Bartholomew Grimm's Werewolf Academy

There weren’t always dragons in the Valley. Everett knew that, (logically, at least) but it still didn’t change the fact that that place had felt like his home, his birthright, for as long as he could remember. It had been a home to his parents, and their parents, and theirs before that. Maybe the dragons hadn’t always lived in the craggy craves of the high mountains encircling the Valley, but it had to be close enough to it. The humans who lived in the Valley had myriad relics proving this legacy: pottery, carvings, and drawings going back centuries that featured mighty flying reptiles soaring through the sky. There were even older stories, frequently delivered with equal parts bravado and reverence around crackling campfires and tavern tables, of dragons taking human form and interacting with humans. They shared secrets and offered protection, communing in a sacred relationship that spanned eons. One story even claimed that dragons had come down and given fire to the humans, sparking the growth of their civilization. Everett wasn’t sure he totally believed that one, but he liked it. It reminded him of his importance and his responsibility.

The relationship between dragons and humans had always been peaceful. There was never a reason for it to be anything else. Both were intelligent and social, capable of caring and creating. The dragons acted as the guard dogs of the Valley, warning of invasions from neighboring villages. The intruders never stood a chance against the wings and fire of the dragons in their reptile forms. In exchange, the humans offered them a portion of the wealth amassed by their decades of peace to add to their hoards. The dragons partook in the human banquets, ripe with tables on tables of luscious vegetables, hearty stews, and juicy meats. And there were gold and jewels, of course, which dragons had always had a particular propensity for. Everett shook his wrist, smiling with satisfaction as the polished gold of a cuff glinted in the light of the hall. Like all dragons, he couldn’t resist something shiny.

This relationship between humans and dragons had been going on for as long as history had been recorded. Yes, it was true that there weren’t always dragons in the Valley, but only in the same way that there must not have always been a Valley, or a world, at all. Forever is relative, Everett mused, his lips curving into a hard frown. But our tenure there was certainly a version of it. Until the wolves came and ended everything.

Everett shook his head to clear it, his dark locs settling around the giant curling horns coming out of his head, and continued walking through the long marble halls of the Academy. This was his home now, and no matter how much he longed for the place he’d always known, he understood that times had changed. Gotten more complicated. He was more than just a dragon now.

He tried to focus on the positive. That’s what he was good at, after all: always being the calm, collected one who uplifted the others. He was probably the first dragon outside the Valley in hundreds of years, which meant he was seeing new things, new magic, and new creatures that had only been stories to his ancestors. Flora and Meadow, two twin were-nymphs, passed him in the hallway, their lithe, barely-there bodies seemingly floating over the stone floor. The windows, glass wavy with age, illuminated their bodies in the way that things underwater are illuminated, or perhaps in the way that sun rays shoot through clouds. They blushed when they saw him, and he inclined his head towards them in a way that he hoped looked noble and majestic. Alpha-like. As the girls passed, he heard them giggle conspiratorially, and a small pink flower bloomed shyly at the end of one of his locs. He smiled and decided to let it stay there. Yes, he was living in a very different world than his ancestors.

He pushed through the heavy oak doors of the headmaster’s study, not bothering to knock. He knew he was expected. Headmaster Bartholomew Grimm had called him here to welcome another new student to the Academy. “Welcome” was Bartholomew’s word choice, though Everett didn’t remember feeling like a warm welcome when he had first arrived, years ago. He remembered the fear, uncertainty, shame, guilt, and, of course, that wild, out-of-control side of him that always felt a breath away from taking over. This wasn’t going to be an easy introduction, though he hoped he could help the poor boy feel at ease, even just a little bit.

Inside was the familiar stout shape of the headmaster sitting behind his desk. He wore the emerald green robes of a warlock and had a comically well-groomed silver mustache that curled around his face like a perpetual smile. He looked jolly, as he always did, but with an air of stoicness about him that reflected the sensitivity of the moment. He disliked this part as much as Everett.

In front of the desk, dwarfed behind a tall wingback chair, was the new student. The new were. Everett approached the desk and turned to get a better look at him. The boy was close to Everett’s age, and the soft boyishness of his face had all but disappeared into hard lines. He was pale, with wispy blond hair and bright blue eyes that darted manically around the room. He was scared.

“Hey,” Everett said, pulling up a chair to sit next to him. It wasn’t the first time he had done this, and he had fine tuned his introduction. “I’m Everett,” he introduced, voiced soft and soothing. “It’s okay. You’re safe. Don’t be scared.” He put the tiniest amount of his alpha power into the words and he saw the boy respond by relaxing almost imperceptibly. Everett glanced up at Bartholomew. “What have you told him so far?”

“Not much. We just portaled back. I picked him up in a small village outside Starhill.” He stared somberly at me as his words sunk in. Starhill was incredibly far away. Had the wolves already conquered that much land? Everett nodded crisply in understanding of what was unsaid.

“Human?” Bartholomew nodded. Everett turned to the boy. “What’s your name?”

“Briath,” the boy whispered, slow and hoarse, as if he wasn’t sure he wanted to give it up. He had the thick accent of the North.

“Briath,” Everett repeated, “can you tell me everything you remember about what happened? About the…attack?” The boy flinched and Everett had to refrain from doing so himself.

