Klara stared down at the plaid skirt, just like all the others only the colors were gray, white, purple and crimson. The fitted white button down, complete with a crimson tie was untucked (call her a rebel), crimson knee socks falling into a ridiculously high pair of black mary-jane shoes that carried her through the new halls of Patience Academy. The school was like all the rest, she mused, pausing at a wall of mahogany lockers. No normal, ugly steel lockers for the prep-school, trust fund kids. Instead, this looked like a long armoire, yet when she inserted her key into a small lock in the lower corner, one of the panels popped open to reveal....a locker. Klara rolled her eyes before stuffing her books inside.

The navy jacket and slacks he wore hosted the embroidered logo of the crest of the school. The usual badge with a renaissance theme that emanated the illusions of grandeur the prep school portrayed. It wasn't as much of an illusion as it was a sham. It was an illusion everyone played along with. The older he got, the more he realized how his parents, his peers, and the entire world were so partial to playing the game of "Pretend". He walked alone, and was murmured about as the daily rumor circulated around him. Today's edition of rumors circulating entailed something along the line of buying his guaranteed graduation with the Dean over 3 games of Poker. Best two out of three. Nicolas was the lucky winner twice in a row.

That's what everyone first thought about Nicolas. That he was a lucky son of a gun. But when you saw that grin enough times seeing through walls and gathering ears around every corner, you learn quickly that it wasn't just luck. He noticed the skirt, and knew the spot. That luck of his informed him, and he came to lean on the neighboring locker in front of the opened locker. Hands were in his pockets, elegantly draping that uniform jacket upon his abdomen. He too wore a tie. And his was properly tightened and pressed. He was in perfect appearance.

Klara shifted the books in the fancy locker, her fingers curling around the next two she would need. Thick volumes, one of medieval history and one of calculus were shifted into a slender arm and balanced in its crook before she reached up her free hand to shut the wooden front, hearing the click of the flimsy lock sliding back into place. Blue eyes rose to regard the male leaning languidly next to her locker. Her eyebrows rose momentarily before her pale gaze rose skyward and she turned, heading back down the hallway. They never ceased to amaze her; the prep-school educated millionaire male classmates of hers; always arrogant. No doubt this one wanted to know who the new girl in school was. Didn't they always"

"Klara Kingston, age sweet 16. Beloved daughter of the hotel big kahuna Kristofer Kingston. CEO and Founder of Kingston Towers. I stayed in a penthouse of your dad's once. It was pretty good. Except for the second rate remote menu. Our cabins in the Alps even have keyboards so that they can surf the web from their beds, and order room surface online to get instant service, eliminating phone calls to the front desk and being put on hold before check out. Not very high tech." He grinned as his eyes dipped down to the hem of that skirt. It tickled those porcelain thighs nicely. "Your runway struts through 3 other schools make you prone to getting the cover page. I like your spreads. Welcome." He'd done his homework. As the poster child and predicted Valedictorian of his class, he always did.

If it was polite to make a guttural sound, she would've. Instead, her eyes rolled again as her steps slowed and she turned around to face the young man trailing behind her. Was that seriously his best attempt' "You like my spread" That's original." Her shiny lips pursed before she shifted the books in her arms. "Who knew my stalker at Patience would be none other than Nicolas Breckenridge, sole heir to the Breckenridge Ski Resort fortune, your reputation precedes you...and apparently it's dead on." Klara's eyes stared at him for a moment before a slender hip slid out to be met by her free hand. "Something you want?"

"No. Just wanted to see for myself. Where's your homeroom?" He knew what room number it was thanks to the pretty birds at Administration that spread their wings at his coo. "I wonder, do you plan ahead of time to play rich floozies into a scheme greater than yourself" You obviously never had a way with people. Otherwise you could have...worked things out and compromised." Nicolas was a one person Rat Pack. "How long do you plan on staying here?"

"Apparently your informants aren't as good as you think they are, or they would know exactly why a bribe didn't work....because the Dean's daughter was caught with her English teacher. Money only gets you so far." Klara tapped her manicured fingers against her hip. "Something I've heard you have yet to learn. And my plans are of no consequence to your grand scheme of things."

