by Theresa Kay
Wright nods absentmindedly. “Very well then. You three are free to go.”
That was a little too easy. What’s going on here? Is Wright going to let us go and then turn around and accuse us of running off? I open my mouth, but Nikiforov sends a hard look in my direction, the words ‘shut up you bozo’ all but written on his face. I close my mouth.
Once Wright has disappeared, Nikiforov turns to me. “I could not help but overhear part of your conversation. Is it true that OSA has forbidden you from participating in the spells portion of PE class?”
“Yes, I think it’s some kind of punishment for what happened to Adrian when I, um . . .”
“Blasted me across the room with a light spell?” prompts Adrian.
Nikiforov’s eyes widen. “Truly?”
“Something like that,” I say a little hesitantly. The rumor is already all over campus, but admitting it to be true feels strange, especially to someone I’m not entirely sure about. But Burke trusts the potions teacher. Sort of. So, I guess I can too. “My powers are a little out of control, and my spellwork is . . . lacking.”
Nikiforov cocks his head to the side. “I’m surprised spells give you so much trouble, Selene. You do quite well with potions.” He moves his attention to my friends and studies them before turning to me. “I may not be a spells instructor, but I, of course, am more than capable of performing them. I could tutor you if you’d like, and if I’m supervising you, I don’t think OSA can find anything to complain about.”
When I don’t answer right away, Isobel elbows me in the side. “Sure,” I say. “That sounds great.”
Nikiforov smiles. “I will need to change and take a shower, but I could meet you in my office later this afternoon so we could work out a schedule. How about three?”
“Okay.”
“Wonderful. I’ll see you then.” He flashes another smile, this one strangely sharp edged, then walks off toward the quad.
Isobel turns to me with her hands thrown out to the sides. “Dr. Nikiforov may teach Potions, but he has a double concentration in Spells. I’ve read some of his papers, and he’s really good. Maybe not Basil’s level, but still very talented. Why would you even think of turning that offer down?”
“I don’t know,” I reply. And I really don’t. The whole thing feels weird even if I can’t explain why. “Burke told me to stay under the radar, and I’m not sure that letting yet another person in on the weirdness of my powers is doing that.”
“You’ll be fine,” says Adrian. “What’s the worst that could happen?”
I show up at Nikiforov’s office five minutes late, but all he does is smile and gesture for me to enter. The space is larger than Basil’s, or maybe it just looks that way since everything is so perfectly tidy and Basil’s office is a scattered mess. Bookshelves cover three of the walls, the books neatly arranged, not a one out of place, and the fourth wall is taken up by more shelves, these filled with various glass bottles and tiny labeled boxes. Nikiforov’s desk is at the far corner of the room, and the messenger bag from earlier is slung across the back of the chair.
I glance around, biting at my lower lip. I’m still not entirely sure if I should be here. I need the practice—there’s no doubt about that—and OSA can’t possibly complain about a teacher offering to tutor me privately—not that I’m planning on telling them. But no matter what Isobel says or Adrian’s strangely optimistic attitude, this feels too much like letting someone in on all my secrets.
Nikiforov walks to the desk, but instead of sitting down, he leans against the top and crosses his ankles. His expression is open and inquisitive, and the similarity of his actions to how he is in class relaxes me enough to finally return his smile.
“Tell me about your magic,” he says, staring at me intently. “And the problems you’re having.”
Everything comes pouring out. I tell him about my problems with spells and give him an overview of my other struggles: my lack of control, my inability to grasp wards, and even some of my early issues with potions.
He cocks his head to the side. “You had problems in my class? I was not aware of this.”
“Penny helped me before it got too bad,” I say after a pause.
“Such a shame. Penny, I mean. She was a good student, a great TA. If she had only trusted me, I might have been able to help her.” He sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose, then glances at me, his gray eyes flashing. “And you? Would you have helped her?”
“I did help her.” The words are out of my mouth before I even have a chance to think about what to say. Thankfully, my statement is general enough that it doesn’t give away exactly how much I helped Penny by not reporting her at the beginning of last quarter.
Nikiforov nods. “Good, good. I am happy to hear that.”
“She was my friend,” I say. “At least I thought so.”
I bite my lip. Burke knew Penny as a student, but all he seems to hold toward her is anger. Isobel and Adrian only knew Penny in passing. And Tristan . . . hates her with good reason. Nikiforov might be the only person here who knew Penny well and the only person I can ask about my fears without my questions feeling like some sort of betrayal.
“Do you know what’s going to happen to her?” I ask quietly.
“Most likely? She will be executed,” he responds.
And there it is, the thing I hadn’t wanted to think about. Penny may—or may not—have used me, but she doesn’t deserve to die, especially considering Allister isn’t dead and I’m at least ninety-nine percent certain she didn’t kill anyone. The little information she revealed about her family and her upbringing make me think she had her reasons for doing what she did, even if they’re a mystery to me. But there’s nothing at all that makes me think she’s a murderer.
For that matter, I find it hard to believe that the rogue shifter group suddenly decided murder was a good idea.
