Abandon: Book Three of the Forgotten Affinities Series

by Analeigh Ford

  “I’m sorry,” Cedric begins, that glazed look still remaining on his face, and his voice so calm it terrifies me. “Are you saying you almost forced yourself on her?”

  And then, before I can process what is happening, suddenly my back is thrown against the top of the table—the wind knocked out of me. Bowls skitter to the side, a dish cracks under the weight of my body, and glass shatters on the floor.

  Cedric’s hand is pressed so hard to my throat that I cannot breathe. One of his knees is dug into my chest to keep me pinned to the table. His face is no longer immobile. Rage is there in a shade so dark, I don’t think I have anything to compare it to. Those blue eyes of his are alight so bright they almost rival the brand glowing on his arm.

  “Of all people,” Cedric shouts, his hand pressing so hard against my throat that I’m almost afraid he might crush my windpipe. I can’t speak, so instead I begin to choke. I try to look towards the door, but my vision is betraying me—turning black at the corners.

  His glowing brand can only mean one thing. While I’m looking to the side, the pressure increases on my chest.

  “Please,” he snaps, spittle flying from his mouth, “Give me one good reason not to kill you now.”

  “Because I say so.”

  A blurry shape emerges from the crowd. I cannot recognize her given the current state of my vision, but I do know her voice. Cedric hesitates a moment, his grip still threatening to cause permanent damage to my body.

  I try to push back with my legs, but he’s got me in a position where I can’t move at all. My head swims and, for a second, I think I am at the end.

  And then, just as suddenly as the attack began, the pressure releases from my throat and chest. I gasp for air, and finding none at first, sit bolt upright and splutter until some air wheedles its way down my windpipe.

  I feel a gentle hand on my chest this time, and when I look up, she is close enough for me to see now.

  “I work too hard to keep you all alive to have you killing each other,” she says. Her hand stays on my chest, but it is not soft any more. “Though, Cedric, if you wouldn’t mind stepping a bit to the side, I believe I have some unfinished business of my own.”

  Before I have the chance to lift my hands to block the blow, I am knocked unconscious.

  16

  Octavia

  I’ll admit, it feels good to hit him. My hand, already burning from the spell, blooms with blistering pain at impact, and I am pretty sure I sprain one or two knuckles. The skin splits and begins to bleed, but it’s worth it.

  For sanity’s sake.

  Kendall isn’t out for more than a couple of seconds. I am under no illusions that I’m strong enough to land a knock-out punch like that on a normal day. It wouldn’t have even come close if Cedric hadn’t already had him on the brink of passing out already.

  By the time he is coming to, I am already helping shoulder him off the table and trying to clear a path to get him out of here before it becomes even more of a scene than it already is.

  Maybe it was the adrenaline of the heist, but it just seemed like such a reasonable reaction to punch him at the time.

  It’s not like he didn’t deserve it. But at the same time, as soon as we’re out of the dining hall and headed back towards the only place I can think of where we might have some privacy, I’m not sure it was the right thing to do.

  Flynn spots us on our way past the sleeping quarters and catches up with us as we finally stop and lean Kendall up against the metal lockers in the next room over. Fitting, I think, to finally settle this here.

  I’m a little confused as to why he didn’t go looking for the others right away, but he’s here now, so that’s all that matters. He looks a little disoriented, but it’s probably just him readjusting to the in-between.

  He takes one look at Kendall, and then my bruised knuckles. “What happened?”

  “Well Kendall here got handsy with Octavia and she didn’t like it, so when Cedric found out he tried to kill him. Octavia was nice enough to finish him off with a punch, but now it looks like she’s regretting the decision.”

  Draven’s description is so accurate and precise, there’s no reason to elaborate further. If I weren’t in such a bad mood, it might even be funny.

  It could just be the same burning sensation that is likely still rippling across his skin, but he doesn’t take Draven’s words as a joke. Instead, his own hands clench at his sides, and he has to push up his glasses to keep them from sliding down his face as the muscles work in his temples and jaw.

