by Eva Chase
Her voice carried tinnily through the phone into my ear. “He’s mentioned the comments Baron Nightwood made a few times since the last meeting of the pentacle, and he always looks so grim. I can tell it’s bothering him.”
I shifted my weight against the worn stone wall I was leaning against and rolled my eyes in the general direction of the green. Of course she could. Dad wore displeasure like a parka, heavy and hooded on his skinny frame. You could practically hear it rustling when he moved around a room.
“Maybe he should take it up with Baron Nightwood then,” I said, even though I could tell where this line of conversation was going.
Sure enough: “I just thought, since you see Malcolm so often at school, you could feel things out through him. I’m sure your father would appreciate any insight you’re able to offer.”
“I don’t think the baron would appreciate me poking around in his son’s head.”
“That’s not what I meant. You’re friends. You must talk about things.”
Yeah, and I knew better than to bring up Baron Nightwood around Malcolm. His dad was a prick on a completely different level compared to mine. When Malcolm got back from visits home, it was a good policy not to talk to him at all until he’d had at least a few hours to let off steam on whoever happened to be in his vicinity.
I tipped my face back to the sun, inhaling the sharp grassy scent from the recent mowing. “If Dad wanted me to look into this for him, he should be the one asking me. He’s got my number too.” Not that I could remember the last time he’d used it.
Mom probably couldn’t either. “He doesn’t like asking for help,” she said in a placating tone.
That was an all-out lie. He’d known perfectly well he was “asking for help” by fussing about the subject in Mom’s hearing. He just didn’t have the balls to do it directly.
“I’ll see what I can do,” I said, by which I meant, no way in hell was I hassling Malcolm over this. It was the fastest way to end the conversation.
When I shoved the phone back in my pocket, students were just starting to trickle out of the tower across the way. A smile crept across my lips. I straightened up, scanning the various figures for a good target. A cluster would make for maximum impact. I had to time it right to make sure they were still reacting when the teachers departed after them so someone would be around to award the credit to my league.
There. A clump of five young Naries came straggling along behind most of the others, their gold leaf pins glinting in the sun. They veered across the grass to head toward the football field, and I rolled a few slithery syllables off my tongue, aiming the picture in my mind with a serpentine flick of my hand.
The trick was making the illusion potent enough to be frightening but not so over-the-top I’d be docked for potential magical exposure. I spoke my casting word again, feeling the scales and seeing the pattern along the sinewy body with the slide of the sounds off my tongue.
Bigger than the garter snakes you’d expect to find naturally around here, but not quite as big as Connar’s ball python familiar. Just large enough to freak the feebs out without them thinking it was impossible for a creature like that to be weaving through the grass. All I needed was a little more concentration and another quick gesture to draw it fully solid, etching in every impression it needed to offer their senses with a prickling at the back of my skull…
One of the boys yelped and scrambled to the side, nearly tripping over his feet. A girl shrieked as she yanked the guy next to her backward. I couldn’t see my creation perfectly from this distance, but their reactions and the rippling of motion through the grass between them gave me a good enough view.
Fear flowed sharp and potent through my lungs with my next breath. Fainter flutters carried from all around me as the other students turned to see what the commotion was.
I closed my eyes for a second, savoring the most delicious sensation in the world. I was never going to get tired of drinking that cocktail of alarm and panic.
All I needed was for one of the teachers to pass by on their way to the offices, and the gambit would have scored in every possible way.
I looked back toward my targets in time to see a familiar slim figure marching up to them. Shit. The breeze tossed the Bloodstone scion’s dark brown waves back from her pale face, which was set with a frown. She held out a hand as if to reassure the Naries and bent down.
What the fuck was she— Seriously?
I’d cast the illusion with enough strength for it to stay solid to touch as well as sight for several minutes, and I couldn’t dispel it now while the Naries were staring, even though Rory Bloodstone was lifting the snake up from the grass with her fingers clamped just behind its jaws. To avoid getting bitten, I supposed. If she’d taken it for real, at least I’d won that much even if I’d lost my chance at earning a league credit.
The snake’s body twisted and squirmed beneath Rory’s hand as she scanned the crowd. Several of the spectators hurried on to escape her notice, more afraid of her than of the damned creature I’d drawn for them. Cowards.
Annoying as her intervention was, I had to admit she also looked pretty spectacular standing there, fierce as an avenging angel. Too bad Blood U wasn’t any place for angels.
Her gaze settled on me and stopped there. If she thought I was going to run off as if I were scared of her, she could forget that. I relaxed against the wall of Ashgrave Hall as she strode across the green to confront me. It was a nice enough view with her hair still swaying across her shoulders and her dress pants swishing against her slender legs below where the fabric clung to her perfectly curved hips.
“I assume this is yours,” she said, shoving the snake at me.
There was no one standing close enough to see it except the two of us now. I gave a careless wave, and the snake disappeared from her hold so quickly her fingers clenched into a fist grasping after it. She blinked at her empty hand and then wiped it on her pants as if my magic might have left behind an unpleasant residue.
I offered her a grin. “If you like playing with snakes, you only had to ask. There are plenty to go around.”
