Chapter Text
After missing out on the herbology teaching position to a normal person last time, you were surprised when the posting reappeared on the Nevermore Academy job listing a year later. You had filled out your application and nearly submitted it when you realized there was another posting for a different position that seemed more intriguing.
Psychoanalyst
The requirements were rather extensive, looking for someone with post-doctorate education, dedicated to psychological research, and with at least two years of experience working with atypical patients. They were quite serious about finding a good fit for the position, which you noted by the elevated pay grade.
You thumbed through your list of diplomas, pulled out an older doctorate of psychiatry, altered it to match the dates of the application you had filled out, and then pressed the submit button on the screen. A pop-up immediately listed your answers asking you to review them and and ensure that all is correct and truthful before being sent to the Nevermore school board. You chuckled to yourself while you lied and pressed ‘yes, all information is correct’.
A phone call came within three days. The area code registered as the one Nevermore Academy resided in. When you answered it, a honey-soaked voice of the most articulated Received Pronunciation you’d ever heard spoke your name.
You hadn’t expected to be greeted by one who wielded the Queen’s English so harmoniously, but there it was, and your first thought was that the person you were speaking to was likely as short and squat as her former majesty (rest in peace) with tea-stained teeth and a penchant to get drunk at night while lamenting the treasured days back when the sun never set on the British Empire.
After detailing your credentials and answering a few minor questions, it was determined that you could be a potential candidate and a date was set for the in-person interview with the school board. You hung up the phone and prepared for your trip.
Your current residence was no where within five thousand miles of Nevermore Academy though you had listed it on your application within a city only two hours away. Regardless, you couldn’t just stroll up to the gates without a car and expect them all to believe you’d walked from the train station so you did your due diligence of at least showing up to the Jericho station as though you’d arrived by train and then getting an uber to the school. Bases covered, it now looked like you had traveled all day.
For one so well versed with the supernatural, you’d actually never been on the steps of Nevermore Academy, which seemed a travesty that you were doing so only just now. The gothic tones of the buildings combined with the mysterious nature of it’s atmosphere converged into a familiar mix of occult and nostalgia. Very few places in America felt like an old friend to you and it was a pity that even if you were hired on you would probably never get a chance to explore all it’s secrets.
As you walked towards the main building you passed by many cliques of students milling about in groups by creature status. The werewolves, the psychics, the sirens, the faceless, the vampires…this generation of outcasts probably had their own unique brand of terms now.
“...is such a dumbass,” you overheard one of the passing vampire girls snide. “As a fang, you should know better than to get involved with a scale.”
Confirmed.
You headed into the main hall and reached a lobby where a college-aged Siren was working the front desk.
“I have a scheduled interview with the school board, please,” you told her. She nodded and asked you to take a seat until the headmaster came to collect you.
There were comfortable velvet wing back chairs that looked new despite the old style. You sat down in the nearest one and took stock of your surroundings, mostly as a way to get a sense of the school. It was a well-oiled machine as far as you could tell. Groups of students moved like schools of fish from one classroom to another, carrying their books in hand and gibbering on about things only teenagers had the capacity to keep up with. There were a surprising number of psychics milling about. Back in your day there were less of them around, and even then they didn’t go by the psychic label, rather choosing to call themselves soothsayers, witches, sorcerers, and clairvoyants.
You noticed a woman from down the hall exit out a large stately door and then head towards the front lobby where you sat. You posed yourself neatly on your chair, back straight, eyes attentive, maintaining a mask of equal parts humbleness and confidence. The woman didn’t look exactly as you thought she would judging by the accent you’d heard on the phone, but this must be the headmaster because she exemplified the stereotypical look of one who has worked a stressful position for too long. Long stringy brown hair was set in a large bun, clothes looking like she’d found them in a second-hand store and then left them in a closet for a decade before pulling them out for use, mouth set in a perpetual sourpuss frown as she tramped towards you. As you set yourself ready for introduction, the woman never let her eyes connect with yours, even as her boots clopped on the marble tile, and she was now close enough for you to get a whiff of the mildew set in her off white cardigan, and then she was suddenly passing you by and you swiveled your head to follow her so that she might set her gaze on you, but no, she was off and away without a glance in your direction, and where the hell was she going?