  “What do you mean…getting handsy?”

  “Doesn’t matter,” I say, quickly. I kneel down in front of Kendall, who is now blearily looking up at us from where we’ve propped him up against the lockers. That momentarily release of punching him is quickly dwindling. I cup his face in my hand and turn it to the side so I can see where my fist made contact.

  His left temple is red and quickly swelling. There will be bruising, but probably not much else.

  I sigh.

  “Octavia,” Kendall starts. “I am so, so sorry.”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I see shifting movements. “Can we have a minute?” I ask.

  No one immediately moves.

  “If you don’t mind,” Flynn says. “I’d prefer to stay. If Kendall did something to harm you, I think we deserve to know.”

  I glance up at him in annoyance and surprise. Flynn’s always been a little standoffish, and though I know he cares for me, he’s never been the particularly protective type. I guess this place is bringing out new sides in all of us. Even him.

  Both Cedric and Draven nod as well.

  This isn’t exactly something I want to talk about in front of an audience, but I do see their point. I turn back to Kendall. He pushes himself up into a better sitting position even though I can tell it isn’t easy for him. The red marks aren’t just limited to the side of his face—they spread down his neck and chest as well.

  “Kendall,” I try to start, but the words are still caught in my throat.

  I open my mouth to say something again, but again, no sound comes from me.

  Kendall finally reaches out, and this time, his touch is gentle on my arm. It is not demanding, fearful, or even passionate. It is filled with concern.

  The words finally come.

  “I don’t think you would have actually done anything,” I say, finally. “But that doesn’t negate the fact that for a second, in the moment, I did. I was scared Kendall. You scared me.”

  Kendall’s face shifts slightly as he processes what I am saying. He nods slightly, but only repeats, “I’m so sorry Octavia. Really sorry.”

  “Stop,” I say, my voice coming out a little faster and harsher than I meant. “I mean…” I clear my throat again. “You’re scared too. I don’t think any of us here doubts you, or who you are. This place...it changes people. I think it’s effecting you more than any of us.”

  I glance up to the others and although none of them look like they are quite as ready to forgive Kendall for what he did, the only thing that matters is I am.

  “I forgive you, Kendall,” I say.

  “But I don’t deserve it,” he blurts. He tries to sit forward, and I am glad to see that this time he only struggles a little. If he hadn’t started to regain his bearings soon, I might have actually worried one of us might have done some permanent damage.

  “I don’t want to hear any more about it. I think we’re already even…if that bruise forming on your right temple is any indicator.” His hand stays on mine as I lift it to trace the darkening spot on his face. I let my touch linger there a second, long enough that Cedric lets out a long sigh.

  “Just kiss the girl already,” he says, his eyes trained on Kendall. “Or one of us is going to do it for you.”

  “I don’t know,” Draven says. “She’s got a surprisingly strong right hook. I wouldn’t want to get in the way.”

  Finally, even Kendall almost smiles. The gloom that has hovered
on his face for days now lifts, just a little, and I do just as the doctor ordered. Or, in this case, the Psychic Mage.

  Kendall’s kiss is soft, his lips pliable and searching—but not forceful like before. He lets me take the lead. His tongue is shy until I coax it out with my own, just enough to feel the touch of it darting between my lips.

  I draw back and catch for a moment, a flicker of the old Kendall in his eyes. It may only last a for that single moment, but it warms me.

  “You know what,” Flynn says, as I get back up to my feet and offer Kendall a hand up. “I’m glad I don’t know the details. I’m not a very forgiving type.”

  “Well, you’re just lucky that I am,” I say, shooting him a very knowing look. “Now, unless anyone else would like to take a swing at either of us, I think this one is overdue for a trip to the seamstress. Did not one of you even think he might look a little crazy walking around here with that bloody shirt?”

