Sketchbook of a Wayward Seer: Chapter 2

Aetherion Cubed

Hilarious really.

Corpse drop in Algebra II—a perfect welcome to your new life and fuck you, Ella all rolled into one.

Sure, the feeling of being watched still scratched across the back of my neck, but at least I had impending doom to distract me as I headed to my seat in the fourth row.

Paige, green-sweater girl, gave a too-tight smile as I slid into the seat beside her.

“Shall we begin?” Mr. Carver said.

Panicking? Already there, bud.

Option one - Take notes. Learn math.

Option two - Haul Carver to the hospital. Make him their problem. Screw the consequences.

Paige leaned forward, catching my eye. Her lips moved.

My mental list drowned out her whisper.

Option three - Fake sick. Call EMTs. Hope they stay long enough to watch Carver drop.

Paige tipped her head at me.

I blinked at her, nudging my mind back toward more practical things like math, the werewolf in the third row, and the way Mr. Carver’s collar darkened as his sweat soaked the fabric.

Option four - Admit you can’t do this. Run like hell. Eat ice cream.

“…okay?”

I caught the tail end of Paige’s whisper.

“Hmm?” I leaned closer to her.

“Are you okay?”

I gripped my books tighter.

The books I’d kept clutched to my chest while I sat sideways at my desk, perfectly poised to run.

Calm down.

One body dropping is inconvenient, not catastrophic. 

“I keep worrying I’m in the wrong class.” I set my books on my desk and turned to face front.

“You’re not,” Paige said.

The girl in front of me twisted toward Paige. “Did you memorize the new girl’s schedule?”

“Mr. Carver knew she was coming.” Paige leaned back in her seat.

The girl in front of me sighed, shaking her head, giving her hair an extra flutter around her face before turning back to the board.

I reached up, pulling my pencil from my bun, making sure the elastic stayed secure enough to keep my hair from falling and blocking my vision.

Why the hell would you want to see?

The irony settled my nerves, like when Mom whispered a dumb joke so she and I could laugh in our own little bubble of humor the rest of the world couldn’t touch.

Option five - Stay calm. Remember the code. Wait for Mr. Carver to die.

I flipped open my notebook, giving myself an excuse to stop watching Mr. Carver wipe his forehead on his sleeve for the sixth time.

The Mr. Carver I’d seen die had been wearing the same pale, yellow shirt as the Mr. Carver leaning against the board with one hand while scrawling crooked notes about functions with the other.

How often does he wear that shirt?

If he only wore sweat-stain-yellow shirts to teach, I might have caught a moment that wouldn’t happen for weeks. Months even.

“And who—” Mr. Carver took a rattling breath, the sound of it tighter at the end, like he was trying to force his lungs to accept more air.

Shit.

“—who can solve”—another rattling breath—“this equation?”

Nope. Dude’s dropping today.

“Anyone?” Carver said.

Don’t make the corpse beg, people.

A hand went up in the second row.

“Come on, then.” Mr. Caver turned his chair toward the board and sat.

I slid my hand into my pocket, grabbing my phone, fumbling on the plastic wrapping from my new planner.

The fluttery-haired girl in front of me looked back.

I gave her an apologetic wince as I slipped my phone into my lap and unlocked my screen.

Heart stopping suddenly. I searched the phrase.

“What do we think?” Mr. Carver said.

Your day is going worse than mine.

“Correct.”

I looked up.

“Formula and answer,” Andre finished. He sat in the front row, hand raised as he spoke, even though Mr. Carver kept his back to the class.

“Good work.” The pitch of Mr. Carver’s voice wobbled as he wheezed the words.

I swiped away from my search, pulling up the actual phone part of my phone.

“Very good, Caleb. Imaginary gold star for you.” Mr. Carver’s chair shifted as he rocked himself to his feet.

Caleb reached for his arm.

“I’ve got it.” Mr. Carver waved him away, instead planting his hand on the chalkboard for balance as he wrote out a new equation.

Caleb turned to go back to his seat.

I knew what he was before I recognized his name.

Fae.

Dark hair, deep-green eyes, and the pale skin of someone bred to live in the shadows narrowed fae down to dryad.

