Pheromonal: One Night With the Alpha-Chapter 125: Meeting Professor Lancaster

The lavish backdrop of Thornhaven Academy leaves me restless as Penelope leads me to my first professor’s office.

I’m way beyond the age of going to school and worrying about upsetting teachers. It’s almost infantilizing to be here, even though I know adults can go back to school at any time.

It doesn’t change the fact that the faces passing me in the halls are between the ages of 18 and 22.

I feel old. Like I should have gray hair spouting everywhere. Not old enough to need a walker or anything; just old enough that the "kids" avoid me because I’m too far entrenched in the "lame old lady" category.

"Stop acting like you’re being marched to the gallows." Penelope pulls me along, exasperated by how slow my feet are moving. "Life has changed. Let’s roll with it. I, for one, am excited to see what these kids learn in school."

Not me. I want to go back to having a job and bills. I’m boring like that. Too many people exist in this place.

Give me a cubicle and a list of things that need to be done by the end of the day. That’s all I’m asking for.

Not classrooms and lectures and exams. And a high school-reminiscent class schedule. It doesn’t even feel like a university, and I outgrew these things years ago.

"How many classes did they sign us up for again?" My fingers twist the strap of my messenger bag. A group of students passes by, their laughter echoing off the marble walls.

Way too much human energy around here. It’s like overdosing on people.

"Four. Plus a magic lab for the practical applications course." Penelope’s heels click against the polished floor. "Stop fidgeting."

"I’m not fidgeting."

Two girls whisper to each other as we walk past. My skin crawls under their scrutiny. The itch spreads between my shoulder blades, raw and persistent.

No one’s watching. They’re just students going about their day. But my anxiety spikes hard.

A professor in flowing robes strides past, his gaze lingering a second too long.

"They’re staring." I adjust my bag again.

"They’re not. You’re being paranoid."

"Says the woman who doesn’t have magical target practice painted on her back."

"Nicole." Penelope stops, forcing me to halt mid-step. "Look around. Actually look."

I do. Students mill about, absorbed in their phones or chatting with friends. A guy juggles his coffee and textbooks while trying to open a door. Two girls compare class schedules.

Nobody’s paying attention to us.

But the itch won’t stop.

"See?" Penelope’s voice softens. "We’re just two new students. That’s all."

"New adult students." I rub my neck. "In a sea of teenagers."

"Twenty-somethings," she corrects. "And there are plenty of older students here. Magic doesn’t discriminate by age."

My shoulders refuse to relax. Every footstep behind us makes me want to check over my shoulder. Every laugh sounds like it might be directed at us. It’s like I’m eighteen again, and it’s stupid, and I know it’s stupid, but I can’t stop it.

Jesus.

I need a drink.

"I hate this."

"I know." Penelope loops her arm through mine. "But we’re in this together. And hey, magic lab. That sounds like something right up your alley. Maybe you can magic up some sort of ward to keep people at a ten-foot distance."

"I’d rather learn to go invisible."

"That’s the spirit. Now come on, you need to meet all your teachers."

The itch follows us down the corridor, but I force myself to keep my eyes forward.

I straighten my spine and lift my chin. What the hell am I doing, acting like some scared teenager? I’m a grown-ass adult, damn it.

A guy in a leather jacket brushes past. His eyes flick to mine for a split second.

He’s got an arrogant walk. Does he work for the Conclave? Those assholes who tried to kill Logan could be anywhere. And dragons...

No. That’s stupid. All of these kids can’t possibly be connected to all these shadowy organizations and strange politics. People are just people, supernatural or not.

Logan’s the exception, not the norm. As am I.

Penelope, after all, is living proof. A witch without ties. Just a normal person trying to live in our world.

"Earth to Nicole." Penelope waves her hand in front of my face. "You’re doing that thousand-yard stare thing again."

"Sorry." I scan the hallway. "It’s just... everything looks different now."

"Different how?"

"Like reality got twisted sideways. See the girl with purple hair? She could be anything. A witch. A dragon. A demon for all I know."

"Or she could just be a student who likes purple hair. And she’s definitely a witch or something, because we’re literally at an academy for magic users. Probably not a dragon or demon. Calm down, Nicole."

"When did the world get so complicated?"

