the driver seat and the passenger seat, and the rest of the van. Letti felt like she was in a cop car or something.

A particularly rough jolt forced a noise out of something in front of her, and Letti remembered that they weren't alone in the van. A young boy--couldn't have been older than 14--was seated closer to the front. He also hadn't spoken a word (bringing the total to three losers sitting in complete silence), but when he had realized Letti wasn't wearing a seat belt, he took his off, too. Letti couldn't remember his name.

Letti pulled her legs up and crossed them in the seat. Some Arctic Monkeys song was blasting loud in their headphones (which one they couldn't exactly recall; they all sounded the same anyway). How much longer could it be? Letti felt like she'd been in the van for hours. They considered themself a very patient person, but what she wouldn't give to go for a nice walk right about now...

His voice was so loud in Letti's head. They couldn't tune it out if they tried. It was... a jumbled mess of nonsense thoughts. Fragments and broken thoughts. What if-- what's going on--where are we--who's that--what if I--what if they--? Am I sweating? Can she tell? My mom would hate this place.

He was nervous. She didn't need to read his mind to know that. He could hardly sit still, tapping his fingers on the seat or bouncing his leg. She could tell, alright.

"We--I think we're here," the boy's voice out loud finally broke the silence. Letti pulled off her headphones and observed her surroundings. Sure enough, the car came to a stop. The doors unlocked, and Letti quickly climbed out, following short after the boy.

They stared in utter amazement at the legendary piece of architecture in front of them. Letti's eyes trailed up, up, up the dark stone brick walls. Moss and vines spread across the southwest half of the... the castle, was really the best word to describe it. There was a clock tower right at the center, and several tall spires surrounding the main building. Letti was surprised to see that there wasn't a drawbridge guarded by a troll asking riddles three--but there was an immense wooden double door that had to be at least 3 times their height, leading into a gated courtyard.

The doors suddenly swung open--quite violently considering their size--drawing both the attention of Letti and the mystery boy. Upon seeing it was only the door, Letti whipped their head around to locate the driver that had brought the two of them to this place. She'd never seen their face, but... no one else was around. She would know.

But the driver was no where to be seen.

♣♣♣

"Did you hear? The new students are arriving today...!"

Carmen Fuentes gazed out the third floor window into the courtyard below. "Yeah. They're here."

Blaire squeaked with excitement and rushed over to look for herself. She stood up on the tips of her toes--not even her hot pink platform sandals were tall enough for her to peek out the window on her own.

"Oh! Wow... look at that girl down there..." Blaire pointed at the girl standing in the courtyard, pulling a small amount of luggage out of the trunk of a black van. "What do you think of her?"

That drew the attention of Ricky, who was sitting on his bed on the far side of their dorm. He slid over, joining Carmen and Blaire at the window. The three of them watched the ground outside, staring curiously.

"The girl looks cool... I don't know about that little kid though."

"Little kid?" Blaire scrunched up her nose. "He can't be much younger than me. Or you for that matter."

Ricky tried to back-track, "No, no, but you're one of the cool young kids."

Blaire tilted her head. She had her doubts. Deciding to put aside Ricky's age prejudices for now, she skipped her way out of the room. She wanted to go meet the new students! Carmen and Ricky hesitantly followed along.

On the way out of their dorm, however, they ran head first into a fellow student.

Ricky immediately bristled upon seeing the stupid freckled face of Astrid Hainsworth, and Astrid bristled right back. Blaire and Carmen sighed, resigning themselves to the conflict that was about to follow.

Astrid had a reputation around the school as being a... reasonable student. As reasonable as the next student, anyway, while still being perfectly willing to bring a little bit of fun with her wherever she went. She was really just the sort of student that anyone could get along with--she could bring an introvert out of their shell a little, and at the same time, prevent anyone from making any mistakes that would be too detrimental to others.

Ricky Patterson was the perfect catalyst for every other part of Astrid's personality. The brash, stubborn, and impulsive side that could hold a grudge for many years. And, as catalysts often do, he provoked, he channeled, and he fired.

"Hey, how about you watch where you're fuckin' going! Bloody hell..."

Astrid had been perfectly on her way to keep walking--to let this microaggression slide in order to keep the peace on the day of the new students' arrival. At the hiss of Ricky's thick cockney accent, though, she turned sharply on her heel to face him, her eyes burning a hole straight through Blaire and Carmen as though neither of them were even there.

("Ugh Carmennnnnnn...! I wanna go see the new students...!"

"Yeah, come on, Blaire. I think they're gonna be here a while.")

"What was that?" Astrid said.

"Are you daft, mate? You heard what I said."

"I did," Astrid's eyes darkened. "I was only giving you the chance to take it back before I kick your ass."

That made Ricky laugh--a sharp, whistling sort of sound, that then fell into raucous laughter. He keeled over slightly, bracing his hands on his knees to support himself. He laughed and laughed and laughed, and once he finally collected himself, he swiped a stray tear from his eye.

"Oh, I'd like to see you try, ya wanker!"

Anyone who'd been at Madam Quartermane's Home for Troubled Adolescents for a day would be able to pick up the tension between Ricky and Astrid. However, only a select few would recall the... incident. Ricky had arrived at the school two full years before Astrid had, and on her very first day, they had already chosen to be each other's greatest nemeses.

Before the end of Astrid's first week, the school's cafeteria had placed a ban on mashed potatoes for the foreseeable future... that was still in effect three years later.

