by Theresa Kay
“Wasn’t me,” I say, fighting back a laugh and throwing my hands out to the sides. “You provoked the spell.”
He releases a loud breath through his nose, and his jaw tenses before his face goes back to that placid, blank look he’s so practiced at.
And class goes on. Basil rattles off a lot of names and dates that I probably won’t remember while Tristan sits there not participating and barely listening. I hate to admit it, but a large part of me agrees with Tristan about the subject matter. History is not going to help me fit in or help me learn to use magic, and my hopes of learning all the secrets and becoming a super awesome witch under Basil’s tutelage decrease every time he throws out another historical tidbit. Maybe the history portion of this class will be short and we’ll move onto something more important tomorrow. Ninety minutes later, I’m more than glad to get out of here.
I’m hoping Wards class might go better today, but by the look on Ms. Anderson’s face as I walk in the room, I’m pretty sure that’s not going to happen. She clearly remembers me from yesterday—how could she not?—and even on time and not destroying the door ward, the look on her face makes it obvious she doesn’t like me much. Tristan, however, she gives a warm, welcoming smile, one that he ignores as he strides toward the back of the room with me following along.
The rest of the class files in and finds their seats, and the teacher starts drawing diagrams on the whiteboard. She’s going over last night’s homework. The homework I didn’t do. Crap.
My pen flies over my paper, copying the diagrams and trying to take down everything she’s saying. A lot of the information goes right over my head, but some things makes sense, like when she explains pieces that have more to do with geometry than magic. The rest of the lesson might have made more sense if I’d had time to do the homework.
The teacher puts down her marker. “Last class, we talked about simple locking wards. Can anyone tell me what the next most commonly used type of ward is?” she asks as she paces from one side of the classroom to the other.
Every hand goes up. Except mine. And Tristan’s. He’s spent the class so far with his arms crossed over his chest as he stares at the wall.
“Protection,” mutters Tristan.
He’s probably right. No, it’s almost a guarantee that he is, but I don’t feel like making a fool of myself, so my hand stays down just in case.
“Rachel?’
“The second most common type of ward is a protection ward,” says a girl in the front row.
“That’s correct.” Ms. Anderson moves back to the whiteboard and sketches out a triangle then draws a circle around it. “This form is the base for every protection ward. As you add to it, you create more or less protection or different kinds of protection. A protection ward can be combined with a protection spell, but only under certain circumstances. It’s not something you’d want to try as beginners.”
A quiet huff comes from Tristan.
“Now, I’d like you all to partner up like we did yesterday and go over some of the exercises in your books on page 103. Remember, for now I want you to concentrate on perfecting the forms. When we reach the point where you’ll be infusing magic into the wards you draw, the forms need to be perfect.” She walks back to the board and erases everything from earlier as the class, once again, bursts into motion and people pair up.
Do I ask Tristan, or do I just assume—
“Would you like to be my partner?” asks Bridget’s sister whose name I still can’t remember as she bats her eyelashes at Tristan. “I would love to have someone of your experience to help me.”
“No,” he says as he turns to me. “Do you have your textbook?”
The girl gapes at him, and her cheeks go pink. Her mouth closes then opens again as if she’s about to say something, but nothing comes out. He actually shocked the words out of her. She stands there for another beat, still speechless, before walking off.
“Harsh,” I say, fighting back a touch of amusement.
He gives me a patronizing smile. “I’m stuck with you, but I don’t have to put up with other students below my caliber.”
And there goes my admittedly petty amusement at the girl being turned down. Below his caliber, huh? I suppose it’s the truth, but he doesn’t have to be such an ass about it.
I return his smile with a sickly sweet one of my own. “I’m so happy you deign to grace me with your experience.” I slam my textbook on the desk and flip to the required page. “Let’s get started then.”
He does nothing but watch me struggle over the problems. No input. No help. Nothing. Maybe I should have encouraged him to partner with Bridget’s sister.
“You know this would go a lot quicker if—”
“I’m not here to do your work for you. If you’re struggling with basic theory, you don’t belong here anyway, Andras or not. Things will only get more difficult for you when the class moves into the practical aspect of wards. Why don’t you just go back home to the shifters you love so much?”
My jaw drops, and I replay the conversation in Burke’s office. He wasn’t there for that part. He doesn’t know. I let out a disbelieving laugh. “Believe me, there’s nothing I’d love more than to go home, but that’s not an option.”
“Why not?” I’d think he cared if his tone wasn’t so bland.
“Going home puts my parents at risk of getting in trouble with the Coven Council. You know, the thing your mom runs? And maybe OSA, too, if that new legislation your mom is pushing goes through.” I grasp the sides of my seat to keep myself grounded. “So, if you really want me to go home, why don’t you put in a good word for me with Mommy and Daddy?”
“This is not a situation I would bring to their attention,” he replies.
I scoff. “Of course. You wouldn’t want them to know how very far you’ve fallen getting stuck with me in beginner’s classes. You can’t possibly have them know you aren’t absolutely perfect, right?”
His eyes narrow. “My parents don’t think I’m perfect.”
“Yeah. Right.” I go back to my textbook and attempt to sketch out the next exercise.
