by Cecilia Tan
Cecilia Tan
Magic University
Book One: The Siren and the Sword
A Ravenous Romance™ Fantastica™ Original Publication
A Ravenous Romance™ Fantastica™ Original Publication
www.ravenousromance.com
Magic University Book One: The Siren and the Sword
Copyright © 2009 by Cecilia Tan
Ravenous Romance™
100 Cummings Center
Suite 123A
Beverly, MA 01915
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in whole or in part without written permission from the publisher, except by reviewers who may quote brief excerpts in connection with a review.
ISBN-13: 978-1-60777-005-3
This book is a work of fiction, and any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.
Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication Page
Acknowledgements
Prologue
September
October
November
December
January
February
April
Afterword
Dedication
This book is for all the grown-ups out there who believe in magic.
Acknowledgements
Thanks to the passel of my fellow writers and readers who helped out with suggestions, proofreading, and shuttling me interesting historical tidbits on poetry, Harvardiana, and so on: Frances Selkirk, Lauren P. Burka, Catt Kinsgrave, Jordan, Claudia, Amy, and Lisa. To my super staff at Circlet Press, especially Jennifer, Jennifer, and Jennifer, who helped keep me sane through the writing of the book (or maybe you helped keep me crazy). And to corwin for always being there.
Prologue
The Elwyn Library had a special kind of quiet: not silence at all, but a strange mix of the echoes of nothing in the high stone spaces in the reading room and the stifling hush of the mass of paper that was its collection. During the day, the sound of a footfall or of a page turning would be swallowed up. At night, the hush was hypnotic, like the steady sound of rainfall or wind rushing through the trees.
The student’s head began to nod. He jerked awake, once, twice—but there was nothing around to keep him awake. He was alone in the library after hours, all the lights doused except for the reading light he’d brought with him to illuminate his cubby. He’d stayed hidden until after the building had closed, eager to spend the entire night with the precious texts he needed for his term paper.
But in the darkest hours of the night, he was beginning to feel the pull of sleep, of dreams. His head sank once again toward the page.
He jerked upward again. Was that a noise? Had he heard something after all?
He turned off the light. Could it be a security guard? Or another student with the same idea as him? He crept away from his desk deep in the stacks, past shelf after shelf of ancient texts, tiptoeing as he went.
There, a soft sound—like a sigh! He froze. Just on the other side of the bookshelf he was standing beside.
He felt her before he saw her, a warm hand reaching around his middle, startling him at first. But he could smell her perfume, feel the softness of her lips across the back of his neck. “Sarah?” he whispered. It must be her; his girlfriend was the only one who knew where he had gone tonight, and she must have planned this little surprise.
“Shhhhhh,” came the reply, and it turned him on that she was being so secretive. Her hands opened his fly and pushed down his pants. He could feel her fingernails scratching lightly at his balls and he leaned his arms against the shelf in front of him while her fingers wrapped around his lengthening erection.
He moaned as she stroked him, then gasped as she raked the nails of her other hand under his shirt down his back, and dropped to her knees. Her wet mouth replaced her hand on his cock and he bit his lip, trying to keep quiet. Sarah had never been like this, so forward, so eager. They still hadn’t had intercourse yet, just heavy petting, and she had only gone down on him once, but—
Maybe she was just waiting for the right opportunity? he wondered, as her tongue was doing wicked things to his cock. It had been frustrating, taking it so slowly, but rewarding at the same time, learning each other’s bodies and how to touch and pleasure each other.
She must have read up on blow jobs or something, though, as she seemed to have perfected some truly expert techniques—if how close he was to coming was any indication.
Just when he was nearly there, though, she pulled back. “Sarah?” he tried to ask again, looking down in the dark, but he could not make out her face in the shadows. The library building had almost no windows in the stacks and very little ambient light seeped in from outside. Quite suddenly she leaped up, wrapping her arms around his neck, and her legs around his waist, and he gasped as he felt the velvet wetness engulfing his prick that had to mean she had impaled herself on him. I thought we were going to wait! he thought, but he wasn’t about to try to interrupt her when she was so very determined. His arms went around her reflexively, then slid down to her buttocks to support her weight.
She felt like she hardly weighed anything as she rocked against him, milking his cock with her body and grinding herself against him while digging her nails into his shoulders. He helped her to move as best he could, as she seemed to bring herself off, much to his amazement, then keep going. I’m not wearing a condom! he thought suddenly, but she was the type who would have planned everything out. If she had waited in here, sneaked in to surprise him like this, then surely she had taken precautions.
He had no choice anyway. She was wringing his orgasm out of him before he knew it, clinging hard to him until his softening cock slipped wetly from her. Then she sprang back, leaving his arms suddenly empty and cold. “Sarah?” He took a step forward.
And jerked awake, lying with his face in a book.
Man, what an intense erotic dream. Maybe he was more frustrated about Sarah than he’d thought? He went back to studying, hoping he hadn’t drooled in the book he was using.