That would be due to, as Madam Quartermane had explained it, "a completely unacceptable display of childishness, irresponsibility, and immaturity, and a disgraceful lack of respect for both your fellow students and myself."

Or, in student-friendly terms, a food fight that Astrid and Ricky had instigated.

Good. Astrid had always hated mashed potatoes, anyway.

Astrid raised up her hands, calling on her power.

"Ah-ah-ah!" A third voice chastised them, and Astrid's hands dropped back to her sides. "No fighting in the halls. Come on, now, you don't want to upset Madam Quartermane today. She's got a lot on her plate, you know."

Both of them knew that Ilyas Canosa was absolutely correct. He was the second oldest student in the school, and the student who had been at school for the second longest (short only to Verra Den Mayfair in both aspects). He had taken on a "hall monitor" sort of role within the school. But make no mistake, he wasn't a plain and simple snitch. Ilyas rather just had his own rule book entirely consisting of safety rules, including as the ever-present "no fighting in the halls" in order to keep some semblance of order on school grounds.

As a matter of seniority, the students mostly respected his authority.

"Now," Ilyas paused for a moment, allowing a small glint of mischief to grow in his eyes, "Woah! Calm down, you two! There's no need for such violence and harsh words."

Astrid and Ricky gave him a blank stare. Ilyas hardly looked at them, and continued.

"If--And I mean truly if!--you absolutely must fight, then I simply insist that the two of you head to the training grounds to work out these problems in a safe, controlled environment."

"Ilyas--!"

"No buts! Training grounds! Go, now. Hurry along. Come greet the new students once you've finished."

It was Ilyas' favorite method of solving these sorts of problems. He thought that Astrid and Ricky probably spend more time in the training grounds than anywhere else in the school. Evidently not the most lasting solution, considering how often he had to send them, but it managed well enough. It kept Astrid from throwing mashed potatoes all over the walls, anyway.

♣♣♣

"No sleep again last night, Milo?"

Miles Osbourne grumbled noisily, pulling the blankets over his head to shield from the invasive sunlight. It was nearly 2 in the afternoon. He had hardly left his bed.

"Tough luck... And Madam Q really said there's nothing you can do to make the dreams stop?"

Miles shook his head, then realized that his guest had no way of seeing him, and took the time to prop himself up on his elbows. Emerging from his cocoon made Miles' head start to ache, like a chorus of piano hammers ringing the strings of his brain.

"No. W-Well... She said if I learn to... what was the word she used? If I can... premonition, or something, on command, then she said the nightmares should stop. But I've had the nightmares since I was five, and I've been here since I was ten, and I... I c-can't. I don't know what's wrong with me."

"Don't--Nothing, Milo. Don't even say that. Nothing's wrong with you."

Grey Sorenson was no stranger to insomnia himself, but the thing that plagued Miles every night was something else entirely. Miles had tried many methods of getting to sleep--some more unsavory than others (seriously, who's idea was it to give a thirteen-year-old access to so much cough syrup?)--but nothing worked for him at all. It was nightmare after nightmare for the poor boy, and Grey felt so much pity for him.

There was a gentle knocking at their door.

"Ah, that's probably Sky. I think they've got something for you, Milo."

Grey was quick to open the door, and he had been correct about the "stranger" waiting at their door. Sky's hands were quite full, holding two steaming paper coffee cups, a banana, a bag of mini marshmallows, and a package of black licorice.

In a rush to help Sky not drop anything, Grey reached out and took a hold of the coffee cups and also the marshmallows. In the process, his fingers brushed against Sky's juuuuuuust ever-so-slightly. Both of them jolted away like an electric current had zapped them.

Miles wanted to throw up. If his headache got any worse, he really thought he might. Grey set the coffee cups and the marshmallows down on the nightstand next to Miles' bed.

"An-nyway!" Sky's voice cracked. It did that often when they were around Grey, like being around him just made something in Sky's shapeshifting core... destabilize. "Got you a nice hot chocolate, Miles, and with extra marshmallows, too. Don't know which of you two might want the banana, but it was about all they had left in the way of fruit. And Grey!"

"Don't."

"I got you this pack of black licorice because I just ~know~ how much you love it!" Sky stuck out their tongue teasingly. They tossed it over to Grey, who dodged it like it was poisonous. The bag fell to the ground with the sad crinkle of abandoned plastic wrapping.

(Grey hated anything to do with licorice--let alone black licorice. That was the funny part.)

"I hate you."

"Hahaha. Very funny! But... seriously, that other cup is for you. It's coffee. And--" Sky shoved a hand into their pockets, pulling out a small handful of chilled creamer containers. "Two cream, no sugar."

Just the way Grey liked it--including the part about mixing it all together himself! Grey had once mentioned that he liked seeing the coffee change into a lighter color as he poured the creamer in.

In the meantime, Miles was struggling to fit even one more marshmallow into his cup. He had constructed a haphazard-looking pyramid of mini-mallows that reached up a good few inches above the rim of the cup, and as the ones on the bottom melted into the hot chocolate, he would simply add more to the top. One shake and the entire pyramid would probably come crumbling down.

Miles then also took a handful of marshmallows and shoved them directly into his mouth, bypassing the hot chocolate entirely.

Getting along with dormmates was a science in any situation (let alone a magic school with more-than-unusual children), and Sky could easily be considered the top of their field. Sky's number one tip? It's all in the details. Little things add up quick, so they always considered it very important to notice even the smallest details to make things flow smoothly between the three of them.

That was precisely why Sky had simply brought the entire bag of marshmallows.

♣♣♣