Magic Bound

by Theresa Kay

  “Yes, Father,” says Tristan.

  I duck behind the machinery as Allister rounds the corner and makes his exit. As far as I can tell, Tristan hasn’t moved. There’s not so much as the sound of shuffling feet. Should I leave like nothing happened? How can I be sure Allister and Bernadette are away from the door? They might be waiting for Tristan.

  Indecision leaves me trapped as Tristan finally comes into sight. His shoulders are tight and his hands are curled into fists, but his face is a mask of nothing. He strides past me, his cheeks red. Did she smack both cheeks in some horrible attempt to make the marks even? Did she think they would be less noticeable that way?

  Some sound of sympathy escapes my throat, and he spins around. His eyes widen when he catches sight of me, but his face quickly goes cold again. He grabs me by the shoulders and pushes me against the wall, his face inches away from mine.

  “How much did you hear?” he rasps out.

  “Nothing,” I stutter, too shocked by his sudden nearness to think of anything else.

  His eyes narrow, and he studies me. There’s rage on his face, but his eyes . . . they’re empty. There’s nothing. “No one hears of this,” he says under his breath. “No one.”

  “Of course. I . . .” My hand comes up to rest on his reddened cheek, and for a moment, just the barest hint of a second, he leans into my touch, his expression softening as he closes his eyes, but then he yanks his face out of my reach and releases my shoulders.

  His face twists into a sneer. “I can’t do this. Not with you.”

  My own words spit back at me, dripping with rage and disgust, are gut wrenching, but not half as bad as the look on his face. Because the rage and disgust aren’t directed at me; they’re directed at himself. He storms back to the ballroom without another word, and I’m left staring after him, my mind a swirl of confusion.

  I knew the St. James family was bad. I’d heard enough things about his parents even before coming here, and even though his father doesn’t seem quite as bad as his mother . . . they’re utterly vile people. The only question is whether they’ve already turned their son into something just as vile, or is there time enough to save him?

  And why do I want to?

  Any illusions I have about the kiss or about the moment I thought we had are dispelled the next morning in the dining hall. Tristan blatantly ignores my wave, my greeting, and me in general. It’s as if I no longer exist. He hardly even looks at me, and when he does, it’s as if he’s looking through me.

  He’s taken his mother’s decree to heart then.

  It hurts and I hate that, but I have enough problems of my own without trying to take his on too.

  After an uncomfortable night on my dorm room floor, Reid is more than a little grumpy. He follows my gaze to Tristan and stares after him. “He’s not worth it, Selene. I didn’t say anything last night because you weren’t going to listen to me then. I’m hoping you will now.”

  “Tristan is—”

  “Look, I’m not saying he’s necessarily a bad guy, but he’s not worth that look on your face.” I fiddle with my fingers on the table, and Reid places his hands over mine, waiting for me to look at him before continuing. “He’s not worth the risk. Things at home are . . . tense. Any desire the local packs had to work with the witches to come to a compromise was destroyed when you put that shifter in the hospital. Now, I know what the real story is, but the only thing anyone can focus on is the fact that a St. James was there. I don’t know what’s going to happen, but there’s a lot of grumbling, even from the local packs under Dad. And that makes Tristan a target. Being around him, getting any deeper into whatever it is between you two, puts you at risk. I need you to be smart and stay safe, at least until some of this blows over. After that, feel free to go for it.” He sighs and squeezes my hands. “I can’t see him ending up as anything but exactly like his parents, but if you see something there . . .”

  “I’m not sure what I see.” I glance up and meet Reid’s eyes. “But I’m not an idiot. I’ve got enough going on with my classes, and I certainly don’t need to add in any other stressors. If you think it’s dangerous, I’ll keep my distance.”

  He grins and goes back to his food.

  I sit and ponder the lie I just told. I really don’t know what I see in Tristan. He’s moody and arrogant and at least half the time he acts like an ass, but there was something in his eyes the night he kissed me. Like, for once, I really saw him underneath all his layers of armor. And if he chooses to open up to me again in spite of my idiotic comment when I pushed him away and his parents high-handed decree forbidding him to associate with me, I’m not going to turn him away. If nothing else, the poor boy needs a friend, a real one, otherwise Reid may be right and Tristan may turn out exactly like his parents.