But I didn’t need the standard dryad features, or the instinctual recognition of someone else like me—someone modern logic screamed couldn’t exist—to be certain I was right.

Just watching his few steps back to his desk, his movements were a little too smooth, too controlled.

And when he caught me staring, the furrows on his brow maintained the perfect symmetry of his face.

I gave him a little nod.

Just before he turned away to sit, he nodded back, the movement almost too small for me to catch, like we were exchanging a secret handshake.

Hello, fellow freak. My imagined version of Caleb’s voice had the tone of a massive body-builder with the warble of a bad alien sound effect. The aitherion in me recognizes the aitherion in you.

That’s the thing about being a supernatural living among normal humans―any kind of aitherion, even a less-than-friendly werewolf, makes it easier to breathe.

And it makes sense.

When there are two of us in a room, I’m not carrying the weight of the world’s biggest secret alone anymore.

Knowing there were three of us in Algebra II kept my hand steady as I dialed 9-1-1, stopping before I actually sent the call.

“Are you okay, Mr. Carver?” Paige asked.

Mr. Carver looked toward the class, swaying just slightly from the movement.

I slid my phone off my lap, my thumb hovering over call.

“I can assure you the equation is correct.” Mr. Carver’s hand shifted on the board, leaving a sweaty handprint where his palm had been. “Andre, confirm it.”

“That’s not what I meant, sir,” Paige said.

Mr. Carver stepped aside, giving Andre a clear view of the board.

“Correct,” Andre said.

“I know.” Mr. Carver swung his arm, aiming for a dramatic gesture, tipping himself off balance, gripping the lip at the bottom of the board to stay on his feet.

Come on. Just drop.

Really, Ella?

“Mr. Carver?” Paige said.

“Are you doubting my math again?” Mr. Carver said.

“It’s not about math,” Paige said.

“Then why are you interrupting my class?” Mr. Carver pushed away from the board.

Fear filled his face mid-step, the reaction so quick, it was like he’d actually felt the snap as his minor irritation at Paige severed his last tether to life.

The florescent light glinted off the sweat on his forehead as he grabbed the back of his chair.

“Mr. Carver.” The blond wall stood.

Fall, dammit.

Mr. Carver’s legs buckled.

I pressed call before his forehead cracked against the floor, making myself wait an extra heartbeat, until the screaming started, to run for the front of the room.

He’d landed face down in the gap between his desk and the blackboard.

I knelt beside him, feigning looking for a pulse as the operator answered with well-trained calm. “9-1-1, what’s your emergency?”

“A teacher collapsed at Laureldale High. He needs an ambulance.” I pinched the phone between my shoulder and ear, trying to turn Mr. Carver onto his back.

“I’ve got him.” The wall knelt beside me.

“Where in the school are you?” the operator asked.

“Shit. I don’t know.” I looked toward the door.

Andre stood at Mr. Carver’s feet, blocking my view of the room number.

“Tell the operator where we are.” I tossed my phone to him.

The wall got Mr. Carver on his back. “Mr. Carver?”

A long gash cut across his head.

It was barely bleeding.

Of course not. Corpses aren’t known for spurting blood.

You know this.

Shit.

Get it together.

Shit fuckers.

“Caleb!” I shouted his name. Not loud enough to cut through the panicked screams filling the room, but I didn’t bother calling again.

“Mr. Carver?” The wall felt for the teacher’s pulse.

Caleb appeared beside me.

“An AED, does the school have one?” I said.

Caleb stepped around us, heading for the door.

“I guess that’s a yes,” I said.

“I can’t find his pulse,” the wall said.

“Do you know CPR?” I reached into my pocket, my mind not fully registering why until my fingers found the plastic I’d torn from my planner.

“Theoretically.” The wall felt the other side of Mr. Carver’s neck.

“You’re on chest compressions, I’m on air.”

“Compressions.” He patted down the center of Mr. Carver’s chest.

“You got this?”

“Easy. Compressions are easy.” He stacked his hands and started counting. “One, two, three—”

I rammed two fingers through the thin plastic, making a hole in the middle.

Crack!

