Finally on campus at the Dalton Adventuring Academy for Monsters, Query now simply needs to navigate the social nuance of meeting her roommate. Without any comfort zone or safety net, she wanders the massive castle home to monsters from all over the continent. While a well-meaning and strange zombie RA is a comfort to Query, she quickly finds that her rooms (and roommate) have changed at the last minute. Instead of spending the semester with Nita Strongclaw, Query will be spending the first year at college in the West Tower's roofed turret. With a shadow Wraith named Impa. Who has been haunting her for years. No biggie.
If you want to support me, or if you want more content, you can find the next eight chapters of this series on my Patreon at https://www.patreon.com/trixieadara or chat with me on Bluesky @trixieadara.bsky.social
Category: Lesbian, Science Fiction or Fantasy
Queers & Queries 2 By Trixie Adara Chapter 2
The spinning stops, and we are in a room that is almost identical to our teleportation room at home. Though instead of a wall made of brimstone, the walls of this chamber are glass. On the other side of them is another teleporter room and another one past that. A family of Cowfolk appears in the chamber next to us. The parents are trying to calm down their three little children, while their son — who is clearly the one enrolled in Dalton — looks nervous and embarrassed all at once. It's hard to tell with the thick bangs of black hair covering half his face, which is a strange choice to me. You'd think he'd want to see where he's going in a new place.
"There," Mom says. She grabs my two trunks as if they were filled with hay. "Let's head to campus."
We step out of the clear teleporter room into what looks like a metro station. There are tracks for whatever mortal train is about to pass through, but to our left and right are dozens of teleporters that keep spinning and flashing as the monsters of the Americas make their annual pilgrimage to DC to drop off their aspiring adventurers. By the tracks, wizards from Dalton and the Arcane Assembly stand in official looking robes — green and white for Dalton (go dragons!) and blue and purple for the Assembly. One of them, a woman, must pick up the scent of my aura — or maybe Mom's. She fixes her eyes on me, and the tell-tale signs of arousal are obvious on her: pupil dilation, breast swelling, increased heart rate, deeper breaths, and erect nipples. These aren't obvious to anyone watching her, but to a succubus like Mom — and to a lesser extent, me — I can feel them like a change in air pressure. She doesn't approach, though. She's busy casting disguises on visitors like us so we can navigate DC without upsetting any mortals. They know we exist, but we're just not a welcome sight. It's also for protection. Vampires can't travel in the sunlight, and I can't imagine walking through a crowded street without drawing the eyes and hunger of most of the women there.
Thankfully, we don't have to deal with any of the authorities. Waiting for us by the stairs up to the surface are my dads. Dad is in a button-up short sleeve shirt covered with flowers and coconuts, khaki shorts, and flip flops. He has dark brown skin with shaggy brown hair just past his ears. The frames of his thick glasses are the only thing keeping his bangs from falling in front of his face. He has a tray of iced coffees in his hand, and a kind but overwhelmed look on his face.
"When did Dad start to look so Dad-ish?" I ask as we head towards them.
"I know," Mom says with a dreamy sigh. "Isn't he incredible?"
I laugh. Dad is biromantic but gay. Mom and him only made love once — and even then Bo had to be there to make sure the "magic" happened. I have seen Mom look at many a mortal, but she doesn't look at anyone like she does Dad.
"You brought coffee!" she squeals as she drops the trunks and gives Dad a huge hug. He kisses her on the cheek, and she buries her face in his neck. "I missed you so much."
"It's been one day," he says, rubbing her back with his free arm. His other hand is carefully out to the side, protecting our precious iced coffee.
Next to him is his other partner, Bo. He is in his official wizard robes from the College of Divination in the Feywild, where he's from. His dark skin is striking against the sky blue and white of his robes. The clouds stitched into it move across the skyline, mirroring the sky over his home. His short black hair is swept to the side and perfectly styled, and his face is smooth and sharp. There has always been a hawkishness to my other dad that shows the seriousness of his character. But despite that, he smiles for me. He always does.
"Good winds on the horizon," he says in greeting with a bow.
"As you foretold," I say and bow back.