"You're going the wrong way." And at that, he was the one that turned away from her. He began heading for his homeroom. Which was conveniently the same room as hers was. That broad boyish grin was on his face. Wingtipped Italian leather shoes took him down the hall, blues looking ahead, nodding toward any trio or clique of girls he passed.

"I was planning on going the long way to avoid you." She retorted, resigned to turning around and heading toward the homeroom. Someone must really hate her to stick her in the same room as Nicolas Breckenridge. Klara smirked, thinking of it as her penance as she slipped into the room behind him, heading for a desk near the windows.

Their fates had been intertwined. Shawna hadn't realized it until that night in the dive bar as she watched from the corner booth, easily cloaked in shadows as she watched Nicholas and Klara and their friends socialize and drink and then of all things....sing karaoke. It was strange and funny to believe that the bright eyed, mischievious twelve year old she had met in Charleston had grown up to become the girl....well woman on the stage now. The black velvet of her eyes blinked in languid contemplation as she leaned back in the booth to allow the shadows of the booth to conceal her as she watched quietly with a faint smile as her fingers twisted and played upon that beaten up talisman she wore and would always wear. Her grandmother had said once that it would ward and protect her from evil spirits....would even keep the Shadow Man at bay. Oh it kept the Shadow Man at bay in the most case, but not his voice. Shawna still heard that whispering, soothing whisper born on the dark wings of corruption every single night. She tried to keep her ill will and equally wicked thoughts smothered and locked down tightly as it was only food for the Shadow Man....fuel to the fire that would give nothing more then full access of the Shadow Man to take the reins so to speak and claim her spirit. Body thieves and possession, soul sharing and gris gris charms. All of it was real. The black velvet of her eyes swallowed and embraced the sight of lil Klara Kingston all grown up....and with her in the painted splash of animosity and bitter attraction tainting their auras stood Nicholas. The Shadow Man was as equally perplexed and intrigued by Nicholas as Shawna was, even though she never understood the reasonings why. Perhaps it came down to the nature of a beast, pure physical attraction....or maybe it was because even then she saw through his facade to realize the lost boy that had become a man. A man that wore his wealth and pedigree as a shield and his words as a weapon. Shawna had thought that her grandmother's decision to transfer her on a scholarship to the Academy had been for the notion of expanding the horizons of her education. Shawna after all had always been a swift learner and a skilled writer, but now watching the pair on the stage she couldn't help but suspect her grandmother had other reasons for the transfer out of state and out of her own school. The pad of her thumb rubbed an uncertain smudge across her lower lip, leaving the cherry flavored scent of her gloss on her thumb as she watched Nicholas and then Klara head out for the evening. While their night seemed to just have ended, Shawna's had only begun. A rueful grin peeked at the corners of her lips as she eased out of the booth and abruptly ran into a snobbish bit of a redhead that glowered at her like she was a peon beneath the rule of a queen. "Oh goodness ah'm sae sorry darlin'. Are you alright?" As dark and velvety and rich as wine was Shawna's voice in that thick syrupy drawl as she smiled in apologetic suprise at running into the redhead. The redhead just scoffed with a toss of hair over her shoulder and headed out with a look over Shawna before joining her friends. She heard the mumbles well of 'new girl' and 'freak' whispered towards her back as she headed for the door that led to the alley. Thick lashes dropped down to guard the wicked intensity of a sudden crimson starburst within her eyes as the Shadow Man easily took a grateful nibble on the thoughts stretching like hungry alley cats in her mind. You should teach them a lesson, Shawna. Make them sorry... It was half past midnight and far too late for Shawna to resist or ignore that dark whisper in her mind. She smiled down thinly at a handful of long red hairs in her palm. "Perhaps I will..." It was only a beginning....and school was just about to go back into session....come tomorrow they'd regret some of the decisions made. People were never supposed to tempt Fate, or challenge Death....and they were never, ever, ever supposed to piss off a woman with the Shadow Man whispering in her ear.