The Fanged Lady (The King Henry Tapes Book 1) by Raley Richard

Author:Raley, Richard [Raley, Richard]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Published: 2011-08-31T16:00:00+00:00

Testing . . . what a disappointment it turned out to be. I expect you’re sensing a pattern here.

Is there such a thing as perfectly insane? If there is, the Asylum bottles the stuff. I’ve heard psychopathic serial killers are often the last ones you expect—this knowledge came from television, which means it has to be true. The nice, quiet one. That’s the Asylum. The whole place. The nice, quiet, perfectly insane one that tried far too hard.

The Admin building is like a giant principal’s office. Secretaries typing at computers, kids going up to the Scheduling Room to pick up their dorm number—a teacher here, a janitor there. Eventually I’d find out the place also had offices, meeting rooms, and a chamber where the Elemental Learning Council met to deal with business, both Asylum business and greater Mancy business. School and Government all in one. No problems going to be popping up out of that one. Commie bullshit.

The Testing Room is also there. Since most Singles didn’t know any more about the Asylum than I did, they were hounded to the place by the Ultra grads who drew the short end of the stick. This means there was a line of about fifty kids when Ceinwyn Dale and I pulled up.

Another great thing about being with Ceinwyn Dale: she doesn’t believe in lines. Or maybe she does in a general they-must-exist kind of way, but she doesn’t think they have anything to do with her.

It felt good.

Petty, I know, but think about it: skipping a long line like that only happens a few times in most people’s life, and every time it does, how do you feel? Right . . . completely awesome. You could make a religion based out of nothing but line skipping. We’ll call the religion Hollywood. So back up off fourteen-year-old-me.

My Bi year Theory of Anima teacher, Audrey Foster, guarded the door. An aeromancer like Ceinwyn Dale, but not an Ultra, she believed in lines. In class, to teach us about anima currents and flows, she’d set up these big glass tubes that connected to each other with these breakers, then she would pump in air or water or sand to make whatever point she was looking to drill into our heads. She was in her mid-twenties back then. Long black hair, tight brown eyes. Had a thing for whimsical airy dresses. In the summer, when the classrooms would get hot . . .

You know what? For once, I’m going to keep my mouth shut.

So yeah, she’s pretty. Bit of a hard case with some jealousy issues that she’s not an Ultra though. Chance ruining more lives than just mine. She gave Ceinwyn Dale a do-not-cross-go glare. Ceinwyn Dale smiled back. The smile was way scarier. It said, ‘I-eat-my-young.’

“Miss Foster, so good to see you taking an active interest in recruiting for once,” the smile said aloud.

“And so nice to see you returned and actually staying at the school for more than a single day, Miss Dale, and with another student—very productive,” the glare returned.

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