by Theresa Kay
“Thanks,” I say. “I needed to hear that.”
“Anytime.” She grins. “Now, I need to try to get a little more work done tonight so I’m available to help you with your academic issues later.” She stands, winces, and then sways a little in place while rubbing at her temples.
I hop to my feet, moving to stand behind her and placing a hand on her lower back. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” she says. “I’ve been getting these headaches on and off since yesterday. Sleep would probably help.” She casts a glance at her desk. “But I have a lot of work to catch up on. Well, not catch up on exactly since I already turned in the actual assignments even if I don’t remember them, more like I need to give myself a crash course in all the material covered in my classes from the past two weeks.”
“You don’t have to do it all tonight though. It’s only the first week of the new quarter. Surely—”
“I don’t have time to fall behind,” she snaps. A second later, she rubs at her temples again. “Sorry. I’m just so damn frustrated. Most of my classes have started brand new units. I don’t necessarily need the information from the end of last quarter, but in Advanced Wards and Sigils we’re working on combinations and the practical application of sigils. I don’t remember a single thing about sigils except they’re a pain in the butt and I hate them.”
“Actually, sigils are something I might be able to help you with,” I say.
She eyes me skeptically.
“At least with the basics. I think.”
“Not to be rude, because you know I love you and all, but sigils is pretty much the most difficult subject, and you’re . . .”
“Crap at everything else?”
She shrugs. “Yeah, kind of.”
“Well, I’m not crap at sigils. In fact, it turns out I’m actually good at something for once. Even Ms. Anderson was shocked.”
“In that case . . .” She gestures at the books spread out on the desk “I’m happy to get whatever help I can.”
I walk over to her desk, and the two of us go through some of the beginner exercises in her book. The problems are more difficult than simply drawing the sigils as each one has to be drawn with the lines in a certain order and direction, but they still come relatively easy, and as I write out each one, Isobel’s smile grows with wonder.
“I’m impressed. You really are good with sigils,” she says.
I laugh. “Too bad this one skill doesn’t make me any better at, well, everything else.”
I’m not sure how long we spend here, hovering over Isobel’s textbook, but at some point I return to my bed and leave her to work through the rest of the assignment as I shove a pillow over my face and try to get some sleep.
The next thing I know, it’s morning and Isobel’s shaking my shoulder to wake me up so I don’t miss breakfast. She needs to head to the library, so I’m on my own in the dining hall again. That is, until I spot Adrian sitting alone at one of the tables, picking at the tray of food in front of him. He’s pale, and there are dark circles under his eyes, but he’s here. And he’s in one piece.
I shoot him a tentative smile, and a wave of relief washes over me when he returns the expression. I couldn’t live with myself if I’d seriously injured him, and I don’t have enough friends here that I can afford to lose one. Plus, I legitimately like the guy and enjoy his company.
I grab some food and make my way over to sit next to him.
“Come to finish the job?” he asks, the corners of his lips quirking upward.
“Shut up.” I nudge him with my shoulder. Gently. Since he looks like he might tip over. “You are okay though, right?”
“Yeah,” he says in a soft voice. He chuckles. “I suppose I should count myself lucky that I only got a night in the infirmary instead of a binding spell like St. James did.”
“They wouldn’t have done that to you. What happened yesterday was an accident,” I say. “With Tristan . . . it was kind of on purpose.”
“Kind of?”
“Okay, it was completely on purpose, but he deserved it at the time. We both paid our penance for that.” I shove a few bites of French toast in my mouth.
“I take it you two haven’t exactly worked out your issues yet?”
“No.” I sigh, putting down my silverware. “At this point, I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. He’s an ass most of the time, but underneath everything he’s a decent guy, and there was something there between us. And the kiss was . . . wow. But there’s way too much working against us.”
“Wait a second. Kiss?” Adrian leans toward me. “You never said anything about a kiss.”
Now there’s a blazing inferno in my cheeks. I didn’t mention the kiss to Adrian at the time because I had no idea what it meant—hell, I still don’t—and afterward, Tristan pretty much acted like I didn’t exist, so I didn’t think mentioning the kiss was important.
“The night before the fall banquet, he kind of ambushed me and, well, kissed me.”
Adrian raises his brows expectantly, and I hold my hands up.
“That’s all there is to tell.”
“Interesting,” he says. “I realized you two had gotten close, but not that close.”
“Yeah, well, it doesn’t really matter now. Thanks to Penny and all that.”
“Have you tried, you know, talking to him?”
I scowl. “Of course I have, but we always seem to end up arguing.”
“Hopeless.” Adrian lets out an exasperated sigh and then smirks at me. “Now, let’s move on to more pressing subjects. Like PE yesterday. A light spell? Really? Couldn’t you have knocked me out with something a little less embarrassing?”
And just like that, the two of us are back to normal. I fill him in on everything that happened in Burke’s office, and Adrian tells me about spending the night in the infirmary. Then we head off to another day of classes.
