After nearly an hour of trying on dresses and listening to the three girls talk, Morrigan settles on one that is apparently perfect for the night. It was the first dress, the one with the lightning bolts. I tried to vote in favor of a velvet suit, but Morrigan said it wasn't up to me. I tried to argue, to tell her that it was my body, but I’ve never been good at talking fast in English, and Morrigan simply ignored me and moved on. Erika noticed and came up to ask if I wanted her to talk to Morrigan about it, but I decided that I didn't care that much about clothes anyways.

    Erika was tired after the long mission, and Morrigan was already fed up after three minutes of knowing me, so it ended up being Shira who gave me the tour of the pyramid. I was in a simple t-shirt and jeans, seeing as Morrigan didn't want me to be seen in the dress before the big dinner. I was thankful for that, I think I would have started tearing the dress to pieces if I had to walk in it for more than ten minutes.

    “All the floors are connected by an elevator in the middle of the building,” Shira tells me as we step into said elevator, the same we used to get down to the floor with my room on it, “There are 15 floors in total, all of them serving a specific purpose. Most of the rooms are on floor five. The only people who live elsewhere are Morrigan and Adi, who live on floor seven.”

    “Why is that?” I ask her as the elevator doors close and we start going up.

    “Elder privileges. They share an entire floor, split in the middle. It’s basically just an apartment. I am pretty sure Morrigan even has two bedrooms, one for herself and one for when she brings over boys.”

    “How does that work?” I ask. I didn't think they would bring outsiders inside.

    “Morrigan has this thing she does,” Shira explains, twirling her hand in the air, “She has some kind of hard-on for mirrors, magically speaking. She has a bunch of them in her room, and like Alice in Wonderland, you can walk through some of them. I think she has one that goes to nearly every continent, it's just that she is the only one who knows which mirror leads where.”

    “So what?” I ask, “She goes clubbing, finds a man, leads him to a mirror? Won't that wake suspicion.”

    “Illusions work best with a few drinks in the blood,” Shira laughs, “I only drink on special occasions, like tonight, but I know some of the others drink regularly. Besides, Morrigan also dated some of the other Tethered.”

    “What does that word mean?” I ask her. I’ve been curious about it for a while. I figured it was a word used to describe this sort of magic user that we are, but I couldn't figure out the specifics.”

    “It’s complicated,” Shira starts as the elevator doors open, “Erika explained it best, she always does. It’s like there’s this invisible energy core in the universe, and that each soul is sort of drifting around it, not able to touch the energy. But some people are born with a tether, tying them to the power. A lifeline or umbilical cord. There’s a lot of theory you’ll be learning while you are here, and I am sure Adi is making be Erika in charge of that.”

    “Because Erika is good at explaining,” I reiterate as we walk onto a new floor.

    “No, because he likes her,” Shira clarifies “You have so much gossip to catch up on. Morrigan and I are going to have a blast keeping you up with the latest.”

    “Have you heard that Lynn tried to implement a vegan day, but Adi turned it down?” Zeph chimes in, folding up a paper he had been reading, his legs casually thrown onto the table as he slumps into an expensive-looking couch. I look around and see that the floor we are on now looks like the front hall of a fancy hotel. Velvet and silk pillows decorate the odd set of couches and loveseats. A crystal, diamond chandelier is hanging from the roof, and the class walls are decorated with paints, some old and some new.

    “No I haven't heard,” Shira gapes, “Shut up, when?”

    “A week ago,” Zeph grins, “After I made dinner.”

    “I don't get why he hates chicken,” Shira comments, crossing her arms, “It’s the only universal meet. If I have to listen to Adi or Morrigan complain about not being able to serve their traditional food here because it is based on pork, then I might start turning people into gold statues.”

    “Europeans,” Zeph rolls his eyes.

    “Where are you from?” I ask him. Looking at him, I wouldn't be able to place him. I know he isn't purely black or purely white, his skin tone is in the middle ground. I remember when I was a kid and the other kids would ask if I went to a tanner each summer, because my skin would always change rapidly from pale pastry to coffee in the sun. It’s my mother’s genes. She came from the south of Italy. Denmark is not the most diverse place. You are either white, middle eastern, or other. So I guess that means I’ve always been other, in every sense of the word.