But now he’s irritated. “They expect perfection, but they have no illusions that I have achieved it.” He studies his nails, lips pressed into a thin line. “And I was quite serious. This is not a situation that should be brought to their attention, so it’s important this spell is gone by parents’ weekend.”
I shake my head and roll my eyes. There’s no point in responding. We’d only end up in yet another argument. So, back to work I go, continuing to struggle through the exercise.
“You’re doing it wrong,” he says a moment later.
“Story of my life . . .” I shake my head again and then glance at him. “Make up your mind. Either you’re going to help me or you’re not, but you need to quit distracting me.”
He studies me for a beat then shrugs and goes back to staring at the wall, ignoring me for the rest of class. I don’t finish the assigned exercises, so they’re another thing to be added to my plate this evening. Maybe Isobel will be around and willing to help. Clearly I won’t be catching up to the rest of the class on my own.
Next up is a quick lunch in the dining hall followed by chemistry class, aka Potions. Turns out Tristan actually wasn’t lying yesterday when he told me the location of the classroom. It’s on the bottom floor near the back of the building. There are two-person tables in rows of four spread out across the room, with beakers and Bunsen burners and everything else expected in a chemistry lab. It all looks surprisingly normal and familiar.
Even better, Devin shoots me a friendly smile from one of the lab tables. He nudges Adrian beside him, and Adrian grins and doffs an imaginary hat. I head in their direction.
“Selene!” a girl calls out near the front of the classroom.
I turn to see Penny raising a hand from a chair next to the teacher’s desk. What is she doing here? I reroute in her direction.
“Hey,” I say tentatively as I approach. �
�Are you in this class?”
“Sort of. I’m Sergei—Dr. Nikiforov’s TA for the semester.” Her gaze darts to Tristan and back to me, and then she quirks an eyebrow in question.
I’m pretty sure the entire school knows about the binding spell by now, so what is she trying to ask? For me to get rid of him? For an introduction?
“Do you know Tristan?” I ask awkwardly, gesturing in his direction.
“Uh, yeah,” she says. “By reputation only.” Her smile falters, and her eyes narrow at the blond beside me.
“And this is Penny,” I say to Tristan.
“Charmed,” he says dryly.
Penny sends me another look I can’t read, so I simply shrug and mouth ‘sorry’ at her. She nods and turns to greet the next group of students entering the room.
I make my way to the table next to Adrian and Devin to take a seat, Tristan beside me. He mutters something under his breath, probably about my seating choice, but tough luck for him. This is where we’re sitting.
I lean over to speak to Adrian. “I thought you guys were in all the advanced classes.”
“For the most part, but the advanced Potions teacher is a . . . definite witch. I opted for Nikiforov’s class instead. He’s a much better teacher, and he’s everyone’s favorite.” He smirks.
I figure out the reason for his smirk when the teacher walks in a few seconds later. He’s much younger than I expected, like in his late twenties. And quite good-looking. Silvery-blond hair tied back in a low ponytail, bright-green eyes, and dimples are totally not what I expected in a teacher at a stuffy old school like this.
“Hello, everyone. I hope you’re ready to work today.” His smile is warm as he claps his hands. He moves to the front of the room to sit on the large desk, his hands braced on either side of his legs. “To start off, I believe we have a new student.” He winks at me.
A blush heats my cheeks to the point of inferno. Can’t I just be done with all this dumb new student crap?
He leans his head back in a laugh, the sound like a brush of warmth across the room. “I’m not the guy who’s going to ask you to come to the front of the room and introduce yourself or anything like that, but I would like you to tell me what you think you’re going to learn in this class.”
Huh? Isn’t that obvious? “How to make potions?”
Tristan sighs.
The teacher hops to his feet. “Class? What do we learn here?”
Tristan mouths the words along with everyone else. “How magic and science come together.”
Sounds like the same thing to me, but whatever.
Dr. Nikiforov ignores me for the rest of class, jumping right into the day’s lesson. He moves more quickly than even the wards teacher, and by the end of the ninety minutes, I’m more confused than when I came in. Not good.
Penny catches up with me as I leave, and I must have a hell of a confused expression on my face because she says, “Don’t worry about it. I can help you with this stuff. It’s my concentration area, and I’ve already taken all the advanced courses available. That’s why I’m a TA now.”
“Concentration area?” Isobel mentioned something about concentrating in Spells last night, but she never explained it.
“Kind of like a major. You pick one area of magic to concentrate in, and that dictates what you take second year.” Her gaze moves to Tristan. “Or you’re a blatant overachiever and you concentrate in everything.”
He raises his brows and shrugs. “There’s no one subject that interests me more than another, and I’m expected to excel at them all.”
“It’s part of his perfect act. The illustrious St. James family expects nothing less,” I say in an exaggerated voice.
Devin comes up behind Penny and waves. “You handling things okay so far, Selene?”
“Except for the addition of Mr. Personality over here, I’m doing okay I guess.”
Adrian waggles his eyebrows and throws an arm around his roommate’s shoulder. “You ready for some action?”
Devin rolls his eyes. “He means PE.”
