Kerry Allen's Love Emporium

The following morning, Ivy, Andi, and Eugenia left the dorm together. Drew stayed behind with promises to catch up with them at the testing hall.

Andi walked backward, her calculating gaze fixed upon her bedroom window, which they all knew could be easily breached. “I’m tempted to sneak in and catch him being manly. What do you suppose he’s doing in there, all by his lonesome?”

Ivy shrugged. “Peeing standing up. Shaving off the Grizzly Adams beard he sprouted overnight. Whatever else a man masquerading as a woman would want to do in private.”

“Well, I know what my brothers do in private first thing in the morning.” Andi squinted at Eugenia. “Do I detect a scowl behind those glasses, young lady? Tsk, tsk. Such an expression is most unbecoming a future heroine.”

Eugenia’s glower intensified. “I wish you wouldn’t leap to conclusions about Drew’s gender. I have to pull hairs out of my chin on occasion. Does that make me a man?”

“Maybe. There’s a real easy way to clear up any misunderstanding, though. You and Drew both lift your skirts and drop your knickers and let us see for ourselves who has an innie and who has an outie.”

While her two companions debated the likelihood of that event transpiring, Ivy scouted the area. There was no visible evidence of the misadventures of Edwen Cullard. Either the werewolves had sopped up his blood with biscuits, or the hooded figures armed with rakes and hedge clippers had sanitized the campus before turning their attention to manicuring the greenery.

While the groundskeepers wore brown woolen robes that concealed their identifying characteristics, the faculty members stationed along the walkways at ten-yard intervals wore the ubiquitous pink blazers. Their number suggested some purpose aside from offering directions to bewildered underclassmen who somehow missed the banner stretched across the face of one of the buildings, proclaiming “NEW STUDENTS COME HERE” in red letters ten feet tall. They formed a gauntlet, ushering students along the sidewalk like lambs through a chute at the slaughterhouse.

“This is a waste of time,” Andi complained, becoming aware of the enforcement of a circuitous route to their destination. “I could cut across the lawn and be there in thirty seconds.”

“I’ll time you.” Ivy shoved her off the sidewalk.

The instant Andi’s toes touched the grass, one of the staffers descended up on them, a broad smile affixed to her unblemished face. “Uh-uh-uh! Well-behaved young ladies do not lumber across the grass like cattle.”

Eugenia pushed her glasses up her nose. ”Well-behaved young ladies seldom make history.”

The broad smile grew rigid, the sing-song tone brittle. “Young ladies who make history are seldom the heroines of romance novels.”

Andi punched Eugenia’s arm hard enough to make her stagger. “Yeah, Genie. Get your priorities straight.”

Back on the path like obedient little lambs once more, they continued to the testing hall.

Eugenia noticed the groundskeepers. “They must be roasting. Why would they make them dress that way?”

“Shrouds of shame for failed heroine candidates?” Ivy guessed.

Andi snorted. “They wouldn’t want the pretty princesses to get the idea manual labor is an appropriate activity for any woman. Next thing you know, they’d want to wear pants and vote. No, they have men to do the heavy lifting and dirty work, and they cover them up so they don’t tempt the sex-deprived student bodies with their sweaty, hair-roughened, work-muscled…”

Ivy arched an eyebrow at her wistful tone. “Who’s sex-deprived?”

“I theorize many here have entertained similar thoughts,” Eugenia said. “Unless they castrate the men as a prerequisite for employment, a lot of secret baby plots must have their origin here.”

Ivy made a mental note. Employees here year after year might know the origins of all sorts of plots. Odds of getting any useful information from the pink-blazer set were slim, but the workhorses might be more amenable to sharing their knowledge—and their access to areas beyond the squeaky clean facade of the Academy. They were worth talking to.

Or interrogating.

The skin on the back of her neck prickled. She crouched, pretending to dislodge a rock from her boot, and angled her head for a surreptitious glance behind her.

Fifty feet away, hedge clippers closing on empty air, one of the hooded figures faced her. Nothing but impenetrable shadow was visible inside the deep hood, but she felt his gaze on her.

She had located a target with potential, but whether as a valuable resource or a threat in need of elimination remained to be seen.

They filed into Cleaver Hall with the other new heroines-in-training, entering a large room filled with neat rows of desks. Each desktop was occupied by a booklet made of pale pink paper and, alongside it, a yellow #2 pencil with a feathery pink topper in place of the eraser.

The moderator at the front of the room clapped her hands. “Everyone please take a seat!”

The majority of the students jockeyed for positions near the front of the room. Eugenia followed them, pointing to her glasses to excuse her need for proximity to the blackboard. Ivy and Andi remained in the back row.