“Is there any way we can help her? Testify on her behalf or something?” I ask.
Nikiforov raises a brow and studies me closely. “And if there was? I was under the impression you were involved with Tristan St. James. Would that not have a negative effect on your relationship with him?”
“Tristan and I aren’t . . .” I let my words trail off and then shrug. “We aren’t together. Just kind of friends.”
“I see.” He rubs his chin. “Unfortunately, I am fairly certain there will not be a trial as she already confessed.”
“Oh.” I stare down at the floor and huff out a breath.
He pushes off the desk and walks to me, placing a hand on my arm to get my attention. “But let us not dwell on unpleasant things. We are here to work on your spellcasting, and to start with, I would like you to attempt a casting so I can observe some of the issues you are having.”
I glance around the office, my gaze landing on the shelf filled with bottles and boxes. “Something small I hope.”
His brow furrows. “Has Mr. Kostis not had you working with any sort of containment?”
I shake my head. “Not unless you count the walls of his office. There was a talisman I had that my birth mother left with me when she gave me to my parents that Basil said could dampen my powers, but he stored it away, and I haven’t seen it since I arrived here.”
“Your birth mother?” he asks.
“Yeah. I’m adopted.”
His eyes narrow in a pensive expression, and he cocks his head to the side as he studies my face again. This goes on for a second or two before he briskly shakes his head and then starts talking. “Ah well, the method I use will prevent any damage to your surroundings should the magic get out of control.” He paces to the bookshelf and presses his hand against the edge of the wooden paneling. A narrow and previously undetectable drawer pops out from the shelving.
Interesting. I wonder how many little hidey holes he has around here.
Nikiforov removes a box from inside before returning to me and presenting me with the box. I open the lid to find a simple braided silver chain. The
necklace is so thin it looks as if it would break under the slightest pressure.
“A talisman? It looks too puny to have much power. Are you sure it’s strong enough?”
He smiles. “The object is more powerful than it appears.” He lifts the talisman from the box. “May I?”
I nod and turn around so he can fasten the chain around my neck. His fingers brush over my skin as he pulls away, and static pops between us. Other than that, I feel no different. I shoot him a skeptical look. “Are you sure this will work? I don’t want to destroy your office.”
“Positive,” he replies. “Now, please perform a spell. A light spell will do.”
I shrug. If he wants to risk his stuff based on only this necklace, then that’s his business. Like the other morning, I call up the tiniest bit of magic I can and allow it to form a small glowing ball in the palm of my hand.
“Now make it bigger,” says Nikiforov.
I eyeball him. “Are you absolutely sure that—”
“Just follow the instruction,” he snaps. A beat later, he winces. “I apologize. Please, continue.”
Okay then . . . I pull more magic and push it into the spell until the ball of light is nearly as big as my head, making this the biggest light spell I’ve ever attempted. But unlike other times when I’ve cast spells, that overwhelming feeling of ‘too much’ is missing, and the difference is reflected in my casting.
Nikiforov walks around me, observing the spell from all angles. “Now release it.”
And there’s the issue. I stare at the huge ball of light as I try to recall Isobel’s instructions from earlier.
Okay.
Close my hand.
Turn.
And let go.
The ball of light ricochets off the floor and zooms up toward the ceiling. Before the spell gets there, Nikiforov makes a sweeping motion with his hand and disperses the energy of the spell.
He looks at me, the hint of a smile on his lips. “You need to cut off the flow of magic into the spell before you release it.”
“Oh.” That sounds simple enough, stupidly so. Which is probably why no one has thought to tell me that before because it’s meant to be common sense.
I try again, this time cutting off the magic before attempting to release the spell. To my delight—and utter surprise—it works.
“Wonderful.” Nikiforov grins. “Now that I know what I’m working with, I will be better able to tailor my instruction to what you need.” He glances at the ceiling. “And what type of containment you need.”
“So, do I have to wear this necklace all the time now?”
“No,” he says, giving a sharp shake of his head. “You will wear that item during our spellcasting sessions. The existence of that particular piece must remain between you and me. It is not an item I am meant to have. But I have the makings of a potion that may help you when you and I are not working together.”
As long as something helps. I reach up to undo the clasp, but the thing is stuck fast. “Can you help me with this? The clasp is stuck.”
“Of course.” Nikiforov deftly removes the chain and gently places it in the box before returning it to the hidden drawer. He moves to one of the other shelves and sorts through the contents. “Ah, here we are.” He pulls a few ingredients down and combines them in an empty bottle then walks to his desk and sets the newly mixed potion down. “I need one more thing.”
He uses a small key he’s wearing around his neck to unlock one of the desk drawers and then pulls out a small, translucent packet filled with bright-purple powder. When he turns to find me watching, he says, “Like the chain, some of my ingredients are things I must keep hidden and secure lest they fall into the wrong hands.”
The wrong hands? Whose hands would those be?
He places the bag of powder on his desk, opens the potion bottle he retrieved before, then sprinkles a dash of the purple powder into the potion. After shaking it thoroughly and holding it up to the light, he tosses the bottle to me. “This should allow me to help with your control issue.”
