by Theresa Kay
What is this? I stare at Callahan in confusion.
“I assume you’re wondering what I’m doing here,” says Callahan, leaning forward over the desk. “Desmond Burke tendered his resignation this morning and is no longer the director of this school. He admitted to knowing about Penelope Martin and not reporting her.”
“I don’t understand,” I say. Why would Burke admit to something that wasn’t true?
“You don’t need to,” he replies. He leans back in Burke’s chair. “Now, tell me about the shifter that attacked Basil Kostis this morning.”
“It wasn’t a shifter,” I blurt out, desperate for them to believe me.
“See, I told you she was a sympathizer,” says Wright. His upper lip curls, and he looks me up and down. “She was probably in on it.”
“That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard,” I say, my lip curling with disgust. “I’d never hurt Basil. You’ve got this all wrong. That thing was definitely not a shifter.”
Callahan stares at me impassively. “And how is it that you are so certain of that fact?”
“I . . . I . . .” Basil’s warning about keeping my secret holds my tongue. No matter how much I want to be sure a shifter doesn’t get blamed for this, I can’t trust OSA. I stare down at my hands. “I don’t know.”
Wright scoffs, but Callahan waves off any further commentary.
“You’re clearly hiding something,” says Callahan, clasping his hands over his stomach. “It seems to me there is one common denominator in everything that’s been happening at Ravencrest this school year. And it’s you, the unknown witch raised by shifters who failed to report a Bitten witch and took that same Bitten witch to the St. James estate. What happened this time? Was Kostis getting too close? I know he’s been looking into you.”
“No, that’s not it at all. He was looking into my magic, trying to figure out why it’d suddenly gone out of control.”
“Out of control?” says Callahan, one eyebrow moving upward. “Except for the incident with the Dumont boy—which I believe was a fit of temper and nothing else—I’ve seen no evidence of your powers being out of control.”
Wonderful. I spent all this time staying under the radar only to have it come back and bite me in the ass. He wasn’t supposed to see any evidence of it. That’s what Burke wanted. That’s what I wanted. Except now . . .
I grit my teeth. “The only people who were aware of it were Director Burke and Basil.”
And Nikiforov, but I don’t think bringing him into this is a good idea.
“How very convenient.” He leans back in the chair.
One of the OSA agents I don’t recognize turns his attention to me. “It is my understanding you were admitted late, correct? And without the proper admissions tests?”
I clear my throat. “Yeah.”
“How did you get Mr. Kostis to override the admissions procedure? Blackmail of some sort?”
“No,” I say, shooting him an incredulous look. “There were special circumstances.”
OSA Guy narrows his eyes, studying my face. “Special circumstances?”
I open my mouth, but I have no idea what to say. Without Burke or Basil here . . . How much am I supposed to tell them? What do I do?
“Go on then, Ms. Andras, explain to me how an untested witch who, by all accounts, struggles to complete the most basic of assignments managed to bypass the very strict admissions process and become a student here,” says Wright.
“My birth mother . . .” I sputter out.
The sound of raised voices comes from outside the door, and a few seconds later Seth pokes his head in. “Mr. Callahan, there’s someone—”
“I told you I was not to be disturbed,” snaps Callahan. “Now go back to—”
The tall figure of Nikolas Andras pushes past Seth.
“You will not be dismissing my granddaughter from this school,” says Nikolas as Thea enters the room behind him, followed closely by Vivian Ramirez.
Thea comes to stand behind my chair then gives me a small smile.
The OSA agent jerks backward. “Your granddaughter?”
Thea tilts her chin up to look down her nose at him. “Yes.” She focuses on Callahan. “Nor will you be interrogating her without legal representation.”
Callahan huffs. “This isn’t an interrogation.”
Nikolas raises an eyebrow. “Then she is free to go?”
Callahan narrows his eyes at Vivian. “You knew. Why was this not reported to me?”