When the room quieted, the moderator continued. “I know you’re all eager to begin your studies, but before we embark on that wonderful journey, we must first determine your strengths and weaknesses so we can customize a curriculum to meet your individual needs. The first phase is today’s written evaluation. Take your time and be sure to answer each question truthfully.”

Ivy opened her test booklet and read the first question.

Select the response that most accurately describes your sexual history.

a.  I am a virgin.

b.  My sexual history was with a man who was not my husband and was so unpleasant, I vowed no man would ever touch me again.

c.  My sexual history was with my husband, who was a horrible man right up to his richly deserved death, and was so unpleasant, I vowed no man would ever touch me again.

d.  My sexual history was with my husband, who was a prince among men right up to his tragic death, and was so magical, no other man could ever compare, so I vowed no man would ever touch me again.

e.  My sexual history was with a man who was not my husband, and I enjoyed it like a dirty whore.

Her eyes widened. Good thing they provided so many objective, unbiased options for a girl to choose from. She raised her hand.

“What is it, Miss Armstrong?”

“Can we be expelled from the Academy on the basis of our responses to this test?”

The moderator gasped and clasped her hands to her bosom, clearly distraught at the notion. “Heavens no! This assessment is merely a tool to guide the customization of a curriculum to best help us help you along your personal path to becoming the best heroine you can be.”

Then there was no reason not to be brutally frank. Ivy chose the last option for the majority of the questions, branding herself with a few dozen unheroinely characteristics in addition to dirty whore. She was the first to carry her test to the front of the room.

The moderator glanced at her responses. Her smile wavered momentarily. “I see. Well, nothing that can’t be fixed with hard work and dedication!” She gestured to the exit with a soft, ivory hand. “You’re free to go. Help yourself to a complementary invigorating fruit punch to restore your energy!”

Ivy’s energy was perfectly fine without the plastic cup of pink juice the staffer at the door thrust in her face. She brushed the offering aside with a terse, “No thanks.”

It was thrust in her face once again. “You must have some of our special Heroine Punch! It’s loaded with vitamins and has zero calories!”

“I’m not thirsty.” She reached for the door.

The juice bearer stepped into her path, tiny white teeth bared in a pre-bite smile. “Drink the punch.”

The only punch that interested Ivy was one that would transform that smile to a bloody, toothless smear, but since that actually might be cause for expulsion before she traced the evil permeating this place to its source, she stifled her impulse.

She took the cup. “On second thought, a refreshing beverage sounds simply delightful. Thank you ever so much.”

She tossed back the sickly sweet liquid and smiled as fetchingly as she knew how.

“Good girl. Go back to your room and lie down now. A nap will do you a world of good.”

Ivy nodded agreeably. “Mm-hm.”

She was allowed to leave without further incident. The door emptied to an isolated area shielded by buildings on two sides, ornamental shrubbery on a third, and the Academy’s imposing security wall on the fourth. Satisfied there were no witnesses, she leaned against the door to ensure it stayed that way for the few seconds she needed.

With a flick of her wrist, a glass vial shot from her sleeve into her palm. She spit the mouthful of juice into the container, capped it, and tucked it into an inside pocket of her jacket.

They’d been just a bit too insistent on the consumption of their brew for her to believe it contained merely vitamins. She would have to find a way to get the sample to a lab, unless Eugenia had the equipment to perform some kind of chemical analysis on site.

“Iveeeee.”

A nearby hydrangea bush whispered her name, enough proof for her she’d been exposed to something more exotic than artificial sweetener.

Pruning shears lopped off the tip of a branch. Through the small gap created between the bush and the building, she caught a glimpse of brown robe. Perhaps it belonged to the same groundsman who had stared at her earlier.

She glanced around. Still no witnesses. “How do you know my name?”

“Beeeeware.”

“That doesn’t answer my question, and I really hate cryptic warnings.” When she looked back to intimidate him with her frosty glare, he was gone.

She raced around the bush, but there was no trace of him. He could have been any one of the dozens of robed figures working on the campus. They were all a good distance away, none of them conveniently waving to identify himself.

One of the pink blazers spotted her and bustled in her direction, the now-familiar menacing smile stretching her lips.

Ivy raised a hand to her forehead. ”Oh, dear. I know I’m not supposed to be on the grass. I don’t know what’s come over me. I think the Heroine Punch has addled my wits.”

The claws extended toward her arm became a comforting pat. “There, there, dear. The first week can be overwhelming for some. I’ll walk you back to your room to make sure you arrive safely.”

Ivy blinked a few times, hoping it demonstrated convincing effort toward fluttering her lashes. “That is so thoughtful of you.”

As they stepped away from the hydrangea, the glitter of something half-hidden behind a leaf caught her eye. Without looking directly at it, she seized the small object and pocketed it, then allowed herself to be escorted back to the dorm.

Week 1: The Summoning

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