That I can do.
My smile may be out-of-place considering the circumstances, but there’s nothing about my bestie that doesn’t make my life feel better, safer, more manageable.
I drift away from Wylder and whatever he’s doing, and focus on spending a moment gathering myself with the support of Asher. Even across the divide of whatever pocket world I’m in, I feel the steadfast love and support of my best friend.
I’m not sure how long I sit there, lost in memories and moments the two of us have shared over the past five years, but eventually, my panic eases and I regain control.
Counting that as a true win, I open my eyes.
Wylder is still bent forward, his hands hovering over me as his lips move in a steady run of unheard words. Despite his hostility and his lack of manners, his focus is admirable.
As spiteful as it is to want to reject him and everything he stands for, whatever magical mojo he’s using to calm the tempest of my powers is working.
Not that I’m about to thank him or anything. Yeah-no, screw that. To distract myself, I stare at glass orbs filled with what looks like captured starlight lining the shelves above.
Each orb seems to depict a different phase of the moon.
I don’t know much about Wiccan beliefs and symbols, but I know the moon phases are important to rituals and spellwork. Or, at least, I think they are. As my attention focuses, they flicker in response, their light pulsing in rhythm with my heartbeat.
Wylder finishes with whatever he’s doing to calm my powers and straightens. I’m not sure if settling my powers took it out of him, or what, but he looks genuinely shaken.
The confusion in his expression lasts only for the briefest of moments before he stiffens and looks at Laurel standing at the back of the room. “Do you want me here, or should I leave?”
“You boys wait outside. I’m not sure how this will go.”
I squeeze Orion’s hand as he stands, and he winks in response. And even though I’m not fond of Wylder, I manage a weak nod of my chin for his efforts.
He leaves without even a backward glance.
Well, alrighty then.
I sigh and continue to look around the room. To my right sits a worktable covered in ritual implements: a heavy iron cauldron, a green marble mortar and pestle set, and what looks like a ceremonial knife bejeweled like something you’d find in a museum collection somewhere.
The air smells of sage, lavender, and something older, deeper. It might well be the scent of magic itself.
Laurel paces the room, her fingers twitching nervously against her skirt. She keeps glancing at me, opening her mouth as if to speak, then thinking better of it. There’s genuine fear in her eyes. Is it fearofme orforme?
There’s no way for me to know.
“What’s going to happen?” I hate how small my voice sounds.
Laurel stops pacing. “The Headmistress will decide what to do with you.”
“And if she decides I’m dangerous?”
She doesn’t answer, which is answer enough.
Outside the office, the door of living vines parts with a whispering sound and then the wooden door swings open.
Headmistress Briar enters, regal and commanding. She unfastens the opalescent clasp of her deep forest-green cloak and hangs it on a hook inside the door. The pink streak stands in stark contrast to the rest of her dark hair, and the way it coils around her head gives me the impression of her wearinga crown. But what truly exudes her command of the room is the way her eyes burn with cold fire… like frost and starlight combined.
She doesn’t sit. Instead, she rounds her desk and stands, placing her palms flat on its surface. The magic in the room responds instantly to her mood. The lights dim, and the orbiting books slow their spin.
“All right.” Her voice is like a blade wrapped in silk. “Tell me what is going on. What are you playing at, Miss Hallowind?”
I swallow hard. “Me? Nothing.”
“You were at the center of a violent disruption where an Arcana Guardian neutralized you as a threat. That is not nothing, and it didn’t happen by accident.”