“Of course that’s what I meant,” says Adrian with a wink. His gaze darts between me and Tristan, and mischief dances in his eyes. “It’s sure to be a blast.”
The next morning, Tristan shows up at my door at 7:59 already dressed and perfect. We barely talk beyond a perfunctory greeting, and classes go smoothly except for the fact I’m still way behind everyone else. And it seems I’m falling farther behind by the day. There are no arguments, no snide comments, no blatant animosity . . . but there is also no sign of the spell letting up.
Two days later on Friday, Tristan has a coffee in his hand that is unceremoniously shoved into mine when I open the door, and we go through another day of classes and putting up with each other with no change in the spell.
And then it’s my first weekend at Ravencrest. I’m buried in work, still struggling to catch up to where I’m supposed to be, and the entire weekend is an endless stream of monotony and studying. I don’t have off-campus privileges, so I’m left behind when Adrian and Devin head out. Isobel practically lives at the library, and the only time I see Penny is in Potions class or in quick glimpses when we briefly cross paths on campus. My only company is Tristan, and after those first couple days, nothing seems to ruffle his feathers. He’s so boring I’m almost looking forward to my second week of classes.
Monday morning, Tristan has two coffees: one for me and one that he sips on as he leans on the wall outside my room while I get dressed. And another day passes with no progress on the spell. Things are weird, but we’ve come to some sort of silent arrangement. We don’t talk to each other unless absolutely necessary, but we also don’t argue. For the most part, we ignore each other, a difficult feat when we’re within ten feet of each other for the majority of the day.
After dinner, we head back to my dorm room. Or, rather, I head to my room and he stands outside while he waits for 10:00 to roll around. An hour of Wards homework later, I sigh and slam my book shut. Potions is going okay, Basil’s still working his way through a ‘brief’ history of the supernatural, and I’ve got the whole energy ball bit in PE down even if my aim is crap. But Wards . . . all this crap about lines and angles and degrees and how they all fit together just isn’t getting through my thick skull. I’m hopeless.
“Trouble in paradise?” asks Isobel from her position at her own desk where she’s working on her homework.
“Paradise? This place is Hell,” I say as I walk over to my bed to plop down on it. “How do you manage to get everything done? How do you understand everything? How does he get everything done?”
“By ‘he’ I’m assuming you mean the tall blond nodding off outside our door?” Isobel looks at me over the top of her glasses, eyebrows raised.
“Nodding off?” I sit up. “What do you mean nodding off?”
“Exactly what I said. You’ve apparently run the poor boy ragged.”
I give her an incredulous look. “Poor boy? Since when is he a ‘poor boy’?”
“Since you drag him around with you everywhere,” she said, closing her book. “I tweaked the spell to help you, not so you could torture him. I mean, you could at least invite him in so he doesn’t have to sit on the floor every evening.”
I glance around the room, the space feeling even smaller at her suggestion. I never even thought of that . . .
“Oh geez,” she says. “You could go to the library or something.” At my semi-skeptical look, she lets out a quiet laugh and shakes her head. “You guys will never get rid of the spell if you don’t learn to work together. That’s the whole point of it.”
“I thought the point of it was for us to get along. We’re doing that.”
It’s her turn for a skeptical look. “The two of you are just barely managing civil. I don’t call that getting along. One of you is going to have to reach out. You’re both stubborn, but he’s had eighteen years of upbringing in the St. James household. He might not know how to let go of his pride enou
gh to reach out.”
“I guess this means it has to be me.” I sigh then stand up and walk across the room. “If this backfires somehow, I’m going to blame you,” I say right before I open the door.
She lets out a full-fledged laugh. “I wouldn’t expect any different.”
Tristan is sitting up against the wall, his uniform jacket bunched up on one side of his neck as a makeshift pillow. He isn’t nodding off. He’s fast asleep.
I allow myself a few seconds to study him, my eyes tracing over his features. There are dark circles under his eyes and stubble on his chin. Wrinkles crease his shirt and his pants. How did I miss all this?
Guilt floods into my stomach.
“Hey,” I say, nudging him with my foot.
He springs awake with a jerk, his limbs flinging outward. He jumps to his feet, and his jacket falls to the floor. He flails his arms before crossing them over his chest and leaning against the wall as he gives me his best bored look. He doesn’t pull ‘cool and collected’ off very well, not when I can see his quickened pulse pounding in his neck, and certainly not with the school crest marked in red on his cheek from lying on his jacket.
I laugh. “I guess my life is a little too boring for you.”
He glares and doesn’t respond. Typical Tristan.
“If you’d let me know you wanted to take a nap, you could’ve come inside or something.”
His jaw tenses, and he releases a loud breath from his nose. “If you didn’t insist on keeping me here, I wouldn’t need a nap.”
“Why are you so tired anyway?” I ask. “Is being perfect really that exhausting?”
“Why me . . .” He drags a hand over his face. “You’ve made it more than clear that for the purposes of this spell, you’re stronger than I am, so you make me follow you around for fourteen hours a day. Have you ever seen me with an assignment or a textbook? When exactly do you think I do my homework and study?”
I open my mouth, stunned at the picture taking shape in my head.