He hugs me and kisses my forehead. As he does, the spell disguising his robes from mortals extends to me. He hugs Mom and kisses her cheeks, granting the spell to her as well. An Arcane Assembly member comes over to make sure Bo's spell is proper and strong enough to `protect' us — of course it is — while Dad hands out the coffee.
When he's gone, Bo turns to me and extends his arm for me to take. "Archmage Query," he says, "may I accompany you to your sanctum?"
"You may," I say and take his arm. Bo leads us up the stairs and onto the escalators that will take us to the city.
"It's a hot one out there," Dad says. "Hope you girls don't mind."
Mom laughs, but I don't. Normally, I find Dad's cheesiness endearing, but the nerves are starting to get to me. All around me are my future classmates. Monsters. All of them. Not that the term means anything. It's just a way for the Tolkien races — they call themselves the Ancient Races — to differentiate from us. The Humans, Elves, Dwarves, Halflings, and Gnomes of the world get to be a part of the Arcane Assembly and prestigious colleges all over the world. For everyone else who wants to be an adventurer or engage in the realm of arcane arts, there's Dalton. The one in DC is the only campus for every monster in North and South America. That's right. Every Genasi, Ghoul, Vampire, Cowfolk, Satyr, Dryad, Wraith, Dragonborn, Kobold, Orc, Goblin, Troll, Merfolk, and Catfolk across two continents are sent to one school. Despite our numbers, few of us pursue an adventurer's calling.
All around DC, there are monsters moving towards a big castle most of the mortals around here have never seen because of its massive walls. It's a sprawling campus surrounding one castle, Hogwarts style. Not that I know much about Hogwarts. Mom wouldn't let me read them so that I didn't get a warped understanding of the magical world or pick up on the subliminal prejudice all over the place. I couldn't figure out what was so bad about it — I mean, I've read To Kill a Mockingbird, I can read about racism without it infecting me — but when Alma secretly showed me the movies on her phone, I got it when I saw the goblins. Because y'know, I've also read about the Holocaust.
The walk to Dalton is almost the opposite of Hogwarts. The diversity in my classmates is stunning. I mean, I grew up in Hell, but there's only so much difference between an Imp, a Cambion, an Erinyes, and a Succubus. We're all different shades of Devil. There is a Dryad in a white crop top and tiny black shorts with a crown of holly in her rich red hair. There is one of the poshest looking women I've ever seen with an umbrella held over her head held by a skeleton. There is a Feyling Bunnyboy in shorts with a swollen chest making him look like an inverted triangle. On his back and shoulders are a dozen little bunny kiddos all taking their big brother to school.
We all have the same look of awe and fear on our face as we walk — well, not all of us. The vampire looks bored. An Earthfolk woman in beautiful flowing robes is staring at me, literally licking her lips. I sigh in frustration. I chose a thick cowl-neck sweater and tights under my skirt to protect me in part from the cold of the mortal realm, but primarily to help women around me resist my aura.
But other than the horny Earthgirl and bored Vampire, everyone else is looking around at the size of the buildings, the amount of concrete, the noise of the cars, and the variety of races on the side of the street. People and monsters of all colors. Not just humans, either. Elves in business suits talk into their earbuds, and gnomes try to get our attention from their food trucks. It is absolutely the brightest place I've ever been — the city of Dis is definitely not bright. It feels like the creation is showing off, like this is a trailer for what existence is capable of. I can imagine Asmodeus, Jesus, Tiamat, or Zeus waving their hand like a magician in front of their greatest trick saying, "Look at what I can do. Look how beautiful it is."
And just like that, I fall in love.
Sure, it's a bit too loud. It's dirty. I mean, I'm from Hell, but even there we don't throw our trash on the ground. But I've never seen so many colors except on my phone. Or so much art. Hells. Art on the sides of buildings, art sold on the corners, people wearing art as they go to whatever beautiful and complicated life they lead. And smells. Meat and cheese and cinnamon and sugar and tar and concrete and sweat and coffee. Anything but sulfur, brimstone, and ash.
When I went to Russia, everything was a blur. It was too bright, too loud, and too cold then, but my mom and dads filtered it for me. They made it tolerable. But this? This is intolerable in the best way. I don't want to tolerate this. I don't want to normalize it. I want to be scalded by it. Let it overwhelm me; who the fuck wants to be whelmed by life anyways?
