“Then I suppose I have made a grave miscalculation,” His tone was unaffected, but he tilted his head and the look he gave the witch was something akin to encouragement.
The sigh that left her was one of defeat, but she sat forward and made a small cut with the sharpened tip of the ring she wore over her thumb and held out her arms. Professor Atwood lowered his wrist, and the witch moved her hand over him and tendrils of light purple fell, reminiscent of a heavy rainstorm. Professor Atwood’s blue-gray eyes went wide as the magic seeped into him, but where the fatal wound had been was only healthy pink skin.
He nodded his head in a slight bow to the witch. The act of deference sparking something charged and emotional in Ara. The witch merely continued to glare as she leaned back in her seat and folded her arms once more. She was sure her mouth was hanging wide open, but she couldn’t find it in herself to care after witnessing such remarkable magic. All magic was beautiful, but it had its limits. Fatal wounds were still fatal wounds even for magic users.
Professor Atwood held out his hand and a damp cloth appeared having been summoned by the school’s ventus. He methodically wiped the blood from his hand and wrist that no longer had a wound to account for its existence.
As he walked slowly down the aisle he spoke, “Magic is neither good nor evil. The witch or wizard who wields it decides how it is used.”
He finally came to stand in front of the strawberry blonde once more. “I will not tolerate intolerance in this classroom. Small minds have no place in this school. The ignorance you have shown today, Ms. Darling, is archaic and without basis. It is clear you were afforded an opportunity you were ill-equipped for in being allowed to join this institution. You will appear before the headmistress to evaluate whether you are permitted to remain in study here. You are excused for the remainder of the day as you await judgment.”
The witch let out a strangled sob and her throat bobbed as she fought for words. The eyebrow Professor Atwood raised said that he would not hesitate to call for her forceful removal if necessary. Deciding to maintain what dignity she had left, the witch stood and exited the room. The glare she shot at Lily was one of hatred, pure and palpable.
When the door closed behind her. Professor Atwood began again as if nothing of consequence had occurred. Ara’s heart beat rapidly in her chest. She knew first years were expelled often throughout their trial period, but she had never witnessed it before. To have your chance to be a Calami witch ripped away in an instant was gut-wrenching. Despite the fact that the witch had been terrible, that was a fate that she thought must haunt them for the rest of their days.
“When the human vessel showed an affinity for power despite having no magical blood, she was brought to the Founders in order to be . . . fixed.” Professor Atwood said the word as if it were rotten. “When they realized her raw potential the Founders of Mistral Hall and Calami used blood magic to make what two artifacts, Miss Sinclair?”
“The omnis stone and the grimoire.” The young woman practically rolled her eyes, the hint of emotion she had shown earlier gone as if it had never existed.
“Correct. The witches presented the vessel with the omnis stone made of their highest power, moon dust, and brought to life with blood magic. But it was not without cost, Miss Laurier?”
“The headmistress of Calami who cast the spell died moments after its creation,” Roxie grumbled.
“Your excitement at the prospect of learning is admirable, Miss Laurier,” Professor Atwood said. “Miss Hazel Kingston, what was the cost the wizards paid for their gift?”
The perfect little brunette who sat in between her cousins chirped proudly, “The Headmaster of Mistral Hall created the Grimoire, compiling the wizard’s most valuable spells and at the use of his blood magic he was severed from magic and all his descendants after him.”
Ara looked over to see Lily clenching her quill as if she could destroy it. It was no wonder after the witch’s hateful words, but she had never seen Lily quite so affected.
“Correct, Miss Kingston. The price of blood magic is weighed against the magnitude of the spell. In order to create the most powerful artifacts our world has ever known and to usher in an age of unity the cost needed to be equal. Some might argue that the cost was not nearly high enough.”
“Except, everyone knows that it isn’t real. It’s a children’s story.” One of the Kingston triplets interrupted.
“Perhaps. But there is truth in all stories whether they be fact or fiction.” Professor Atwood stepped forward toward where the triplets sat with careful, even steps. When he reached them he held out a hand to the one who had spoken out of turn. She looked at him with a blush creeping up her cheeks, but Professor Atwood only raised his brow. “Your quill, Miss Kingston.”
She placed her quill in his upturned hand with a slight shake to her hand. Ara wondered if Professor Atwood was aware of the effect he had on most of the witches at Calami. It wasn’t just that he was the only wizard to ever teach at Calami, but it was in the way he carried himself walking about in three-piece suits that seemed to follow his body as if they too longed to be near his charisma. That accompanied by his distant manner and handsome face, made very few immune to him.
Professor Atwood pulled the small silver pocketknife from his pocket once more and Ara’s heart seemed to beat wildly as she was sure her fellow witches did. She did not think they could tolerate such a display once more, but Professor Atwood wordlessly ran it across the palm holding the quill. A small murmur rang out about the room as understanding dawned on them. His blue-gray eyes flared briefly as he whispered an incantation, never taking his eyes from the quill that was now mixing with his blood.
As soon as the spell was done, the quill lifted, shook in midair and transformed into a stunning blue and silver butterfly. It flitted across the room and landed in front of Ara. Ara stared wordlessly at the fantastic creature. It seemed to gaze back at her as if it were capable of understanding.
“Even the most beautiful blood magic comes at a cost.”
The words ripped Ara from her study of the butterfly as a chorus of gasps shook the room. Ara looked to see a terrible pale raised scar lashed through Professor Atwood’s eye to run across his eyebrow and down across his eyelid. His normally handsome face was marred by a scar that looked as if it had been there for years.
Professor Atwood ran a hand along it as if to verify the truth of its existence. “Blood magic demands sacrifice and while what you offer it may seem fair to you, the magic will always claim what is owed.”
He came to stand in front of Ara and looked down at the butterfly who rested contentedly. He gently brought his hand down and coaxed the butterfly to him. With his other hand, he reached into his pocket. “And yet, balance can be achieved by returning what has been taken when the magic deems it a fair trade.”
In answer he brought his hand in on the butterfly, his fist making a terrible crunching sound. Bile rose in Ara’s throat. When he opened his hand once more it was not the crumpled form of the butterfly, but instead an ordinary quill. Ara swallowed and looked up to find his face once more free of the scar.
“Those who meddle in blood magic must be prepared for the cost and for the knowledge that once given the magic may never be satisfied to return what you gave depending on the magnitude of the spell as it was for the creators of the omnis stone and the grimoire who’s cost still claims magic today, if the stories are to be believed.”
Professor Atwood carefully set the quill down in front of Ara and when she lifted her eyes to his she saw a warning that was there and gone before anyone else might notice. He turned his back to her and walked towards the front of the class. “Miss Marudas, please return the quill to Miss Kingston. Class is dismissed.”
Ara shivered, feeling as if for all her knowing, she in fact knew very little.
Chapter sixteen