It wasn’t until he went to the restroom an hour or so later that he realized his pubic hair was a bit matted. Had it been a wet dream? But his underwear was dry.
And it wasn’t until the next night when he got undressed in front of his roommate, and his roommate commented on the pattern of fingernail marks on his shoulders, that he believed it hadn’t been a dream.
September
Kyle looked at the map in his hand, then at the red brick buildings in front of him, standing like sentinels all around a grassy courtyard crisscrossed with pedestrian paths. The map was artfully done in cheery colors, with helpful tips and descriptions in word bubbles, as if each building were a cartoon character describing itself to the visitor. But the buildings he was looking at didn’t match the map. For one thing, there were too many of them.
Maybe every building isn’t actually shown on the map? he wondered. Or maybe I’m in the wrong quadrangle? Or maybe this is all a test to see if you’re REALLY smart enough to be allowed in to Harvard.
He quashed that thought quickly. Kyle Wadsworth hadn’t exactly always led a privileged or easy life, but the scholarship he was slated to receive proved he was good enough for Harvard. Well, at least, they’d said he was slated. The interview was just a formality, they said. The scholarship was as good as his, and with it, a new life could begin. He shifted his tie nervously. Now if only he could arrive on time, he might be getting somewhere. He’d been looking forward to this weekend desperately. Once the interview was out of the way, he would have th
e whole weekend to explore the city and the campus and—and whatever. Kyle didn’t even know what exactly he wanted to do, only that his blood had sung when he’d realized it meant a chance to get away from the house, away from Great-Aunt Agatha, away from the life he couldn’t wait to leave behind.
He was already eighteen, a high school senior, and desperately ready to start his adult life. Or, at least, college student life.
But adults and students alike were supposed to be able to read maps.
Perhaps the map was just an artist’s rendition and not to scale. He checked the printed e-mail he had folded in his jacket pocket. Enter through the gate and then third building on your right, it said.
One, two, three. This building looked a little older than the one next to it, its archway made of solid stone and the double doors of heavy wood. But when he pulled on the brass handle, it swung inward easily.
Kyle found himself in a carpeted hallway, which was a good sign. Jove had told him once that at universities the administrative buildings had carpets, and classroom buildings didn’t, so he must be on the right track. At the very least, there was bound to be a secretary somewhere in here who could tell him if he was in the right place. The first door on the left was open, and he was about to step through it when a raised voice stopped him.
“Miss Torralva! You know perfectly well I do not believe these vile rumors, which are clearly nothing more than an attempt to undermine our authority and create hysteria.”
It was a man’s voice, speaking in clipped tones. He didn’t have an accent, but the way he spoke reminded Kyle of British actors on TV.
A woman answered him. “Come now, Quilian, there’s no need to be so harsh on the girl.”
“Mistress Finch, I would appreciate if you would stay out of these matters...”
“And I would appreciate if you would not shout at my students.”
Then a younger woman’s voice. “I’m sorry to have disturbed you, Dean Bell. Never mind, Ms. Finch. It was a waste of time to come here.”
“See that you don’t do it again,” the man said, and strode forcefully from the room, colliding with Kyle outside the door. Kyle found himself on his ass, looking up at a blond man in graduation robes, then scrambling out of the way as if the man were about to kick him.
Instead the man frowned and demanded, “Who are you?”
“Er, Kyle Wadsworth,” he said, climbing to his feet and straightening his jacket. “I’m here for an admission interview?”
The two women he had heard were now standing in the doorway, too, looking at him curiously. “Interview?” said the older of the two, who looked to be perhaps forty. She’s a librarian, Kyle thought, taking in a quick impression of her hair in a bun and glasses perched on her nose.
The librarian called behind her, “Helena, was there a prospective student scheduled to come in today?”
Kyle looked back and forth between the imposing, angry man and the younger woman in the door, who was presumably a student. She had wavy black hair, pinned back with barrettes, and eyes such a dark brown, they were almost black. No, maybe they were black, but her expression was warm. She was looking at him with a mix of sympathy and curiosity, stifling a smile.
“Um, hi,” Kyle said in her direction, then turned back to the man still staring at him. “I’m the Pollock Scholarship recipient?” he ventured, hoping this might ring a bell. “I’m sure the e-mail said my interview was today, two o’clock...”
“You’re in the wrong building,” the man said, and pointed at the wall in the direction of the next building over.
“But Dean Bell,” the girl piped up, “how could he even find...?”
“Silence.” Bell’s glare was as sharp as his voice. “Mr. Wadsworth, was it?” When Kyle nodded he went on slowly, as if Kyle might be too stupid to understand if he spoke any faster. “You. Do not. Belong. Here.”
“Um, okay, sorry, I was just following the directions, third building and all,” Kyle stammered. “I guess I wasn’t supposed to count the one on the corner? Or maybe I was supposed to...”
“Mr. Wadsworth.” It was the librarian again, and she and Dean Bell glared daggers at each other for a moment. “Before you move on, would you sign our visitor register? Our department doesn’t get very many, you see, and our funding for tea and cookies will be cut if we can’t prove a certain amount of interest. Right through here.” She stepped aside and indicated the open doorway.
