Deviant Academy

Public Enemy Number One

Harley’s POV

“Come on, baby. We don’t have time for this. Just torch the asshole.”

I glance from Josh to the man in question, biting my lip. Josh is right that we don’t have time; the cops will be here any minute, and for all my abilities, I’ve never mastered teleportation. 

But I don’t like hurting people—especially innocent people.

I take a step toward the owner of the jewelry store, locking eyes with him and trying my hand at Compulsion. It’s something I like to avoid—people deserve the basic human right of free will, after all—but it’s better than hurting him, isn’t it?

“I’m sorry,” I tell him gently. “I didn’t think you would be here this late. I don’t want to hurt you. Why don’t you run along home and let us get this over with? Your insurance company will reimburse you, I’m sure. And we’ll only take what we need.”

I don’t have to look to know that Josh is rolling his eyes, but I ignore him. Compulsion only works when I don’t blink.

And it does work. The man smiles a zombie-esque smile at me, bows his head, and walks away.

“Let’s get on with it,” Josh growls.

I don’t have to read his mind to know he’s going to do to me if we make it home tonight. Josh doesn’t like it when I do things my way. He doesn’t like when I do things any way but his.

So I lift my hands, flick them forward, and the glass shatters.

And the alarms begin to sound.

“Now!” Josh shouts, thrusting open the briefcase he brought with us. “Hurry!”

I continue flicking and gesturing with my hands, scooping all the largest and finest pieces of jewelry up with my Telekinetic abilities and dumping them into the briefcase.

Just before I finish, I hear the unmistakable pop of a Teleportation—also known as a Blink. It's one of the rarest facets of Telekinesis - one I haven’t figured out.

But apparently this guy has.

He’s handsome, though substantially older than me, like Josh—close to thirty, if I had to guess. He’s got short, well-groomed, dishwater blond hair, pale, blue eyes, and long, smoky lashes. He’s tall and fit, and wearing a v-neck sweater that doesn’t exactly scream “bad boy” or “Deviant.”

But he obviously is a Deviant, and judging by the way he’s looking at me like I’m a piece of meat, he’s got at least some bad boy tendencies.

“Who the hell are you?” Josh demands, snapping the briefcase closed and jumping to his feet. “This is our turf, bro.”

“Yourturf?” the man repeats, chuckling. He turns to me, smile lingering—flirtatious and sensual. I peek into his thoughts long enough to deduce that he’s already picturing me naked. “Really, what are you doing with this guy? Harley Harris, with a Normal? No one in the world gets it.”

Okay, maybe it’s time I explained a few things to you.

My name, like the mystery man just said, is Harley Harris. I’m eighteen years old, and I developed my abilities during adolescence, like most Magics. Unlike most Magics, I was the only one in my family with abilities, and when my one remaining family member found out what I was, he threw me out on the streets.

Love you, too, Dad.

I lived on my own for four years, narrowly escaping the police and child welfare workers who constantly tried to catch me. I stole only what I needed to survive, and for the most part, I flew under the radar.

Then I met Josh, and I became, well, less under the radar. 

From age fifteen to now, I did whatever Josh told me to—rob banks; rob jewelers; even take hostages a time or two. I’ve never killed anyone, but you wouldn’t know it from the way the media talks about me. Harley Harris, Public Enemy Number One. Harley Harris, the Deviant Seductress to Avoid at All Costs.

You get the idea.

You might wonder why I’m with a guy like Josh—a guy who hurts me, bosses me around, and has virtually no moral compass.

Well, you try living on the streets from age twelve to fifteen with abilities you don't understand and can't control after being abandoned by your own father. When a handsome, older guy comes around offering to look after you, you’ll say yes. Guaranteed.

“The cops will be here any second,” the mystery man tells me, “and the MRB shortly behind them. You need to come with me.”

MRB—Magic Roundup Bureau.

Once they get you, you never see the light of day again.

“Like hell, she does!” scoffs Josh. “She’s been able to avoid them this long, hasn’t she?”

“This time’s different,” the man tells me, ignoring Josh. “There’s an MRB convention one city over. Thousands of officers. Unless you can Blink, you won’t escape them.”

I can already hear the sirens. I peek into his thoughts again and deduce that he's telling the truth. Short of killing every last one of them, I don’t see how I could escape several thousand officers.

“Where would you take me?” I ask him.

“Harley!” Josh shouts.

Again, the man ignores him. “To Mysteria. To the Academy. I’m a teacher there. I’ll keep you safe, Harley.”

It’s not the first time I’ve heard of Mysteria, or of the Mysteria Academy—less affectionately known as Deviant Academy. They’ve come to me before, just as the Protective Society and the Deviant Society have, to offer me another way of life.

Until now, I always said no.

Maybe, if not for last night, I’d say no again. Maybe, if I didn’t have the split lip, the cracked ribs, and the bruised gut that Josh gave me as punishment for simply talking to a guy at the gas station, I’d continue being the coward that I always was.

But I’m really f*****g sick of getting beaten up. I’ve really f*****g had enough.

And, hard as he might be eye-f*****g me, this mystery man doesn’t seem like the type to pummel me. In fact, his choice of the words I’ll keep you safe have the potential to slide him right into the void I would have been feeling when I lost Josh.

So, when he extends a hand to me, I take it.