The next three days pass, and I fall back into the routine of school, study, homework, and sleep. By Friday, I’ve gotten quite good at staying under the radar and faking an effort in PE. Even though Wright hasn’t returned to PE, I’m not interested in doing anything that might draw attention. Or blow someone else up. We’re back to working with energy balls, so it hasn’t been too difficult, but I’m still left buzzing with too much magic when the class is over, and I’ve taken to making a slight detour into the woods afterward to get rid of some of the excess.
I’m doing surprisingly well in my other subjects, definitely much better than last quarter, and the effect of having at least a little competence is amazing for my mood. Something seems to have clicked into place, and I’m understanding things more easily, kind of like when Tristan taught me the trick of tracing wards with my magic and Penny taught me a different method of activating potions but . . . more. I hate to chalk it up to Bernadette, but it seems blasting me with that spell definitely gave my powers an extra oomph somehow.
Basil hasn’t found any new information about the binding spell, or not any he’s deemed important enough to pass on to me. Thankfully, Isobel is doing what I asked and staying out of that whole mess. She’s concentrating on getting caught up in her classes instead of worrying over the lack of answers about my magic.
I haven’t seen much of Tristan, only brief glimpses across the quad and once in the dining hall, but that doesn’t mean what Adrian said about Tristan mooning over me isn’t still on my mind. He’s at least ninety-nine percent asshole, but it’s that single extra percentage point, the one that kissed me, the one that apologized, the one that was my friend, that won’t let me get him out of my head.
But my love life, or lack thereof, isn’t something I have time to worry about right now. I need to focus on my classes as much as possible.
The entry test is only three weeks away, and I’ve yet to get a recommendation from Ms. Anderson. Which is why I find myself outside her office on Friday evening after dinner. I pace outside the door for a few seconds before working up the nerve to knock.
> “Come in,” she calls from inside.
I blow out a breath and open the door, my lips forced into a smile.
Ms. Anderson sits behind a narrow desk with a small stack of papers resting in front of her. Her short, dark hair is arranged in chunky twists, and as she glances up to see who’s come in, she brushes one of them away from her face. Shock flashes across her features, but she schools the expression into something more like happily surprised.
I expected to walk in here and be faced with her regular attitude toward me, the one she displays in class, but this silent expectation without even a ‘why the hell are you here outside my office hours’ is slightly unnerving. My smile falters, and I blink at her.
“Selene, please have a seat,” she says, gesturing toward the chair across from her.
I sit, my hands twisting together in my lap as I struggle to figure out what to say.
“I’m surprised it’s taken you this long to come and see me,” she says after my silence has lasted more than a few seconds. She pushes a stack of papers to the side and focuses her full attention on me.
“I wasn’t so sure you’d want to see me,” I say.
“Is that so?” She cocks her head to the side then pushes away from her desk and grabs a folder sitting on a table off to the side. Quickly, she flips through the papers in the folder, pulls one out, and hands it to me.
A quick glance confirms I’m holding one of my earliest assignments, a large ‘F’ written in red in the top corner.
“I’m trying. I really am. And I need your recommendation to take the entry test,” I blurt out.
“I know you’re trying,” she says as she flips through the contents of the folder again. She hands me another sheet of paper.
Another assignment, this one marked with a ‘C’.
“The reason I’m surprised it’s taken you so long to come and see me about your entry test approval is because of this.” She removes another paper from the folder.
This one is yesterday’s quiz. On sigils. Marked at the top is an ‘A’ followed by the number one hundred.
“A perfect score?” How the hell did I manage that?
Ms. Anderson leans her elbows on the desk. “The next highest grade on that quiz was a seventy-one, and that was from one of the best students in the class, who is no slouch even though they’re in a basic level class.”
Still not sure where this is going, the words that find their way out of my mouth are, “I didn’t cheat.”
She rolls her eyes. “I know that. I’m not accusing you of anything other than being good at something.” She points at the paper in my hand. “This quiz is one I normally give to my second-year students. You’re a natural with sigils. The first one I’ve seen in almost my entire career.”
“Thanks?”
She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath before opening them again. “I may be strict, but I recognize effort when I see it. And potential. You have both. I know we got off on the wrong foot and I haven’t been the most encouraging instructor, but that’s because I can’t afford to coddle anyone. Not even a student who starts my class completely new to magic and the witch world.” She sighs. “It was a mistake not to encourage you more, and I apologize. There’s more to you than it appears, and your skill with sigils is something that needs to be nurtured.”
“Thanks?” I say again.
Another sigh. “To tell you the truth, I don’t want you in that tournament. I don’t want any of my students in it. The thing is dangerous and completely unnecessary.”
“What do you mean by dangerous? Shouldn’t an event put together by the school be, you know, safe?”