“Shit.” The wall jerked back, lifting his hands away from Mr. Carver. “I think I broke him.”

“Doesn’t matter. Keep going.”

“Someone else—”

“He won’t care about broken ribs if he stays dead.” I spread the plastic over Mr. Carver’s face, centering the hole over his mouth.

His face now totally white with panic, the wall felt down Mr. Carver’s chest and started compressions again. “Twenty-five, twenty-six—”

I took a deep breath, trying not to think about the dead teacher factor as I pressed my mouth to Mr. Carver’s corpse.

It’s just air. It’s not gross.

“Can I help?” The wobbly voice came from above my head as I forced the second breath into Corpse Carver.

“Get everyone out of the way.” I looked up as the wall started compressions again.

Paige swiped the tears from her cheeks, nodding to herself before shouting, “Everybody, clear out!”

“Eighteen, nineteen—”

Crack!

“Shit, sorry, eighteen. No shit, twenty.” The wall kept going.

“Get out of my damn way!” The shouted order came from the hall. “Now!”

“I tried to tell them to—”

“—twenty-nine, thirty.”

I breathed into Corpse Carver’s mouth.

“What the hell happened?” the hall shouter said.

“He just collapsed,” the wall said as I did the second breath.

“Move.” The shouter took the wall’s place. As she reached to feel for Corpse Carver’s non-existent pulse, I caught sight of her name tag.

Nurse Thompson.

A school nurse.

High schools have those, Ella Dae.

You’re supposed to get the nurse if someone dies.

“Andy?” The nurse opened Corpse Carver’s eyes.

I looked away.

“The AED.” Caleb stood by Corpse Carver’s feet, holding out a yellow box that looked more like a jump-starter battery for a car than anything that could help a person.

“Andy!” Mrs. Parker appeared beside Caleb.

The nurse grabbed the AED. “Helen, help me. Jason—”

“Here.” The wall leaned over the desk, like he’d been waiting to be summoned.

“—get the students out of here.” The nurse opened Corpse Carver’s sweat-stained shirt, exposing the pale, saggy skin beneath.

I scrambled sideways, clearing my place for Mrs. Parker.

“Don’t!” The wall grabbed my arm, basically tossing me up onto my feet, saving me from planting my hand in the too-small puddle of blood from Corpse Carver’s head wound.

Beep.

I whipped toward the sound, yanking free from the wall’s grip, banging against the corner of Corpse Carver’s desk.

The voice on the loudspeaker had no pretense of calm. “All students will stay in their classrooms.”

Someone, maybe it was me, had knocked over Corpse Carver’s coffee. The deep-brown liquid seeped into his notes, blooming up from the puddle on the laminate top of the desk like a mind-blown emoji gawking at how I’d been at Laureldale High less than a day and was already standing beside a dead body.

“The school is not under lockdown,” the loudspeaker voice said, “but all students will remain in their classrooms until further notice.”

“Not this classroom,” the nurse shouted from the floor as the AED turned on with a bleep-bleep. “Out. Even you, Jason.”

Cutting around the wall, I hurried for the door, abandoning my books.

Most of the Algebra II class had gathered straight down the hall on the far side of the intersecting corridors.

I let my steps slow as I neared the crossway.

Turning right would lead me to an empty section of the corridor.

Turning left would take me to three students who’d huddled together like a triad of trauma.

Continuing straight to join the cluster of students would tear off the social band-aid.

Forcing my way into the herd on the vague hope no one screamed freak definitely ranked as the least appealing option.

No one outside the aitherion community had ever shouted sybil in my face, and I’d only gotten seer a few times. Psychic, clairvoyant, medium, prophet―which was always weird―and demon, which is hilarious to anyone who’s seen an actual demon, were way more common.

I’d gotten every version of weirdo, crazy, and witch, too.

But freak stings the most. The hard k at the end really helps drive the loathing home.

“Over here.” A girl in the clump of students across the hall waved me over. “You can wait with us.”

“We’ll be out of the way,” the wall said.

I hadn’t noticed him stop beside me.

He gestured forward, like he didn’t know if I’d heard.

“Thanks.” I didn’t even try to give the wall a grateful smile.

