Reckless Souls (Saints Academy, #1)(7)
I startle when a large, calloused hand is waved in front of my face, making me blink up at them as
I quickly pull my earphones out. “Are you going to move, Miss, or am I going to have you escorted off
the property?”
I stare in surprise at the guard, who has stepped away from his post to glare down at me. I’m
frozen to the spot at the bottom of the steps that lead up to the entrance of the Town Hall.
Fuck.
I hadn’t even realized I’d stopped walking.
“No, I’m moving,” I murmur, hastily stepping around him to rush up the stairs, stuffing my
earphones into my pocket as I go.
Thankfully he doesn’t say another word, but the glare I feel on my back screams a thousand words
of how much I inconvenienced him. I rush inside without any further interruptions.
My heart thunders in my chest, and I’m not too sure if it’s because of the way the guard just
startled me, or what I’m actually doing here, but either way, I don’t like how fucking unsettled I am.
Taking a deep breath or five, I wet my lips and glance around the open space. It feels eerie,
echoey, and overbearing. I’m surprised to see there’s no foyer, just a queue of people lined up around
the exterior of the huge room, while the center is taken up by what must be the testing area.
There’s no privacy, no separation, the whole process is just done out here in the open for
everyone to watch.
Great.
Like my life hasn’t gone to shit already, I now have all of these people watching me be reminded
just how not special I am. Joining the back of the line, I watch the center like a hawk, trying to figure
out exactly what happens from start to finish.
There are two women and two guards standing up on the simple wooden platform, with something
in front of them, but from this angle I can’t see anything but their backs.
One by one, someone takes a step forward, declares their name and day of birth, and the advisors
tell them what to do. It seems like they’ve collated everyone with birthdays in the past week or so.
They talk quietly, so you can’t hear what the directions are, and as I move to the side, hoping to catch
a glimpse, I realize there’s a mahogany wooden wall up, shielding whatever they’re doing from the
rest of us.
With a sigh, I try to distract myself with the details of the room, but when I scan every inch around
me, I realize there’s nothing but more Hex flags. No posters, no leaflets, nothing at all. It’s just…
bare. Just as forgotten as every single one of us in here. Well, except on our twenty-second birthday.
Apparently, that’s when we matter most.
We come in, they test us, we don’t change magically before their eyes, so they send us on our
merry way, discarding us once again. Rinse. Repeat.
I’m the one not getting paid, and completely inconvenienced right now, not them.
It doesn't take long until I’m facing the podium head on, nerves tingling my fingers as the advisors
come into view, but they’re too busy, focused on the person directly in front of them to pay anyone
else any mind. I’m unsure why they even bother doing this. Sure I’ve heard of a few people who test
and are confirmed supernatural —no one I know personally— but the ratio is slim to none. I
remember hearing the caretakers at the orphanage once say it was because all the celebratory sex for
winning the war was orchestrated by the demons, more specifically the incubi and succubi, so they
could regenerate their magic or something. But this then led to supernaturals and humans socializing
together, and nine months later, there was a baby boom.
Looking around the room, it dawns on me that everyone here has just turned twenty-two, the same
as me, and we’re all the product of orgies.
What a way to enter the world.
A grin tips the corner of my mouth up as I amuse myself, and I’m so lost in thought that I almost
miss the woman calling next. Meeting her gaze, I realize I’m next in line, and I take a tentative step
forward.
“Hurry now, name and date of birth,” she calls, fixing the thin-framed glasses on the bridge of her
nose, her lips twisted tight as she waits impatiently.
Clearing my throat, I move toward the small wooden steps leading up to the platform, placing one
heavy foot in front of the other as I make my way to the top, wishing there was an extra step or two to
delay my arrival. I can sense the two women and two guards staring at me expectantly, waiting for my
answer, but my eyes are fixed on the object that sits on the table before them.
I can feel my jaw slacken as I stare, in complete and utter awe of how majestic it looks. At first
glance, it just seems like a small box, but the way it captivates you, almost hypnotizing, tells you that
there’s more to it than meets the eyes. It’s a mixture of blues, greens, and all of the shades in between
depending on how the light hits it, but even more interestingly, there’s carvings and images ingrained
into the sides.
It’s like nothing I’ve ever seen before.
“Name and date of birth,” one of the women calls out again, but I can’t take my eyes off the box