Chapter Two: Arlo

He ate alone. Having friends was preferable, but you didn't get them with a snap of the fingers. People like him, like the Sixclaws, didn't really make friends. They made acquaintances, connections. They gathered favors and distributed them as necessary. Everything was a calculation, a way to stay on top of the game and to make sure no one undermined or brought you down.

It honestly sucked being in that kind of atmosphere. Nothing felt genuine. You never knew if people liked you for you or the big name tacked onto the end of yours. Being here, at Dreadmor – already that life seemed foggy. Some strange illusion of a different time, a different place. The whole compound contributed to that feeling as well – wild magic interwoven with nature, creating a bizarre, fantastical place that was in this world and yet alien at the same time. Sometimes, he wanted to pinch himself, just to be sure he wasn't dreaming.

A clatter of plates and cutlery. One person sat down at his table, giving him a pointed stare. Yellow eyes – another werewolf. Arlo sighed inwardly.

"Sixclaw," the werewolf woman said. "Your lot tends to always enroll at Archon Academy. It's quite surprising to see such a name here, instead."

Arlo examined the werewolf. "Why do you even care? Just leave me alone."

She smirked but didn't budge. "You know all the other werewolves here will be gossiping. You won't be able to sit here alone for the next four years."

He inhaled deeply, closing his eyes for a second. "Okay, fine. Who are you?"

"Skyla Redclaw."

"Ah." He grinned, now drumming clawed hands on the table. The Redclaws were an offshoot of two older families – including some distant ancestors of his. "My family really doesn't like your lot. At all. It would be typical of people like you choosing to attend different academies."

"Hey, it's not like every single person of werewolf blood has to attend Archon. There are way more of us in the world than can possibly fit into a single academy. "

"But everyone who has something to prove goes there. Or so they say."

"There's a lot of half-bloods and part-bloods there. Something to do with the lack of funding, isn't it? Maybe it's because most of them are stuck-up, pretentious morons."

He couldn't help but nod. "I mean… I have family members attending Archon now, a cousin and some nephew who's almost the same age I am."

"So? Do you like them or what?"

"My mother likes them a lot more than my dad does. But, between you and me, we're this close to becoming a branch family with a different surname, like yours." He pinched his thumb and forefinger to demonstrate, and Skyla's smile turned dark.

"Just as well. Besides, Archon wouldn't give us what we need, would it?" Something glinted in her eyes, cold and dark. "Not with the kind of magic we have anyway. It's not the kind of place we need."

Before Arlo added more, another werewolf slid into a seat at their table. Skyla's cousin, Lujan. Another one from the same class. Werewolves tended to congregate together, it seemed, and these dearly wanted to brush shoulders with him.

"So, cuz," Lujan began, "is this a nasty Sixclaw or an okay one?"

"Not sure," Skyla replied. "But he has potential, I think."

Arlo shook his head in disbelief. "Are you really talking about me as if I'm not here?"

Lujan leaned on one hand, one side of his mouth upturned. "Yep."

Arlo's quiet lunch table had become a lot less quiet, all against his will. It didn't seem like a smart decision just to get up and walk away since, however rude and straightforward these wolves were – they did seem to be curious about him. They probably weren't the conniving kind, constantly planning which parties to go to, who to try and talk to and make connections with, whom to ignore, and who to treat like dirt…

Arlo's eyes shifted for a second to Holly, the woman who'd sat next to him in class, now eating with others at a faraway table. His mother would hate him for talking to someone like her, which was precisely why he would, as soon as he got a good opportunity to do so.

Lujan continued his inquisition, regardless of how nosy he sounded. "Both your parents are happy you're here? One of them? Neither of them?"

"One is, and a cousin and some other relatives," Arlo replied reluctantly. "My part of the family is thinking of changing their name to differentiate themselves from the other Sixclaws."

"Nice." Lujan nodded. He flicked his wrist, and a glass of water floated to him. It was Arlo's glass of water, actually. He watched Lujan drink it, torn between being irritated and amused. Amused won out.

"Did you really have to drink my water?" asked Arlo.

"No, but I wanted to show off." Lujan floated it back to him. "You speak very well in your werewolf form. Most of us try to blend in a bit. We're taking the suppressants."

Arlo rolled his eyes. "Obviously."

They continued to chatter, and when they departed, heading for their next class, Arlo felt a little less alone than before. Overall, everything he'd encountered on his first day had the same vibe as Z'Hana's class. The professors were more concerned with the students becoming familiar with the place and learning their way around, as well as cautioning them about the wilder elements that existed in the wilds around Dreadmor, things like tree elves and Medusa snakes as well as various other creatures that should never be near a large population of students, and yet were, which probably explained why students needed to sign a waiver before attending the school.

