Darla might be gorgeous, apparently great at whatever the hell she taught, and promised to the man of my dreams, but she would not get me down. About eight people sat in chairs around the medium sized room. Darkness loomed outside, sucking the candlelight out of the space. Darla stood in the middle of the room wearing a chic red dress that hugged every perfect curve. “Oh goodie,” Darla drawled, “the Boss’s pet has graced us with her presence instead of throwing a tantrum and running into the woods. Aren’t we so blessedly privileged?” “Yikes, not pulling any punches, huh?” Charles muttered as he shuffled in beside me. I took a seat next to a sneering guy a few years older than me. In fact, I appeared to be the youngest in the class. Which meant they were super old. “Great, let’s start where we left off last time, shall we?” Darla turned toward a chair, waved her arms around, and started chanting in a completely foreign language. And not foreign like French, Spanish, or even Latin.