  My cousin has to leave after breakfast, and it’s all I can do not to latch myself onto his legs and beg him to stay. I didn’t truly realize how much I missed him until he was here, and it’s a hard goodbye. I’ll see him again—I know this—but I have no idea when. Once Connor gets wind of this visit, I’m sure he’ll make his ‘no visiting Selene’ command a little more specific.

  Reid wraps his big arms around me and hugs me tightly to his chest, planting a kiss on top of my head. He promises to find a way to get in touch and that he’ll come to visit again, but they feel more like empty reassurances. And then he’s gone, headed to the home I no longer have and the family I desperately miss.

  My eyes burn, and it’s only Isobel’s solid presence at my side that keeps the tears at bay. She grabs my hand and gives it a squeeze, knowing without words how much I need her support. I’m not completely alone. I can do this. And I have three long weeks ahead of me to study my ass off and get my grades up so my parents’ sacrifice isn’t all for nothing. I will do this even if it kills me.

  By the end of the first week, my eyes are in a perpetual state of grittiness and lined with dark circles. It’s pathetic really. I’ve caught up with most of my classmates as far as the basics go, but even with Isobel’s help—and thank goodness she has the time to help—I’m barely pulling a C in most of my classes.

  And I’m not the only one feeling the pressure. Only ten students are getting cut at the end of this quarter, but by the way everyone’s acting, it feels more like half the class is getting cut.

  The first student dropped out the day after the announcement, simply packed his bags and left. He was some guy I’ve never met who wasn’t even that far down on the list. The rumor is he cracked under the added pressure. Two more students drop out in the following week, also because of all the pressure. I can definitely understand that. The pressure isn’t doing me any favors either.

  But I have to stay. I have to pass. My parents’ future depends on me. So, I go through the motions in my classes. I go to my room and study, study, study. I do very little else. Occasionally, I remember to grab a meal.

  By the end of the second week, I’m about to start pulling all my hair out. My grades have improved as far as things having to do with magical theory. I can draw wards. I can create the necessary chemical solutions to use as potion bases. But infusing anything with magic—the practical side of it—is still a struggle. My success with the fertilizer potion must’ve been some sort of fluke. I haven’t blown anything up, thank goodness, but half the time my wards and potions don’t turn out right, and I still can’t figure out what I’m doing wrong.

  And, unfortunately, a large portion of my midterm grades are made up of practical applications. Like activating a protection ward and making a mild healing potion.

  On Friday evening the weekend before midterms, three weeks after the banquet, three weeks after that disastrous confrontation with Tristan and his parents, and three weeks of classes and studying and homework, I’m making the slog back to my room for yet more studying, when Penny finds me and drags me between the buildings.

  I haven’t talked to her much since the full moon, and she looks harried. Her eyes, lined with circles,
are darting all over the place. Suspicious. Anxious. Worried.

  “I need your help,” she says, shoving a small bottle into my hands. “I need you to activate this potion.”

  “What? Why?”

  Penny’s brows pull together, and she bites at her bottom lip. “It’s not working. I don’t know what’s wrong.”

  “What’s not working? I don’t understand.”

  “The magic . . . it’s gone. I wasn’t doing anything too strenuous before, just some simple wards and potions for my classes, but now I can’t do even that.”

  I glance down at the bottle in my hands. “I thought you said—”

  “I know what I said, but it’s not working right. They told me—” She pauses and gives me a tight smile. “I mean, I’ve been doing fine up until now. I don’t understand . . .”

  “I wish I could help but—”

  “You can help!” She curls my hand around the bottle. “It’s no more complicated than that fertilizer potion you did in class.”

  “Penny . . .”

  “Please,” she says. “If I don’t turn in this potion, I’m going to fail.”

  I eye the bottle. The liquid inside is an unfamiliar deep-purple-black with swirls of silver. It’s rather pretty in a way. “What kind of potion is it?”