Vivian straightens. “I don’t report to you, Callahan.”
Callahan scowls and moves his gaze to Nikolas. “Are you taking responsibility for her then?”
Nikolas nods. “Of course.”
Callahan’s gaze moves from me to Nikolas. “This matter is still under investigation. We cannot let an attack like this go unpunished, and if she is found to have been involved, not even your influence can protect her. Where will she be if we have further questions on the matter?”
“She will be staying with her grandfather and me during Winter Break,” says Thea.
Callahan looks as if he might protest—hell, I might protest. As much as I had no clue what I was going to do otherwise, I don’t know if I want to spend three weeks with two virtual strangers.
Thea cocks her head to the side, and her brows twitch. “If you have questions for her, you may contact our family attorney, and she will set you up with an appointment.”
Callahan shakes his head before turning to me. “Fine then. You are free to go. But keep in mind, we’re watching you.”
I nod slowly and rise to my feet. Thea grips my arm lightly and leads me from the office. Nikolas stays behind in Burke’s office, but Vivian follows Thea and me out into the hall. I’m not sure how I feel about Vivian finally telling my secret, but I suppose she did it at the perfect time.
Unless . . .
“Did you know?” I ask Thea. “At the party, I mean.”
She smiles softly. “No, but I had my suspicions. Desmond made no secret of your existence as a ‘distant relation,’ but he never explained who you were related to. I knew there must have been a reason for that. Once I saw you, I understood more.” She links her arm with mine. “Come, tell me more about yourself while I wait for your grandfather to be finished.”
She takes me out to the quad and then sits beside me on a bench. We manage to hold a conversation, staying away from any heavy topics, like Helen, which is great because I don’t think I have the brain power to get into it right now. Thea extends a more formal invitation for me to stay with them over the break, and I accept. Not like I have much choice since that’s where OSA expects me to be now.
Nikolas exits the building about thirty minutes later and takes his wife’s hand to help her to her feet. He gives me a stiff nod, much more standoffish than Thea, but I can’t hold that against him. He did kind of save my ass, and I’m pretty much a complete stranger, blood relation or no.
Then, just as quickly as they arrive, Nikolas and Thea are leaving. Nikolas offers only a handshake, but Thea kisses my cheek and tells me she looks forward to spending time with me soon. The whole thing is weird and awkward and strangely anti-climactic, but at least the whole revealing my secret identity thing is out of the way.
The rest of it . . . I’ll deal with later.
It isn’t until I get to my dorm room and reach for my magic to unlock the door that I realize something is very wrong.
My magic, that lively warmth in the center of my chest normally quick to respond is . . . less, part of it muted, like it’s far away and out of reach, and the other part drained and nearly gone. Neither part leaves me the ability to do much. I can’t reach the distant power, and the magic that’s left inside me isn’t enough to harness, isn’t enough to use. I’m damn near powerless.
The taste of my earlier vomit burns in the back of my throat as my stomach twists into a knot.
The tournament is tomorrow. The tournament that’s dangerous to compete in at full
power and the results of which determine my future at Ravencrest.
What the hell am I going to do?
I scrape up enough of a jolt to get the door to my room open then shut it behind me and sink to the floor with my back against the wood.
My mind flashes to that creature in Basil’s office. Were those words a spell? Is that thing what did this to me? I’ve never heard of a spell to drain power like this, but that’s not saying much considering there’s so much I don’t know.
But the questions of what did this and why and how don’t matter nearly as much as figuring out what the hell I’m supposed to do about it.
Both my friends are in class. Basil is unconscious. Burke is who knows where.
Nikiforov. He might be angry at me or whatever, but there’s no one else for me to turn to. He’s the only one who might be able to help me and probably the only other person on campus I halfway trust. Classes are still in session, but it’s nearly lunchtime, so hopefully Nikiforov won’t be busy teaching.
