Monday arrived with the usual sense of dread that came with the first day of school.
Mom dropped us off in front of Westpine High, the tall, red-brick building standing like a prison disguised as an institution of learning. The flag out front waved mockingly in the wind, as if saying "Welcome to your doom, kids."
Snow sat beside me in the car, bouncing her knee and tugging at her sleeves.
"You'll be fine," I told her, more out of habit than encouragement.
"I know," she said quickly. "I'm not scared. I'm just...thinking of conversation starters. What do you think about, like, 'Hi, I like your shoes'? Too desperate?"
"Try 'Greetings, fellow adolescent. Let us engage in shallow bonding rituals.'" I said flatly.
She groaned. "You're the worst."
Mom turned in her seat and smiled at us with that radiant, unnaturally chipper morning face. "Have a nice day, okay? Make friends, be kind, and please don't set anything on fire."
Snow offered a quick "Love you!" as she rushed off, her oversized bag bouncing behind her.
I gave Mom a wave and followed, a little slower. Friends? I'd ruled kingdoms, crushed rebellions, and once held a symposium with twelve necromancers and a vampire queen. None of them were what you'd call "friends."
I stepped into class and made a beeline for the back row—the natural habitat of people trying to avoid unnecessary interaction. Slumped into the chair, I scanned the room, already halfway to bored.
Oh. Ice cream girl.
She was here.
Nora... Yes, Nora. I'd remembered her grandma was Paula, which was unhelpful. Nora sat two rows ahead, talking animatedly to someone about how raisins were "a betrayal in cookie form." Fair point.
The classes crawled by—history, math, something about photosynthesis—and none of it mattered. My body was here, but my mind was counting mana fluctuations and cataloging shadow density for tonight's training.
Cafeteria. Finally.
I walked in, picked up a tray of what the school called "chicken," and scanned the tables. Snow was already at a corner table, laughing with a group of four strangers like she'd known them her whole life. Of course she had. Social skills: unlocked.
I headed for an empty table and sat alone, grateful for the silence.
That didn't last.
"Hey, Frostaur."
I looked up to find Nora standing across from me, tray in hand and a crooked smile on her face.
"Frostaur?" I blinked.
"I prefer Shadowspine," I said, casually stabbing my mystery meat. "It's a spinosaur that can swim through shadows. Very majestic. Very lethal."
Nora wrinkled her nose. "That's so creepy. Like...why would a dinosaur need stealth?"
"To assassinate other dinosaurs."
"Right," she said, setting her tray down across from me. "Of course. Stealth-dino. Very practical."
A lanky boy followed behind her, looking like he'd been dragged here against his will. Brown, messy hair, oversized glasses that kept sliding down his nose, and a general aura of please-don't-look-at-me.
"This is Trevor," Nora said, plopping a carton of chocolate milk down. "Trevor McKinney."
"Nice to meet you," he said with a weak wave and the smile of someone deeply regretting every decision that led him to this moment.
I raised an eyebrow. "Why? Did I say anything to make you think I'm a people person?"
Trevor blinked, unsure of how to respond.
Nora leaned in, unbothered. "My brother has a good sense for people. He thought you seemed cool."
"His senses are failing."
I looked between them. Nora was smiling like she was interviewing a particularly confusing insect. Trevor looked like he wanted the floor to eat him.
I sighed. "Fine. Sit. But I'm not talking about feelings or math homework."
"Deal," said Nora, already stealing one of my fries. "We'll stick to dinosaurs and dark sorcery."
"Wait...dark what?" Trevor asked, his eyes wide.
"Kidding," I said.
"...I think," Nora added.
"So," she began, tilting her head, "you're from New York, right?"
I shrugged. "Yeah. Queens."
"What was it like?"
"Loud," I said. "Fast. Always smelled like something was burning, but you could never find the fire."
Trevor nodded slowly. "Sounds… urban."
"Were you, like, a city boy? Skateboards, bodegas, graffiti, rats with jobs?"
"I lived near a corner store. My dad used to take me there to buy root beer and jerky sticks every weekend."
Something in my voice must've shifted, because Nora's expression softened. "Used to?"
I paused, resting my fork on the tray.
"He died," I said quietly. "There was a robbery. He was just… in the wrong place."
A silence settled over the table like a blanket. Nora's apple paused midair.
Trevor looked down.
"Sorry," Nora said gently.
I shrugged again, less defensive and more out of reflex. "It's okay. It was months ago. We moved out here after that. Mom wanted something quieter."
Nora offered a small smile, then looked down at her tray for a moment. "My parents died too. Car accident. Drunk driver. It happened at night... on their anniversary."
That shut me up. My eyes flicked to her, but she wasn't crying or shrinking. She just said it like someone who's had to say it a hundred times.
"Sorry," I echoed her words back to her. "That sucks."