"How long is this walk?" Mom asks when her coffee is gone.
Dad looks at his phone. "Two more miles."
"They should have a car service for new students."
"The wealthy students do," Bo says. Our arms are no longer linked. I may not be bothered by the August heat, but Bo certainly is. He's sweating profusely through his robes, and only coping with an occasional Gust cantrip to give him private air conditioning.
"They could do busses," Dad says. "That would be affordable."
"I'd rather walk than ride a bus," Mom says.
"I know, honey." Dad pats Mom on the back. "That's why we're doing it."
"We could order a car just for us," Mom suggests. "That's something you non-teleporting people do, right?"
"With what money?" I ask.
Mom's mouth twists to the side, and she doesn't say anything else until the campus is in sight. There isn't an exchange rate for soul coins to dollars, so while we may live comfortably in Hell, we're functionally broke on the mortal world. The campus is surrounded by a brick wall almost a hundred feet tall that is draped in ivy. At the wrought-iron gates, three more Dalton wizards are checking people in while guarding the entrance. Families hug and cry before a new student separates and goes beyond the twenty-foot gate that has an obscuring spell to keep anyone from peeking at the campus life of monsters. Clockwork automatons buzz around and pick up luggage for anyone who gets through the checkpoint.
"Are parents not allowed beyond the gate?" Dad asks.
"I'd like to see them stop me," Mom says.
"Carmilla," Bo says, "I respect you but —"
"I wouldn't finish that sentence, Boris."
"Guys, please," I say, but I grab Mom's hand. "I'm freaking out too." Mom squeezes my hand back. It wasn't supposed to go like this. I'm not exactly sure what I expected. Maybe Mom seeing my dorm room and Bo putting up some simple ward spells. Dad would make some dumb jokes and embarrass me in front of my new roommate and —
"I'm going to sort this out," Mom says. "Stay here."
I hang back with Dad and Bo. I look around, watching all the other families say goodbye and slowly part. Each student looks determined, but they're not surprised. They're not bewildered. Lucy's tits, am I the only one who didn't know how this was going to go? I read the welcome pamphlet three times. Hells, I was early this morning after my nightmare. I could have spent the whole time double or triple checking the website. I could have joined one of those stupid Facebook groups they recommended. Did I? No. I had to be melodramatic and insecure like the sheltered homeschooled Devil who has barely been to the mortal world and —
"Hey." I open my eyes, and Dad is looking into my eyes, his hands on my shoulder. "I don't know where you just went, but we're here, okay?" Bo steps into view. "You got too many parents to be afraid of this, okay?" Dad's grin spreads wide and goes goofy.
"I just ... I don't know if I can do this." I look at the students streaming onto the campus. None of them are having complete fucking meltdowns over her parents leaving an hour earlier than she expected. The Vampire in her long gown that barely covers her cleavage and drapes down her body like liquid shadow moves through the gates like she owns the place. Hells, what would it be like to be her?
"Query." Bo's strong but unforced voice wraps around me. I feel the presence of his magic wrapping around me like a cool breeze. "Close your eyes. Step into yourself."
I take a deep breath and sink into my mind. Bo calls it a mind palace, but my sanctuary has always been a cottage in the woods. The buzz of animals, the whisper of roots and green things, and the sweet quiet of peace. I have placed all the good and strong parts of me in that cabin. Every spell and trick, every hope and aspiration, every secret and shame. They are locked away in a place so high and far and blooming that no one can touch them but me.
"I know this is new and terrifying," Bo says. His voice is soft like a hand running through the grass. "But you are one of the most gifted mages I've ever known. You are qualified to be in that school. Even if the people are strange, you know the books and spells the castle is built upon. You know magic like your father knows poetry. And if you ever need me," Bo slips a heavy blue stone into my hand, "Once a day you can message me here."
"You know I can text, right?"
"But this is much cooler, yeah?"
I slide the stone into my pocket. "Yeah," I say with a weak smile.
Dad puts his hand on my shoulder. "You deserve to be here," he says.
"You deserve to be here," Bo says.
I inhale slowly, counting to four. I examine the plants of my cabin. They don't grow in Hell. I have to leave home to see them made real. I need to walk through that gate to get to them and everything else I want. I exhale slowly, counting to four again.
