Maeve, Abraxas, and a number of other students at Vaukore, belonged to the Sacred Seventeen, which were the only pureblooded Magical families left on record. Three centuries ago forty nine Magical dynasties fled to Earth for protection from their home realm. Now only seventeen remained. And their Magic had seeped into this new world, presenting an entire new generation of Magical bloodlines.
“How did you know?” Maeve asked.
“Oh, well I personally knew you’d be desperate-”
Maeve shot him a glare.
“-when you scored anything other than perfect on on your Alchemy exam,” said Abraxas. “However. . .” Abraxas pulled his lips together tightly. “Mal was quite pleased to see you, the second best-those are his words not mine!” Abraxas was practically giddy as he continued, “to see you, needing his help.”
Maeve closed her eyes in frustration.
“Bet Ariana would have a hay-day with such juicy information,” said Abraxas quickly.
Maeve grabbed her book and smacked him on the arm, laughing. Her older and very successful sister would love any blow she could give Maeve.
“Don’t you dare!” She gasped.
Maeve and Abraxas walked together to Summoning and Enchanting, where Professor Harquinton was already seated behind her desk. She wore a very stylish pantsuit, which Maeve recognized from a store called Witch’s Wears in London.
“Ms. Sinclair, Mr. Rosethorn,” said Harquinton curtly as they took seats next to one another.
“Good summer, Professor?” Asked Abraxas.
Harquinton gave Abraxas a small nod and greeted two other students that entered the room. Maeve’s mind drifted back to the nauseating idea that Malachite Peur was gloating her failures to all of the school.
She glowered at him as he entered the room a moment later. Mal didn’t even look their way, he was too busy enchanting Professor Harquinton.
“He’s so full of himself,” whispered Maeve.
“So are you,” said Abraxas.
She frowned at this, but found it difficult to argue. Professor Harquinton didn’t hesitate to begin preparing the class for the “next hurtle in their magical career journey.” The exams that dictated their magical careers were still two years away, but the time to prepare was now.
It seemed every other Professor shared Harquinton’s sentiment. By the weekend Maeve already knew she’d be spending every second of it in the library. Her scheduled tutoring with Mal was set for Saturday morning, and needed a few hours dedicated to it alone.
When their Defensive Magic class came, Headmaster Rowan was seated behind his desk in maroon and silver velvet robes. His feet were propped on the luxurious wooden desk, exposing his silver boots.
“Maeve,” he said without a smile. “Wonderful to see you. How did the summer go?”
“It was good,” shrugged Maeve. “Although, I don’t much care for the Orator’s Office as a whole.”
Rowan nearly chuckled. “I cannot fault you there. Government suited me about the same. Did you meet Daniel Rodríguez?”
Maeve nodded. “I did.”
“He seemed eager to meet you after I told him about your memory charm abilities.”
“He didn’t believe I could withstand a collapsing memory, Sir,” said Maeve taking her seat. “And still come out with the truth.”
“I trust you proved him wrong,” said Rowan solemnly.
“Of course, Sir,” said Maeve, careful to hide her pride.
Rowan didn’t respond well to arrogant and cocky students.
He gave her a militant like nod and motioned her towards her seat.
In Worldly Studies, which was Maeve’s least favorite subject currently, they had a long discussion about the current Human War. She got enough of those lessons from her Father. The Magical World stayed out of such affairs for the most part, but this war was different. There were rumors that many Magical families felt it was the Magical Militia’s duty to extend a hand. But Politics and relations with the Human Government were tricky, as her Father ceaselessly reminded her. Never the less, the Magicals were intertwined in the war.
