“Eric Welborn?” My teacher, Ms. Hinkel, reached the bottom of her attendance list and called my name. Always at the bottom. I raised my hand, and then laid my head on the desk. My head thundered from all the lights and sounds. I was sensitive to everything, but so was every shade, whether they were in their human form or not. School was practically torture. “Well, at least everyone is here,” Ms. Hinkel said, tapping her manicured nails against her clipboard.
“Not everyone.” Crystal—a girl I’d gone to school with since kindergarten—dragged a girl I’d never seen before up to Ms. Hinkel’s desk. “We have a new student.” Great. I turned up my iPod. More loud students to get through the system. If I could just make it through this class, I was out of here. I’d had the same homeroom for three years, and I was mentally done. The teacher was crazy, the class was unnecessarily long, and it was fifth hour—my last hour in the day. Unlike the other students, I got to leave every day at the end of fifth hour for work leave. I hated to admit my father had used his connections, but he had, and I was thankful I didn’t have to stay any longer than I already had to. As long as I had books, I could teach myself. School was pointless nowadays when knowledge was so easily accessible. I didn’t need the institution of education, and it didn’t need me. Homeroom lasted two hours with a lunch period in between. After lunch, class passed quickly, and I hadn’t listened to a single word of it. Sadly, I doubted I missed anything. When the bell rang, I gladly followed the crowd of students into the hall. I hated the hallway—it was loud and crowded—but it was my pathway to freedom, so it ranked above the cafeteria. Cranking my music over the noise of the students, I knew the teachers wouldn’t lecture me. Nobody did. Instead, they pitied me—or they were scared of me—I still hadn’t decided. I was Eric Welborn, son of the richest asshole in town, and we had everything but happiness. That became obvious the minute my mother passed away, even though I blatantly ignored it until my freshman year. The accident would always haunt me. I pushed through the crowd until I reached the front door and went outside. At the end of the sidewalk, a silver BMW was parked, engine still running. Within a minute, I had the car door open, and I was staring at an older girl with short black hair and light eyes —Teresa Young, Camille’s human form, and she had the most ironic appearances I knew. Camille was a half-breed. Her father was a light, and her mother was a shade. They hadn’t even known they were in different sects until Camille was born. After that, Camille’s mother gave her to the Dark, and her parents fled town, leaving her to be raised in the shelter. She was enrolled in class to meet other struggling half-breeds, but she hated the constant reminder that she wasn’t a full-blooded shade. King of gods
We never talked about it, other than the fact that her appearance and abilities helped me. At night, she looked like a light, and she retained the light’s abilities of illusion. She could intercept their signals, sense them coming, and fight them with their own strength. She saw this side as a flaw. In reality, it was her most powerful gift. Still, we never talked about it.