  All three of them avoid making eye contact with me. I poke a finger in Draven’s chest, since he is closest. “That’s right, you aren’t so innocent yourself.”

  “Innocent? I didn’t know I ever gave you that impression.”

  “Oh sorry,” I say, “Has something changed since Homecoming? Is there something you have to tell me, too?”

  Draven’s face goes a little red.

  For someone who walks around like god gave him an extra dose of swagger, he’s a secret softy. I think that’s what I love about him the most. That’s what I love.

  Again, those words turn over in my mind and cause everything that once seemed so clear to be foggy. This is not the kind of place for love. It isn’t even the kind of place for life.

  17

  Octavia

  “So, what do you think he wants them for?”

  I look up from my half-finished bagel while Draven continues on. “I mean, aside from something generally nefarious of course.”

  There was no way to get Kendall fitted for some new clothes in the middle of the night, so we’d all just agreed to do it first thing today. I never had problems sleeping before The Underground, but the combination of the crazy day before and the lumpy too-thin mattress has left me still reeling from the remnants of nightmares I can’t quite remember.

  It doesn’t help that the burning sensation from the protection spell we encountered still hasn’t lifted. According to Edgar’s advice last night, it should have already. A couple more hours of this and my wrists will be rubbed raw from all my scratching.

  I’m guessing Flynn has fared even worse, because he hasn’t managed to get out of bed and join us at breakfast yet. I guess that goes to show what I get for taking Edgar’s advice.

  Though to be honest, I didn’t exactly get up at the crack of dawn either. I spent most of the morning trying to keep the young mage Michael from seeing I was awake and trying to talk to me. Even now, as I pick up my cup of coffee, I can see Michael trying to catch my eye from down the table in the reflection of the porcelain.

  I angle my body away, and when I do, I involuntarily scratch at my wrists, a motion that Cedric does not miss. He shoots out an arm to catch mine and turns it over. A blotchy rash has started springing from the tender skin of my forearm.

  “Wait, what’s that?” Draven says, leaning closer.

  “Some kind of reaction to the protection spell yesterday,” I say, trying to tug my arm back.

  Cedric’s eyebrows furrow. “You should get that checked out.”

  “I’m fine,” I say, snatching back my wrist. I have to fight the urge to scratch at it again, and instead resort to rubbing it along the rough inner edge of the wooden table as subtly as I can manage.

  “Hold on a second.” Draven jumps up and stuffs the rest of the muffin he was eating in his mouth. He darts through the breakfast crowd, only to return a moment later with two syringes of dark liquid in his hand.

  He tosses one of them at me. It bounces against the table and comes to a rolling stop next the croissant I was going to eat.

  “What’s that?”

  Draven reaches for another muffin, but Kendall slaps his wrist away.

  “Sorry,” the Earth Mage says, quietly. “It’s reflexive. Wednesday always ate so many it gave her a stomach ache, so I usually tried to stop her.”

  I chuckle.

  Draven takes the muffin and slowly peels away the wrapper, staring Kendall down the entire time. He doesn’t answer me until he’s made sure his cheeks are stuffed full of blueberry pastry.

  “Edgar uses it to get high,” he says. “It’s like antibiotics for mages. It’ll boost your powers enough to fight off the last of the spell.”

  I’m not about to inject myself, but the incessant itching has gotten a little bit out of control.

  “Fine,” I say, but I pass the syringe to Kendall and lay my arm out flat across the middle of the table.

  He picks up the syringe but doesn’t immediately plunge it into my arm.

  “What?” I catch several people seated nearby eyeing me.

  Cedric leans in close from beside me. “You really going to shoot up in the middle of the table at breakfast?”

  I just tap the spot above my elbow where a thick blue vein is visible. “It’s medicine,” I say. I stare Kendall down until he does it, even though the girl sitting beside him wrinkles up her nose in disgust and moves to get up and leave.

