Page 10 of Bone Year

“Elizabeth. I’m in my blood year,” she says, still flipping through clothes. “Before you say anything, I had a whole year of being a little boner too, so I know what it’s like.” She turns and drops onto the end of my bed with an armful of garments.

“Stop saying that,” I mutter. “It’s kind of disgusting.”

She laughs, enjoying herself far too much.

Something shifts beside me.

A dark shape drops from one of the bed pillars and lands on the mattress with a soft rush of wings. I shriek and scramble backward, nearly tumbling off the bed as a small bat settles inches from my leg, folding its wings neatly against its body while its glossy black eyes fix on me.

Holy hell, has that thing been in my room all night?

“Relax,” Elizabeth says, reaching over and scratching the creature gently between the ears. “That’s Fern. She’s my eidolon.”

The bat chirps, and I stare at it then back at her. “What the hell is an eidolon? Don’t those things carry diseases?”

She giggles, and the bat vanishes in a quick burst of sparkling mist, as if it was never there at all, and my mouth falls open.

“What are you?” I ask, the first of many questions that come to mind.

“I’m a shifter,” she says easily, as if she’s telling me the weather. “Not the kind that can turn into anything. Those are rare. I shift into a panther.”

My eyes widen.

She rolls her shoulders, preening. “Don’t look so nervous. Get in the shower. I’ll fill you in on things while you get ready.”

I reluctantly head into the bathroom, remembering a second too late that the shower doesn’t have a curtain. Elizabeth follows me in, drags the small stool from my bedroom across the floor, and sets it on the far side of the room. She plops down with her legs crossed beneath her, deliberately turning her back to me.

“Go on,” she says. “I’m not watching you. You’re not my type anyway. Don’t get me wrong. You’re hot for sure, but I’ve tried it with girls, and it’s not for me.”

Heat creeps into my face as I quickly pull my hair out of its loose tie and slip out of my pajamas. A moment later, warm water cascades over me, and I can’t stop the small sigh that escapes.

The heat feels glorious.

“I’ll take you to get your class schedule and your books. Then I’ll give you a tour of the school grounds and a rundown of everything you’ll need to know,” she says as I work shampoo into my hair, the warm water sliding down my back.

“Okay,” I mumble, tipping my head beneath the stream.

“This afternoon, you’ll have orientation, and tonight will be the Mirror Ceremony. Probably some after-parties to celebrate too.”

I’ve never been to a party before, not a real one at least. I’ve been to family gatherings back home. Quiet dinners. The occasional village festival where everyone knows everyone else. But a party at a school filled with magical bloodlines is kind of intimidating.

I shut off the water and reach for the nearest towel, squeezing the excess moisture from my long hair as steam curls around me, fogging the mirror.

“Put these on and come out when you’re ready. We have a lot to cover. Oh and use this. You’ll want dry hair today,” she says brightly, holding out a folded bundle of clothes and pointing to a button on the wall.

I wish I woke up with even a fraction of her energy. She sounds like she’s already had several cups of coffee. Maybe it’s a shifter thing, or maybe everyone here is like that. I imagine Ashwell Academy attracts that kind of person, highly motivated and competitive.

I nod, and she steps out, pulling the door closed behind her and finally giving me a moment of privacy. I brush my hair and then eye the labeled button on the wall for the dryer. I push it, and a mixture of heat and wind shoots out from the ceiling above me, drying my hair in a matter of seconds. I’ve never seen anything like it. I glance in the mirror, and my copper hair looks pristine. Long shiny waves fall down the center of my back. I don’t even bother with a ponytail today, merely pushing it behind my shoulders.

I pull on the black fleece-lined leggings and the black lace shirt, noticing a small circular symbol stitched into the sleeve in deep amethyst. Bones curve around a wolf like on the cloak.

When I step back into the bedroom, socks and boots are next. Elizabeth hands me a black coat, heavy and warm.

“The school is always heated, but when we walk between buildings like today, you’ll need this,” she says. “Have you looked outside yet?”

I hurry to the window. I couldn’t see anything last night beyond darkness and frost, but now the view steals my breath.

It’s stunning.