From the frantic, adrenaline-fueled glaze in his eyes, he couldn’t have managed one, either.

Sirens blaring from the front of the school finally made me move, heading straight toward the herd.

You helped someone in an emergency. Totally normal.

Nothing wrong with that.

You didn’t call for help until after he’d fallen.

Everything is okay.

You are okay.

“Is Mr. Carver okay?” the girl who’d waved me over asked.

“Did he wake up?” Paige asked.

Andre ran up the hall, leading two EMTs and a few firefighters.

“It’s really bad, isn’t it?” Paige clung to the waving girl’s arm.

“He wasn’t breathing.” The wall leaned against a locker, dragging his hands down his face. “I broke his ribs.”

“It’s pretty common,” I said.

The wall shook his head.

“Better a few fractures than compressions too light to help.” I reached into my pocket for my phone. “If he comes back, it’ll be because you helped.”

“Comes back?” Waving girl’s voice hitched.

Paige crumpled into sobs.

I checked my other pockets, still searching for my phone.

“I should have m—made him stop teaching.” Paige coughed the words through her tears. “If he’s dead, i—it—it’s my fault.”

“Paige, honey”—the fluttery-haired girl who’d been sitting in front of me took Paige’s hand—“let it go. Even your savior complex isn’t as powerful as the Grim Reaper.”

Truth.

“Just don’t.” Paige pulled her hand free.

Andre. Andre still had my phone.

“Didn’t you see him, strutting through the black board?” fluttery hair said. “But I guess you wouldn’t notice a fine ass man like Mr. G. Reaper.”

“Hailey, have a little respect,” Sydney said.

The voices in Corpse Carver’s classroom got louder.

Fluttery-hair Hailey pursed her lips at Sydney then winked at Paige. “But the way the Reaper handled his—”

“Can you shut up?” I cut across Hailey.

“What?” Hailey rounded on me.

“I’m trying to hear the paramedics,” I said.

“Eavesdropping isn’t—”

“The Grim Reaper isn’t real,” I said.

Lie number two.

“No sexy specter came to haunt class. So either dead math teachers make you wet, or you’re just being a dick to Paige while she’s in shock.” I closed my eyes, trying to hear past Paige’s hiccupping tears. “Either way, just stop.”

A paramedic counted down again.

Come on, Carver. Lose the corpse status.

“This coming from the girl who just had her mouth on a dead math teacher,” Hailey said.

“Don’t start on her,” Sydney said.

If I got my phone back from Andre, I could text Kate. Tell her I was fine before she had a legal-guardian-to-an-asshole-who-can’t-make-it-through-one-day-of-school meltdown.

“Is the new girl already your cause?” Hailey said.

“Hailey,” waving girl whispered.

“Your new puppy leapt to her feet and called 9-1-1 like it’s her favorite hobby,” Hailey said. “Then the carcass kisser—”

“Her parents are dead, you fuck.” Sydney’s shout echoed down the hall.

Pain rammed into my chest, knocking the air from my lungs before digging deeper, like panic gave grief an extra edge.

The students in the herd froze—either waiting for me to crumble or for Sydney and Hailey fight.

You’re okay. You’re okay.

You are fucking okay.

“What the hell was that?” Principal Harrison, of the give you a two-hour tour to prepare you for our fine institution Harrisons, stepped through the herd. His gaze moved from Sydney, to Hailey, to me, then back to Sydney. “Miss Dupuis, you will come to my office after Lunch. Ms. Harper”—he turned to Hailey—“you will report to my office after school.”

“What!” Red crawled up Hailey’s neck as Principal Harrison looked to me.

“Miss Dae?” He said it as a quiet question, like maybe he could feel it, too.

Not the pressure in my chest that promised I’d spend the rest of my life fighting for every breath.

The feeling of something clicking into place, like a switch shifting over on a railroad track, or a kicked rock tumbling down a slope.

A path had been set, and momentum is bitch to stop.

“Ella?” Principal Harrison said. “Can you get to the office?”

I opened my mouth, trying to form the word yes.

Nothing came out.

I nodded.

I let the buzzing in my head drown out the pounding of the paramedics’ steps as they ran Corpse Carver to the front of the school.