Chapter 3

Flynn shook himself like a dog and looked again at the campus before him. It was still grandiose, but that sense of unreality had faded. He told himself he’d only been suffering from a case of nerves. Even so, he wasn’t entirely convinced.

Flynn tried to be unimpressed by the sprawling campus of lush lawns, trees, gazebos and the vast collection of venerable structures that had stood for hundreds of years. But he had to grudgingly admit he was awed by it, daunting as it was. If he hadn’t been so bitter about being there against his will, he might’ve appreciated the view even more.

Too bad his mother didn’t get to appreciate it at all. When they arrived, he’d warned her to stay in the helicopter. He said he’d never speak to her again if she accompanied him to school like it was his first day of kindergarten. His threat was credible; those were the first words he’d spoken to her for the entire, miserably long trip.

Mom called, “I love you,” as he stalked away without responding, carrying the small suitcase containing the very few personal items he’d been allowed to bring.

The admissions office, when he finally found it, looked like it hadn’t been redecorated since the early 1800s. Even more than the campus outside, it made Flynn feel like he’d stepped into a previous century. A large, middle-aged woman with a huge corona of wiry brown hair towered over him from behind an antique wooden counter. She looked down at Flynn with a sour expression, like he’d tracked something in on his shoe. Or, more accurately, like he was what had been tracked in. She wore a big, shapeless multicolored smock with an excess of pockets. The name plate on the counter said she was Adira Martin. Adira didn’t look like she enjoyed her job.

Determined not to be intimidated, he announced himself. “Flynn Sullivan.”

In a bored voice, Adira said, “Am I supposed to know who or what a Flynn Sullivan is? If you’re a new student, you’re late. The swarm petered out yesterday. I was looking forward to some me time.”

Flynn said, “I shouldn’t be here at all. I should be at my old school, where I had friends.”

“And I should be in the Bahamas with a mai tai and a boy-toy.” She snapped her fingers insolently and said, “Hand me your transcripts.”

Flynn fumbled the thick folder out of his suitcase. He was surprised he’d needed to bring physical records at all. The school was old, and apparently still did some things the ancient and outdated way.

As he handed over the folder, he asked innocently, “Has the curriculum here been updated since 1857?”

Adira briefly glanced at him with distaste, then began absently leafing through his records.

Flynn wondered if she was really that much taller than him, or if the floor was higher behind the counter. He hoped it was the floor. He was always overly conscious of his 5’7” height. His real dad had been 6’2”. And worse, Stepdad was well over 7’. That was entirely too tall. Flynn wasn’t a fan of government overreach, but there really should be draconian laws governing excessive height.

Not looking at him, Adira asked, “A parent didn’t come with you?”

Flynn silently fumed for a moment before saying, “I’m eighteen, an adult. I don’t need my mommy to hold my hand.”

Looking at him now, Adira said, “Maybe if your mommy was here, she could keep your attitude in check. It’s not doing you any favors.”

“Maybe if you’d hurry up and do whatever it is you do, I could be on my way.”

Adira set his papers aside and gave Flynn a silent look that lasted so long he started to become uncomfortable and fidgety.

She finally said, “Do you know why you’re here?”

Flynn said, “Yeah. That’s kind of obvious. I’m here for an education. Maybe if YOU’D had one, you wouldn’t be stuck in a low paying, dead-end job you obviously hate.”

Flynn’s mouth always became more impudent than usual when he was nervous. And something about Bramstock continued to set his nerves on edge.

Adira pushed his transcript aside. “Education is a given. Bramstock Prep would be rated #1 in the nation if it didn’t exist on a plane far above such competitive trivialities. But some students who end up at Bramstock do so for a second reason. Our special students, as we lovingly call them, receive an additional kind of education. It can vary from student to student. Your father has been in contact with us. It is his wish that you receive an extra-special education. Or ... as he put it ... a radical course correction.”