I get to my feet, shed my uniform skirt, and pull on a pair of leggings before dashing over to the main building. But when I get to the door, my steps falter.
How am I going to open it?
Drawing magic from the air has never been my strong point, but without the typical ball of energy in my chest to use, that method is my only option. I pull at the magic around me, trying to coral the energy so I can zap the ward lock with it. But my effort is useless. Every bit of the magic slips through my fingers and drains away.
I curl my hands into fists and try again, this time gritting my teeth and closing my eyes so I can concentrate. The magic around me is slippery and weak, nothing at all like my normal abilities, but I gather enough to form a tiny energy ball and direct it toward the ward, praying that’s enough to trigger the lock.
The door clicks, and I let out a sigh of relief before yanking the door open and rushing to Nikiforov’s office.
But he’s not here.
Shit.
I glance around. Maybe he has his schedule written down somewhere so I can figure out where he is. As I walk toward the desk, I almost trip over a book sitting on the floor. That’s weird. Nikiforov keeps his office almost meticulously neat. I shrug, pick up the book, and set it on the corner of the desk.
There’s no schedule in sight or any handy ‘hey, this is where I am’ note, but my gaze catches on the drawer in his desk where he stores rare and expensive ingredients. The open drawer. I walk around the desk, intending to slide the drawer closed and let him know he forgot to lock it, but the contents come into view as I draw closer. One of those purple flowers. The jar of powder. A strange signet ring. And something that doesn’t belong, not here.
One of Isobel’s notebooks, her name printed in neat letters across the top.
Normally I’d feel guilty about going through someone else’s things, but not with this. Ignoring everything else, I grab the notebook and flip through it. The pages are mostly unused, but there’s a section at the front labeled in Isobel’s careful handwriting with my name. Strange diagrams and spell equations litter the pages, and in the middle of the last page is a sigil. The same one I found in Helen’s desk. Seal.
Beside the sigil, Isobel scribbled three half-formed questions to herself.
Old binding?
Fae magic?
Needs blood?
The next page is blank, but there’s a jagged edge near the spine. Someone removed the later pages. Someone who didn’t want anyone to know what Isobel found. Probably the same someone who erased her memories.
A sound in the doorway brings my gaze up to meet Nikiforov’s. His silver hair is down around his shoulders, highlighting the paleness of his face.
“Selene . . .” His face twists into a pained expression. “This . . . it . . .”
“This isn’t what it looks like?” I ask, a cold anger lacing my words as I hold up Isobel’s notebook.
How did I not see it? A hard to get, difficult to make, illegal potion . . . How did I discount Nikiforov as a suspect so easily? I’m so, so stupid.
“I did not use a potion on your roommate,” he says after a beat. “Please, let me explain.” He gives me an imploring look, a friendly smile, then gestures me forward.
Drawn to listen to him, I almost fall for it, taking a half-involuntarily step toward him before shaking my head and backing away. “No.”
He cocks his head to the side and his nostrils twitch before his eyes widen. “The Hunt . . . What did you do? Did you draw it here?” His gaze darts around the room, and his eyes narrow as anger takes over his features. “I was too lenient with you. I should have bound the magic the second I knew what you really were.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” I take another step backward until I’m pressed against the wall.
“But I can no longer afford to be reckless,” he says, moving farther into the room, his face stormy. “You cannot—”
I dart around him and out the door, Isobel’s notebook clutched to my chest. He calls out after me, but I ignore him, not stopping until I reach my dorm room. I shove through the door, breathing out a sigh of relief when I spot Isobel sitting at her desk. Of all the days she’s skipped lunch in the dining hall, I’m most grateful for this one.
She spins around at the noise of my entry, her expression shifting from startled to worried. “What’s wrong?”
Mutely, I hold the notebook out to her.
Gently taking the notebook from my hold, her face twists with confusion. “Where did you find this?”
“Nikiforov had it,” I say.
