I slowly climb the stairs to my room in the east tower, already yawning and wanting to collapse into bed. Tomorrow’s Friday, which is always cause for celebration. But also, I have my cooking elective on Fridays. The class Poppy is in with me.
And now I’m thinking about her again, all the way up the spiraling stone staircase to room ET27. When I step into the room, I find it empty, though Felex started a fire in the hearth before he left. Since our first year rooming together, he’s been a night wanderer, much to the headmistress’s frustration. But keeping half vampires cooped up while the moon is awake is no easy feat—she’s brought him back here in the middle of the night more times than I can count. Now I mostly sleep through the ruckus when it happens.
I kick my shoes off and immediately go collapse on the couch. Felex and I have one of the smaller dorm rooms, so it’s just the two of us, while other students, like Maeve and Poppy, get assigned the suites, with more space but twice the number of roommates. I’m happy it’s just us. Felex is quiet, but he’s a solid guy, and I feel like I can talk to him about anything. Whether or not he talks back, though, depends on the day. Sometimes I just talkathim, but that’s cool too.
The fire flickers, and I yawn. If I don’t get up, I’m gonna fall asleep, and I always wake up stiff when I sleep on the couch. So, with a grunt, I push myself up and head toward my bed, peeling my long-sleeved tunic off as I go. I ball thefabric up and sling it on top of the pile of other dirty laundry I’ve yet to wash this week. I think it can wait until Sunday, my usual laundry day.
I’m just about to strip out of my loose trousers when a subtle silver glow catches my eye.
The light seeps out from around the cracks in my desk drawer.
I walk over and open the drawer, and there’s Ma’s silver clan ring, glowing softly in the dark. Picking it up, I turn it between my fingers, admiring the perfect glow.
And once again, I’m thinking about Poppy.
With a jolt, I remember we had an agreement: She’ll help me with my classwork, and I’ll help her with planning Professor Silvermoon’s ball. Poppy didn’t mention anything about it during our tutoring session on Tuesday, but was she thinking it? Does she think I’m gonna flake out or not uphold my side of the agreement?
I’m not going to let that happen.
So even though I’m tired and about to fall into a food coma, I grab a piece of slightly crumpled parchment from my desk drawer and sit down in the chair.
Using the glow from my mom’s ring, I start jotting ideas onto the parchment.
Theme: Moons . . . ?
Location: The academy? Somewhere else?
Food and Drink: Ask Poppy
Entertainment: Musicians, something else notlame (maybe diviners?)
I sit back and stare at what I’ve written. It’s pretty terrible. But it’s a start. I yawn so hard that my eyes get blurry. My need for sleep is making my brain a bit fuzzy. I’ll talk more with Poppy in class tomorrow.
I slip the parchment into my bookbag so I won’t forget it tomorrow morning, when I’ll undoubtedly roll out of bed and stumble my sleepy ass to class. Then I grab Ma’s silver ring and collapse into bed, groaning as I finally rest my tired muscles.
And I fall asleep with the ring clenched in my fist, its light shining softly through the spaces between my fingers.
Chapter 10
Poppy
MY LAST CLASS ON FRIDAYS is my elective, Kitchen Spellwork. I typically wouldn’t take such a simple class—I like to be challenged and learn new things—but I love cooking and baking so much that when it came available to me as a third-year, I had to take it.
But Aric is in this class with me, so now I’m left feeling a bit nervous as I sit at my desk in the middle of the classroom, notebook open in front of me, quill held just above the page.
Professor Sage stands at the front of the room, her ingredients and cookware displayed on the table in front of her as she instructs us on how to successfully use a leavening charm in cake baking.
Back home at the café with Mama, we don’t use magic in our baking—just good old-fashioned hard work and know-how. But I wouldn’t mind being able to speed up Mama’s process just a bit—if she’ll let me, that is. With the holidayscoming up, the café will be overrun with cake and cookie and cupcake orders, and it’ll be packed with visitors who travel to Wysteria during the holidays from the outlying smaller towns and villages. Mama never complains, but I know all the baking makes her wrists and elbows ache. If she’ll let me help with some of my magic, maybe I can ease some of her strain.
“You’ll begin with your base: flour, your spice mix, and a pinch of salt,” Professor Sage instructs, sprinkling a dusting of salt into her mixing bowl.
Her moss-green apron is speckled with flour, and she’s using a long spoon in lieu of a hair stick to hold up her cinnamon-colored curls. She uses a brush of air magic to lift a wooden spoon from the end of the table. It drifts into her bowl, and she begins to stir the ingredients.
“Now, who can tell me why we stir clockwise in our kitchen spellwork?”
I know the answer, and no one else is raising their hand. It usually takes me a moment to get up my courage to raise my hand—it makes my skin prickle speaking in front of the class. But before I can get my hand into the air, another hand goes up from a desk at the front of the classroom.
Professor Sage lifts one cinnamon brow. “Mr. Vandermere?”