"I deserve to be here," I say as I open my eyes.
"Of course you fucking do," Mom says as she approaches. "But apparently there's an ordinance going back a few thousand blah blah blah. Fucking prudish wizards won't even do it for a threesome with me and Lilith."
"Does Lilith know you're offering her services?" Dad asks.
"She owes me."
"Of course she does," Bo mutters.
"Q, look at me, darling." I look into her flaming red eyes surrounded by the absolute darkness of Hell. "Fuck em. Okay? Fuck em all?"
"Literally?"
"If it pleases you."
I smile. "I don't know how to ..." The words choke in my throat. This is it. I am going to walk through an overpriced and ancient gate, and then I won't see my mother again until ... I dunno. "I wasn't ready for this. I didn't anticipate it."
"Better get used to that," Dad says. "You're an adult now. We don't anticipate most of what life throws at us."
"Comforting," I mutter.
"Honest," Bo says.
I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and exhale slowly. When I open my eyes, I see Bo, looking serious and concerned with his narrowed eyes and furrowed brow, Dad tearing up and visibly resisting the urge to hug me, and Mom with clenched fists and ready to punch my sadness. Sure, looming behind them is a wide-open canvas and the largest castle I've ever seen. It's like a black stadium skyscraper threatening all of downtown DC. But I can choose where I focus, so I look into the eyes of the three beautiful humans that raised me.
"I can do this," I say.
All at once, they each say some version of "of course you can," or "I'm so proud of you." We smile, and I get a thirty second hug from each of them. Dad told me when I was little that it takes a thirty second hug or a six second kiss to release oxytocin in the humanoid body. That's the love hormone, and it reduces symptoms of PTSD or depression. People who get plenty of oxytocin deal with heart disease and have longer life expectancy. So every day, we hug for at least thirty seconds. It can be when we say hello or goodbye or just because hugs are great, but we're not allowed to see each other without a thirty second hug. My rule.
"You know," Mom says when she hugs me, "it's going to be awkward now that we've said goodbye, but we're going to go stand in line for like twenty minutes."
It was. I loved it.
An hour and another tearful goodbye later, two automata are carrying my trunks as I follow a campus map (while trying my damndest to not let anyone see the map I'm using) to find my dorm. It isn't the campus I'm worried about traversing; I'm heading to the giant freaking castle. But that place is home of wards, enchantments, and, worst of all, hundreds of other students. I don't want to be the one wizard wandering the caverns aimlessly until the freshman welcome tonight.
For now, the plan is to surreptitiously check the map and follow the other obviously new students. It's hard to handle the variety of bodies moving over the golf course-sized lawn surrounding the castle. There is a beautiful Phoenix woman with five different automata carrying all her belongings, three different kinds of Lizardfolk chatting, and a girl who seems to be made out of perpetually bubbling ooze. I'm not a stranger to different species of body types; Hell doesn't discriminate when it comes to its denizens. But it's like seeing them in color for the first time. My whole life, if I see a Mermaid, she's crying out in pain as she's cooked in a lake of lava. It's a whole other thing to see her swimming in a floating sphere of water, laughing and looking like a Renaissance painting come to life.
Hells, everything is so beautiful here.
The Earth Genasi at the gate told me that I was to be in the West Tower, though I genuinely do not know my west from my east. I know I could ask someone where the West Tower is, but that would mean both talking to a stranger and appearing stupid. I can aim for towers, but once you enter the bottom floor of the castle, all sense of direction disappears.
"Yo, you look more lost than a meerkat in Hoboken." I turn around to see a woman in a tank top, oil-stained jeans with rips at the knees, and bubble-gum pink hair with a side-fade. Her sallow gray skin is stretched too tight over her skeleton, and it's torn at the elbows and shoulders, revealing bone underneath.
"Oh my gosh!" I don't gasp from the shock of seeing a zombie as much as someone singling me out amongst hundreds of wandering freshmen. The undead are not spectacles where I come from.
"I know, I know." She blows and pops a bubble of purple gum. "I'm not sure if I'm wild about the pink either."
"No, the pink is lovely," I say. I point to my own pink hair, braided in a tight ponytail. "I just wasn't expecting —"
"First Reliven?"
"Re—what?"
