Courts and Cabals by G. D'Moore (e reader comics txt) 📕

Sally was mid-intake, her mouth half-open, showing rows of curved teeth in desperate need of a good brushing. Instead of letting loose, she growled and snapped her mouth shut. Her skin gradually resumed a healthy, tanned glow. Her hair grew fuller and silky; although, it was now her natural brunette color. Her fingernails stopped looking like they could carve me like a Thanksgiving turkey, and her eyes lost their hungry, reptilian look.

“Sorry, Mr. Miller. It won’t happen again,” she apologized and pulled bubblegum lip gloss and pink nail polish from her backpack. She started to apply it right then and there.

“As for you, Mr. Dupree,” he said my name like a curse. “At best, that was a rudimentary explanation of what we’ve been up to so far this semester. Also, your antagonization of Ms. McDougal is entirely unacceptable. I’ll see you for detention on Friday,” he looked at his watch. “That’s it for today. Class dismissed.”

St. Vincent’s didn’t have a bell to chime every time class ended. Apparently, it was up to the students and teachers to adequately manage their time. I was too busy having an internal bitch session to care how stupid and pointless that little rule was. All around me the rest of the class rose to their feet and began to file out. I grit my teeth, collected my bag, and started to rise out of my seat; but a hand the size of a hubcap clamped onto my shoulder and pushed me back down.

Miller was already gone, always the first out of the room, and the rest of the class wanted nothing to do with what was coming. They hurried to clear out and leave me alone with my new best friend. His name was Samuel Little. His last name held a certain irony when it was attached to a seventeen-year-old who was 7’2”, four hundred pounds, and had a fucking horse cock. We’d all seen it in the locker room and there was no denying the man was hung like a porn god.

Keeping his hand on my shoulder, Sam moved around to my front and eased himself into Sally’s vacated chair. His milk-chocolate-colored skin offered a nice contrast to the school uniform’s white button-down shirt, blue and black plaid tie with the school crest, and navy-blue pants. All of which had to be custom made for Sam because he made pre-1980s NFL offensive linemen look small. The big man gave a sigh. He was a man of few words, but when he spoke, people listened. I sure as shit was about to.

“That wasn’t nice,” his voice was a rich baritone that the school choir director would die for if Sam would ever transfer over from the football team.

“I know, I’m sorry, Sam,” I answered quickly. “Miller was just getting to me, and I took it out on Sally. My bad. It won’t happen again.” The last part was a lie, but Sam was pretty quick to forgive and forget. He was by no means dumb, but he wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed either.

In actuality, Sam was a pretty good guy. As Sally’s boyfriend, he was just defending her honor. If anything, I felt sorry for Sally. She had to take the python he was packing in his pants. That couldn’t possibly be comfortable.

“I’ll tell you what,” I continued, when I saw the apology itself wasn’t going to work. “How about I cut you a break on the next test. Fifty percent off. Does that sound good?”

Sam’s brow scrunched as he studied me for a second. Then he extended his hand and enveloped mine as we shook on it. Without another word, the big man on campus, the star lineman of the St. Vincent’s Academy Fighting Eagles Football Team, and one of the most powerful shifters in the school, walked out of the room. I released a breath I didn’t know I’d been holding and shook out the adrenaline that had rushed through me when I’d been cornered.

What did you do when fight or flight weren’t an option? The answer . . . you negotiated.

Sam Little was a shifter, some people called them Wer’s, and they were probably the most populous group of supernatural creatures revealed in the United States after the Revelation. Of the three major shifter communities in the US, Sam was a member of the most physically powerful. When riled up emotionally, or through conscious effort, Sam’s body shifted into a ten-foot, human-grizzly bear hybrid. In this form, he was even more intimidating than his human guise; if that was even possible. I’d never seen Sam transform, but I knew people who had, which was why I’d offered him half off the answer key for Miller’s next history test. Sam’s life was football. He had a full scholarship to play for the Crimson Tide next year as long as he could make the grades. His worst subject was history, so to get on the big man’s good side, I’d made myself indispensable.

In a school surrounded by the rich, powerful, and straight-up supernatural; I was a simple townie: a local yokel from the small town of Vincent’s Hollow. The only people who lived there were people who worked at the academy, or people who couldn’t get out of the small town.

My parents weren’t billionaires, or CEO’s of Fortune 500 companies. I wasn’t on a first name basis with the President of the United States, and I sure as shit couldn’t grow scales, fangs, and a pair of wings to fly away from this place.

I learned long ago that if I didn’t have power myself, I needed to make myself valuable. Since this was high school, I’d found the perfect way. Minor skills with a computer, a backdoor into the school’s computer network, and the self-taught ability to pick a lock . . . bingo! I had quizzes, tests, midterms, lab reports,