Page 38 of The Witch They Fear

I guess I am too.

I'm smiling. I don't fully realize it until I feel the pull of muscles in my cheeks that haven't been used enough, and by then it's too late to stop.

Three successful channels. Three. The other day I shattered a glass trying to warm water. This morning I fed my magic into a stone three times and the stone is still in one piece and so am I.

"Hey, Corvin." I hold up the stone, copper veins still faintly glowing. "Three for three. No explosions. No property damage. You're welcome."

He looks at the stone. Looks at me. Takes a long, deliberate sip of his coffee.

"Congratulations," he says, with the enthusiasm of a man reading a terms-of-service agreement. "Can we go inside now?"

I grin at his back as he pushes off the wall. He can be as unimpressed as he wants. I did it. I actually did it—three clean channels, three controlled flows, three times my magic went where I told it to go instead of where it wanted to.

First win since I got here.

I'll take it.

I sit in the grass for another few stubborn minutes, watching the light change. Then I tuck the stone into my pajama pants pocket, shake the dew off the blanket, and head inside to get ready for class.

∞∞∞

Professor Malloy is standing at the front of the class with a half used piece of chalk in her hand.

"Cross-species magical partnerships," she says, writing the words on the board in her precise hand. "Chapter twelve. The foundational framework of inter-species cooperation at institutions like Devenir, and—if we're being honest—one of the most misunderstood and frequently abused systems in modern supernatural society."

I'm in my seat from last class, middle row, notebook open. The resonance stone is in my pocket, warm against my thigh. Nellie is beside me, already scribbling.

"The original model was simple," Malloy continues, pacing the demonstration area. "Witches and vampires have complementary magical architectures. A witch's channeled magic can accomplish things a vampire's abilities cannot—ward construction, enchantment, herbalism, curse-work. A vampire's enhanced physicality, longevity, and—in the case of those with unique abilities—specialized powers offer protections and resources a witch typically lacks. The partnership formalized this exchange."

She taps the board. "The problem, historically, is that exchange implies equality. And the partnerships have rarely been equal."

Nellie leans toward me. "This is where it gets good," she whispers.

I lean forward, my chin in my hand.

"For centuries, the partnership system functioned as a soft indenture. A witch would be paired with a vampire house—sometimes voluntarily, often through economic or political pressure—and would provide magical services in exchange for protection, housing, and social standing. The vampire house gained exclusive access to the witch's abilities. The witch gained survival." Malloy's hands move as she talks—sharp, precise gestures that cut through the air like punctuation. Her voice has gone flat, stripped of the academic warmth she uses for theory, and what's left underneath sounds personal. "The council reformed the framework two hundred years ago, rebranding it as a collaborative academic model. The language changed. The dynamics, in many cases, did not."

A hand goes up in the upper rows. Leopold—white hair catching the light, tie loosened just like it was last class, sprawled in his seat with the effortless confidence of someone who considers classrooms a stage and himself the lead. Half the row is angled toward him before he even opens his mouth.

"Professor, with respect—the modern partnership model is voluntary and mutually beneficial. My family has maintained witch partnerships for generations, and our partners have consistently described the arrangement as advantageous."

"I'm sure they have, Mr. Vassard." Malloy's expression doesn't change. "People in advantageous positions often describe the systems that benefit them as advantageous. That's rather the point."

A ripple of something goes through the room—half amusement, half tension. Leopold's smile holds, but his index finger taps against the desk. Three times.

Emric, two rows below me, catches my eye. The corner of his mouth twitches. He looks away before anyone notices.

"The relevant concern for this class," Malloy continues, moving on, "is the magical residue that accumulates through sustained cross-species interaction. Particularly—and this is the piece most textbooks skim past—the phenomenon of magical debt."

She writes it on the board. Underlines it.

"When a witch channels power on behalf of a vampire, or when a vampire's unique ability interfaces with a witch's magic, an energetic imbalance accrues. Small interactions, small debts—they dissipate naturally. But repeated, intensive magical exchange between the same two individuals creates a compounding debt. The magic itself keeps a ledger."

My pen stops. I think about Aamon's hands on mine. The mirroring—my power flowing through him and back. We've had one session. He wants them every other day. For a year.

"What happens when the debt compounds?" I ask. The words are out before I've fully decided to say them, and half the room turns to look at me—the new girl, speaking up, drawing attention to herself. I keep my eyes on Malloy.

She meets my gaze over her glasses. Something flickers in her expression—approval, maybe, or recognition that I'm asking the right question for the wrong reasons.