I thought I knew the residents of the Paris Institute better. Turns out, I'm not as smart as I thought.
Saturday, June 11th, 2016.
A window to my right let in bright spring light, making my cramped white bathroom seem twice its original size. I was looking into the mirror, desperately trying to blow dry my mass of curls without having my hair take a trip back to the eighties. There was a pounding on the bathroom door, and jumped so badly I nearly burned my forehead with the heated tool. I may be a Shadowhunter, but I seem to be the only one who got left out on the whole "graceful by blood of the angel" bit.
"Hey, are you still alive in there? If not, I am going back downstairs to get the twins to help me haul your body away. I am not doing that by myself," Skylar asked through the door.
So what, I had been locked in my little en-suite bathroom for three hours? A spa day takes time. And a little procrastination never hurt nobody. In the most whiny, irritating voice I could muster, I started complaining. "I don't wanna stay inside doing boring shit today!"
"Daniel, Seth and some random guy are training downstairs."
I dropped the blow dryer, instantly giving up on the task at hand to whip open the door.
"You have my attention," I called, looking around for Skylar. I found her inches from where the door flung open, with an offended look on her pale face.
"Jesus Christ dude! Almost broke my nose! I know that-"
Knowing a joke about my urgency at the mention of random guy, Daniel, and training, in one sentence was coming, I threw on the nicest shirt I could find and raced out the door.
Three flights of stairs later, I was doing up the last button on my shirt while breathing a little too heavily. I bumped into Mae at the entrance of the training room, my head still down and concentrating on slipping the final button through its proper opening. Her head whipped around at contact, her long hair whipping me in the face when I looked up in surprise. Brazilian temper: not to mess with.
"Watching your booooyfriend?" I taunted. Well, not to mess with until you've known her for three years.
"Of course. It's not my fault being a Shadowhunter gives you abs." She said matter-of-factly.
"And PTSD." I muttered, smiling to myself. Mae heard, and I saw the corner of her mouth go up, though her eyes were back on the three figures in the training room. Two were locked in a sword fight, one towering over the other. The clank of metal on metal was harsh on the ears, and the light bouncing off the runed blades was blinding. They moved so fast, it was a matter of seconds before the shorter figure was on his knees, with the tip of his opponent's sword inches from his throat. He slowly brought his hands up as a gesture of surrender, his sword clattering to the ground as he did so. I turned to see Mae beaming, as expected.
The boy who just won- the tall one who looks like he could be on steroids- is Seth. He may seem intimidating in the shadows, but just talking to the guy makes any chance at intimidation disappear. Mae calls him her Spanish teddy bear, which gives you an idea of how soft the man really is. I wouldn't be surprised if Mae was the reason for his soft heart- the two of them are inseparable, the cutest couple in the City of Light. The long sword prodigy and the archery prodigy. It's adorable. Just... don't tell them I said that- I like my head on my neck, fully intact, thank you.
All the permanent residents here at the Paris institute are some sort of teenage prodigy, myself included. The only exceptions we have are Gennaia and Jacques: the stereotypical high-maintenance French woman and the...um, questionable, yet hilarious warlock. Gennaia is the head of the Institute, and the founder of the program the rest of us are in. In total, there's nine of us here year-round, with some visitors here and there. This is Paris after all. Even through Shadowhunter eyes, it's beautiful.
Seth turned away from his opponent, a smug look on his face. Mae ran up to congratulate him, wrapping her arms around him. Seth bent down to hug her, as the Brazilian girl only came up to his chest with a simple pair of Vans on her feet. Mae's recently vacated spot was almost immediately filled by Vesper. She was taller than me, with short brown hair. She had come from Australia with her twin sister, and is here as a blunt trauma specialist- which is just a nice way of saying give her a hammer or axe and enough time, and everything will end up dead.
"Hey Blondie," she said by way of greeting. I tried not to be irritated, as much as the nickname bothered me. "Gennaia says meet in the library- ten minutes," I raised an eyebrow and looked at her, asking why we'd all have to be in the library. That was my job.
