My blood ran cold. There it was again. Had he somehow found out about Valen, about the history class, about what had happened in Pigeon Forge? Or was this just his usual technique of implying he knew more than he actually did to keep me off balance?
“I can assure you that Mr. Quinn has been performing admirably in my class,” Professor Blackwood said, and I felt a rush of gratitude toward her for defending me. “Today’s incident was likely just a momentary slip.”
“Was it?” My father’s blue eyes fixed on me with laser intensity. “Tell me, Archer. What exactly caused you to lose focus during such a simple demonstration?”
I opened my mouth, then closed it again. What could I possibly say? That seeing him unexpectedly had sent me into a panic spiral because I was terrified he’d discovered that I’d hooked up with the vampire professor? That I’d been so consumed with thoughts of said vampire that I could barely concentrate on my actual coursework?
“I...” I started, then stopped. The truth was impossible, but I couldn’t think of a lie that wouldn’t make things worse.
“I see.” My father’s expression grew even colder, if that was possible. “Perhaps we should discuss this privately. After you’ve dismissed your class, Professor Blackwood.”
It wasn’t a request.
Professor Blackwood looked between us, clearly uncomfortable with the situation but unable to refuse a direct request from someone of my father’s standing in the magical community.
“Of course,” she said finally. “Class, please review chapters twelve through fourteen for Thursday. We’ll continue with summoning practice then.”
The other students began gathering their things, shooting curious glances in our direction as they filed out of the practice area. I caught sight of a few sympathetic looks, but mostly they seemed eager to escape before they got caught in whatever family drama was about to unfold.
Within minutes, it was just the three of us standing in the afternoon sunlight. My father waited until the last student had disappeared around the corner of the building before speaking again.
“Archer has always been an exemplary student,” he said to Professor Blackwood, though his words felt more like an accusation than a compliment. “His magical control has never been in question. Which makes today’s performance all the more concerning.”
“Mr. Quinn,” Professor Blackwood began, but my father held up a hand to silence her.
“I’m not questioning your teaching methods, Professor. I’m questioning what else my son might be spending his time on instead of focusing on his studies.” His gaze shifted back to me, and I felt like an insect pinned to a board. “Perhaps you could enlighten us, Archer. What’s changed this semester that didn’t affect you before?”
The way he glared made my stomach clench with dread. He definitely knew something. Maybe not everything, but enough to be suspicious.
“I’ve been keeping up with all my coursework,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. “My grades are still?—”
“Your grades are adequate,” he cut me off. “But grades aren’t everything, are they? Commitment matters. Time spent practicing matters.Controlling your magicmatters. You need to be better than your classmates, not just on par with them.”
“Each student as their own strengths, Mr. Quinn—” Professor Blackwood started.
“I don’t care abouteach student,” he snapped. “I care about my son. About him making sure our family maintains its reputation.” He turned to me, his mouth pressed into a thin line. “So I will say this once and once only. I allowed you to join the fencing team in exchange for a lighter course load this year. I thought it would be a gift received with gratitude.”
“I am grateful?—”
“What I saw today wasnotgratitude,” he barked. “It was sloppy, unpracticed, half-baked magic that a trailer park wizard could do better. If this is how you plan to repay me, then you can turn in your resignation to the team immediately.” He reached out, poking me in the chest, hard. “Straighten up and get your act together. This is your final warning.”
The words hit me like a physical blow, each one carefully chosen to cut as deeply as possible. I stood there, feeling the weight of his disappointment and barely contained rage pressing down on me like a suffocating blanket.
“Yes, sir,” I managed, the words scraping against my throat like broken glass.
“Good.” His expression didn’t soften even slightly. “Professor Blackwood, I trust you’ll keep me informed if my son’s performance continues to be substandard.”
“Of course, Mr. Quinn,” she replied, though I could hear the reluctance in her voice.
My father gave me one last withering look before turning on his heel and striding away, leaving me standing there feeling like I’d been flayed alive in front of my professor and my fellow students. The silence stretched between Professor Blackwood and me as we watched his retreating figure disappear around the corner of the building.
“Archer,” she said gently, and the kindness in her voice almost undid me completely. “Are you alright?”
I wanted to tell her no. That I wasn’t alright at all. That I was drowning in expectations and secrets and the constant terror of disappointing everyone around me. That I’d been so distracted by thoughts of amber eyes and skilled hands that I could barely focus on anything else. That my father’s unexpected appearance had sent me into a panic because I was terrified he’d somehow discovered what I’d been doing with Professor Crowe against all odds.
Instead, I nodded stiffly. “I’m fine. Just had an off day.”
She studied me with those perceptive eyes that had probably seen hundreds of students struggle with family pressure over the years. “You know, magical control issues often stem from emotional turmoil rather than technical deficiency. If there’s anything you need to talk about...”
