“I knew I shouldn’t have let you talk me into this!”
The shorter of the two gave Maeve the bag. She opened it fully expecting a bag of auto-answer quills or some other form of contraband. Even liquor perhaps, which was strictly banned at Vaukore. Much to her surprise, the bag was stuffed full with sweets.
“Is this just candy?” Asked Maeve. “You’re out of bed for candy?”
“He’s out of bed too!” Exclaimed the taller boy, pointing at Abraxas.
“Excuse you, I’m Abraxas Rosethorn.”
“Oh, shut up,” Maeve said to Abraxas. “Detention, both of you, and ten demerits to your beloved Court of Serpentine.”
“Can we at least keep the sweets?” Muttered the shorter boy.
“No,” said Abraxas, snatching the bag from Maeve.
Maeve instructed them to go straight to their dorm. They scurried off, arguing with one another.
Abraxas pulled out an orange cupcake with large pumpkin shaped sprinkles and began eating it.
“Where did they even get that?” Laughed Maeve.
Abraxas shrugged. “No idea, but I’m glad they did.”
Chapter 6
Maeve attended every Dueling Club event, as were Mal’s instructions. She looked forward to her lessons with him almost as much as Charms class. Maeve was blocking his spells with consistency and becoming better at her offensive spells as well.
“You make a good teacher,” said Maeve, gathering her things after their lesson.
Mal smirked at this. An expression which suited his handsome features. “You aren’t a bad pupil. Believe me, I have worse.”
“Oh, I’m well aware,” laughed Maeve. “You mentor Roswyn as well.”
“Careful, Sinclair,” he said with a smirk. “Roswyn is stronger than you.”
Maeve looked away from him and chewed the inside of her lip.
“You’ve known all of them your whole life haven’t you?” Asked Mal. “Being a Sacred Seventeen.”
Maeve nodded. “My family is especially close to the Rosethorn’s though, as my Mother was one. Which I suppose is why Abraxas and I get along so well.”
“How old were you when they put that mark on your wrist?” He asked casually.
“I don’t remember,” she said. “It’s always been there.”
“I’ve noticed you keep your sleeves down most of the time,” he said. “Are you ashamed of those symbols on your wrist?”
Maeve stopped and lifted her left arm, letting the sleeve of her sweater fall to her elbow. Three sharp pointed stars sat tattooed on the corner of her wrist.
“I’m not ashamed,” she said quietly.
“You shouldn’t be,” he said. “Your family has ties to a lost civilization of Magic.”
“I know that,” she said, letting her arm fall back to her side.
And it was true. She was proud of her family. Of her father. She knew her blood was laced with ancient Magic that made her stronger.
Though, Malachite was the exception to that idea. Stronger than all of them. A supreme before he ever set foot at Vaukore. With no Sacred blood. Born unto a Witch with no name, and no Father to be found. She died giving birth to him in a cold December alley way in the slums of London.