As the language prodigy of the program, I can speak or at least understand every language you can think of, human or demonic. I usually spent my days cooped up in the library, pouring over whatever texts Gennaia had left me, with only Jacques for company. Meanwhile, Seth, Mae, Daniel, Skylar, Vesper, and Sylynn are out saving the residents of Paris and fulfilling the angel's mission. So compared to their demon-fighting-life-and-death stories, I guess you could say I feel unimportant sometimes. But I do have to remember what happened last time I was out in action, and why I refuse to go out anymore.
"Don't look at me! Gennaia just told me to grab all you guys!" She defended herself as if the gesture was an accusation. "Grab your boyfriend and let's go," she said, turning. I cringed: I never would get used to that word. Sighing, I turned to back to the training room. Despite the countless dents in walls, the odd hole in the wood floor, and worn weapons scattered here and there, it was quite beautiful. The spring light that had illuminated my bathroom was now tainted through stained glass windows, pouring into the vast space. It was huge, with rafters from the church's original architecture stretching high above. I took a step into the room, and made my way towards the group of teens gathered in the centre.
After escorting Seth's opponent out of the Institute (I found out from Daniel he had been an applicant for the long sword prodigy position. He obviously failed, his trip from Japan quickly turned pointless.), I was sitting cross-legged on the floor of the library, my back against a bookshelf. My head was resting on Daniel's shoulder, bored waiting for Gennaia to show up. We all sat in silence, as we were taught to do in instances like this from the day we showed up. Personally, I was not all that fond of the strict way the Institute was run, but it had its moments. We all had roles to do, from Sylynn knowing what to put on any injury to me having supper made at the end of the day.
At the approaching sound of heels clicking on tile, we all looked to the doorway. A short bony woman sashayed in, black dress too tight, and shoes that looked deadlier than a seraph blade. Her head was down, looking a clipboard. Without acknowledging anyone, she started attendance.
"Jacques," The warlock who never left France.
"Seth Ashwell," The Spanish boy who was spoiled but didn't turn out a brat.
"Tara Nightwalker," Me, the Russian girl who lost her Parabatai as soon as she had one.
"Skylar Shadowheart," The Scottish girl with a talent with knives after her parents used them against her.
"Daniel Silverhood," The Irish boy that was neglected but has the best aim with anything that resembles a spear.
"Maelyn Whitecross," The Brazilian girl that no one in her home town remembers.
"Vesper and Sylynn Woodmark," The Australian twins, both with a knack for killing and one with a healing hand.
She rushed through attendance, barely giving anyone time to utter a short "here". It was odd, she was usually so thorough. A quick scratch on her sheet with a pen followed each name.
Once she was done, she turned and placed the clipboard on the massive desk that was at the arch of a semi-circle of couches and chairs. She paused for a moment, back to us, and blew out a breath. Turning around slowly, we all saw her face for the first time that day. Her appearance made me sit up straighter, sensing something was off immediately. The Gennaia I had spent three years living under would never show herself with a hair out of place, yet there was running mascara under her eyes and tear tracks in the powder on her face. The powder was unusually thick, obviously applied in an effort to try and hide the purple and red tinge to certain patches on the skin of her face and neck. Her dark eyes were glassy, and looked past us to the wall at our backs.
"Vous devez départez," she stated simply, her voice shaking. I had never seen her this undone, so out of it she went back to her first language. Looking down, she made eye contact with each of us. She repeated herself, voice more steady this time. "You all must leave."
"Gennaia..." I started, getting to my feet to go to her side. "Qu'est-ce que c'est arrivé?" What happend?
But I never found out. It was then that I heard a whooshing sound go by my ear, which I hardly had time to register before Gennaia's head fell neatly off her neck, rolling onto the desk behind her.
Please comment! My first ever fanfic, and I know it's fast-paced here with some mistakes there, but hey, like the characters or plot? Let me know! All criticism is appreciated!