—Gods, Theo. Really?—
McCall starts talking about the new Conclave Constitution. I think she said it's being launched immediately, but it sounded more like, ‘It’s bein' lu-anched e-mee-jit-ly, so it is.’
Tuning out the professor, I change my frequency to Naomi Watson.
The entry into Naomi’s mind is smoother than I expected. I haven’t been using my telepathy much lately, but it’s a resource I’ve seriously overlooked. I can’t hear the minds of those choked with dark energy, but Elite minds? Now, they're a walk in the park.
Though Naomi’s ‘park’ is not full of sunshine and rainbows.
—Fucking, fucking bastards…slavery, that’s what it is… cunts…—
Blimey. Her inner voice is seething. She’s definitely not team-Conclave.
—Dad already thinks he’s a God…now this?—
I push a little deeper, navigating past her surface-level annoyance brought up by the class topic.
A memory flashes: Naomi, younger, standing in a grand dining room.
Her father, a man with a stern, cold face, is explaining that she will no longer play with the village children. Naomi has to understand her status, as one day those children will be her servants.
“Never,” young Naomi spits back. “I’d rather be penniless and powerless than lord it over someone else.”
Her father casts, freezing Naomi with a spell. “This is a pointless rebellion, Naomi. Your sister has already embarrassed the family, I will not allow you to do the same.”
He starts to undo his belt, pulling the heavy leather into his hands then making it snap. “You will learn to obey.”
I quickly blink out of her head, feeling like a voyeur. Naomi’s anger and pain are still swirling through my body.
The Lumina in my chest surges, wanting to help her.
“The third article," Professor McCall’s voice announces, "prohibits any Magi from using magic to benefit humans. This offence carries an instant incarceration of ten years. No trial. No appeal.”
Naomi’s pen snaps in her hand. Blue ink spreads across her fingers and beautiful cursive.
“Godsdammit,” she whispers under her breath.
I reach into my bag, find a clean tissue, and slide it toward her blotted paper without making eye contact.
“Thanks, Theo,” she mutters.
—Willow,— I ping my bestie—Stop pulling back from Naomi, she needs you. I don’t know when or how we can bring her into the inner circle, but I truly trust her not to go running to the Conclave—
Willow’s relief is so palpable I can almost taste it. —You’re sure?—
—Sparing you the details, but yes, I’m sure—
—Oh, Gods. Thank you, Theo. Thank you so much—
The bell ending the first half of the double lesson rings. McCall tells us to take five minutes before we dive into Article Four. Preserving Lineage Purity.
Naomi stands up, smoothing her skirt. "I need some air," she says, looking at me with a questioning tilt of her head. "Coming?”
I wish I could, but I’m still playing Feeble-Theo, who has a brain that’s been fried by the Conclave.
“No thank you. I’ll wait here. Jordan may want to hang out.”
The eye roll Naomi gives me is well deserved.