I stare down at the small stoppered vial filled with silvery liquid, almost like mercury but thicker. The sludgy fluid sticks to the sides of the bottle as I spin it around. Any sign of the purple powder has disappeared. “What is it?”
“A potion for circumstances like yours.” He walks to me and takes the bottle from my hand, holding the glass up to the light again before handing the potion back to me. “Some of the ingredients can cause a bad reaction, nothing I’m too worried about, but you must avoid taking any other potions while the effects of this one are still active.” My face must have a hell of a skeptical expression on it because he chuckles and shakes his head. “Come now, Selene, do you honestly think I would give you something that would harm you?”
He’s a teacher for goodness sake, and he’s trying to help. “No, not really.”
“Bottoms up, then.”
I remove the stopper and tilt the bottle to my lips. The potion has a metallic taste and leaves a tingling sensation on my tongue that’s uncomfortable enough to be on the verge of painful. It takes me three tries to swallow all of the nasty liquid and, even afterward, I can feel it coating the back of my throat and lingering in my sinuses.
“Blech,” I say, sticking out my tongue. “That was decidedly gross.”
Nikiforov studies my face, his gaze intense. “But you are well?”
“Well enough, I guess.”
“Perfect.” He leans closer to look directly into my eyes for a second. Then he pulls away and walks to his desk, resuming his leaning pose from earlier. He’s paler now, and there’s an edge of worry to his expression, but he tries to hide it with a small smile. “I think this arrangement will work out well. Are Saturday afternoons convenient for you? That is when I tend to have free time. Does 3:00 p.m. work for you?”
“Sounds good to me.”
“Perfect.” He walks toward me and then gently squeezes my shoulder. “I will see you in class on Monday.”
“Yeah. Monday. See you then.” Along with the awful taste in my mouth, the potion seems to have left my mind a little foggy.
As I walk out the door, he calls after me, “And, Selene, be careful involving your friends in things you don’t understand. Someone could have gotten hurt today.”
The words hurt even though they’re said without any tone of censure, and it’s not as if I hadn’t had the exact same thought earlier. If nothing else comes of today, I’ve learned I shouldn’t risk my friends just so I can practice. I’ll stick to working with Basil and Nikiforov. That would be safest for everyone.
The next two weeks leading up to the entry test fly by as the tension among the first-year students rises. Wards continue to be a struggle, but the Saturday sessions with Nikiforov are paying off. I’ve made a lot of progress with spells. Even outside of his office, my spellwork is better and seems to be mostly under control thanks, I assume, to the potion he gave me. Sometimes a sort of phantom of that metallic taste will pop up, and I’ll be a little foggy and tired, but I haven’t had any more outbursts of uncontrollable magic, and using my powers seems to be somewhat easier.
Confidence is an amazing motivator, and I’m almost excited about showing off what I can do during the entry test.
Testing Friday arrives cloudy, rainy, and cold, which hopefully isn’t some sort of bad omen. There are no classes today, and my testing appointment isn’t until 1:00, so I spend the morning sleeping in before going to the library for a few hours and then heading to the gym where the test is being held.
There is a set of tables right at the entrance, and the rest of the space is divided into six narrow aisles that span the length of the gym with four testing stations in each section, most of which currently have students in them. Only five people are ahead of me in the registration line—all but one of them fidgeting with their fingers and shuffling their feet—so it doesn’t take long before I reach the front.
“Name,” a male OSA agent says as I step up to t
he check-in table.
“Selene Andras.”
His gaze darts up from the tablet before him, and he compares my face to the picture I’m assuming is somewhere on there. He checks something off then hands me a slim metal band. “This talisman serves as your identification and will also track your progress through the tests. You are required to wear it at all times while you are in the testing area.”
“Okay.” I slide my hand through and adjust the band to sit loosely on my wrist.
“The talisman will turn red if you fail any portion or if it senses you are cheating in any way. You are not permitted any outside help. No wards, sigils, potions, or spells except for those you are being tested on and only during each particular part of the test.”
I nod, but I’m eyeing the bracelet with apprehension. What if the bracelet registers Nikiforov’s potion? Would that be an automatic failure? And what is the policy on using non-standard methods like the one Penny taught me. “What—”
“Next,” says the man as he waves me away impatiently.
I guess that’s all the instruction I get. My stomach twists with nervousness. Here goes nothing.
I walk to the first testing station in my assigned section. The woman sitting there checks my wrist band, taps on the screen of the tablet in front of her, then pulls out a small basket filled with various substances. Potions is first then?
“Fertilizer potion,” is all she says before pushing the basket across the table to me.
“What—”
“No questions,” the woman says as she stares at me intently, waiting.
Okay then . . .
I glance around. No beakers. No centrifuge. No lab supplies at all. Am I supposed to identify the fertilizer potion and then activate it? I don’t see what else I could possibly do. If I remember correctly, the fertilizer potion we made in class had to sit for a while before we activated it.
I start taking the little bottles out one by one, looking for the greenish-brown of an inactive fertilizer potion. There are three potential candidates, and I wrack my brain trying to choose between them.
