The Paper folded on the table between them had a giant headline plastered across the page:
THE DREAD DESCENDANT RESPONSIBLE FOR THE DEATHS OF FOUR MORE MAGICAL MILITIA.
Maeve ignored the implications of the report and focused on Mal’s explanation of Vexkari. The text read:
VEXKARI-scarred with Magic.
Magic sealed in something other than it’s original host.
“It seems like incredibly advanced magic,” said Maeve as they were in a deep discussion about his recent discovery. “This book doesn’t mention anything about how the process will feel. I can’t imagine it’s pleasant to rip a piece of your magic out.”
“It’s more than just my magic. And I don’t think whoever wrote this even knows how it feels.”
“True. I can’t imagine this spell is often used,” said Maeve, reading over the very brief entry on Vexkari. “Though, I have no doubt you can do it.”
They read and discussed Mal’s plan for immortality for a majority of the night before Mal deemed it time to review their assignments for final exams.
“I need to get some sleep, actually.”
“You still need to know this,” he tapped his pointer finger on the parchment in front of her.
“We spent the entire night discussing other things,” she snapped.
Mal’s eyebrow raised. He frowned.
“I’m sorry,” said Maeve, resting her chin on her hand. “I’m just tired.”
“And ungrateful.”
“Oh please,” she narrowed her eyes at him. “You love having something to hold over me.”
“Admittedly.”
Mal leaned back in his chair and stretched. She took a moment to scan his long torso. Something in her stomach flipped over as his button down slid up, exposing his skin. She shook it off and closed her book, which landed her a stern face from Mal.
She ignored him. “I have to get some sleep. I have a Charms exam in the morning.”
“Seriously, Sinclair? You could take that exam in your sleep.”
Maeve smiled. She stood and began gathering her things. He followed suit, and they walked silently down the corridor. They reached the staircase, and Mal started ascending with her instead of making his way down to the Serpentine Dorm.
She stopped walking. “What are you doing?”
Mal continued up the stairs and spoke plainly. “Walking you to your common room. I worry that idiot Grisham still holds a grudge over you.”
“Even so,” said Maeve. “I could take him.”
“I don’t doubt that. I would, however, love to sink my claws into him as well.”
He looked down at her with an eager dominance.
Maeve laughed. Admittedly she’d like to see that.
“Miss Sinclair,” came a voice behind them.
They turned quickly and saw Headmaster Rowan standing in midnight blue robes. His expression stern.
“Sir, we were just finishing studying-” started Mal.