  The syringe offers a small prick, and then a flooding of relief straight into my body. It pours through me like sweet syrup in my veins.

  Now this, this is how I always imagined magic would feel.

  Almost immediately, the rash on my arm begins to subside.

  In its place is a new infection—but this one is twelve years old, named Michael, and settling into the seat previously occupied by a girl with a squeamish stomach.

  Ah well, I knew he could only be avoided for so long.

  “I’ve been trying to get your attention all day,” he says, breathless. “Where’d you go yesterday? I heard you went back to the academy. I’ve always wondered—”

  “Hold your horses there, cowboy,” Draven says, catching my eye and sharing a knowing look. “It’s still early you know.”

  Michael isn’t fazed. He just reaches for another pot of coffee in the middle of the table and goes to pour himself what is probably not the first cup he’s already had this morning. “You really should try and practice while you’ve got that in you,” he says. “I’ve heard you can do crazy magic with it.”

  “But have you tried it?” Cedric asks, from beside me.

  Michael’s face falls. “No. No one will let me have any.”

  He lifts the coffee to his mouth with jittery hands.

  “I can see why,” I mutter into my own.

  Cedric reaches over and gently nudges me. “Maybe he’s got a point,” he says. “You’re well rested. You might as well try.”

  He isn’t the only one looking at me when I glance up from the top of my coffee. Even the watch feels heavy in my pocket, just begging to be tested. I don’t dare take it off my person, not now that I have officially confirmed that my purse was, indeed, stolen our first night here.

  I guess there’s no reason to wait. I stand up and climb over the bench I’ve been sitting on. I make sure to grab my croissant before waving the others impatiently on. “Well then, what are we waiting for?”

  Michael jumps up from his seat and leads us impatiently out of the dining hall and into the rest of the compound. I am able to follow him easily enough, but Cedric and the rest of them, their bodies not so small and nimble, fall behind in the crowded room.

  I find myself in the hall with the Michael alone for a moment.

  “Is it hard?” I ask.

  He glances at me quizzically. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean…” I wait for a couple of older mages to pass by us, “Aren’t you upset that you can’t leave The Underground now? It is kind of my…our…fault.”

  My eyes flicker back to Kendall, who’s still fighting hi
s way out of the dining hall along with the rest of them.

  Michael cocks his head to the side. He really does look so much younger now that he isn’t trying to murder me with an arrow. “Why would I be upset?” he asks. “The Underground only takes on mages who promise to leave everything behind.”

  “But then…your family, your old life?” I don’t know how to fully articulate what I am trying to say, but the young mage is quick to cut in.

  “Do you talk to your family?”

  The question catches me off guard.

  I’ve been terrible about keeping up with my own parents since I left for school. I claimed it was because I was too busy or my life was too complicated…but now I feel guilty. I was really just being selfish, and afraid of what my mother might say if she knew everything that was going on.

  “I’ll take that as a no,” Michael says as they boys finally spill out into the hallway after us. “It’s just the way this life is, for us mages with non-magical parents. We never really fit into our old lives anymore. It’s the price we all pay…Underground or not.”

  He turns on his heel, still seemingly completely unperturbed by my question, and starts leading us down the hall toward the training rooms. I can’t help thinking about what he said as we go.

  Maybe he’s right. Maybe The New York Academy of Mages and The Underground are not so different after all. One is just more upfront about what it is they expect from you than the other.

  The training room is decidedly quieter than it was the other day, but it isn’t until Michael starts haphazardly throwing darts at the walls that I realize it. At first, I start to call out a word of caution, but after taking a second, I realize there is no point. There isn’t anyone nearby for him to hurt but himself.

  And, well, sometimes that is the best way to learn.

  The only other mages I recognize in here are Acacia and Horatio. I’d hoped to speak to them anyway, so while Michael finishes retrieving his darts telekinetically, I jog up to the table where they’re finishing up some kind of ritual involving daisies.