It was so fucking easy to get that fire to flare even brighter in her deep blue eyes. “I’d just prefer they weren’t terrorizing anyone,” she said. “Mission accomplished.”
She swiveled as if to go. Hardly satisfying. I could get more of a rise out of her than that.
“Hold on a minute,” I said. “I was going to get at least one credit out of that. You owe me something in return, Ice Pop.”
Rory’s gaze jerked back toward me. In that instant, I saw the same searing cold anger that she’d glared at me with in the moment when she’d realized the mouse I was letting Mischief toy with was only an illusion, not her familiar. Apparently it was going to take more than a couple days for her to get over that little transgression.
She took a quick glance around. “I’ll give you ice,” she said, and muttered a word under her breath with a jab of her hand. Before I had a chance to react, a glittering substance sprang up from the earth beneath my feet to encase them in a chilly coating. Like she’d done to Malcolm the first time we’d met her—the whole reason I’d gone with those icy nicknames to tease her.
I laughed and moved to stomp myself free, except where Malcolm had been able to crack through the sheen of frost she’d conjured with one jerk, she’d tossed a whole lot more ice at me. Neither of my feet would budge beneath the thick layer.
Rory was already stalking away. She vanished into the hall before I could shout after her. Although maybe I wouldn’t have wanted to shout anyway. I didn’t need the newbie’s help, did I?
A few of the other students were looking my way, having noticed the exchange. With a quick murmur, I drew an illusion over my feet to make it look as if the ice had melted away. Then I leaned against the wall again. With a few more surreptitious murmurs and shifts of my fingers, I tested the magic in the ice.
She sure as hell hadn’t held back on me. Damn, that conjuring wa
s tight. Physicality was supposed to be one of my areas of strength, but the truth was, I mostly got by using particularly careful illusions. And no illusion could actually dislodge a well-cast conjuring.
A strong talent in all four domains of magic, Ms. Grimsworth had announced yesterday after Rory’s assessment. She hadn’t been kidding, had she?
Rory’s spell hadn’t been the most artful ever, and it lacked endurance too. The edges of the ice were already melting in the spring warmth. I’d just have to wait here a few more minutes until it softened enough, and then I’d be able to crack it. Still, if she kept picking up her skills at this speed, as full of righteous spirit as ever and with more capacity for power than even Malcolm had, we might have real trouble on our hands.
The declaration of her strengths clearly hadn’t left her complacent. She was going to keep following her own joymancer-tainted moral directive no matter who she pissed off along the way. We hadn’t broken one bit of her.
I should have been peeved, standing there waiting for that fucking ice to melt. Instead, remembering Rory as she’d marched across the green toward me clutching the illusion of the snake, an unexpected sense of possibility unfurled in my chest.
She had more power than any of us and all that determination to prove she was better. Different. Not like all the other fearmancers. Why the hell had I ever wanted that broken?
I’d let myself get caught up in Malcolm’s crusade without thinking through everything her presence here could mean for me.
From the moment I’d arrived on this campus, my life had felt more and more like a trap slowly closing in on me. That girl—that girl could be my doorway out.
I just had to make her want to be.
Chapter Four
Rory
I was paging through a book on Theories of Deception that my Illusion professor had recommended, propped against the pillows I’d set against my headboard, when someone tapped on my bedroom door.
“Rory, can we talk?”
It was Imogen’s voice, low and hesitant. Imogen, who’d been my only friend among the fearmancers during my first month here.
Imogen, who’d sold me out to the scions and Victory’s crew. She’d also been the only person who’d known about Deborah and her hiding place. She’d led them right to my familiar so they could enact their game of emotional torture. I hadn’t talked to her since then, hadn’t wanted to even look at her. My gut twisted into a knot right now at the thought of answering.
But we were sharing a dorm for who knew how long. Maybe it’d be better if we cleared the air.
I left the book on the bed and eased the door open a crack—just far enough to see half of Imogen’s lightly freckled face framed by her tawny blond hair. As always, a silver clip held back some of the shoulder-length strands. Today she’d picked one shaped like a crescent moon.
“What do you want to talk about?” I asked.
She clasped her hands together in front of her, her mouth tight with discomfort. “I know I really screwed up, and maybe you’re never going to accept an apology, but—but I’d like to at least try to make one. And to explain what happened, even if I can’t justify it. If you’re willing to hear me out?”
I would actually really like to know what had made her turn on me like that, but at the same time I suspected hearing it wasn’t going to be much fun.
Imogen eased back a step. “There’s no one else around right now if you don’t want me in your space. We could talk out here.”
That suggestion loosened a little of the tension inside me. I stepped out, glancing around to make sure Victory and her cronies weren’t lurking after all, and followed Imogen over to one of the couches. The lingering scent of someone’s rosey perfume rose off the fabric as I sat down. I curled my fingers around the edge of the firm cushion.
Imogen looked down at her hands and dragged in a breath before raising her head. Her light brown eyes met mine pleadingly.