"It's okay," Professor Grena said during the last lesson of the day. "There hasn't been a student death in nearly three years, and that death only happened because some people thought it might be funny to leave their drunk friend in an area known for Medusa snakes. He's now a statue in the Triscor garden."

Arlo hoped Grena was teasing, but she didn't bat an eyelash while telling it. Subsequent research did show that a student was killed three years ago by Medusa snakes. A trip to the gardens the next day confirmed that there was a highly realistic statue of a man. But perhaps not one made by Medusa snakes, hopefully. Opinions appeared divided between the younger and older students as to the statue's authenticity.

Two days later, the full moon period ended, leaving him in his regular human form. His human form didn't have the same radiating power – but at least it did necromantic magic more effectively. He struggled to access magic when the moon reached its strongest. It wasn't impossible, but it interfered greatly with his ability to work with the dead, as his werewolf magic tended to overwhelm everything else.

His next lesson with Z'Hana consisted of a list of probable career choices for a necromancer. He examined it with interest – he already had a solid idea of what he wanted to do, but the list opened up a few more possibilities.

"Nice to see you without your werewolf form," Holly said, looking him over closely like the way he'd discreetly looked her over on their first day, taking in her physicality. She surely had some fairy blood in her because her eyes really stood out, showing a kind of moss-green tincture. She also had a habit of biting her nails since they had sharp, uneven edges. Everything about her – was pleasing to look at.

"At least I fit in the bed again," he said, gesturing to her paper. "So, what's your career path as a medium?"

"Mostly law enforcement or archeology, which is kind of cool. They even have ‘exorcist' and ‘ghost hunter' here as actual options."

"Really? Let me see." He took the paper from her and chuckled at the options. She did the same with his.

"Huh, you have law enforcement as well. Hospital work is cool. Also, the military. That sounds… ominous."

Holly's lack of fear and hesitancy with him made it a lot easier to enjoy the prospect of making friends. In just a couple of days, he'd already been scooped up by Skyla and Lujan – and Holly was a member of this group as well. The one thing she and Arlo did have in common was that neither of them had gone to the summer camp.

"We could theoretically end up working for the same thing," he said, pointing to law enforcement, forensic anthropology, and archaeology. "Though our powers are quite different."

"You two," Z'Hana said, suddenly interrupting their conversation. She pressed one hand on Holly's desk. "We've got a good opportunity for you to test out your magic later. Law enforcement in one of the nearby villages has had a death. We're in contact with a lot of the settlements around because we can account for some of the powers our students have all the time. There's already a necromancer there, and they'll be able to watch over you safely. If you're interested, you both can go after school finishes and use your powers and talk to an older necromancer."

"Sure!" Arlo said, taken by surprise but pleased at the chance to use his powers. His family didn't have many opportunities to do so, except for the trips his father made. "Why not?"

"Will they be able to work with me?" Holly asked, sounding doubtful. "It's not like they have the same powers I do…"

"There's enough of an overlap and understanding. Of course, we want you to get to work with those who share your powers, so don't worry. It's just not possible right now. We haven't had a medium in quite some time coming to Dreadmor."

"Okay." Holly still sounded doubtful, but the opportunity overrode the doubt. Z'Hana walked away, and Holly and Arlo beamed at each other.

Holly said, "Wow, I didn't think we'd have a chance so soon!" Then, she modified her excitement. "I mean, of course, it's terrible that such a thing happened, that someone died…"

Arlo consoled her. "People die all the time. At least we can speak with them." back into her seat, still not entirely happy. "This was one of my worries when I came here. That they wouldn't take my powers seriously, and I'd end up being some kind of afterthought while other, more interesting powers ended up getting developed."

"You just need to show them that your powers are nothing to sneeze at," Arlo said.

"Easy for you to say. At least you come from a background where you know about your powers. Mine are communicating with spirits, whatever that means. Tarot cards, séances calling up dead relatives, whatever, you know."

"Is that what you think?" He turned to face her, no longer amused, a cold look of anger stealing over his face. "That I've had it easy?"

Something in Arlo's expression knew she'd made a mistake, but she pressed on anyway. "You're clearly pretty confident about your magic. You come from a rich family. It's not that difficult to see that you've had things a lot easier than anyone else."

"This conversation is over," Arlo said. He turned away, seething. Holly tried to make conversation with him, but he ignored her, no longer willing to give her the time of day. For a second, he'd hoped that she might be different. It was too much to ask for, apparently.