"Reliven. It's what we call ourselves. Undead kinda focuses on the fact that we used to be, y'know ... dead."
"Reliven focuses on being alive. Cute."
"That's what I said!" She has a pleasant face and bright eyes. A strange runic tattoo follows the outer edge of her face, and her smile reaches it as she offers me a handshake.
"Finley," she says.
I take her hand and shake it. "Query."
"Oh em gee," she says. She fumbles around in her back pocket, takes out a wrench, a tube of some kind of glue, three rubber bands, and a crumpled piece of paper. "I think you're one of mine." She unfolds the paper and reads, "Query. Devil. No last name. Oh yeah." She stuffs the random items back in her pocket. "Welcome to Casa de Dalton." She bows. "I'm Finley Farragut, your humble RA."
"That's the resident assistant?"
Finley rises. "Sure, yeah, if you wanna be boring." She looks to the automatons behind me. "West Tower, folx."
The automatons do not move.
Finley sighs, rolls her eyes, and takes out her wrench. "I swear, the Dean makes these things dumber every year." She flicks her wrist, and the wrench unfolds like a butterfly knife. On the inside are dozens of different tools like an interdimensional Swiss army knife. She thumbs through them as she mutters to herself, "That's the problem with mass production, you know? Freakin' wizards afraid to get their hands —"
She goes behind the automaton, opens a hatch in its back I hadn't seen before, and sparks fly as she gets to work. "These guys should know where the tower is, right? I mean, it's GPS, not magic. You'd think some eccentric South African billionaire made these shitty — there!" Something clicks, and the automaton stands up straight, its eyes glowing with a pleasant blue. Finley pats it on the back like it's an old friend. "West Tower, amigos. Post haste."
The two automatons lift my trunks up onto their shoulders and jog out of sight.
"There," Finley says, clearly proud of herself. "Everything just needs a tune-up, amiright?"
"Uh, yeah," I say. I look around the castle, expecting to see people staring at us, but no one is paying Finley any mind. I suppose that makes sense in an academic sense. This is a school for magic and magical creatures. Why would a zombie — I mean, Reliven — fixing a robot be anything special?
"Want me to show you to your room?" Finley extends her arm in the same way Bo had done not so long ago — though it feels like forever.
"Yes, please," I say. I take her arm, and we're off up a massive grand staircase that splinters off into narrow and winding stairs. I try to keep track of the directions as we go, but it feels impossible. This place is entirely too magical to do anything but gawk at everything we pass. Spells run this place: spells to animate mops that clean up messes, spells to make little announcements to specific individuals that are localized as they wander the halls (Professor Schmudge, please report to the mailroom, your package is wiggling), spells let Mermaids wander the halls or keep Firefolk from melting the stone as they go to and fro. The place is like a giant clock, but instead of gears, it is managed by meticulously measured and maintained magic.
"Yeah," Finley says, I guess seeing my stupefied face. "Hard to get used to. I mean, you'll have it down by Yuletide, but even then, it's stupidly great."
"Yeah," I say.
"Though maybe you could say the same thing about Hell?"
"Stupidly great?"
Finley shrugs as we walk past a Minotaur in a bikini laughing with Naga riddled with piercings. "Sure, why not. I mean, I won't yuck someone's yum. But I was referring to getting used to it. Lakes of lava and all that."
"Oh yeah, sure. You definitely get used to it."
Finley pops another purple bubble of gum. "Knew it. Guess there's nothing to be afraid of about us, is there?"
"What do you mean?"
"Well like — oh, watch out." An Ogre in a well-tailored suit turns with their trunk in their arms. Finley pulls me down before either of us get hit with it. "Hey, my dude," Finley pats the Ogre on the back. "You gotta watch it with the heavy load."
"Sorry, Fin," the Ogre says. "Have you seen my brother? I'm trying to help him move in, and I think — there he is." The Ogre trods off down the hall, and though they take up two thirds of the width of the hall and their head almost scrapes the ceiling, the halls don't shudder or quake as they go.
"Pretty dope, right?" Finley says, patting me on the upper arm with the back of her hand.
"The suit?" I ask, not sure what Finley is referring to.
"The architecture." Finley slaps the wall affectionately. "Stabilizers everywhere. Take the tech they use in Japan for earthquakes and put it on magical crack." She shakes her head in admiration. "Fucking brilliant artificing."