As you stared after the woman with a bit of confusion, you suddenly heard your name stated from behind you in that same melodic English accent. You turned your head in the direction it came only to be staring into the waist of a well-tailored silver and tan dress, the likes of which Jackie Onassis herself would be proud to wear. Your sight went up the dress, noting the highlighted trim, and accompanied with a beautiful long coat that just seemed to stretch up into forever until you had to arch your head back far enough so that you could look way up into the the most beautiful blue irises you’d ever seen.
She was so blonde as to be magnificently silver, this woman. Her smile was warm and welcoming. After your initial surprise of being hilariously wrong about what the headmaster probably looked like, you were finally able to jar yourself out of your shock enough to take the hand which was still held out for you in greeting.
“Yes,” you said quickly enough to almost sound like a half word. You rose out of your seat so fast that you slightly stumbled on your feet but managed to keep upright by holding onto her hand and then giving it a shake. “That’s me. Doctor of psychiatry and clinical resear-”
“Yes, of course,” the headmaster gently interrupted, giving your hand a pat of reassurance before letting go. She waved her hand towards a smaller hall to the right where a sign read administration at the start of the corridor. “Shall we, doctor?”
The room you were led into beheld a long wooden table with five chairs on one side and a singular one on the other. You sat opposite of the five administrators who all represented different species and different disciplines. There was a woman wearing a maroon flapper hat so as to hide her snake-like dreads and who represented the math department. A large man of beastly size probably didn’t grow too much larger on full moon nights sat with his notepad before him that looked like a miniature replica of Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales. Another male of immense attraction stared at you from behind dark lenses, allowing his sharp incisors to gleam upon a welcoming smile. His notes were on the table before him in preparation for quizzing you about your scientific background. On the end was another handsome man with the tell-tale sign of Siren blue eyes who gave you a quick nod of his head in greeting and who most likely headed the history department judging by his cufflinks of a Scottish crest badge.
The only one that was somewhat of an enigma was the middle administrator; Headmaster Larissa Weems. You could usually tell the species upon first glance but despite shapeshifter being your first inclination, it just didn’t track with what you knew about shapeshifters. The main tell was her height, which was unusual in a human no matter which gender, however shapeshifters tended to exaggerate their heights mostly due to the levels of comfort that their irregularly constructed bodies would allow. But the other indication was that she was exceptionally beautiful, which only a shapeshifter could really pull off on a daily routine. The glamour from this woman was off the charts and spoke of someone who was either very conscientious of how she looked or could do it so effortlessly that it was no bother at all. Other than that, the mere fact that a shapeshifter could rise to the rank of Headmaster wasn't often heard of and made you dubious of her creature status.
“Thank you for your interest in this position,” Headmaster Weems began as she folded her hands onto the table in front of her. She introduced the men and women surrounding her, but you were so distracted by that accent. It was like hearing a true European from the Old World, and you wondered if Weems was older than she portrayed herself. “Before we start the initial interview, please tell us a little about yourself.”
As always, you had to prepare for something like this, making sure all your dates were correct and fit in with the age you looked.
“Well,” you started, “I come from a small town where I grew up in an unassuming community. It wasn’t until I was well into my teenage years that I realized I was an exceptional because my parents had suppressed the ability in the hopes that I would be taken as a traditional.”
“I see you still use the older terminology,” the vampire stated approvingly.
“You already have something in common,” the gorgon replied to him with a tease. She was clearly smitten by his sinfully dark slicked back hair and strong jawline.
“I have a slight disdain for the modern terminology,” you said with a bit of a shrug. “It has a disparaging affectation to it.”
The werewolf shook his head in agreement and looked to the others for more confirmation.
“Please, continue,” Headmaster Weems said to you, keeping the interview on track.
“Anyway, turns out I have a psychic-positive ability to sense the feelings of others.”
“Ah, a true empath,” the siren stated. “We have a few of those in the student body.”
“Who?” the vampire asked uncertainly.
“Deanna and Troy.”
You stared blankly at the siren before replying. “Are you serious?”
The siren gave a chuckle. “Destined to be empaths, it seems.”
