Maeve pushed off the floor and pushed her hair back in frustration. She was tired. He fired on her before she was even ready.
With a smack her knees hit the floor as his magic slammed through her. Cold as ice and sharp as a sword.
A breath snapped out of her and the groan of pain she was suppressing slipped from her throat.
He was strong. Much stronger than her.
“You aren’t even trying, Sinclair.”
Maeve scowled at him and rubbed her shoulder.
“Your mind is everywhere but right here. The only goal is to block me. Empty your mind of anything else. Now,” said Mal, “up.”
Maeve rose to her feet once more, her hand ready to throw up a defensive shield from her palm.
“Then give me a moment to learn my focus,” snapped Maeve.
Mal hesitated, then lowered his hand.
She closed her eyes. He was right. Her mind was elsewhere. She was focused on his judgement, the daunting task ahead of her that seemed impossible. Her mother’s constant annoyance at her success and joy in her failure. At the forefront of her mind were the years of failed dueling attempts as a child, her Father’s sympathetic, but arguably disappointed, face and her sister’s smug one.
Maeve steadied her breathing, controlling each one, frustrated that charms came so easily but not defensive magic.
Mal had told her once before, if she could slip through minds and create new spells, there was likely little she couldn’t do.
Just because it’s a duel, doesn’t make it different, he had said.
Maeve inhaled, opened her eyes, and exhaled.
A bright blue jet of light shot towards her from the tip of Mal’s finger. She moved her hand across her chest in a flicking motion and shouted, “Skartum!”
Mal’s jet of light slammed into the silvery mist in front of her, pushing her back a few feet. His hex made golden sparks as it bounced into the wall.
Maeve didn’t smile, but looked at him for approval. He gave her a small nod.
“Again,” said Mal, motioning for her to ready herself.
They practiced for another hour before heading to their Paragon duties. Malachite instructed Maeve to pay close attention to his next appearance with The Dueling Club and take notes on his tactics.
Maeve’s heels clicked into the ancient stone tile of the castle and echoed off the vaulted corridor walls as she patrolled the first floor with Abraxas, who wasn’t the least bit concerned that he was out past curfew. He was going on about some bit of gossip he overheard Professor Hoggart and Professor Warleton whispering about. None of which Maeve cared about currently. Her thoughts were preoccupied with the past few hours.
She had successfully blocked Mal. And while she didn’t expect praise for the bare minimum, she was pleased with herself.
“I heard you left Violet crying in a tea shop yesterday.”
Maeve laughed. “That’s hilarious. I did no such thing.”
“Well she’s told everyone you’re a horribly mean friend.”
Maeve was silent for a moment. “It doesn’t matter,” she finally said quietly.
They rounded a corner, and two freshman boys jumped and started walking the other direction.
“Hey!” Shouted Maeve, making her way towards them. “Where are you supposed to be?” She recognized them. They were Serpentine students.
The pair of boys turned around slowly, attempting to conceal a bag behind their backs.
Maeve held out her hand. The shorter boy punched the other on the arm.