"Is that what you are?" I say. "Like with the wrench. Are you an artificer?"
Finley shrugs. "Sure. I dabble. Come on, we're almost there." She leads me down the hallway and we finally hit what seems to be a wall of the castle — the western wall, one would hope. Finley turns right and takes up a tight and winding staircase.
"Alright, time for me to do my RA spiel," Finley says. "Curfew is at ten. Lights out at midnight. You're not nocturnal, right? That's a different hall, and I don't do well with —"
"Totally diurnal," I say.
Finley whistles. "Well, that's a ten-dollar word if I ever heard one."
"Sorry."
"Oh, don't apologize. May not fit in with the barbarians, but the wizards will eat that shit up."
"I don't think all barbarians are necessarily —"
"Oh, not at all. Sorry. Gross generalizations are great for humor, but I shouldn't lean on them. They make a shitty crutch. In fact, Tizzy Bumbersnatch is this senior barbarian who mostly rages over internet Trolls editing her Wikipedia pages. Fucking genius gal who could core an apple thirty yards away with a battleaxe. One time I saw her — never mind." Finley stops in front of an ornate door that has Finley's picture on it, her name and title as resident assistant, and the words, "Finley's Fuckups" in what seems to be motor oil.
"Like it?" Finley asks. "I was supposed to do it last week, but I got it in just under the wire this morning. Not bad, eh?"
I smile. I can't help it. There are no amount of nerves in the multiverse that could make a mortal not smile around Finley. "It's lovely."
"You don't have to be a fuckup to be here," Finley says, her hand on the heavy iron handle of the door. "I just like to set the bar low, right? Two weeks in, you'll all be stressed out of your minds, and when you bomb the first exam or some hot babe breaks your heart, you'll come to me and say you're a fuckup. And I'll say —"
"Of course you are," I finish. "That's why you belong here."
Finley's smile spreads wide, touching the tattoo again. "You got it, babe. Now let's meet your new best friends."
Finley opens the door like Willy Wonka opening the doors to the chocolate factory. Instead of a magic candyland, I see a cramped hallway bursting with life. Doors are open as people bring in their trunks, talk to their neighbors, visit other people's rooms, or decorate the dark stone that lines everything. Some of the women turn to fixate on me as my aura lures them in, but boygenius is blasting from somebody's room, and the familiar words help me relax as my favorite sad lesbians make the space automatically feel like home.
"Alright, so you're in number ..." Finley inspects her crumpled paper again with a furrowed brow. "I think that's pizza sauce." She scratches at the paper. "I mean, you're on the list, so I know you have a room, but —"
"Nita Strongclaw is my roommate," I say. "But I don't remember which room."
"Oh, easy. She's in W041. Thanks for the assist, my dude." Finley heads down the hall, and I have to juggle looking for the automatons that have all my earthly possessions, trying to not accidentally attract and seduce every girl I pass, and also trying to get an idea of who my hallmates are. For better or worse, this is my community for the next year. They won't all be wizards, but their noise will be my noise.
For one, we are a hall of undeniable cuties. I'm pretty much attracted to anyone attracted to me, which means I might be a poor judge of appearance. but it doesn't matter if you're the raven Birdfolk lighting incense in her room, the Cowfolk telling a joke with everyone's attention, or the one Cyclops with a monocle fixing an Airfolk's cracked cell phone. All of them are undeniably beautiful, and I have to admit that if any of them knocked on my door in the middle of the night, I'd let them in. And if they wanted to touch my hand or my neck, well I'd certainly let them. And if they brought me to the bed or pinned me against the wall, then of course I'd —
"Here we are," Finley says. "Room W041."
I take a deep breath and peek into my future room. Whoever Nita Strongclaw is, she clearly has a thing for plants. The walls are lined with ivy, and one bed — clearly claimed — is in front of a huge window. Almost leaning in through the window is a beautiful holly tree with the berries still budding and not quite ripe. One wall is bare, and I imagine that's where I'll be bunking, except there's a woman with rich brown skin, black hair, and bright blue tattoos sitting on the other bed. Her hair is braided messily, and tiny totems dangle from her ears. She's in gray sweatpants and a black sports bra.