"Around the time you punched your ex-fiancé and hooked up with a werewolf. I’d think you’d be used to it by now." Penelope grabs my elbow and steers me toward an oak door. "Come on, Professor Lancaster’s waiting."

Her brutal insistence on acting as if everything’s normal, strangely, is working.

Penelope is my normal, and she’s just fine here. Not out of place. Taking it in stride.

No one’s going to randomly kidnap me on an elevator here. Hopefully.

No more random murders.

Everything’s going to be fine.

The office we enter smells of old books and tea. A woman in her fifties stands behind an antique desk, her silver hair pulled into a severe bun. Her smile seems warm, but her eyes... they remind me of arctic ice.

"Professor Lancaster." Penelope’s voice brightens with forced cheer. "This is Nicole d’Armand, your new student."

"Ah." The professor’s gaze sweeps over me like a cold wind. Her lips purse. "Miss d’Armand. I’ve heard... interesting things about your admission."

Heat creeps up my neck. She doesn’t approve of me. That’s fine; I’m used to that. But being a special case just makes me feel awkward. "I’m here to learn." Under duress.

"Indeed." She settles into her chair. "Let me be clear—I don’t care about your family connections or who pulled strings to get you enrolled. In my classroom, you’ll receive the same treatment as any other student."

Family connections? I almost laugh. She clearly doesn’t know the first thing about me. I wasn’t expecting that, but maybe it’s a good thing.

My shoulders relax a little. The feeling of having a target on my back fades.

"I expect punctuality, dedication, and respect for the craft." Professor Lancaster continues. "Magic isn’t some parlor trick to impress your society friends. It requires discipline and hard work."

Oh.

Oh.

The ice in her eyes makes sense now. She thinks I’m some trust fund brat who bought my way in. That Penelope and I are just rich girls playing at magic between shopping sprees and charity galas.

This isn’t about dragons or supernatural politics. It’s just garden-variety academic snobbery.

This, I can deal with. As long as people don’t bother me, anyway.

"I understand completely," I say, and mean it. Let her think I’m a spoiled socialite. It’s better than the truth getting out there. The less people interested in me, the better. Too bad my name isn’t Karen.

"Your first assignment." She hands me a thick packet. "Read Chapters one through three before Wednesday’s class, and work on the practicals listed within. You’re far behind, and have a lot of work to catch up on. And Ms. d’Armand?"

"Yes?"

"Leave your designer handbag at home. This is a working classroom, not a fashion show."

I glance at my purse. It’s from a local superstore, $14.99 on sale. Shiny, but cheap.

"Yes, ma’am."

Professor Lancaster waves me away with a flick of her wrist. The dismissal doesn’t sting at all, and even makes me smile. Her assumptions about my background shield me from attention better than any magical ward can.

Any young kid who hears this story is going to roll their eyes and avoid me.

This is great.

Penelope grabs my elbow and yanks me into the hall. The heavy oak door clicks shut behind us.

"See, that wasn’t so bad, was it?"

"No." I clutch the thick packet to my chest. "She thinks I’m some trust fund baby who bought my way in. Perfect cover story."

"And here I thought you’d be offended by that."

"Are you kidding? Let her think I’m the president’s long-lost cousin. The less she knows about the real me, the better." It might make my actual learning a little harder, but I’ll take that, I guess.

Penelope sighs. "Too bad you didn’t learn proper magic theory for your job. You’d be able to test right out of some of these beginner courses."

"Mm. Magical theory of use is very different from magical theory in the security field. We were always told our wardstones are more like magical computers. They follow their own rules. I’m curious to see how much it overlaps, though."

She bounces on her heels. "If you turn out to be some sort of magic prodigy, we could be back home before the holidays. Just test out of everything."

A laugh bubbles up from my chest, unexpected but welcome. "No pressure or anything." freewёbnoνel.com

"Just saying. You’ve got that whole Catalyst thing going for you. Maybe you’re secretly amazing at this stuff."

"Right. Because my track record with magic has been so stellar so far." I wave the packet at her. "Three Chapters by Wednesday. That’s in two days."

"You’ll do fine." Penelope links her arm through mine. "Look at you, already worrying about homework like a proper student."

"Shut up."

"There’s my Nicole." Her grin widens. "Welcome back."

"You’re impossible."

"That’s why you love me."