    “Well, I’m not quite sure,” Zeph admits and I suddenly feel embarrassed for forgetting about his amnesia, “But my first memory is from Croatia, and my DNA test proves that I am definitely from southeast Europe, although it is a lot more mixed than just a single country. I guess my ancestors were travelers or something. I even have some Scandinavian in me. Ten percent or something. But that’s just one thing the two of us might have in common.”

    At the last part, he smiles and stuffs his hands into his pockets, somehow looking both like a charming heartthrob and a shy high schooler.

    “I have a tour to finish,” I say, turning to Shira.

    “Of course,” She smiles and winks at me, in clear sight of Zeph who snorts out a single laugh, “This is the lobby, it’s the second floor. The first floor is the smallest we have, and it is where everyone comes in or out. The first floor is the only floor that the elevator can't reach, so the lobby is usually where we meet before going on a mission. The lobby is not really in use for anything else, but it’s got the best view and it’s usually quiet. A good place to read or in some cases sit and wait for a chance to snoop on the new girl.”

    “Like you said,” Zeph smirks, sitting down on the couch with his paper again, “It’s a good place to read.”

    “I am sure it is,” Shira emphasise, “Let's get to the next floor, Milla.”

    “Don't call me that,” I tell her as I step into the elevator.

    “Sorry, Camilla,” Shira restates, pushing the button to the third floor.

    “Why is the first floor on the top?” I ask her as the elevator starts going down.

    “Because our entrance is on the top,” Shira tells me, “It’s reversed. It was also made long, long ago. I don't know if the people who made it were familiar with multiple story buildings.”

    “You mean this was made before the pyramids?” I note, impressed.

    “We’ve always been around,” Shira nods, looking at me. Her black hair is layered, like a mullet but not quite. Everything about her look is bold but casual. I feel like I’ve seen her on the cover of every fashion magazine that I’ve ever looked at while stalling in shops. I know I haven't, I know I’ve never actually seen this face before. But there is still something so hauntingly familiar and human about her. If I ever sent a capsule to space and had to fold all of earth into a few pictures, I would make sure she was in there somewhere.

     “The third floor is our dining floor,” Shira tells me as the door opens, “Or our Formal Dining, rather. It’s where we’ll be holding the dinner tonight. Don't expect there to be too many dinners in here. We only eat here on holidays, birthdays, or other special occasions. Like someone joining or leaving us.”

    “Why would you celebrate someone leaving?” I ask.

    “Do you think funerals are celebrations?” She asks me as she closes the elevator door and presses the fourth button.

    “Depends on who you bury,” I admit, cathing myself in being too dark. I have been told by a lot of people that I say things casually that are not meant to be casual.

     “Touché,” Shira simply laughs, and my shoulders relax immediately, “The next floor is the Kitchen and Common Room. You’ll be spending a lot of time here.”

    The doors open and I step into the room. There’s a kitchen to the right and a normal living room with a tv and couches on the left. Morrigan and the boy with shoulder-length black hair, Lynn I think, are standing in the kitchen and preparing something. It smells delicious.

    “Oh, she’s here,” Morrigan comments as she sees me, “Be quick with her, Shira, I need to do her makeup and hair too. Lowel, pass me the basil.”

    “Sure,” Lynn, or Lowel, says.

    “I thought his name was Lynn,” I comment, turning to look at Shira.

    “Lowel Lynn,” The boy says, turning to face me. He has a sour expression and freckles like a hail storm. There is a visible red birthmark on his neck, shaped like a heart that has been pulled and stretched for too long, “Only Morrigan is allowed to call me by my first name though.”

    “I like Lynn,” I say, “It’s easier to pronounce.”

     “Hmm,” He simply grunts and turns away from me.

     He says something in what I assume must be Swedish to Morrigan. It is similar to Danish, and although I don't understand it all, I get the gist of it.

    “I am not here to be likable,” I tell them, “And I got that.”

    “You are Swedish?” He asks, surprised. 

    “I am Danish,” I tell him.

    “Your crown princess is Australian,” He comments, “I grew up not long from where she grew up.”

    “You’re Australian and you know Swedish?” I ask, then think for myself, “Magic? Like Erika.”

    “You are all the same,” Lynn sighs, “Obsessed with magic abilities and turning everything fantastical. No, Morrigan has been teaching me since I was seven. I arrived here when I was six.”

     “That’s early,” I comment.

     “We should get on with the tour,” Shira says nervously, dragging me towards the elevator.

     “She’s annoying,” Lynn says to Morrigan, this time in English.