Expelled from her old school for a crime she didn't commit, Ivy must gain the trust of the High Pack at Ridgeview Academy to stop her new home from going up in flames.
Season 2 of Witchfire
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───── Piper ─────
"Look at all those chickens," Lawrence drawled, elbowing me in the side as he quoted his favourite viral video of all time.
It had actually startled a laugh out of me the first time I saw the little girl claim an entire field of geese were actually chickens. Now my amusement only diminished every time Lawrence forced me to relive the joke, as it hammered home how starkly different I had been at that age. I hadn't had the luxury of making silly mistakes like that. The luxury of parents who laughed, who encouraged their child's curiosity and found joy in their child-like wonder, like it was something to be cherished and memorialised through video instead of thoroughly stamped out.
I glanced at Lawrence sidelong, trying to determine if he was actually pointing out something worth my time. He'd bound his wine-red hair back with a headband today, emphasising the expressive canvas of his freckled face. He was hopelessly earnest, and so it only took a second for me to realise that he was actually intrigued by whatever he was looking at. Curious, I followed his toffee brown eyes, scanning the courtyard beyond the senior locker bay.
There weren't any chickens to be found, but there was a rather conspicuous group congregating around a girl with a campus map. The breeze carried their scents away from us, but it was obvious they were new to Ridgeview Academy, because the idiots were standing smack in the middle of the school's most popular four-square court. Disgruntled students milled on the sidelines, quietly seething at the inconvenience. No doubt they'd wanted to sneak in a quick game before the first assembly of the year.
But the new kids had enough of a presence that the regulars held back, reluctant to start a fight they weren't sure they could win. Smart, remarked the detached, analytical voice that was both a part of me and not. It had frequented my head for as long as I could remember. They ought to conserve their strength for the Placing Tournament.
"Quite a few this year," Damian remarked from behind us, echoing my train of thought. "I had to sign almost two hundred enrolment forms over the holidays."
Sail whistled, shielding his vividly blue eyes against the pale glare of the overcast day. "I don't envy you, mate."
Of all the members of the High Pack, Sail was the closest thing I had to a real friend; we were the only two who stayed behind on exeats and Christmas holidays, the loneliest times of the year. Sometimes when I looked at him, I saw the shadow of the scrawny farm boy who'd offered me a stick of gum in class, long before he realised I'd be joining his pack. He looked more like a man now, with more muscle than he knew what to do with at eighteen, but that boyish charm remained.
"Year 7 students?" I asked, sparing Damian a glance. As always, the top half of his face was obscured by a low-riding baseball cap, brown curls squeezing out the sides like whipped cream. He was unusually beautiful for a werewolf, with ashen brown skin that made the honeyed tones of his eyes pop in the rare moments he parted with his cap.
