Maybe she doesn’t care anymore. After all, she already made her weapon. Now she’s just waiting to see if it works.
I’m flipping to the next page when light flickers in the corner of my vision.
I freeze, every muscle in my body going rigid at the sight of a small golden orb hovering behind me.
Electricity crackles beneath my skin, but I clamp down on it before it can manifest into anything visible.
Breathe. You’re a normal witch reading a normal book in a magical garden at an abnormally early hour.
“I know you’re there.” I don’t turn around. “You might as well come out.”
For a long moment, nothing happens. Then I hear footsteps on the stone path, measured and unhurried, and Helen Finchman emerges from behind one of the trees like she was out for a casual morning stroll.
She’s dressed impeccably in a tailored coat, her bobbed hair is perfectly curled inward at the ends, and her warm brown eyes manage to look both friendly and calculating.
She touches a pearl on her necklace, extends a hand, and the recording orb floats back to her palm before disappearing into thin air.
“Jade Harrington.” She stops a few feet away from my bench, her gaze dropping to the book in my lap. “You’re up early.”
“I couldn’t sleep.” It’s not entirely a lie. Between training with Logan and the nightmares that wait whenever I close my eyes, sleep has become more of a theoretical concept than an actual practice.
Her eyes linger on the book.
“That’s Professor Morgrave’s handwriting in the margins.”
My heart slams against my ribs, but I keep my expression neutral. At least, I try to. I’ve never been great at hiding my emotions, which is probably why I’m constantly on the verge of accidentally electrocuting people.
“Is it?” I flip the book closed as casually as I can manage.
“Jade,” Helen says gently, although there’s steel beneath her tone. “Why do you have a book from the Ember Archives that’s been annotated by a missing professor?”
Because he gave it to me before he murdered my best friend’s brother and I helped turn his body to ash.
“He gave it to me a few weeks ago.” I clutch the book tighter, going for nervous student rather than guilty accomplice.
“Why?”
“Because I’m hopeless?” The self-deprecation comes naturally. “I didn’t know anything about the supernatural world before I came here. I showed up thinking Blaze Academy was a college I’d never heard of, then got attacked by a Hydra and found out magic is real before even setting foot into the academy.”
Helen’s eyes soften. “That must have been overwhelming.”
“That’s one word for it.” I gesture at the book. “Thad—Professor Morgrave—noticed I was struggling. He said this might help me understand where my magic comes from. The history of it, or whatever. It’s all mythology and folklore, mostly. Old stories about gods and mortals.”
And storm goddesses who turn college students into walking lightning rods, but sure, let’s call it folklore.
Helen moves closer, settling onto the bench beside me with an elegance that makes me feel like a gremlin in comparison. “Did he say anything else when he gave it to you? Anything about his research or his Advanced Studies course?”
“He mentioned his course once or twice.” I shrug, aiming for vague and uninteresting. “I wasn’t really paying attention. I wastoo busy trying to figure out how to create flames without setting myself on fire.”
Helen studies me again, and I resist the urge to fidget with my bracelet, to look away, or any of the other thousand nervous tics that would mark me as suspicious.
“Professor Morgrave was known for his unconventional opinions.” She chooses her words carefully. “Did he ever share any of those with you?”
“No.” I force myself to meet her eyes. “Like I said, I’m barely keeping up with the basics. Philosophy and unconventional ideas are above my pay grade right now.”
She’s quiet for a moment, and when she speaks again, her tone has lost some of its investigative edge.
“Being thrown into this world with no preparation can’t be easy.” She folds her hands in her lap, her posture softening.
