The Culling Trials (Shadowspell Academy #2)(18)

“I’d go with it,” Wally whispered. “I’ve heard the portables aren’t very nice. I got lucky and slipped into the twenty percent who get to stay in the mansion. I’d use his connections on this one.”

Wally did have a point. The high, arched ceiling in the foyer stretched up to dizzying height, its gothic design allowing us to see all the way to the top of the building. The dark brown hardwood floor, polished to a high shine, stretched out before us, climbing up the large staircases we passed, of which there were many, and lining the balconies of the four floors above us. Huge paintings in gilded frames adorned the walls. The place was absolutely gorgeous, and just being in it gave me a soft, comfortable feeling.

The smell of something cooking floated on the air and my belly grumbled, reminding me that we hadn’t even had breakfast yet.

Every so often, a crest with a strange symbol etched into metal took up wall space. One we passed gave me a shiver of recognition. The Web of Wyrd.

A series of three triangles interlocked.

A giant, multi-branched tree held within a circle.

A pair of back-to-back ravens, their heads tipped toward one another and holding a bone between them.

Finally, what looked like an unfinished figure eight, the ends of it curling in on itself in tiny flourishes.

My best guess was that the crests were the house symbols. Five houses, five crests.

The Web of Wryd was the only one I knew by name.

I dragged my eyes away from the crests as Ethan hooked a left around an ornate banister and started up a wide staircase with a strip of fake gold on each stair.

I slowed and looked a little closer.

No, not fake gold. This was real.

“How much money does this school have?” I asked in wonder, lagging behind everyone else to stare.

“This place isn’t just used for the Culling Trials,” Wally whispered as we reached the landing and turned onto the next flight of stairs, curving up to the third floor. “The Culling Trials are only once a year for a week. Otherwise it’s a training facility for the elite. It’s like The Farm for the CIA. They’re the very best students from the various academies. That’s why there are portables for half the students—a lot of these rooms are taken. Only those that have graduated left an empty room.”

“So…the elite are still here?” I asked as we hit the third staircase. “I haven’t seen any of them.”

“They get a couple weeks furlough,” Gregory said, “but their stuff’s still in their rooms. Which means someone has to be kicked out for us to get a room in here.”

“It’ll be others in the Culling Trials,” Wally said as we reached the top of the first flight of stairs. After fighting a troll, climbing a tower, and wandering a field of magic haystacks, I was spent even with just one set of stairs. “No way are they kicking out the magical elite. If anyone is going to go, it’ll be the dumb kids.”

“That’ll make us insanely popular,” I stepped aside so Pete could file in. Ethan hit the last landing and headed down a grand hallway lined with an exquisitely designed rug.

“It will, actually. Anyone hanging out with Ethan gets preferential treatment,” Wally said. “We’ll be noticed wherever we go.”

I chewed my lip, following Ethan to the last door in the corridor, painted red with a shining gold “1” affixed to the surface. Being noticed was the last thing I needed.

I shouldn’t be in my animal form in here, I heard reverberate through my skull. Naked would still be worse, right?

If he didn’t know, I certainly wouldn’t, so I just shrugged.

Ethan reached the door and knocked twice. The sound, a great, booming noise, ricocheted off the walls and sank into the room beyond before echoing back to us. The effect explained the lack of door knockers.

The handle turned and the door swung open, revealing a burley looking man with a grim set to his mouth, shortly cropped brown hair, and a shiny black suit.

“Yes?” the man said in a deep baritone.

“Ethan Helix to see Director Frost. She should be expecting me.”

“Yes. Of course.” The man glanced behind Ethan, his gaze falling on each of us in turn. When it lingered on me, I felt as though I’d been put on a massive scale, each of my attributes weighed and measured. He stepped back, his gaze on Pete. “I will get you some sweats, shifter.”

“There you go,” I told him quietly as I followed the others into the large and plush waiting room. A few full bookshelves lined the back wall. To our right sat two empty overstuffed chairs. Next to them was a brown leather couch with a cat sitting on one of the cushions, its tail curled around its body, eyes at half-mast, watching us walk in like some sort of disapproving supervisor. “You’re all set.”

“Have a seat. She’ll be with you in a moment,” the man said, gesturing at the furniture.

“Oh look.” Wally pulled out a book in the bookcase. “The latest Jack Reacher novel. I just love fantasy.”

“That’s a thriller,” Orin said, standing in the corner with his hands at his sides and his face blank. The guy looked like he was at a funeral wherever he went.

Wally laughed, taking it to the couch. She gave the watchful cat plenty of space. “However you dress it up, it’s still fantasy.”

The tight-laced guy returned with a neat stack of folded sweats. He handed them off before directing Pete to the restroom where he could change, in both forms of the word. To the rest of us, he said, “Follow me. She’ll see you now.”