“I never wanted to tell them anything,” she said. “I hope you can at least believe that it wasn’t my idea at all. I’m so sorry about everything that happened—what they made you think they were doing to your familiar—it was awful.”
I didn’t need her to tell me that. She couldn’t imagine how awful it’d been for me, not least because she had no idea I’d have lost not just my animal familiar but the human guardian residing inside the mouse.
“Why did you tell them, then?” I said.
Her gaze dropped again. “Victory had seen us hanging out together. It wasn’t really a secret that we were friends. She guessed that I might know something about you that they could use. She must have cast an insight spell on me and seen enough to realize there was something secret in your room. And then she threatened that she’d make up a false complaint against my dad, something bad enough to get him immediately fired, if I didn’t tell her the rest.”
“So you did.”
“I tried not to,” Imogen said, her voice strained. “I pretended I had no idea what they were talking about, but they didn’t believe me. Victory called up Ms. Grimsworth and was about to say something—I knew whatever she’d tell them about my dad, they’d believe her over him and me. Her family is friends with the barons. We’re not really anybody. If Dad lost his job over some scandal, I don’t even know if he could find another one in the community.”
I leaned back on the couch, rubbing my forehead. She’d thrown me under the bus to protect her dad. I wasn’t sure I wouldn’t have done the same if our positions had been reversed. I would’ve given in to Malcolm’s demands, gotten down on my knees and offered my unwilling allegiance to him and the other scions, if I hadn’t realized that Deborah wasn’t really under threat.
Imogen had only known me for a few weeks. How could I expect her to have felt more loyal to me than to her family?
The betrayal still stung, though. Victory knew how to manipulate her now. What was to stop her from doing it again? Regardless of whether I understood why Imogen had done what she had, I could never completely trust her again, could I?
“I really am sorry,” Imogen said with a miserable expression. “I was so relieved when you figured out the trick.”
I’d seen that too—it was a bit of insight into her frantic mind that had tipped me off about the trick in the first place. She’d been in agony, not gloating like Victory and the others.
“I get it,” I said. “I mean, I’m never going to be happy that it happened, but I’m not going to stay mad at you when it was Victory pulling the strings. I believe you that you didn’t want to tell her.”
Imogen studied me. “But you don’t really want anything to do with me now either.”
“It’s not that. I—” I pulled my hands into my lap where they clenched. “Apology accepted, okay? The rest, we’ll see how it goes.”
“Okay. That’s fair.” She sighed and stood up. “Thank you for listening. Most people here would have sooner set my hair on fire than find out what really happened.”
“Well, I think we’ve thoroughly established that I’m not like most people here,” I muttered, and her mouth twitched with the start of a smile.
“I need to go into town to grab some groceries,” she said. “Do you—do you want me to pick up anything for you?”
A peace offering? A few days ago, she’d have asked if I wanted to go with her, but she could obviously tell I wasn’t in the mood to jump right back into our previous friendship. I might have taken her up on the current offer if I had needed anything.
“No, I’m good,” I said. “But thanks.”
She bobbed her head and headed out. I flopped back on the couch. My thoughts were still churning in my head, but it was kind of nice getting to stretch my legs out here in the common room rather than hiding away in my little bedroom all the time like I normally did to avoid dealing with the rest of my dormmates.
How long would it take Victory to come around? She couldn’t hate me forever, right? As far as she knew, eventually I was going to be one of those
barons her parents liked chumming up to.
Well, I was getting the hang of this magic thing, and my mere presence supplied me with a decent supply of fear now. Let her try a few more tricks on me and see how she liked being embarrassed when I turned the tables. I wasn’t going to stoop to her level, but she’d better believe I’d be defending myself with every strength I had.
The relative peace lasted about five minutes. Then a knock sounded on the outer door to the dorm.
A measured voice filtered through, clear enough for me to recognize it instantly. “Rory?”
I sat up with a hitch of my pulse. Why the hell had Declan Ashgrave come calling at my dorm?
I walked cautiously over to the door. I’d seen the scions walk right past it when I’d first arrived, but I guessed it’d been Malcolm or maybe Jude who’d magically unlocked it. Declan respected the deadbolt. A minor kindness.
“What do you want?” I asked, hugging myself like I had in class a few days ago, as if the folding of my arms could protect me.
“Can I come in? It’ll just take a moment.”
What was the worst he could do? I didn’t actually think he was out to hurt me, even if he wasn’t willing to stop his friends from doing that.
I gritted my teeth and opened the door. He walked a few steps inside and stopped there, his handsome face as striking as ever, his hair neatly swept back above his bright eyes.
Apprehension prickled through me. The last time he’d been in a rush to talk to me, he’d dragged me into that closet in the library where things had taken an unpleasant turn.
“How did you know I was here?” I said abruptly. If I’d been in my bedroom, I might not even have heard the knock. “Aren’t you worried about my dormmates hearing you coming calling and wondering what’s up with that?”
Declan gave me a crooked smile. “Insight specialist, remember? I guess that might not have come up in any of the seminars you’ve been to yet. Once you’ve got enough practice, you can get a sense of how many people are nearby and who they are, if you know them. My dorm is right under yours.”
