Her gaze snapped to my face, but then she was looking at him again, as if she couldn’t help herself. “Are you telling me thatgorgeous hunk of power that just walked in the room is your friend?”
The laugh that burst from me was hard. “Did you miss thearchnemesis part? We’re enemies, and I don’t see that changing anytime soon.”
“Did your dad fire his dad too?”
“Something like that,” I mumbled, before getting more specific. “His dad has a blood oath against mine. It’s a long story,but there’s a chance Logan might want to murder me.”
She snorted as if I was kidding, but I didn’t join her.
From my peripherals, I could see that Belle wasn’t the only one gawking. Even if Logan hadn’t been a giant, gorgeous specimenof warlock, he was a spellcaster, and power was sexy in our world. What can I say, we’re fickle little witches.
Logan must have reached his seat, as Belle’s full attention returned to me. “Murder or not, maybe you two should bang it outfirst. Imagine the hate fucking. That’s way too fine a warlock to waste as a nemesis if there’s no hate fucking.”
It was horror that twisted my features. Absolute horror and nothing else. So help me goddess. “He’s legitimately terrifying,”I breathed.
Belle shrugged. “The warlocks who fuck the best always are. It’s like riding a roller coaster that’s never had a safety check.You have no idea what’s going to happen, but it’s always thrilling.”
“Or you end up dead,” I said as I rolled my eyes. “Repeat after me, we don’t fuck bad boys.”
Belle opened her mouth, and then slammed it shut. “Sorry, I can’t. My programming is preventing me from lying.”
Shaking my head, I had to laugh, and I felt somewhat better about that asshat being in the room. When my neck started to hurtfrom the odd angle I was holding to avoid him, I turned to face the front, catching a glimpse of Logan out of the corner ofmy eye. Not just Logan, but Giant, and another white-haired warlock. All three were in conversation, ignoring the gawkingfrom the crowd.
I found myself glaring at his profile, which was just as perfect as the front view. He could really use a bump on his nose—someone should break it for him. As my thoughts grew murderous, and I maturely ignored my irrational anger at a warlock who’d done nothing to me yet, he turned and met my gaze full-on. Like he knew I’d been staring at him.Gulp.
A student walked up the pathway between us, breaking the tension, and I was finally able to turn away.Shit shit shit.I should not have looked his way. I’d known not to from the second he entered this room.
“Definitely enemies,” Belle confirmed, patting my arm. “I vote for enemies with benefits, because there was tension, Paisley.All the tension.”
If only she knew that tension might be born of hatred. If Logan blamed my family for the death of his mother, then I doubtedwe’d ever move past it. All that was left to determine was how much he hated me, and if he planned on destroying my familyto sate an old revenge.
“What’s he even doing in this class?” I felt completely out of sorts. My uniform was strangling me, my skin clammy under allthe layers. On top of that, the swirls of energy in my center were performing a fucking dance. “He’s supposed to be a juniorand long past freshmen classes.”
Belle shrugged. “Did he transfer this year? Because this is a specific class for Weatherstone. Everyone has to take it beforethey can graduate.”
Fuck.“Yep, he did.”
The last of the students hurried in as Headmaster Gregor entered the room. He had a blond male professor at his side, whowas both younger and taller than Gregor.
“Welcome,” Professor Gregor said, just as he’d done yesterday. “This class is designed to give you an overview of Weatherstone and the witches Writworth and Ancot. As anecromancer, blessed to govern this school over the last ten years, there’s a legacy of dozens behind me. Those of us who find an affinity in the energy of the dead, cross planes of existence to discover more questions than answers usually. It’s not an affinity for those who settle, but for those who seek beyond the norm. With that being said, I will now leave you in the capable hands of Professor Jones, a former necro student of mine.”
There was polite applause as Professor Jones took over from Gregor. “It’s great to see so many new faces,” he said, his voiceboth deep and with a slight Southern drawl. “I know for many of y’all, this feels like a filler class, but I promise thatunderstanding the history of your world helps you step into the future as a stronger, more well-rounded witch and warlock.With that being said, let’s get started.”
The next hour was spent delving into Writworth and Ancot, the two witches who started Weatherstone. Professor Jones explainedthat they were friends, both born into English families filled with elementals. “They were the only necromancers in theirsmall village,” he said, “and at this time in history, that affinity had a very dark reputation. Female necromancers wereoften accused of being witches by humans and burned at the stake.”
“Witches and warlocks just cut their heads off, if I remember my history,” Belle added in my ear. She was taking diligentnotes, and I could already tell that she was dedicated to her bookwork. Meanwhile, I’d written ten lines, and most weren’teven legible.
“The lack of understanding almost wiped out our affinity completely,” Professor Jones continued. “Rose Writworth and Francesca Ancot escaped in the middle of the night after hearing Rose’s father turn them in to the local law enforcement. They crossed the Atlantic, stowing away on a ricketyold ship, the SSBrigade, which would have met a watery death if they hadn’t used their magic to guide it. Once they reached the Americas, they searchedfor the perfect plot of land to establish themselves, and with one goal in mind—turn necromancy into an affinity with thesame respect as the others.
“They were untrained,” he continued, pacing as he spoke. “As were all necros in those days. They didn’t understand the risksof connecting to the dead, and as they sought to achieve their goals, they did whatever it took for the power. Even drawingon energy from darker souls they should never have touched.”
He let the tale settle in the room, and I rubbed at the goose bumps on my arms. He had a way about him, this professor, turninga lecture into what felt like a scary campfire story.
“They used their magic to call for those seeking a different life, drawing them from all over the world. As many of you wouldhave felt already, there’s a power here in this school, a beacon to our kind.”
I’d felt it from the moment I crossed the entrance gates, that trailing of energy along my spine.
He wrapped his lecture soon after, calling out over the chime of the bell: “I’ll continue with their story next week, butwe’ll go deeper into their backstory first. You need to understand the world they lived in to better understand their motivations.I’d also suggest some independent research of your own. I promise, they’re fascinating and terrifying witches.”