“Ravencrest doesn’t put it together. OSA does. They use the information gathered from observing the tournament to determine a student’s practical skill level. For most students, the tournament is the first time they’ll be using magic in an environment outside the classroom, which can make for some dicey situations without teachers there to intervene. Adding a bunch of first-year students into the mix makes things even worse.” She blows out a breath. “I heard what happened with Adrian Dumont. Things like that prove first-year students, for the most part, shouldn’t be messing around with spells of that caliber. They simply haven’t had enough time to develop adequate control of their magic. The same thing goes for many second-year students as well, which is why the tournament isn’t meant to be mandatory.” Her expression goes hard. “But with that damnable new policy from OSA, to not participate is to set yourself up for dismissal, no matter how hard you may work otherwise. I hate that OSA made the stupid competition for rank even more cutthroat.”
“Me too.”
She gives me a small, sympathetic smile. “I heard what happened to your roommate. The idea that such an intelligent and promising student could be dismissed is ridiculous, especially considering the fact that if her family was well off, there’s no possible way the school would let her go. Power is important, but so, unfortunately, is status. If OSA has a choice between a mediocre witch from a monied family and a superb witch with an unknown name, they’ll take the mediocre one. That is, unless the superb one sets themselves well apart from the competition. Even the witch world runs on money, and it takes lots and lots of it to keep OSA running. Government and corruption go almost hand in hand, and OSA is no better than any other governmental-type agency in that regards.” She pauses, simply staring at me with raised eyebrows, before pushing the stack of papers to the corner of her desk and leaning back in her chair. “I’ll see you in class on Monday?”
“Yes,” I reply, my mind still reeling a bit from all of this. I stand. “Thanks again. For signing off on me taking the test. I really appreciate it.”
“You’re very welcome, Selene.” She smiles again. “Have a good weekend.”
I leave her office a little stunned, but also thrilled. I have all the recommendations I need. That means I’m one step closer to the tournament and keeping my spot here. Not that I’m exactly looking forward to the tournament itself, not after everything I’ve heard about it, and especially not after what Ms. Anderson just said. Even whatever boost I’ve gained by getting blasted with Bernadette’s spell might not be enough. More powerful or not, I still can’t control my magic very well, and keeping under the radar of OSA means I can’t practice working with my added strength in class.
And the other stuff Ms. Anderson said? Who knew she was so anti-OSA? Hell, who knew Burke was? Every time I think I have things at Ravencrest figured out, something changes to throw me off again.
Saturday morning is a bit dreary with cloudy skies and a light drizzle. The weather doesn’t make for great running, and it’s too damn early, but the magic buzzing in my veins from holding back all week in class barely let me sleep last night. So, I suppose it’s time to take Burke’s advice and add some physical activity into my routine.
I bundle into some warm athletic gear and lace up my running shoes before heading out to the lake trail. Since arriving at Ravencrest, I’ve learned there’s a whole network of trails through the woods, but I’m most familiar with this one, and I’m not keen on the idea of running into the unknown when it’s still pitch black out.
I eyeball the trail snaking into the dark woods and then glance at the lighted quad. I don’t exactly have a headlamp, so I’ll need to light my way with a spell. There’s plenty of magic buzzing around in my chest. I just hope I don’t turn an attempt at a light spell into something more like an explosion. I’ve been doing okay with the teeny tiny spells Basil has helped me cast during my tutoring sessions, but I haven’t tried anything larger since the day I blasted Adrian.
I close my eyes and take a deep breath. I can do this. Ever so carefully, I gather enough magic for the spell and then cast it with a whisper of words. I wait a beat and, when nothing blows up or anything else completely unexpected happens, I slowly open my eyes to a small ball of light sitting in my palm. The light is a little uneven and keeps flickering, but it’ll do.
Starting off in a
slow jog, I let the light bob out in front of me to illuminate the ground as my body quickly falls into a familiar rhythm. By the time I’m halfway around the trail, the horizon is tinted red with the coming sunrise, so I dispel the light and focus on my breath fogging the air in front of me. I’m almost two thirds of the way around the lake when I catch sight of someone running ahead of me. The sun coming up over the mountains has enhanced the streaks of gold in his dirty-blond hair, and he has major ‘keep away’ vibes emanating from him.
Tristan.
I knew before I left my dorm that I might run into him out here and, now that it’s happened, I can’t decide whether this is a good thing or a bad thing. Either way, the two of us need to talk.
I add an extra burst of speed to my pace to close the distance between us. He appears to be lost to the pounding of his feet against the dirt and doesn’t seem to notice me until I come up beside him. He startles and stumbles a couple steps before falling back into stride. The look he slides to me from the corner of his eye is not friendly.
“I don’t want to talk to you,” he says as he increases his speed and pulls away from me.
I match my pace to his. “Is there going to be a time when you will want to talk to me? You can’t avoid me forever. I know you’re angry about the whole Penny thing and—”
He stops in his tracks, and I almost run into him. “Angry? You think I’m merely angry?” His hands curl into fists at his sides. “You knew what she was, and you didn’t warn me.”
“Penny was my friend. She’d never given me any reason—”
“Are you really that stupid?” he asks, the question cutting through me like a knife. “She was never your friend. She used you to get to me when I was vulnerable, to get to my family, and she bit my father.”