  “A sleeping potion,” she says quickly. “It’s my midterm project, my own creation. It’s supposed to work without some of the side effects of the more common sleeping potions.”

  Penny’s trustworthy, I guess, but can I trust her about this? Should I? Something doesn’t feel entirely right, but she seems desperate, and I don’t want her to fail. I wouldn’t exactly call her a friend, but I’m not comfortable standing by and doing nothing if there’s something I can do to help.

  I eyeball the viscous fluid again. “I’m willing to try. I can’t guarantee it’s going to work, though.”

  “Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.” She grabs my hand and jumps up and down. “I can guide you through it. It shouldn’t be too difficult. I know you can handle it.”

  I’m still not entirely convinced this is a good idea, but if she wants to risk her grade on me doing this, I guess that’s on her. “Do I use a standard activation like we’re learning about in class, or do I need to do something special?”

  “It’s not quite standard but close. In class, you’re pulling magic from around you; for this you need to use your internal magic.”

  “Internal magic?” No one’s mentioned anything like that before. Could it be similar to the spark Isobel talked about that lets a witch connect with the magic around them?

  “Yeah. Instead of drawing magic from outside yourself, you need to pull it from within.”

  My brows draw together. “That explanation doesn’t really clear things up.”

  She huffs. “I’m not sure how to explain it then . . .” She flaps a hand in my direction. “The night of the party, where did you feel the magic coming from after Bridget zapped you?”

  I rub my knuckles on my sternum. “Right here. In the center of my chest. It felt like it was cracking open.”

  “Take the magic from there. Use that magic to activate the potion.”

  “Okay . . .” I say hesitantly. This probably won’t work, but I suppose it’s worth a shot. I concentrate on the feeling of magic in my chest. This magic is wilder than the stuff I draw from outside myself, but it’s also more familiar somehow. Drawing on it and sending it out to my fingertips and into the potion is almost effortless. Nothing I’ve ever done with magic has felt this easy. The liquid flashes black for a second before settling into a navy-blue color that looks much more like I expect for a sleeping potion. I hand it to Penny. “Is this right?”

  Penny takes the bottle, holding it up to the light and turning it from one side to the other. Her face breaks into a wide grin. “It’s perfect,” she says. “Thank you so much. You have no idea how much this means.”

  “You’re welcome then. I’m glad I could help.” I pause. “That activation technique . . . is that something I can use in class? For some reason, it seemed so much easier than what Dr. Nikiforov has been teaching us.”

  “Yeah. Sure,” she says, still staring up at the potion. As if catching what she just said, she focuses in on me and adds in a forceful tone, “But don’t tell anyone else about it. You might get in trouble for using the more advanced technique when you haven’t been properly prepared for it.”

  The idea that I could be penalized for using a technique that works for me whether or not it’s one I’ve been taught is strange, but I’m not going to take that risk. “I’ll keep it quiet,” I say with a small smile. “As much as I’ve struggled, that method was simple for me, and I need all the help I can get.”

  Penny tilts her head in my direction. “Good luck on your midterms next week.”

  “You too.” I shoot her another smile and a wave then head toward the girls’ dorm.

  My mind races with all the possible applications of this new method, and for once, I’m anxious to crack open my textbooks and do some work. If I can get my Potions grade up, I might not have to worry so much about my Wards grade. I enter the dorm and jog up the stairs, excitement zinging through my veins. My room is mere steps away when my arm is grabbed again. This time by Isobel.

  “Dinner,” she says in a stern voice. “You haven’t been to the dining hall for days.”

  “That’s because I need to study, and it’s too noisy there. I snagged a few snacks, and those have been holding me over just fine. There’s another bag of chips under my bed somewhere,” I argue, even though I’m not looking forward to yet another meal of the stale, over-processed slices of potato.

  But she’s not listening and, now that I think about it, subsisting on a bunch of prepackaged junk has been kind of nauseating. I allow her to drag me to the dining hall, but the second I walk in the door, I regret it. The tables are full of various groups, but it’s the group in the corner that draws my eyes. The popular rich kids.