“I…it was dark. It was the middle of the night and I woke up to screams. There was howling and crying and snarling. There were animals tearing apart our village. But they weren’t like any animals we’d dealt with before. They were bigger, more powerful.” Everett nodded. Werewolves, when shifted, made normal wolves look like lap dogs. “They came inside. My parents and sisters, they couldn’t fight them off. And then they came for me—” He pulled his knees to his chest and tucked his head down. For the first time, Everett saw the glistening scar, as white as the full moon, arcing across his neck. He looked down at his own scar, striped across his leg like a vein through a rock, and felt a pang of sadness.

“It’s okay,” he said again, wanting to spare him any more of the trauma of reliving that night. They boy remembered enough. “Those were werewolves, and you were bitten during the attack. Which means you’re now a werewolf too.” He delivered the last sentence delicately, watching as the shock, confusion, and fear danced across Briath’s face.

“Werewolves? I thought they were just stories,” he breathed.

“The world is big, and a lot of things that were just stories are actually real.”

“And you?” For the first time, Briath looked up enough to fully take in Everett’s golden eyes and huge twisted horns.

“I’m a dragon. A were-dragon,” Everett corrected quickly. Briath’s brow furrowed, but he didn’t speak. “This school is full of people like us, who were bitten and turned and left orphaned. We’re all here so we can learn to control our new powers and be better than the circumstances life handed us.”

“So everyone here…is a werewolf?” He shrunk a bit at the realization.

“Yes, of sorts. There are normal werewolves, like you. Humans that were turned. And there are other creatures, too. Were-pixies, were-vampires, even a were-selkie. But they’re not like the ones that hurt you. Here, we work together. We’re a pack.”

Briath’s eyes shifted over to Bartholomew, as if looking for some sign that he wasn’t insane. “Are you a werewolf, too?”

“Oh, no,” he answered. I’m just a normal, old warlock. After the wolves came through my town years ago and killed nearly everyone, I decided to start this school within the old cathedral as a way to do some good in the world. To stop the cycle, if you will. If you children can be better than them, we may have a chance of changing the world for the better.” He stared wistfully at us for a moment. “But I’m getting ahead of myself. All I need you to do for now is focus on yourself and get comfortable. Everett,” he said, motioning to me, “is the alpha of the pack at this school. He’ll help you get settled and be here for anything you need.”

Briath looked at me again, eyes lingering on the horns for a moment. “Does that mean he’s the strongest?” he asked. Everett assumed he was asking the headmaster, but he didn’t take his eyes off me.

“Yes and no,” Bartholomew answered. “Pack dynamics are incredibly complex, and the hierarchy generally emerges naturally, without conflict. Everett is the alpha partially due to his strength, yes, but also for his character and leadership.” Everett had to admit it sounded like a fairy tale when it was put like that, but he supposed it was the truth. He was the alpha of this eclectic, hodge-podge pack, whether he wanted it or not.

The rest of the meeting consisted of a series of questions and answers, timidly asked and warmly answered. Did he need to pay to be at the school? No, it was free of charge for young weres in need. Where would he sleep? There were dorms, and he would be assigned a roommate. What happened on the full moon? The staff took measures to make sure that no one would be hurt when the students shifted and lost control once a month. When there were no more questions, Bartholomew sent Briath off with another young werewolf that he flagged down from the hallway to help him get settled into the dorms.

As soon as Briath left, Everett leaned across the desk. “Bartholomew, Starhill? Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure. And heavens, call me Headmaster Grimm like the rest of the school.”

“They’re still gaining momentum. And getting stronger.”

“It appears that way, yes.”

“If they really were created by a rogue mage using dark magic, then there must be some ultimate agenda, right? Some purpose to all the bloodshed?”

“We have to believe so,” Bartholomew mused. “But it’s not clear to me, nor to anyone else in the Order.”

Everett took a deep breath and settled into the wingback chair. “They can’t keep doing this. How many more towns and villages have to be destroyed before someone stops them? And the creatures they’re creating—we’re abominations. Were-dragon? This is ridiculous.”

“You are not an abomination,” he soothed, though the words seemed more automatic than sincere. “You are still you, just with an extra facet.”

“Whatever.” Everett stared down at his hands, dark and covered with rings. The one on his thumb had been given to him by his father, and was a little too big to fit on any other finger. “We’re going to have to fight, aren’t we?” He said it like a statement instead of a question.

Bartholomew hesitated, postponing his answer. “It is becoming more and more apparent,” he measured, “that this school is one of the best chances our world has of winning against the wolves.”

“So we’ll have to fight.” Bartholomew reluctantly nodded.

“But Everett, please keep this between us. The others don’t need to know what’s coming. If they did, it would rob them of the peace they’ve found here.”

“I always do.” Everett nodded curtly. As alpha, he had extra information, but it somehow only ended up feeling like an extra burden. When it was clear Bartholomew had nothing else to say, Everett stood up and left the office.

It took everything in him not to sprint to the courtyard, instead settling for a purposeful stride. As soon as he reached the open air, he jumped into the sky, calling his dragon form.

His skin hardened over into golden scales and his fingers curved into talons. Massive, leathery wings pushed out of his back and his face stretched into a ferocious maw. He climbed towards the heavens, trying to pretend that he was back home in the Valley. He spent the next hour flying high above the school, feeling the sun and wind and clouds on his scales and wondering if he was going to lose everything he’d ever cared about for the second time in his life.