Eventually, she stopped trying to talk to him. He ignored her at lunchtime, and in the class they shared, quietly preparing for the visit to the nearby village with Z'Hana arranging the transport.

The car ride with Holly was awkward, as they both were delegated to the back seats. The silence thickened, almost choking the atmosphere around them.

Maybe he was overreacting. Maybe he should just acknowledge that she couldn't know everything. But the stubborn part of him kept quiet, widening the chasm between them.

If Z'Hana noticed anything, she did not comment as the car wound through a strange, twisted woodland with dark branches, leaves, and eyes glowing in the darkness. Chirps of strange animals or creatures filled the air, and they needed to cut through patches of gathering miasma, hovering like foul bog fumes emanating from swamps – though no swamps were currently in sight.

"Interesting area, isn't it?" Z'Hana asked, noting how they both stared out the windows. "This area is more of a biome that's dedicated to the types of creatures that thrive in these habitats. Creatures like kelpies. Afancs, ashrays. We think there's a Jenny Greenteeth being in there as well."

"Jenny Greenteeth?" Arlo asked.

"In British folklore, there's a swamp crone that lives in murky water full of duckweed. It's actually a species, though they named one Jenny Greenteeth. Nasty business, with the drowning."

Arlo shuddered in spite of himself.

"What about the other creatures you mentioned? What are those?"

"Water creatures." Z'Hana pointed, and just as they passed a river running, a strange, glimmering blue slip illuminated the water's surface. "Look, there's an ashray."

It was something that looked like a fish or a human with wings on its back. It swam but shrank back from a patch of sunlight hitting the water before bobbing back into nothing.

"That's the beauty of Dreadmor," Z'Hana said with pride, her expression exuberant. "We have so many beautiful, mythical beings that have been wiped out in most civilized areas. The wildlands all around us allow them to thrive. We allow them to thrive."

"Isn't that… dangerous?" Holly pushed against her seatbelt; her eyebrows knitted together. Arlo quietly agreed with the sentiment. "You're mentioning dangerous beings that drown people and all sorts of things, right?"

"It is ignorance that makes them dangerous. You will learn about them at the academy, along with your magic and other aspects of your education. Most of these beings are easily avoided or appeased and dealt with. Many enjoy interactions if they are respected. Some, yes, you must avoid, but this in itself is simple. There is only danger if you are foolish enough to disregard nature and trample it. You wouldn't, after all, pick up a random bear cub, knowing the mother is nearby, right? You wouldn't disturb the sacred ground, knowing powerful spirits rested in it."

It seemed Z'Hana's idea of "simple" greatly differed from Arlo's idea of "simple." There were creatures of the wildlands best left as myths and legends. With Z'Hana's conviction, however, neither of the students felt comfortable enough to raise their concerns beyond some halfhearted questions.

The village itself seemed to drop out of the mist, materializing into being as they drove down a gentle slope, revealing scattered, ancient-looking buildings straight out of a Renaissance fair. Crooked structures, black beams, white-painted homes, thatched roofs, as well as sharp, steepled slate roofs cloaked in moss and bird droppings. Smaller roads were mud-flecked, with deep grooves from footsteps and animal traffic. It didn't feel like they'd exited the wildlands at all.

They stopped at the morgue, wedged in between a tiny sheriff's office and a clinic – the place wasn't big enough for a full hospital or a police precinct. One lonely sheriff waited for them outside the morgue, wearing worn-out clothes and a patched-up hat with a brass star spiked into it. He tipped his wide-brimmed hat to them as they stepped out of the car.

"Good to see you, Ma'am Z'Hana. It's been a minute since you were here. Last trip was a morgue visit, too, was it not?"

"A high death rate for such a tiny village, Sheriff Michaels," Z'Hana noted, one eyebrow raised as she examined the sheriff.

Michaels nodded ruefully. "I agree. I'm planning an inspection of the protections around the perimeter of our village, just in case something needs replenishing."

This sounded like yet another reason not to have a settlement on the edge of a creepy swamp/woodland area. Arlo, of course, said nothing, as Michaels looked very sorry and solemn about the whole situation and beckoned them to come in.

"That necromancer or whatever is waiting for you. Sorry business, indeed."

Michaels stayed well away from the door as the two students and Z'Hana went through it into a sterile, gleaming room so air-conditioned it was markedly cold, which created an air of quiet and solemn respect. There were ten metal doors in the wall, each containing a corpse.

On the autopsy table lay a shrouded figure, one which the school and the village sheriff's office expected Arlo and Holly to communicate with. A woman walked into the room dressed in an impeccable white lab coat, glasses on top of her severely tied-back hair. Yellow eyes denoted her as a shifter. She smiled at them both.