"Yeah." She nodded. "It does. But I live with my brother and grandma now. She tries her best for us."
"Trying is good," I said.
Trevor cleared his throat softly. "My parents are alive. Still very much alive. They just won't stop sending me to math camps."
We both turned to look at him. He gave a sheepish smile. "Sorry. Felt like I should contribute."
I laughed—surprised by the sound of it.
Nora leaned back, arms folded. "Well, I think we make a pretty solid table. Trauma trio with a side of awkward silence."
"And mystery meat," Trevor added.
"And sarcasm," I said.
"And emotional repression," Nora finished, raising her chocolate milk like a toast.
We all clinked our cartons together.
And for a moment, I didn't feel like a shadow beast hiding in human skin.
For a moment, I was just… Elijah.
Oooo
The final bell rang, and the wave of students poured out of the school like prisoners escaping a sentence. Backpacks thudded, lockers slammed, and the usual chorus of "see you tomorrow" and "text me" filled the air.
I walked down the front steps, Nora and Trevor trailing just behind. The sky was soft with golden dusk, and the air had the faint scent of woodsmoke and pine—this town always smelled like a campfire waiting to happen.
"So," Trevor said, adjusting his lopsided backpack as he caught up to me. "What's it like, living in the Everstone Mansion?"
He said it like most people would say "cemetery at midnight."
I smirked. "Honestly? I love it."
"You… love it?" Nora raised a skeptical brow.
"It's old. Creepy. Gothic. Feels like it has secrets. Floors creak. Walls groan. I swear the attic sighs when it rains."
"Sounds like it needs therapy," Trevor muttered.
"There's a hole in the attic ceiling," I added. "When the moonlight hits it right, the whole room glows blue. It's kind of… poetic."
"Or a health hazard," Nora said with a grin. "The town says it's haunted, you know."
I glanced at her sideways. "Let them say what they want. If there are ghosts, I haven't met any that weren't polite."
"You're joking, right?" Trevor asked, stepping a bit farther from me like the mansion might reach out and grab him.
"If a ghost shows up," I said, deadpan, "I'll just have a nice chat. Or, if it gets grabby, I'll exorcise it with extreme prejudice."
Nora raised an eyebrow. "Exorcise?"
"Banishing rituals. Salt. Latin. You know, the usual Saturday evening stuff."
Trevor looked alarmed. "Wait, are you—are you serious?"
I just smiled faintly. "You'll never know."
"Please don't say that. I'm very susceptible to suggestion. I once cried during an episode of Don' t be scared."
Nora laughed, a genuine laugh that made her eyes crinkle at the corners. "Well, if the place is haunted, I guess you're the right kind of weird to live there."
"Thank you," I said. "I take that as a high compliment."
We walked a little farther in silence, our shadows stretching ahead of us in the slanting sunlight.
It felt strange, this whole "walking home with friends" thing. I'd once commanded armies of the dead. Waged war in crimson skies. Sat on a throne of bones. Now here I was, trading haunted house jokes with a girl who smelled like vanilla and a guy who got anxiety from cartoons.
I didn't hate it.
After parting ways with Trevor and Nora at the town square—where Nora waved and Trevor nearly tripped over a bike rack—I took the long, quiet road home. It was a twenty-minute walk, give or take, depending on how many times I stopped to admire the strange beauty of this sleepy town.
The Everstone mansion loomed ahead, rising out of the trees like a relic of some forgotten tale. Ivy crawled along the stone walls like veins, windows blinked with golden evening light, and a crow sat on the gatepost as if it had been waiting just for me.
"Home, sweet haunted home," I muttered as I pushed open the iron gate, its hinges groaning like an old man rising from a nap.
The front door creaked open before I reached for the handle.
Mom stood there, smiling, pen still tucked behind her ear and a coffee mug in one hand.
"Hey, kiddo. You're back."
"Barely survived," I said, kicking my shoes off at the door. "The teachers tried to kill me with boredom."
She chuckled. "That's how you know it's a real high school."
"Where's Snow?"
"She's still out. Texted me that she's hanging with her new friends at the café by the bookstore."
I raised an eyebrow. "She made friends already?"
"Yep," Mom said, clearly proud. "That girl's got charm when she's not threatening to hex people."
I nodded, dropping my bag by the stairway. "She's adjusting faster than I thought."
"And you?" Mom asked, sipping her coffee, her eyes searching mine.
I paused. I could still hear Nora's laugh echoing in the back of my mind. Trevor nervously pushing up his glasses as he talked about haunted houses and science fiction.
"Yeah," I said softly. "I think I'm adjusting too."
"Good." She ruffled my hair like I was still ten, then turned back toward her writing room. "Dinner in an hour. Don't go raising any skeletons until after we eat."
"No promises," I called after her.
She laughed, and the sound felt warm, like candlelight in a cold chapel.
I looked around the old mansion—our new home—and smiled faintly.