“No more interruptions, Corrigan,” Larissa Weems told the siren. “This isn’t Star Trek.”
“But they are the Next Generation of empaths,” the werewolf quipped.
“Tell us more about you,” the headmaster urged. “We already know that you are quite qualified for this position, but do you have any interests outside the psychiatric field?”
Suddenly your senses pinged. You were quite surprised to feel it here, in an interview of all places, and it was coming from Larissa Weems.
The problem with not actually being a psychic is that you had to hide your true identity behind something that sounded plausible. You weren’t a true empath, in fact far from it, however you did have the innate and mythical ability to feel the desires of others. Desire came in so many forms, from a child that wanted a toy, to a teenager that wanted to be free of restrictions, to a young adult that wanted to see the world, and everything and anything in between. You could sense it all, and at this very moment you looked into the beautiful blue eyes of the headmaster and knew she truly wanted to know you for who you are.
“I do, indeed,” you stated, giving her a mysterious tick of a smile. “I love music. Perhaps it’s the empath in me, but I can’t just listen and not interact, both physically and emotionally. I play eight different instruments including the violin and the piano. I love to sing ranging from opera to pop. I love to dance either with somebody or on my own. I don’t mind feeling emotions because I feel mine and everyone else’s all the time, but what I need is to have it make sense, and music makes that all come together in an amalgamation of harmonic bliss.”
It was subtle, that interest that the principal was engaging with that was directed at you, but it was there. Being able to keep up appearances and look perpetually youthful often pinged that particular sense of yours where you knew that someone was interested in you in more than a professional capacity, however this was both unexpected and, for the first time in a long time, also requited.
The rest of the interview was fielding questions about your professional career which was filled with half-truths, but just sensible enough to evade scrutiny. You managed to give correct answers to any technical inquiries and pragmatic answers to the more subjective ones. The interview went over it’s scheduled time frame because you had posed questions to the board that provoked engaging conversation that continued until you and the five administrators were having a vivid discussion about the nature of the newest emerging outcasts and how to integrate them into the school.
Suddenly the front desk monitor popped her head in and looked to the headmaster. “Headmaster Weems, I apologize for interrupting but your eleven o’clock has been waiting for fifteen minutes now and I figured you wouldn’t want the mayor waiting too long.”
“Right, of course,” the headmaster replied, looking at the extravagant gold watch on her wrist. “How time flies. Let him know I’ll be there in a few minutes.”
And with that the interview was over. You stood up as the others did, shaking their hands again and saying pleasant goodbyes. Suddenly the headmaster’s hand was at your elbow and you looked over at her only to have to strain your neck up again to look her in the eye.
“I’ll walk you out,” Larissa Weems said.
She took you all the way to the outside steps, which was more than courteous enough for a headmaster who was running late for another meeting. You had ways of getting around without modern means but there was no way to utilize that particular skill without alerting everyone of your secret existence, so you stood in wait for the Uber and was surprised when Headmaster Weems stayed by your side to continue a conversation.
“I found your credentials to be quite impressive,” she said to you, causing your blood to rise in modest heat. “I can’t imagine a more suitable candidate.”
“I would hope so,” you replied, angling your body towards her, ensuring she had your full attention. She was so much taller, and clearly so strong not just in physical strength but also in character, however you could feel an emptiness emanating from her that made her gravitate towards those who could move past the facade and see the needful soul she truly was. You wondered if you could be that person. “This school needs healing after the ordeal it endured last year. I know I can offer that.”
By Headmaster Weems' softened gaze, you had touched her in a profound way. “I believe that to be true,” she said.
There was more small talk until the Uber driver pulled up, and after shaking the Headmaster’s hand you hopped in the car headed for the train station.
There was no denying that Headmaster Larissa Weems had managed to integrate herself into your thoughts as you replayed the events of the last hour over and over again in your mind. Of the thousands of people you’d encountered over your lifetime, you couldn’t remember someone who’d managed to do so in over a century. The entire ride to Jericho was sat in silence.
At the train station, you bought a train ticket, meandered around until you found yourself alone in the women’s bathroom, and then upon entering a stall you closed your fist, let the mist emanating from it surround you, and then opened your fist to release the magic inside.
And then you were gone.