Her eyes widen as she flips through the pages. “That’s my handwriting, but I don’t recognize any of this.”
I point out the sigil. “That’s the one I was talking about, the one I found with the spell in Helen’s hidden office.”
“We need to tell Burke about this,” she says, jumping to her feet.
I laugh, not because anything is funny, but because I don’t know what else to do. “He’s gone. He resigned or something this morning.”
“What? Why?”
“I don’t know.” I throw my hands out. “I don’t understand. I thought I could trust him. Why would Nikiforov do something like this? What is he trying to hide?”
Isobel sits down again, shaking her head slowly. “I have no idea.” She goes through the notebook again, skimming over each page. “None of this is particularly groundbreaking. Hell, except for that sigil, there’s not a single piece of information in here that a dedicated person couldn’t find in the library.” Her brow furrows. “And why risk keeping the evidence around?”
Sitting down on my bed, I rub my forehead with one hand. “None of this makes any sense.”
“Does Nikiforov know you have this?” she asks.
“Yes. He walked into his office right after I found it in his desk,” I say.
“What did he say?”
I snort. “That it wasn’t what it looked like.”
Isobel bites at her lower lip. “That’s a pretty weak defense. Are you sure he didn’t find the notebook somewhere? Maybe he wasn’t sure who it belonged to. I’m not in his class, so he wouldn’t recognize my handwriting.”
“But I am in his class, and my name is written in the damn thing. If he wasn’t trying to hide it, he would’ve asked me about it.”
“Are you sure about that?” asks Isobel. “I mean, you don’t know how long he’s had it. Maybe he didn’t have a chance to ask yet?”
“I don’t know . . .” I cover my face with my hands and huff out a breath. “I’m so confused. Everything is all messed up. Burke’s gone for who the hell knows what reason. Basil is hurt, and OSA—”
“Wait. What do you mean Basil’s hurt? What happened?” Her brows pull together, and she leans toward me.
I explain to her about finding Basil injured, the strange creature in his office, meeting with OSA, and my grandparents.
“So Nikolas just walked in, said you were his granddaughter, and
that was the end of it?” she asks.
“Kind of?”
“How do you feel about that?”
“I have no idea.” Sighing, I rest my forehead on my palm. “Everything happened all at once, and I haven’t had time to process any of this crap. I’m not going to either. I’m supposed to spend Winter Break with them, so I imagine I’m going to be whisked off after the tournament is over tomorrow. Now, on top of everything, there’s this.” I fling my hand in the direction of the notebook. “The one adult left at Ravencrest I thought I could trust is, more than likely, the person who stole your memories.”
“I’m not one hundred percent certain Nikiforov did it,” she says hesitantly.
I throw up my hands. “Well, neither am I, but that’s just the kind of day I’m having, and I don’t know what else to think.”
“Why were you in his office to begin with?”
I give her a wry smile and let out a pained laugh. “You know, I’d completely forgotten about that part, the topper to this crap sandwich of a day. That thing in Basil’s office? It did something to me, and now my magic is . . . not gone exactly, but certainly not very accessible.”
“I don’t understand.”
“All that raw power Basil’s always talking about is a trickle right now. I can barely manage to open doors,” I say.
“And the tournament is tomorrow . . .”
“Exactly.”
Isobel glances at the notebook then tosses it onto her desk. “What Nikiforov did or didn’t do isn’t important right now. Our top priority needs to be getting you through that tournament. Everything else can wait.”
I shake my head. “I don’t know if I can do this.”
She comes to sit next to me, putting an arm around my shoulders. “We’ll figure it out.”
“By tomorrow? We don’t have that kind of time.”
“Then we’ll just have to work together.” She gently shakes my shoulder. “We’ve got this.”
The next morning arrives more quickly than I’d like, and there’s absolutely zero improvement in my magic. It still feels weak and too far away and, even with Isobel’s help, competing in the tournament at less than full power doesn’t sound particularly appealing.
