“If they knew I couldn’t erase—”
“It looks like we both have blackmail material then,” Ellie said levelly. “I’ll keep your secret if you keep mine.”
“That sounds fair.” Prospero smiled. She didn’t step forward, though.
Ellie sagged slightly against her door. She wasn’t going to let Prospero escort herintoher room. She wasn’t convinced either of them had the self-control to make that a good idea, but she wanted something more, something that made her feel good.
When Prospero did nothing, Ellie tilted her head. “This is when you should kiss me.”
Prospero’s usual arrogance returned, and the predatory look on her face did almost as much to make Ellie’s pulse skyrocket as the demanding kiss that followed.
A kiss is not enough reason to stay,Ellie’s mind whispered.
Hestia would argue with me on that,Ellie’s heart reminded her.
More. Just need more,lower parts of her body demanded.
And to that, both heart and mind agreed. More kisses. More time. More touching. More talking. More Prospero. On that, all of Ellie agreed.
29Maggie
The students filed through the infirmary. Little pockets of conversation were mixed with the doctor calling, “Next.”
Each time, a student stepped behind the white curtained area to be examined. So far only three students had gone through the exam. One was Dan, the sickly pale white guy who had taken Maggie to the bar. The other two were a super-religious white woman who seemed to be reciting prayers on a loop and a Black guy called Karl who was keeping to himself so far.
Maggie rubbed her throat and the back of her neck absently. She could feel the abrasions, as if she’d been tugging back against an actual chain and collar. The skin on the left side of her throat was no longer bleeding, but that didn’t erase the burning sensation. The edges of the collar were unfinished, as if the metal hadn’t been polished.
Of course, there was nopolishinvolved. The metal was an illusion, a phantom image that ought not have felt solid enough to injure. The dried blood on Maggie’s skin was real enough to prove otherwise; Ellie’s illusion drew blood. The class itself was proof things that were supposedly deception could feel damn real.
What was the cost?That was the lawyerly question that now creptinto everything Maggie thought. Negotiation was about what a person was willing to give up in order to get what they needed, and asking the right questions was how one figured that out, at least that was Maggie’s opinion. Being with Leon had cost her a lot of self-respect, a loss in career advancement, but what it had gained her was an amazing son. She’d sacrifice a lot more to have her son safe with her again.
Which is why I need to get out of here.
Initially, she hadn’t asked Sondre the right questions. She’d heard his answers and thought they would mean Craig camehere. She’d thought everything would be ideal. Instead, she realized there would be no custody case because Maggie was going to be considered missing.
Fuck that.
Maggie pushed that rage down. One of these days, her habit of swallowing her anger would give her ulcers. Today, it let her find focus. The witch responsible for the tactile illusion was Ellie. She had collapsed, but that was likely because she was a brand-new witch, untrained, just working from a few words and some instinct. No one else came anywhere near that level of creation. Dan had accomplished nothing. Axell and Ana had managed wavering illusions, like creating ghosts.
I need to get to know Ellie.
Power was an asset, and Maggie was fairly sure the degree of power that she wanted wasn’t inside her. Admittedly, she hadn’t truly tried. She’d been going through the motions in classes, doodling absently, and waiting for the moment where she could say, “Siphon me!” because as cool as magic was, it wasn’t enough to make her abandon her son to the man who had tried tokill them both. Not now. Not ever.
Maggie was still kicking herself over hearing what she’d wanted to hear when Sondre had answered her question. Yet again, she’d let sex cloud her logic.
“Are you well?” Dr. Jemison asked as Maggie stepped forward into the little cubicle for her exam. “Please, stand still for a moment.”
There was a red X on the floor, faded but still visible. Maggie stepped onto the mark.
The doctor stared at her from toe to top, closing her eyes after a moment but still facing Maggie.
“Pivot ninety degrees,” the doctor ordered.
They repeated this three times more, and then there was silence.
Maggie squirmed, shifting from foot to foot awkwardly, and studied the part of the infirmary where they now were. No sounds filtered into the space, even though the only visible barrier was a thin white curtain. The hum of conversation had vanished. The room itself was not as old-fashioned as a castle, but it was more 1940s than modern. No laptops or other technology was visible. The worktable was wooden, scarred with age, and the patient table reminded Maggie of a hotel room service table but long and wide enough for an average-sized adult to recline.
“Nothing internal,” the doctor pronounced as she opened her eyes several moments later. “Do you have any concerns to report? On this or any other health-related matter?”