  And reason number two why I’ve been avoiding the dining hall . . .

  Tristan is one of those popular rich kids laughing and joking around an open box of donuts. We haven’t spoken since the banquet and, for the most part, have managed to completely avoid each other, but he showed up at the dining hall for the first time in ages at the beginning of this week and has been here every meal since. His uniform is flawless, his eyes bright, and he has a ready smile for just about everyone. The cracks in his façade so evident a few weeks ago are sealed, and he’s wrapped in a new veneer of perfection.

  It kind of makes me want to punch him.

  Not because I want to hurt him, but because I want to knock some sense into him.

  Jason catches sight of Isobel and me and he smiles. “If it isn’t the mutt and the nobody,” he drawls. “Shouldn’t you two be studying or something? I hear the mutt isn’t doing so well.”

  My face goes hot, and my magic churns into a frenzy. I spin toward him, my mouth opening to rip him a new one.

  “Leave it, Jason,” says Tristan in a sharp voice.

  In the back of my head, I know he’s kind of defending me, but it was a half-assed defense—if that’s even what it was—and it’s not enough to stop my ire transferring to Tristan.

  “I can take care of myself,” I snap. “Go back to your ridiculous friends. I’m sure you’re enjoying all this time slacking off since you’re guaranteed top spot anyway, right? Mommy and Daddy are going to pay for it.” I scan the rest of them. “Along with all the rest of you.”

  Tristan’s brows go up. “Nobody has to buy my way on to the list,” he says. “I’ll earn the top spot purely on my own merits.”

  I take a step backward, the absurdity of that statement nearly bowling me over. “Really now? I wouldn’t be so sure of that.” My eyes narrow. “I mean, you’ve practically sold your soul to get up there, so . . .”

  “Sold my soul?” His voice has gone flat, and that bored, stoic facial expression locks in place.


  Jason stands and holds his hands up. “Hey now, let’s not argue. I apologize.” He grabs the box in the middle of the table. “Donut?”

  There’s got to be a catch here, so what is it? I eye the donuts. They look normal enough, and there’s a few missing, so somebody’s eaten them. I glance at Tristan. He averts his eyes.

  Isobel shrugs and reaches for a donut, but Adrian grabs her wrists as he steps up beside her.

  “You don’t want to do that,” he says. “They’re spelled.”

  “Spelled?” Isobel asks.

  “Yeah,” he replies. “Probably a sleep spell or maybe a confusion one. If you eat one of those donuts, your midterms might not go so well.”

  “Then why . . .” My gaze darts around the table. No one has a donut on their plate or anywhere else near their own food. “You’re giving them out to other students. To throw them off.” A growl enters my voice as my anger rises again.

  “Don’t take food or anything else someone offers you this close to midterms,” says Adrian. “I thought you’d already been warned and that’s why you hadn’t been here.”

  In the scheme of things, spelled donuts is probably the tamest way I’ve heard to game the ranks. It’s little more than a juvenile prank, but still . . .

  I focus on Tristan. He just finished saying he’ll get to the top spot on his own merits, but he wasn’t going to stop Isobel. He was going to let her take one of the donuts so that she’d be off her game during midterms. He’s just as bad as the rest of them.

  How did I not see it sooner? Was I so blinded by an attractive face, sugared words, and one single kiss?

  All my attention narrows in on him as if there’s no one else in the room. He finally looks up to meet my eyes, and whatever he sees there creates a flicker of emotion on his otherwise blank face, not quite fear, but something close to it, and then a flash of resignation.

  “I was so damn stupid,” I say. “I thought you were different. I thought you were better, but you’re nothing but a pretty wrapping for an empty soul. Maybe nobody has to buy your way on to anything, but certainly nobody wants to. Isn’t that what your harpy of a mother said, that she’d wasted enough money on you? That’s what you are to her—a waste.” My voice goes low, and cold rage laces every word. “A waste of time, a waste of money, and a waste of space. I was a fool to ever think you were any more than that.”