“He’s my stepfather,” Flynn corrected her. “What did he say about me? It’s probably all lies.”

“That’s confidential correspondence.”

“How can it be confidential if it’s about me?”

Adira said, “I’m sure everything is about you. All you rich boys think you’re the center of the universe.”

Flynn fumed at her unabashed contempt, but said nothing.

Adira turned to an ornately carved wooden cabinet set into the wall behind her and opened its door. Flynn was surprised to see it was a refrigerator. Bright blue light escaped and cold air wafted over the counter. Flynn saw multiple shelves holding rows of large glass bottles. Adira looked over the handwritten labels, then selected one and closed the door.

Flynn watched her suspiciously as she set the bottle on the counter in front of him and removed the glass stopper. The bottle held a thick, milky fluid. Condensation formed a small cloud around it.

“Drink that.”

Flynn leaned in to inspect it closer. The contents had the look of something viscous. “Ummmm ... what is it?”

Adira sighed. “It’s preventative medicine. A form of insurance. We make all our students drink it, not just the special cases. It won’t hurt you, and more importantly, you won’t hurt us.”

Flynn stepped back. “If this was anything good, you wouldn’t be so evasive about it. This is a hard no. That stuff looks nasty.”

Adira sighed again. She made a small hand gesture as her eyes caught the light and flashed dramatically. Flynn found himself setting the empty bottle back on the counter. With a grimace at the taste, he swallowed the last of its former contents noisily.

The inside of his mouth was coated with the stuff. It dribbled down his chin. He licked it off his lips and scowled. The salty flavor and consistency reminded him of something...

... a memory of his first experimentation, hastily undressing with a friend, wrestling naked on his bed, erections sliding against each other, hesitantly exploring, putting mouths in forbidden places, doing something he’d never thought he’d do...

Flynn shook himself and looked up at Adira.

He asked plaintively, “Did you just play a really dirty trick on me?”

Adira pressed a button on an ancient intercom box, then said, “Raven, come take over. I have a new student to process. A special one. Very special. We’re talking obnoxiously special. I’m going to take my time with this one, so I’ll be a while.”

A scratchy, metallic voice came from an ancient speaker on the wall above. “Be right there.”

Adira walked around the counter, saying, “To answer your question ... yes. It is a dirty trick, especially if you haven’t partaken of that particular fluid before. But it’s not a trick I played on you specifically. As I said, every incoming student receives it. It’s called the potion of discretion. It makes a number of small but vital changes inside you. You’ll feel a little woozy for a while, like you’re drugged. From what your stepfather’s letter said, that should be a familiar state.”

Flynn ran his tongue around the inside of his mouth. “That taste ... it tastes like ... like...”

He stopped. He knew what it was, but didn’t want to say it out loud.

Adira said, “Yes. It’s what you think it is. A bit of the joy juice. Well ... more than a bit. Quite a lot, actually. You’d die if you knew what species it came from. But there’s a lot of other esoteric stuff in there, too ... different ingredients, different doses for different cases. Yours was kind of heavy on everything, as per your stepfather’s request.”

That figured. Stepdad didn’t even need to be present to cast his dark, overbearing shadow. He was probably sitting back in his overstuffed chair at that very moment, smoking a cigar and chuckling at his latest intrusion into Flynn’s life.

Adira continued, “The potions are my own concoctions. I’m rather proud of them. I’m thinking of adding a little nutmeg to the next batch to see if it disguises the flavor. You’d be surprised how many young men know instantly what they just chugged down. Once it takes effect, I ask them how they know. Some are gay, some are straight but have been horny enough to cross the fence, some were forced into an oral encounters by family members or bullies at school, some tasted their own out of curiosity. I love knowing all that private stuff. The potion ensures they tell me the absolute truth, including details they didn’t even know they knew, things they’d buried so deep they’d consciously forgotten. My potions and I dredge it all up and lay it out in the open. Some of them are so shocked at their forgotten history. You’d laugh if you saw their faces.”