The crisp Autumn air is at odds with the afternoon sunshine that warms my skin as I leave the building. I brave the Great Hallonce again before giving the quad around the Foundation Stone a wide berth to avoid the Heirs holding court. Literally, they’re surrounded by adoring men and women—I can see the stars in their eyes from here. I finally find a secluded spot to eat beneath the shade of an enormous, red-tinged oak tree on the edge of the main campus.
Neither my brain nor my body have ever really learned how to relax—always bracing for whatever’s coming next. So I spend what should be a calm afternoon in the sun thinking about the litany of shit I’ve dealt with the past week, and mentally preparing for the next. Hard to believe it’s almost October already, but I guess time flies when you’re not having fun.
Later this afternoon I have my first elemental class—Brandt thinks that exposure to each elemental affinity may convince whatever it is the flips that magical switch inside of me to hurry the fuck up already. My words, not his. I’ll spend four weeks auditing the remedial classes for each elemental affinity: fire and earth through the end of term, then air and water once the next term starts in January. If I haven’t manifested any magic by the time I go through all four—well, I have no idea. I’ll burn that bridge when I get to it.
“Learn and observe. Try to feel and connect to the magic around you,” his email explained. I can’t help but picture the wall of magical fire as it descended the night Augustine took me. The reminder of fear and panic making my stomach churn as I follow the signs to the warded classrooms on the opposite wing of the Training Center I usually go to for Physical Training. Apparently they’re spelled to withstand the potential catastrophes that can occur when students can’t control their affinity.
The instructor is a no-nonsense older guy in his forties with a handlebar mustache who doesn’t bother introducing himself before lobbing verbal abuse at the cowed students in class,reminding me more of a drill sergeant than a college professor. Everyone’s too terrified of Professor Handlebar to remember that I even exist, let alone antagonize me—was that really so hard? It’s ironic that I feel safer surrounded by magical flames than I do walking across campus.
Other than evading the occasional stray flame, it’s breathtaking. Everything I never thought possible, right in front of me, erasing the lingering doubt I refused to admit. Hard to argue it’s not real when the professor tortures everyone with his version of dodge(fire)ball where headshots are not only allowed but encouraged.
Harder to argue still when I return to my dorm room and see thatfuckingcreepy-ass tarot deck, innocently placed on my desk like it didn’t just commit some sort of magical B&E. There’s a brief moment I worry someone broke into my dorm before I recall Professor Chamberlain’s comment about “opening my mind to new possibilities.” If this deck truly is… sentient, somehow, then I’m convinced it’s determined to fuck with me. Which, honestly? That tracks at this point.
Just as I’m about to start getting ready for bed—ignoring the growing cabin fever after basically sequestering myself in my room for the last two weeks—a small part of me longs for the loud, sticky chaos of Daly’s. I miss sacrificing my tastebuds to test Carlos’ new recipes. I want to hear how Cora’s birthday party went, and if she got the ear piercings she wanted. I wonder if Misty’s gotten any new library rejects from the next county over. But the echoes of Eileen’s raspy parting words remind me of my promise, and I delete the message I’d almost sent on my old phone.
But because the universe has a sick sense of humor, I startle when my phone pings with a new message. Only, it’s not from anyone in Lynden.
Killian Hastings
I may have a lead on the missing underwear. You down for a search & rescue?
Be strong, Nyx. Don’t fall for it. And definitely don’t text him back, because that’d only feed the beast.
After taking a hot shower, bringing my clothes into the stall with me to avoid “losing” another pair of underwear, I change into boy shorts and an oversized t-shirt that’s seen better days, just as students begin to stampede through the hallway on their way from dinner. It occurs to me then that I may have just had my first legitimately good…ish, day at Dreadhurst.
Huh.
Not to be outdone by even a hint of optimism, the universe plays yet another joke on me when there’s a knock at my door. I freeze, hoping they’ll go away if I pretend I’m not here. The knocking becomes insistent, and I groan in frustration. When I open it, my stomach drops when Killian leans against the frame like an honest-to-fuck thirst trap.
“Do you practice posing in the mirror?” I accuse, crossing my arms.
His practiced grin wavers for a moment before recovering. “Don’t you look cozy, sleepy girl.” His eyes scan my body without an ounce of subtlety. “You like it?” he asks, flexing his biceps.
“What, showing up unannounced and uninvited?” I say, ignoring the mouthwatering muscles just in my periphery.
Unfazed, he pulls out a bottle of liquor from behind his back. “Well you see, if I’d texted you that I was coming over, would you have opened the door?”
“I think we both know the answer to that question.”
He puts his hand over his heart. “You wound me, fair maiden.”
“The knight doth protest too much,” I retort, but can’t hold back the twitch of my lips. My moment of weakness doesn’t go unnoticed, and his grin turns feral when he leans in close enough for me to make out the details of his deep blue-green eyes.
“Let me in, pretty girl,” he whispers, and I step back to keep myself from falling into his trap, only for him to follow until a shriek sounds from down the hall, breaking our little moment.
“Killian!” We both turn as a trio of girls who I vaguely recognize as some of the groupies from the quad earlier today. They home in on Killian like sharks scenting blood in the water, not sparing me a glance. He turns that same practiced smile on them and I shrink back into my room, not wanting to be caught in their crosshairs.
“Hey Killy,” one of them purrs, and he stiffens slightly at the nickname—interesting—but his thousand-watt smile doesn’t dim. They’re too focused on pawing at his clothes like they’re about to jump him right here in the hallway to notice his reaction. One of them grabs the bottle out of his hands and clutches it to her chest, eyes gleaming with excitement.
“Fae wine? Baby you shouldn’t have,” she squeals and throws her arm around his neck, pressing her chest into his and going in for a kiss that he barely avoids by turning his cheek. His eyes connect with mine for half a second before she releases him, stroking her hand down his chest until she reaches his stomach and he steps back, moving so smoothly that she doesn’t notice him taking her hand to put distance between them.
“Did you miss me?” she purrs, trying to further invade his personal space. The other two are hanging off to the side—only just—but have the same ravenous gleam in their eyes as the one currently trying to accost Killian in the hallway.
“Lyra, ladies, lovely to see you,” he grins, staving off her advances with one hand and slipping the bottle from her grasp with the other. His eyes dart my way and before I can closemy door to escape the swarm of groupies, he slips his free arm around my waist and pulls me into his side as his human shield. Lyra and the other two finally notice me, their expressions turning sour, slipping into disdain when they register our closeness.
“I actually stopped by to bring Nyx a little house-warming gift now that she’s settled in.” He stares down at me in faux-adoration, but my scowl only emboldens him.
“Oh,” Lyra pauses, running her gaze down my body just like Killian did except this time, it feels like she’s searching for the best place to stab so I’ll die a slow and painful death. “This is the girl Roth was talking about?” Dread crawls up my spine. Nothing good could possibly come from being the topic of conversation with that psychopath. He only grips my waist tighter when I try to edge away, keeping me firmly glued to his side.
