Nightshade

Carlynn

The wind felt good, blowing through my hair as I drove through the countryside, Katy Perry’s ’I Kissed a Girl’ blasting over the radio. I drummed my fingers on the steering wheel in time with the beat, mountains and trees passed by in a blur, blending into shades of green and gray outside my window. I hadn’t been back to Oregon in years, but everything was just as I remembered: cold, dreary, foggy. It was the perfect place to hide a school like Ashgrove—a school for the freaks and the misfits. A school for the supernatural. 

Yes. Vampires, werewolves, sirens—really any supernatural being you can think of—they exist. They live among you, trying to maintain some semblance of a ‘normal life.’ Shapeshifters, psychics—people like me—tend to live the most normal lives. Our abilities don’t show in our features and habits like those of werewolves and vampires. We have, for the most part, complete control over them. Granted, psychics always get a few weird glances when we passed out in public from a vision, but, hey, it beats having to drink blood or constantly scratch at fleas.

I hadn’t exactly planned on coming back to Ashgrove, especially not mid-term. I’d loved my school in Bakewell, back in the UK, but I wasn’t transferring for the school. I was transferring for her—for my mum.

I couldn’t stop replaying that night over and over in my mind: Mum lying in a hospital bed, her face pale and breathing labored, poison inching through her bloodstream. Seeing her so close to death, her life barely holding on by a thread . . . it was too much to bear. Ever since then, I hadn’t been able to shake the feeling that something else was going to happen to her, that I needed to stay close by this year. And Ashgrove was the only place where I could keep an eye on her.

I turned onto the narrow, winding road that led to the school, feeling a strange mix of dread and nostalgia twist in my stomach. Ashgrove rose in the distance, half-shrouded by mist, its towering stone walls and ivy-covered turrets looming against the gray sky. It was eerie, like something out of a Gothic novel—exactly as it should be, I supposed. The gates opened automatically as I approached, and I drove through, passing the familiar oak trees lining the main courtyard. I parked the rental and climbed out, taking a moment to stretch my legs and survey the grounds. Not a thing had changed since my last visit three summers ago.

Collecting myself, I slung my duffle bag over my shoulder and made my way up the stone steps toward the main building. Memories came flooding back with every step, reminders of a simpler time. As a child, I used to run up these same stairs, eager to see Mum after a day at school with Normals or to show off whatever new skill I’d managed to master on my own. Back then, Ashgrove had felt like a sanctuary, a place where I belonged. Now, it felt like a prison I was willingly walking into.

The halls were quieter than I remembered, the stone walls absorbing all sound save for the occasional faint echo of distant voices from the students and professors who’d stayed behind for fall break instead of going home. My heels clicked against the polished floors as I made my way to Mum’s office, the familiarity of it all comforting yet unnerving.

I knew I was about to drop a bomb on her, showing up like this with no actual warning, but there’d never been a proper time to discuss this with her. Besides, she didn’t need to know why I’d suddenly decided to come to Ashgrove my senior year, and I wasn’t inclined to tell her—not yet.

When I finally reached her door, I hesitated, staring at the brass nameplate that read ’Leila Walker: Headmistress.’. The title had always seemed too formal for her, yet, at the same time, fitting. To me, though, she was just ’Mum,’.

I grabbed the doorknob and pushed the door open, not bothering to knock. Stepping into the spacious office, I found my mum seated behind her heavy oak desk, immaculate as always, her sharp blue gaze lifting from her papers to land on me. She hadn’t changed a bit—though, I suppose two months wasn’t really long enough for a person to change drastically: long golden-blonde hair done up in some intricate updo that must’ve taken at least an hour to accomplish, bright blue eyes that seemed to look right through me, wearing her long-sleeved, blue-and-silver plaid dress and her necklace with its silver charm engraved with my initials and birthdate: C.E.W. 10/28/2000. Her makeup was done to perfection as always, thin black eyeliner, voluminous lashes, and her signature shade of cherry-red lipstick.

“Carlynn,” she said, her voice a blend of astonishment and—was that relief? “What on earth are you doing here? Your fall break isn’t for another week.”

“Surprise,” I said sarcastically, setting my bag down. “I transferred.”

“You what?” Her expression shifted, and she sat back, folding her arms in a manner that was both regal and slightly forbidding. “You’ve . . . transferred? Just like that?”

“Just like that,” I parroted, raising an eyebrow. It was typical of her to make it sound as if I’d performed some grand rebellion simply by walking through the door.

“Why?” she questioned as I leaned up against the wall, tucking my hands into the pockets of my blazer. “Why now? You were happy at Cullington.”

“I wanted a change for my senior year. Is it that big of a deal?”

She watched me, her gaze piercing. “This decision wouldn’t have anything to do with last year’s . . . incident, would it?”

And . . . there it was—the question I’d been waiting for, the one I’d hoped she wouldn’t ask. It was times like this I was grateful I got my shapeshifting from her, not my psychic abilities. I forced a casual shrug. “Hardly. It’s just time for a change, Mum. Nothing more.”

Her eyes narrowed, not buying it for a second. “Carlynn, if you’re here because of what happened—”

I cut her off with a sigh and rolled of my eyes. “Not everything’s about you, you know.”

“Carlynn . . .” Mum sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. Her voice was clipped as she continued, “You intend to just waltz in mid-term and expect everything to—what—fall into place?”

“Don’t see why not.” I shrugged. “Seems you’ve managed to make space for some far more troublesome students.”

“Carlynn Elaine—!” She gave me a hard look, that familiar coolness flashing in her eyes. “If you think I’m going to let you just up and move without a proper conversation—”

“Look, Cullington’s documentation has already been finalized,” I cut in, pushing off the wall and walking toward her so that we were on opposite sides of her desk. “The email’s in your inbox. I’m not leaving.”

Her mouth pressed into a thin line, but she didn’t argue. Instead, she let out a slow breath, her gaze shifting to some distant point on her desk.

“Fine,” she said finally, her voice softer but no less authoritative. “But this conversation is not over, Carlynn. We will be discussing this—properly—later.”

I nodded, already feeling the weight of what I hadn’t told her hanging heavily between us. For now, though, it was enough. I’d made my choice, and she knew better than to push it—for the moment, anyway. Mum knew I wasn’t telling her everything; she always did. And, hopefully, it would never come to a point where she needed to know why.