"Hello, students. I'm Marisha Raintotem. I'm pleased to make your acquaintances."

Arlo gave a start at the mention of the name Raintotem. They were one of the oldest, richest werewolf families, with a long, proud tradition at Archon Academy. It seemed he could never escape those who had ties to Archon and the werewolf clans. When picking Dreadmor, he'd honestly hoped to be free of that. But, of course, werewolves and other shifters could be found in all the prominent schools – just that the biggest concentration of them came from Archon.

When he introduced himself as Arlo Sixclaw, Marisha didn't bat an eye. Any eyebrow movement was reserved for Holly, the wayward medium now under her care.

"This will be a good test of your abilities," she told Holly and Arlo. "I have not worked my magic on the victim yet since the more times you interact with a body or soul, the more challenging it becomes to do so again in the future. Your main task will be to attempt to interact with the soul. A necromancer does so by retying the soul to the body, which is a little more advanced than just puppeteering the body. The medium, on the other hand, listens for psychic echoes, clues to what happened to the victim, and, if strong enough, they can see and channel the spirit into themselves." She crossed her arms.

"While you both work with souls, your approaches are fundamentally different. Take your time. Do your best. This is not a test to pass or fail – just to learn. One last thing. The victim's name was Jeffrey Dawson."

How encouraging, Arlo thought, noting Holly's nervous expression. Though he still wasn't exactly happy with Holly at the moment, he couldn't bring himself to hate her entirely. She simply didn't know. She didn't understand anything about werewolf life. So, perhaps it seemed logical for her to view him as just a stuck-up rich kid. Certainly, some of the upper echelons of werewolves were stuck-up rich kids – and adults. He expected Marisha Raintotem to be one of them, but she appeared wholly focused on her role as investigator and educator.

He closed his eyes and let the magic speak to him. Next to the body, he sensed its muted presence. Something that once hosted the very spark of life was now breaking down to feed other life if humans and supernaturals alike didn't interfere with the process.

If the body was a biological engine, then the soul was the on switch that connected everything. He began his work on the body, trickling magic into it, trying to re-tether the soul. The soul didn't seem close, however. At this rate, he would only be able to animate the body and probe the brain for the last residual memories it had, and this was far less accurate than being able to anchor the soul. The brain didn't work properly without the soul, so getting it to answer questions would be challenging before the magic ran out.

He snuck a look at Holly, who stood there with her eyes closed and hands clasped together. Then she sighed. "Do we have any personal effects of the victim's here? Something they wore, something they cherished?"

Marisha Raintotem asked for Michaels to bring the victim's watch, which he'd been wearing when he died. Arlo, in the meanwhile, poured more of his magic into the corpse until a faint, luminescent blue glow ringed it, and it slowly rose, the blanket falling off to reveal a ghastly pale face.

"I'll try talking to the body without the soul," he said. "It's too far away. Jeffrey Dawson, do you hear me?"

The corpse slowly turned toward him, stiff, without the fluid motion of someone alive. "Yes," it rasped. It was little more than AI at this point, with an imperfect brain breaking down by the second. It would not be imaginative with its responses.

"Tell me what killed you."

"I do not know," the corpse said. "I did not see." It let out a faint, hissing noise, and Arlo's magic drained at a frightening pace. He rushed to the next question.

"Did something human or supernatural kill you?"

"I do not know," the corpse repeated. "I was so scared."

"Where were you when you died?" He barely squeezed out this question before the light went out, and the corpse slowly reclined back to its resting position. Arlo hunched over, limbs trembling from the exertion of magic. "God, that was so draining…"

"It's not easy work," Marisha confirmed. "It takes time and practice to strengthen the magic and to know what questions to ask since you have such a limited time with them."

Arlo sighed inwardly. Yes… he should've prepared questions. Maybe asked to look at a file or something so he might know which ones would work best, though he'd anticipated he'd have far more time than the measly seconds he got with his magic. It shamed him.

"You've not had much chance to practice, have you?" Marisha asked, somewhat sympathetically. Now, for the first time, she brought some attention to his surname. "I suspect your mother has been less than supportive toward your endeavors."

He froze, not wanting to show anything of this in front of Holly, who snapped out of her focus and was listening. Eventually, he cleared his throat. "I'd prefer not to talk about such things here."

"Of course," Marisha said. "Anyway, since you've exhausted your magic for now, let's focus on Holly's assessment."

Arlo nodded stiffly, irritated by the older necromancer's slip. True as it was, it was dropped too casually. Still simmering with irritation, he settled back to watch Holly's performance.