"Daphne, at this rate, I'm going to be late," I complained. My stepmom ignored me, her enormous grin never faltering. I couldn't call her 'mom' yet-I didn't think of her as one at all. My real mother was a warrior and a hero. Daphne once teared up over a teared leather jacket. I have no respect for his woman.
"Look at your little uniform! Just one more picture, I swear! Oh honey, I can't believe you're finally going to Watford! Your father and I are very proud of you," Daphne gushed, placing her hand on my father's chest. Both of them stared at me with pride. I couldn't blame them; I was quite handsome when I finally saw myself in the mirror.
Not to mention, I'm the first non-living person to ever be accepted into the school. That might be my biggest achievement so far, and I'm not even a student there yet.
Daphne went on. "He's so handsome, isn't he, Malcom?" My father nodded with a grin. "Yes. With him around, forget all the other boys' chances of ever finding a girlfriend, he'll steal them up," he chuckled. Daphne reached over and smoothed a lock of hair that fell out of place. "Yes. He's going to break a lot of girls' hearts."
I sincerely doubt that's going to happen.
When I arrive at Watford in the backseat of Fiona's car, my stepmother turned and faced me with a tired smile. "It's time, I suppose. At least now, we'll only have to worry about one critter around the house." She rubbed her large stomach lovingly. My sister only had a month left before I got to meet her.
I smiled back, only at her stomach. "See you at Christmastime, Daphne." "Take care, Baz!"
I left the car and went around into the back to pull out my trunk. When I got there, my father already had the suitcase in his arms. "Your mother would be very proud of you, Basilton," he whispered, handing the case to me and placing his hand on my shoulder.
He had tears in his eyes. Somehow, I knew he wasn't talking about Daphne.
I waved at the car until it was out of sight, then finally faced the school.
It was way, way bigger than the pictures and descriptions. The gate alone was the height of my own house. And my house is a mansion.
I pressed my hand against the gate. They were spelled to open only for a magickal person, never for Normals or monsters.
The thing is, I'm magickal and a monster. Would I be accepted inside? Or would I be the first Pitch ever to be disqualified from the school?
The gates were silent. No movement. I began to grow wary. "Please work, please work..." I begged. "It's not my fault I'm a vampire. Let me in, I promise I won't hurt anybody! I'll never bite a single person, I swear. But please, give me a chance, Watford..." I placed my forehead against the cool gates.
All of a sudden, I heard the creak of decades-old metal working to open the gate. I almost fell flat on my nose because it happened so quickly.
They opened for me.
Mother, here I come.
The admission's process was the worst part. Most of the day was filled with practice spells, magic tests, and everything in between just so they could determine your predisposition of skill. I was tossed around from one building to another, each building testing some other magickal strength. For me, it was just a formality. I knew full well that I was the strongest wizard in the school.
By the time night fell, I was morbidly exhausted. I couldn't wait to climb into a bed. However, there was one more task for us-we all had to report to the courtyard. I desperately hoped it was not an icebreaker.
When I arrived, I saw about a hundred kids looking confused and tired. Some were leaning up against others, others they probably didn't even know. Some looked just as confused and hungry as I felt.
However, one boy stood out from the dazed crowd. And I recognized him instantly.
I'd seen pictures. I heard stories. But I never knew that the real thing would look so... human.
Baggy jeans. A casual t-shirt-where in Crowley's name is his uniform? He sticks out like a sore thumb.
His curly blonde hair was too long and fell over his eyes. He kept having to brush them aside.
His shoes were sneakers that looked way too big on him. To be honest, he looked like he climbed out of a dumpster.
But his face-he stood out from all of them. He looked so expressionless, but tranquil. He had his back to the crowd, and he was staring up at the vast sky. His mouth parted in admiration for the stars. I did hear that the stars at Watford shone brighter than anywhere else, so I couldn't blame him.
If I'm honest, he was adorable.
But not adorable enough that I would go easy on him when it was time for him to die.
Simon Snow. The chosen one.
A sneer spread across my face.
"Children!" A man boomed, his deep voice laced with magic. I could feel it crackle when he spoke. "Welcome to Watford, the World of Mages!" He was old but happy; seemingly energetic but very, very tired.
"Now that everyone is here, allow me to introduce myself. I am the Mage. I am headmaster of this school. I know that many of you youngsters must be exhausted, so I will explain this quickly.
"The Crucible is a piece of magic that will choose two children to be roommates for the rest of your time at Watford. It will see into you and discover who will be your best match for he years to come. Without further adieu, let the Crucible begin!"
His last word crackled with magic, much more potent than anything else. Suddenly, everyone heard a shriek from a little blonde girl. My eyes widened out of their sockets. Something was pulling her-like something was holding her hand and dragging her forward. The girl dug her heels into the ground to try and stop it. From a distance, I heard the Mage chuckle.
Eventually, she stopped. She was in front of another girl, inches away from crashing into her. After a moment, the blonde girl began to laugh.
"Agatha Wellbelove and Dorothy Prince, you are the first to see the Crucible's magic! Now everyone, learn from Miss Agatha's experience and do not panic," he chuckled, earning laughs among the tired crowd and an embarrassed blush from the blonde girl. I glanced at Simon-he was staring at the girl, Agatha. He looked mesmerized. She looked at him, and her blush got even redder. I rolled my eyes. What a simple boy, for a chosen one.
That's when I began to feel it. A tug. A pull from within me, like something was trying to break out of my ribcage. I tried to remain as poised and calm as physically possible, but it began to hurt, badly. I cautiously took a step in the direction of the pull, and the pain began to dissipate.
As effortlessly as I could, I strode forward. The pull lessened and lessened until... it stopped. It was over.
I looked up, and almost gasped out loud.
Simon bloody fucking Snow.
He was in front of me, flushed from the effort of trying to resist the magic. I looked around, praying that there was some mistake, but we were the last two. Everyone was staring at us.
Crowley, he looks better up close.
Simon's eyes were wide and surprised. He mindlessly stared at me in disbelief, as if he knew who I was. As if he knew how we were destined to kill one another. How could he know, when he looks as if he crawled out of a mental institution a week ago and hasn't showered since?
I wondered what he would look like in a proper uniform, all clean and ready to learn. And Crowley, he needed a haircut. His curls were frizzy and covered his blue eyes too much.
"Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch and Simon Snow, our very own prodigies placed as roommates! The Crucible knows what it's doing," the Mage laughed, though he seemed unsettled and unsure. "I expect great things from you two!"
Simon quickly stuck out his hand, as if he had just remembered to do so. "H-Hi, my name is Simon Snow... it's n-nice to meet you, Tyrannus," he said, trying his hardest to maintain a confident smile.
I took it. "Likewise. And never call me Tyrannus again, I prefer Baz, alright, 'Chosen One'?"
Simon's smile went cold and he quickly retracted his hand. "Fine, Baz. In return, don't call me 'Chosen One.' Call me that, and I'll keep calling you Tyrannus."
I stuck mine in my uniform pockets. I raised my eyebrow with a smirk. "Fine. Simon Snow. Looks like it'll be a long 8 years."
Reluctantly, he looked back at me with a smile. "Apparently so."
If I weren't a Pitch, I would've started laughing right there. Not even ten minutes and we were already fighting. Aleister Crowley, this will only end in disaster.