“Is that a freaking palantir?”
His eyes twinkle with mirth. “Well, it is crystal. And it is a ball. But this one isn’t used to divine the future or corrupt unsuspecting wizards. You see the runes there?” He points as I rotate the not-a-palantir. “When imbued with magic, specific runes on this artifact will alight according to the holder’s Order.”A moment later, the core of the crystal begins to swirl as if it were filled with smoke and a dark light begins to pulse, warming my palm. A light from the bottom of the ball begins to stream through my fingers, and I turn it over for Brandt to see.
“You are most certainly a witch. Congratulations. We won’t know if you have an affinity or what it will be until your epiphaneia, but this is enough to go on in the meantime,” he says, taking it from my trembling hand.
“Thank you, Wolfram,” the Headmaster says before handing me several pieces of paper. “This is your class schedule. I’ve also taken the liberty of adding the private study sessions with Professor Brandt. My assistant will notify your professors and send you an email with more information.” I look at the papers without seeing them, shocked and reeling from yet another display of magic. More evidence that my world really has changed overnight.
“I believe that concludes our business for this morning. If you have any questions about your class schedule, you can direct them to my assistant.” He stands once more, offering me another handshake, and Brandt does the same.
“It was lovely to meet you, Ms. Byrke. I will email you later this week to coordinate your private study time.” His calm smile manages to ease my nerves somewhat, and he walks me to the door much like he did when I first entered, wishing me a good first day before closing it behind him. Seeing the time, I review the campus map on my new phone and start walking to my first class using the opposite stairwell I came from, hoping to avoid the psychopath from earlier and get out of this fucking building alive. My schedule doesn’t seem… too bad.
Mondays and Wednesdays I have History 101, Politics 101, Remedial Wielding 99, and Divination 101. On Tuesdays and Thursdays I have Linguistics 101, Divinity Studies 101, Taxonomic Studies 101, and Physical Training in addition tomy private study sessions with Brandt. Fridays have larger blocks for Creative Design and something called an Elemental Rotation, and I make a mental note to ask Brandt about that on Thursday.
Just as I see daylight through a window near the exit doors, an enticing, earthy scent fills the air, wafting from the alcove next to the stairwell. When I round the corner, curious, I meet a pair of bright eyes, tinted red by the flaming cherry of his blunt when he inhales deeply. They lock onto me, and when the thick smoke from his exhale clears, I realize they’re two different colors: ice-blue and deep, olive green.
Heterochromia.
Like a snake being lured by the charmer’s dance, I don’t realize I’m right in front of him until the smoke from his next exhale blows a strand of my hair. Stronger this time, the smoke creeps into my lungs, spreading warm bliss through my limbs. Shaking my head to rid my mind of the effects, I step back as he watches me, those captivating eyes boring into my own.
“Should you be doing that here?” I ask.
His eyebrow crooks and I see the cherry flare once more. “Who’s going to stop me?” The rasp of his voice flows over me, raw and seductive like the smoke from whatever’s in his blunt, but I don’t miss the subtle threat.
“What is that?” I nod to the blunt that’s now hanging from the side of his mouth.
He draws in another deep breath but turns his bleach buzzed head before blowing it away from my face. “Want a hit?”
More than anything. “I shouldn’t,” I say, voice laden with regret.
His lips twitch. “Here,” he says, inhaling deeply before wrapping his hand around my my throat and lowering his mouth to mine. I gasp just as he exhales the smoke between my parted lips, and cough violently.
“Ugh, what the fuck is wrong with you people?” I growl, holding my throat, noting this is now the second time in an hour I’ve had someone’s hand around my neck.
He frowns as I glare at him. “What?” He asks, but my eyes water and my vision blurs as I back away, fighting to breathe. I shake my head again and crash against the exit door, desperate for some fresh air to chase away the pleasant warmth spreading from my chest. I really, really, shouldn’t be high for my first class on my first fucking day. Sets a bad precedent.
After a few unsteady steps, my eyes and lungs finally clear, and I reorient myself to where I am on campus. Thankfully I don't have nearly as much trouble finding my first class as I did the Headmaster’s office, and manage to catch the door as the last person enters the expansive classroom. I slink to a seat in the back row, hoping to avoid catching anyone’s attention. It seems to work, until the professor—a Dr. Clement Allard, PhD—calls my name.
“Nyx Byrke? Raise your hand so I can see you,” he instructs, looking around the classroom. When I raise my hand, thirty pairs of eyes zero in on me.
“Ah, yes. Welcome to Introduction to Politics. Speak to me after class. In the meantime, you can share the textbook with someone else. Any volunteers for our newest student?” He looks around the classroom, calling to mind the visceral memory of the last time I was a new student that no one wanted to share with.
And the time before that.
And the time beforethat.
“Ms. Bellamy—if you please, so we can get started.” He motions to an empty seat next to a girl with shoulder-length, slicked black hair and tanned complexion. She’s ambivalent as I make my way to her desk, and shoves her book at me once I take a seat next to her. Professor Allard turns to his board and beginswriting, and everything blurs after that as I try my best to follow along.
9
THANE
As I slowly come up from my drug-induced sleep, I hear Roth and Luther murmuring in the bathroom. Everything is foggy, despite the sunlight filtering through the gaps in my curtains, and I fight to keep my eyes closed.
I don’t want to wake up.
I want to stay floating in the dark clouds that carry me over the mires of my usual nightmares.
The slam of our apartment door as Roth leaves forces my hand. As much as I desperately want to remain cocooned in my warm sheets, Luther’s incessant rustling around his room as he dresses keeps me from slipping back into darkness.