“Oh, sure. Anything to help...?” He dared a smile at the girl, who was watching him with that same open curiosity and a hint of a smile. She was wearing brown corduroy jeans with a flower embroidered on the pocket and he wasn’t sure why he noticed little details like that, but he tucked it away in his head for later. Maybe he’d get a chance to run into her again.
Inside the office was a large, wooden reception desk which, like much of Harvard, looked like it was either from pre-1800 or like it was made to look that old. Behind the desk sat a pretty blond woman whose lipstick was rather bright. She set a large, leatherbound book on the desk, facing Kyle. The leather creaked as she opened it and she pointed to a cup of pens next to it.
They were all watching quite closely while Kyle took a step forward. Maybe this was the psychology department and this was all some kind of experiment on him? He reached into the pens and pulled one out, hissing sharply as he felt something prick his finger. Great. Now I’ve cut myself and I’ll be bleeding all through the interview. Way to make an impression. He decided he had best just sign his name and get out of there as soon as possible. Maybe he could hurry next door and stop the bleeding in the men’s room or something.
He touched the pen to the first empty line in the ledger and felt a curious shock go through his arm. This has got to be some kind of weird experiment! Or maybe a reality TV show. But he signed his name in flowing letters, hoping the reddish tinge to the ink didn’t mean he’d bled onto the page, or at least hoping they didn’t notice.
As he lifted the pen, he heard a bell tolling. Was he late? He whirled around to find they were all staring at him still. “Um, I...um...better be going...”
That bell just kept ringing though, so loud it was as if it were right in this building. What was going on? None of them moved until the bell ceased to ring, the women sighing in relief and Dean Bell crossing his arms over his chest.
“Well, thank you very much, Kyle Wadsworth,” the librarian said. “I’m Madeleine Finch.” She held out her hand to be shaken, and Kyle reluctantly set down the pen, but he didn’t seem to get any blood on her hand as he shook it. “Welcome to Veritas. It would appear there’s been a bit of a mix-up in your matriculation papers, though?”
Kyle stared at her. “Wait a second. That’s it? I’m in? I only just sent the application. I thought I wouldn’t hear until March...”
Dean Bell made a disgusted noise. “He’s your stray puppy to deal with now, Mistress Finch. If anyone needs me, I shall be in my office.” His tone of voice made it clear that anyone who needed him had best take a leap into the Charles River. He stalked out, robes fluttering behind him.
The receptionist immediately began digging in a file cabinet behind her, while the other two women kept looking at him with growing curiosity.
Kyle tried again. “Look, I’m supposed to have this interview today. I guess maybe I’m already pre-approved because I had to apply early in order to qualify for the scholarship, except I’m supposed to have this interview to, um, make sure I’m not an idiot in person, I guess, because Harvard doesn’t admit idiots, or at least, that’s the theory...uh...” He trailed off, realizing just how much like an idiot he sounded. The student hid her smile behind her hand.
“Mr. Wadsworth, may I ask you a personal question?” Mistress Finch folded her hands in front of her.
“Um, sure, please.”
“Are you, by any chance, an orphan?”
He blinked. “Yes, I am, actually.”
“But is Wadsworth your family name?”
How did sh
e know these things? “Yes, yes, it is.”
She paused. “Helena, did you find anything?”
The receptionist sighed. “Nothing, Ms. Finch.”
Okay, and why do the women call her Ms. Finch, but the dean call her Mistress Finch? He knew university society was supposedly different from everywhere else, but he’d never heard of that. Which one should he use? “Um, find what?”
“A record of your birth,” Ms. Finch answered. “Well, you are a mystery but hardly the first one, Mr. Wadsworth. I’ll just spell it out for you and see if it makes sense to you. The building you’re standing in right now is not a part of Harvard. Well, it is, but it isn’t. There’s a secret university inside Harvard, known as Veritas.”
Kyle blinked. “But isn’t that what’s on the signs outside? Harvard’s motto...”
“The two institutions have an intertwined history,” she went on. “Harvard is for the elite scholars, the future leaders of the world. Veritas is for, well, those with more arcane talents.”
“Arcane?”
“Magical.”
“Magical?” Kyle could still hear the bell ringing in his head. “You mean like wizards?”
The student snorted behind her hand. “We prefer the term ‘magic users.’ ‘Wizards’ is so patriarchal and un-PC.”
Kyle shook his head, but although everything was as weird as some dream, it still seemed to be real. “So, sorry to be skeptical, but...you’re saying I’m magical?”
“You wouldn’t have even been able to see this building if you weren’t at least a little Sighted,” Ms. Finch said, “and you certainly wouldn’t have been able to sign the matriculation register if you didn’t have the power in your blood.”
He checked his finger reflexively, but the bleeding had stopped and he couldn’t even see where the pen had pricked him. “Um, the Dean didn’t seem as convinced...”
