CHAPTER THREE.

Golden Lake University whose mere existence arrested the attention of werewolf packs, vampire clans, and witch—and wizard covens, was highly sought after like a kid in a fervent quest for pack of delectable candies or a band of ravenous dogs for a fleshy chunk of meat.

After the war ended, werewolves; in their packs, witches; in their covens, and vampires; in their clans, through preconceived thoughts and competitive zeals felt that having the highest number of students that made up Golden Lake University, automatically made them superior to the others—at least, till when the population numeration was overthrown. And although no one said it—like a secret rule which no one spoke about but everyone knew of, there was a feud—that'd brewed over the centuries, which was beginning to unfurl to every part of the school like few drops of a Black Poison dropped into an untarnished, spotless body of water.

That was when the idea of the dormitories in the students' residence being compulsorily alloted to two undergraduates of different affinities had been suggested like a seed being buried into the fertile, chocolaty soil—to foster peace. Unfortunately, the seed didn't germinate into what was expected and that was why on the first day of lectures, there was chaos. Lots of it. 

≈≈≈

Tony P. Morrison's ‘Exploring our Blue World’, and Susanna E. Carrere's ‘Sightseeing in Space’  books, slipped off Harold Girard's sweaty hands as he jogged down an unfamiliar hallway whilst releasing hot breath like a steam train. 

The heavy, hundred-paged textbooks slapped against the cold, white tiles, sending out a quick-but-loud noise that spasmed through the lonely hallway and as Harold bent to pick them up, curses slipped out through his lips, fusing with his warm, inconsistent breath.

He stood up straight with the books secured under his sweaty armpits and spread a crumpled, extra large map that looked like it had been picked out of a waste bin, as he bent his head over, with eyes searching for where his  Geography class was being held.

“Having trouble?”

Harold's breath ceased, his throats went drier than the Sahara in less than three seconds, and he felt his stomach squeeze gently on one side as he turned round to see who had spoken. 

A girl, with hair darker than a squid's ink, skin as uncouth as decaying cheese and thick-rimmed spectacles hugging her thin face, stood on the left side of the hallway comfortable in her skin with a feeling of content swelling from her. 

A thin hand traced with veins like naked electric wires running along a pipe coursed from her long fingernails that curled inwards like an hawk's—which were slapped against a light yellowish pillar, upwards and into her black clothes making them obscure. 

Harold had no issues with her appearance or who she was at all. No. He had problem with the fact that he had to interact with someone, again, but that wasn't the time to disclose his displeasure as he needed as much help as he could get. 

“Yes. I have quite an issue to deal with and...”

The girl who had retracted her hand from the sturdy pillar that dug into the ground, like a fowl who'd clawed the earth in search of worms but found none, folded her arms in one another and walked towards Harold with her head tilted like a zombie. 

She rudely snatched the map from his hand, used a finger to push her thick glasses from her well lubricated, oily nose up her face to cage her eyes, then she stared at the map for a full ten seconds.

“Citadel H. That is where your class is being held. Our class, I mean.” The duo stared at each other and Harold noticed that her pupils were oceanic blue. Other than that, the silence was awkward and discomforting.

“I offer Geography, too, and just so you know,” her blue eyes shifted to the books under Harold's arms then back to his face, “Your ‘Sightseeing in Space’ is two editions late and hence, skips a lot of vital informations. Get a new one if you can or...” she stopped as if trying to keep an crucial piece of information to herself. She shut her eyelids tight which caused a few creases to appear at the edge of her face like little wrinkles then breath in noisily, “Come with me, if you want,” Harold heard her mutter as she opened her blue eyes that seemed to glow, before walking away from Harold and down the hallway then winding into another corridor that forked furthermore into two. 

≈≈≈

“Trisha McLeod, witch,” the queer girl said in a whisper that held a lot of power, and self-assurance, and confidence, as she and Harold stood in a secluded part with one large florescent light shining down on them like they were on an elevated stage, acting for audiences. They settled on the other side of a chestnut-coloured door that had ‘CITADEL H’ printed on it in scintillating black.

“Harold Girard, werewolf.”

Trisha—the unusual witch, gasped then swallowed her surprise like she had crossed a line and ‘over-expressed’ herself. 

“I didn't know you're the Alpha's pup!”

Harold felt like a ladybug under a  microscope, and he clutched his books which were lazily resting on his fingers tight. Trisha noticed the change in his comportment and her countenance changed, too, responding to Harold's.

“Soft spot? Sore side? I'm very sorry for bringing it up,” and with that she pushed CITADEL H's tanned door open which let out a mild squeal, and walked in, leaving Harold alone on the outside.

≈≈≈

Citadel H was theatre-like—descending semi-arcs of chairs that hugged the lectern, dim and faint luminescence looming all around but brightening up on the podium, chilling Air Conditioners that made the room as cold as the Ice Age, silence—perfect, utter and absolute silence—but for the lecturer's voice that boomed from speakers attached to designated seats.

Harold walked into the lecture room cautiously, not wanting either the notice of the lecturer or the centre of attention, or both. He bowed his head against his palms and released hot breath that warmed his fingers as he hugged the book to his chest and walked, scouting for an empty seat at the far back of the class.

“Yet, someone decided to show up to his first class late!”

Harold spotted an empty seat next to a flaxen-haired girl in a lot of pink attires—pink high heels that glistened and screamed ‘Notice me!’ silently, pink blush; on both cheeks, that smeared the girl's face like a permanent stain, pink fingernails, too, that reminded Harold of an Eagle's tallons, and pink lipgloss that was almost like food stain. 

He walked past a couple of students who had their eyes trailing him and that was when he realized that the lecturer was referring to him.

He stopped and turned to the lecturer with a heart pounding.

“Why were you late?” the lecturer questioned, instinctively dropping a marker on his pulpit.

There was something about the man's voice. It sounded familiar.

“I... I didn't find here on... time.”

The man stared at him long enough to make him self conscious then he sniffed! 

Harold instantly knew. It was the lecturer— the mean, hardened one he'd overheard, perhaps, planning a murder the previous day, with another lecturer of the institution.

The man recognized Harold's scent, too, and his face moulded into a vile, evil and intimidating grimace all too suddenly.

Luckily, the man was almost powerless with the hundreds of students watching him and that was when a sound came out of a small, white public address system that hung from the wall.

“There is a bloody brawl amongst two Level Three Undergraduates—A Vampire and a Wizard along Underpass Alley. Lecturers close should please exit their classrooms and do all they can to bring back stillness.”

Harold's Geography lecturer's eyes shifted, then like a possessed fellow, he headed towards the exit, hitting Harold hard by his shoulder along the way. 

He stopped and whispered into Harold's ears, “See me at my office before the day ends.” His breath was minty with a subdued taste of onions, and with that, he walked away.