"Nita Strongclaw," Finley says. "May I present to your roommate, Query." She points to me like I'm the prize on some game show.
"Hi," I say nervously. One hoof scratches the back of my other leg. It's a thing I do when I'm nervous which makes absolutely no sense. Nerves should make you ready to fight or flee. Like this, I'm only ready to be tipped over.
Nita looks confused. "Uh, what about Sprig?" Her voice is soft but firm.
"Sprig?" Finley takes out her paper again. "Sprig who?"
"Just Sprig." This voice is also unyielding, but it comes out more as an old song than anything else. Something low, deep, and ancient. The holly tree shimmers, and a Dryad steps out of it, her skin a pale green, her hair red as holly berries, and tattoos of vines covering her skin. She's in a white crop top with short black shorts.
"Oh, right!" Finley slaps her forehead as realization strikes her. She starts talking, saying something about a mix-up and a tree. She talks about a tree a lot, actually. Something about Sprig needing to stay close to it and sunlight. I'm sure it's all fascinating, but all I can think about is the fact that I have no room. Or worse, I have a room and it's with someone random. Sure, Nita is a random stranger, but she is a name I knew. She is someone I had imagined living with. Strongclaw. Probably a druid. Nita. Native American. Her name is Choctaw — I looked it up. I did my research; I was prepared. Now anything could happen. My whole year is going to look different because —
"Let me check something," Finley says. She takes out her cellphone and steps away, leaving me to freak out in front of the room-that-could-have-been. I blink away the tears, trying not to embarrass myself in front of my hallmates. I look at my hooves, knowing that they're both staring at me. They're probably concerned — or worse, pitying me.
I didn't do anything wrong.
I didn't do anything wrong.
Over and over, I tell myself that somebody else made an error. Maybe it was Finley or this Dryad or some administrative bureaucratic nonsense, but it wasn't me. I'm okay. I didn't do anything —
"Hey." I look up to see Nita towering over me. I'm a tall girl — six feet — but Nita still has several inches on me. She pulls her dark hair out of her eyes, and something about the small movement entrances me. Or maybe it's her smell. She smells like the earth and sunshine and softness and danger and raw meat and sweet honey.
"We're still going to be on the same hall," she says. "And you're welcome here anytime." She looks back at the Dryad sitting cross-legged on the bed. "Isn't that right, Sprig?"
The Dryad nods. Her face is severe, and her eyes are dark and knowing, but I can't read her at all. There aren't a lot of trees in Hell. Can other people pick up a vibe from them?
"See, Sprig's on board." Nita beams at me. "Finley will find your room. I can even help you unpack."
I look at the side of the room that I now understand is hers. It's bare except for under her bed. There are some scattered pieces of clothing and a giant warhammer with feathers decorating the shaft.
"Don't you need to unpack first?"
Nita looks behind her. "Looks great to me," she says with a shrug.
Behind her, Sprig's thin lips curl into a smirk.
"Oh, well, yeah. I would love any help unpacking."
Nita leans closer to me. "You smell, like, really fucking good," she says.
"Oh." I look down at the floor and Nita's bare feet. They are strong and rugged, and I can easily imagine them covered in calluses underneath. I'm never quite sure if I'm blushing or not without a mirror nearby. The only obvious external sign of arousal for me is faint traces of flame over my skin, but this would be a blush of embarrassment.
"Um, you too," I say.
"Really?" Nita sniffs her armpits. "Sprig says I stink."
"I didn't say that." Sprig rises from the bed and steps smoothly towards us. Her movement is like a dance, like she's floating over the floor and joining Nita to block the room from view. "I said you smell like a wild animal."
"Well, I do," Nita says at the same time as me saying, "She does."
Nita laughs, putting her hand on the impressive abs of her stomach. It's how I imagined Santa Claus would laugh, with his stomach jiggling and his back arched.
Sprig ignores her roommate and offers me a hand to shake. I oblige. "I apologize for taking your room," she says. "My tree needs the sunlight, and I cannot be far from her."
"Oh, I understand," I say, while absolutely not understanding. "I just figured someone would have let me know."
"It was a last-minute change."
"Cell phones exist." My eyes widen as I realize I've said something rude. "I mean ... sorry."
