Page 27 of Fractured Fates
“Me and my aunt.” The light filtering in from the gap in the window is gray and I’m guessing it’s almost sunrise, 6am thereabouts. “It’s really early. When do we have to be up?”
“7 am.”
“Right, then I’ll take him outside so as not to disturb you.” And so Pip can relieve himself. He’s giving me that cross-eyed look which means he really needs to pee.
Tugging on my yoga pants and grabbing my bag as quickly as I can, I open the window, bundle Pip into my arms and climb out.
“What are you doing?” Winnie demands.
“Going to feed Pip,” I say, like duh.
“You can use the door you know,” she mumbles, clicking the lights off with a snap of her fingers and flopping back down into the bed.
I close the window behind me and rifle through my bag until I find the bits of leftover breakfast and lunch I managed to smuggle away while I was eating with the man in black and Stone. I drop it onto the floor and, after he does his business, relief flooding his face, Pip skips over and starts to demolish the lot.
I sit down on the grass, damp with dew, and hook out some more of the smuggled food. I was hoping it would last a few meals, but obviously not.
As Pip eats, I watch the sun rise over the looming figure of the distant mansion, painting it a fine gold, and then examine my surroundings in the daylight. We’re at the highest point of the hill here and I can see how the land falls away into lush meadows and fields of grass, the occasional copse of trees speckling the pattern and a meandering blue river cutting through it. On the horizon are the tall buildings of Los Magicos, and at my back are the dark trees of the forest.
Pip finishes his food and climbs into my lap, nudging my hand with his snout until I oblige and offer up tummy-tickles.
I’m just bending down to kiss the crown of his head, when I hear the pounding of many pairs of feet. My spine stiffening, I sit up and watch as a line of a dozen girls come running towards me. I brace myself, ready for a fight, until I realize they aren’t heading for me after all, just following the path that leads to the woods.
All of them are dressed in matching black velvet shorts and hoodies, the crest of the Arrow Hart Academy pinned to their breasts, their shorts so small I can practically see their underwear. Most of them have their hoodies zipped down low too, displaying their impressive cleavage and their hair is swept up into high pony tails that bounce along with their boobs as they run.
I can’t help squeezing my arms against my chest, thinking how painful that looks. But these girls don’t seem to feel any pain, in fact, despite the pace they’re running, they haven’t broken a sweat, all their perfectly made-up faces intact. It looks like someone just broke into the Playboy mansion and ordered all the bunnies out for a race.
As they near me, twelve pairs of eyes, most of them framed by false eyelashes, land on me. Several manicured brows arch, several of the pairs of eyes drop to the blissed-out pig on my lap. Several hands rise to cover mouths and I watch them whispering as they run. Then there’s laughing and giggling and the girl leading the pack screeches to a halt right in front of me. She has long blonde hair, so blonde it’s almost white, large piercing violet eyes and legs so long they seem to go on and on forever.
She rests her hands on her hips and sneers down her upturned nose at me.
“And who the hell are you?” she demands. Her tone is so damn aggressive, I peer behind me, almost expecting to find someone else lurking there behind me.
“Who? Me?” I ask, pointing to my chest.
“Well, duh!” she says, rolling her eyes. “Who else?”
“Rhianna.” She glares at me. “Oh, Rhianna Blackwaters.”
“You’re new?”
I’m oh so tempted to roll my eyes back at her, but I refrain. I may have a lack of social skills but I’ve no intention of making enemies on my first day. I stick with a safe, “Yes.”
“And what the hell is that?” She waves a painted fingernail in my direction.
“A pig,” I say simply. “He’s my pet.”
Her nose wrinkles and her lip curls. “Were you kissing it?” I don’t answer, something in her tone tells me I’m better off if I don’t. She turns to her friends. “She was, wasn’t she?” Most of the girls nod obediently. “It probably has fleas or rabies or worse.” She laughs, cocking her head to one side. “I don’t know what backward country you’ve transferred from, but this is Arrow Hart Academy – an elite academy for magicals – not a farmyard. And people don’t bring their ‘pets’,” she makes inverted commas with her fingers, “to school. You should send it home immediately.”
I shake my head and the girl arches her eyebrow.
“I don’t want a pig on campus, smelling like shit and ruining my morning run.”
“Right,” I say, wondering why she would think I care.
“So you’ll be getting rid of it immediately,” she says, lifting her chin.
“No,” I say, “the pig’s staying.”