Sprig smirks. "They did it as I moved in. Apparently the faculty thought I was an Aurai, not a Dryad." She shakes her head, and her bright red hair shimmers as it waves back and forth. "As if all Nymphs are the same."
"Oh, right. Wind Nymphs," I say. I point to the crown of holly on her head. "Tree Nymph."
"Yes," Sprig says. "Tree Nymph." She talks like she's speaking to a small child, and she might be. I don't know how old her tree is — or she is for that matter. I know nothing about her people or their culture, and I have no idea how to ask that without sounding rude or uncultured. Instead, I look at my hooves again. Hooves are safe. I like my hooves.
"Okay, but seriously," Nita says. "If you ever need anything. We're here. End of the hall W041."
"Right, yeah," I say. "I'll remember."
"Alright, seems like we got things sorted out," Finley says as she joins us. "Query, you're going to be in the turret." She points above us. "It's kind of an adjunct room that —"
"The turret?" Nita says. "Finley, come on, that's like an attic."
"Well yeah," Finley says. She looks at me, "And I'm sorry. But it's either that or we need to move you to another hall." Finley looks sad, but there's also a strange sense of peace on her face. I wonder if that's how she looked while she was in the grave, and then I beat myself up for thinking such an awful thought.
"She isn't going to another hall," Nita says. She puts her hand on my shoulder protectively. "She's my roommate."
"Not anymore," I say.
"You have to stay," Sprig says. "Nita and I can help you make the turret nice and cozy."
I look at these three wonderful people all working to make me feel safe and welcomed. Of course, because my brain is fundamentally broken, that just makes me feel guilty. I hate that they have to extend courtesy and go the extra mile for me. Finley probably has two dozen other residents to deal with, Sprig has a tree to do tree things in, and I don't care what Nita says, she obviously still needs to unpack.
"What do you say?" Finley says. "Wanna check out the penthouse suite?"
As bad as the turret probably is, if I go there, not knowing my roommate's name feels worse. I know I barely know Finley and company, but the idea of meeting anyone else new feels like having to climb all the way down a mountain and climb a new one before I can set camp and finally sleep. No thank you.
"Sure," I say with a shrug. "How bad can it be?"
"That's my Query," Finley says. She pats me on the back, and Nita gives my shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "Follow me." Finley goes to the end of the hall and leans against the wall of dark stone. After a little push, the wall clicks and slides away to reveal another stairway going up.
"Oooh," Nita says.
"Major perk," Finley says.
I smile and nod. I can't tell if I'm about to cry out of gratitude or nerves, but some emotion in my body is about to erupt.
"I bet the automatons already got your stuff up here," Finley says as she leads us up. "They're programmed with all the hidden spots the dean knows about. It's fucking dope."
After spinning around in a tight spiral of thirty to forty tiny steps, we reach the tip top of the West Tower. Another heavy wooden door with an ancient iron handle stands before us.
"Welcome to your new home," Finley says as she pushes the door open, enters, and steps aside to let me take it in. The turret is roofed so that I'm in the point part of the castle towers. It looks like an attic, so there are no windows except for the little arrow slits so I can defend my college from any attackers. Those slits also happen to be the only ventilation the room seems to be getting. The stuffy air pours out over us, and I am thrilled to find it hot as Hell. Finally, a little slice of comfort in the bright and cold mortal world.
But those are where the comforts stop.
The room is covered in thick spiderwebs. Something scurries along the floor that could either be a rat or the largest spider I've ever seen. There are sleeping apparati, and both have no mattress except for a pile of rotten wood. My two trunks look bizarre juxtaposed to the overly gothic aesthetic of the tower. Oh, and my new roommate is standing in the corner, glaring at us as she gathers in the shadow tight around her.
I gasp and grab Nita's hand as I realize it's the same creature from my nightmares. A silhouette of impossible thinness and sharp angles but curves that flow and bend in a hideously alluring way. She looks as though she's made of obsidian knives, bubbling tar, and the black smoke of a burning tire. Her eyes are pale white orbs that stare at me unblinking.
"Query," Finley says. "I'd like you to meet your roommate, Impa."
The shadow creature smiles, revealing four rows of sharp white teeth. "I believe we've met before," she says as she slinks from the corner towards me.
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