“Grab your grimoire,” Cerys said. “We don’t want to be late and unprepared.”
I retrieved my grimoire from the top of my desk and dropped it into my shoulder bag. “I hope this lesson is interesting. I really need a good distraction.”
“Whatever you do, keep your magic under control,” Cerys said. “Don’t give the Board of Regents a reason to put limits on you.”
“Yes, Mother,” I said.
“Now you sound like Bryn,” Cerys said.
“Well, someone has to. It seems only fair.” I turned back to Clementine. “Hold down the fort.”
Yes, Your Highness, the cat said.
Okay, now you sound like Peter, I said.
In that case, I take it back, Clementine replied.
As guilty as I felt about attending lessons while Bryn was still missing, I knew it was important to pour my energy into something productive. The end of the year was fast approaching and I didn’t want to derail my training now. Professors were being understanding—I had no doubt that was the chancellor’s doing—but their patience would wear thin if I wasn’t careful.
My roommates and I slid into seats at the back of the classroom just as Professor Mayweather introduced the lesson. “Today, we’ll be using a variety of spells to achieve the same purpose,” she said.
“And what purpose is that?” Priscilla asked.
“Sheesh, she couldn’t wait five seconds and let the professor tell us?” I said under my breath.
“Astral projection,” Professor Mayweather said.
Mia raised her hand. “Why not all perform the same spell?”
The professor fixed her pleasant gaze on Mia. “Because, Miss Holmes, I’d like to demonstrate that there is more than one way to slay a dragon. You might prefer an incantation for astral projection, yet Miss Degraff might prefer innate magic to achieve the same result.”
Innate magic sounded good to me. Memorizing spells from a grimoire seemed fine in an academy setting, but I suspected we’d rely far more on our instinctive magic in the real world.
Professor Mayweather broke us into small groups and we spread across the floor, sitting cross-legged and quietly focusing.
“I like the spell on page seventy-three,” Mia said. “It involves less concentration. I tend to get distracted easily.”
“You go first then,” I said. I was still flipping through my grimoire and trying to decide which spell to try first.
Cerys and I observed Mia as she slowed her breathing and fell into a near-catatonic state. Her astral form slipped away from her body and stood in the middle of our small circle. I tapped Mia’s physical form with my foot but she didn’t move.
“Nicely done, Miss Holmes,” Professor Mayweather said. She continued her tour of the room, noting everyone’s progress.
Mia returned to her body and her eyes popped open. “That feels so cool. You have to try it.”
Cerys went next. She chose a different spell that enabled her to remain standing. Despite her trancelike state, her physical form continued to stand still while her astral form danced between us. I glanced around the room and it was as though we were being invaded by happy ghosts. I found myself smiling at the scene, and it was a welcome departure from the constant worry I’d been feeling over Bryn’s disappearance.
“Your turn, Dani,” Cerys said, once her astral form had snapped back to her body.
I’d seen a few spells that were similar to what Mia and Cerys had done, but I decided to see what I could accomplish without a spell from the grimoire. I’d impress the professor by putting my own spin on astral projection.
Like Cerys, I chose to stand. I planted my feet firmly on the floor so as not to lose my balance and focused on my magic. I felt the spark within me grow and burn. I separated a form of myself from my physical body, except I added a twist.
“Stars and stones, she’s a walking flame,” Mia said, scampering backward so as not to get burned.
Unlike my roommates, my method allowed me to stay conscious—another advantage over the typical astral projection spell. I was able to watch the fire version of me as it moved around the room. My fiery silhouette did the same things the other astral forms did—except I needed to maneuver her around the other students to avoid burning anyone.
“Miss Degraff, that is a health and safety violation and you know it.” Professor Mayweather’s usually pleasant tone was replaced by one of anger and disappointment. “Stop the spell this instant.”
I concentrated on dousing flaming Dani, but she continued to twirl around the room, as though she had a mind of her own. I tried summoning her—calling her back to me, but the fiery form persisted. I felt a rising sense of panic. What if I couldn’t control her and someone got hurt?
The other students were on their feet now with their backs pressed against the wall. I heard an occasional scream as flaming Dani came too close.
“Dani, make it stop,” Cerys cried.
I yanked hard on my magic but only managed to move the form to the center of the room. Why couldn’t I control it?
A geyser of water shot from the side of the room and soaked the silhouette, smothering it. I blinked and saw Professor Mayweather with her wand extended.
“I’m so sorry,” I began. While I usually found fire magic exhilarating, right now my body ached and my head felt dizzy.
“Go to see Alana immediately,” the professor said, her hand shaking, “or I will personally escort you from the premises of this academy.”
I gathered what was left of my dignity and slunk off to the healer’s office.
I knocked hesitantly on Alana’s open door. The druid was in the midst of fastening her long white hair in a braid. Her gaze lingered on me, assessing my appearance.
“Come in and make yourself comfortable,” the healer said. She snapped a hair clip in place at the bottom of the braid. “Would you like tea? I’ve just made a fresh pot.”
“Sure.” I sat awkwardly in the chair opposite the healer’s. I’d never been in counseling, despite my family’s difficulties over the years. The Montroses and Degraffs didn’t believe in counseling. Probably one of the reasons my grandmother was stripped of her magic in the end. She was deemed too far gone for addiction counseling by the time anyone was prepared to recognize her problem.
Alana padded over to me with a steaming cup of tea on a saucer. I accepted it slowly, careful not to spill any drops. She settled back in her comfortable-looking floral chair and simply stared at me. I sipped my tea, wondering when the questions would start. Finally, I couldn’t take the silence anymore.
“Aren’t we supposed to be soul searching or something?” I blurted.
Her lips curved ever so slightly. “And what would we be searching for in your soul, should we dare to look?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know. Danger? The slippery slope of addiction?”
“You are worried about such things?” She sipped her tea and set the cup and saucer on the table beside her. “I thought it was only everyone around you concerned with such matters.”
“I think addiction is a pretty important concern, so yes, I guess you could say I’m worried.”
Alana leaned her head against the chair, her eyes forming contented slits. “What has happened to cause you this worry?”
“Lots of things,” I said. “My magic’s been getting away from me lately.”
“Getting away from you how?” she asked. “The magic belongs to you and no one else. How could it possibly get away from you?”
“I don’t know how to describe it,” I said. “It’s as though the magic takes over and I’m just a vessel.”
Alana snorted. “Sounds like the way some women describe pregnancy. The baby takes over the woman’s body.”
“I haven’t had the pleasure of that experience yet,” I said dryly. “Maybe someday.”
“Yes, you will,” Alana said. “More than once, I believe.”
I arched an eyebrow. “Now you’re psychic, too?”
&nbs
p; “I have always had a leaning toward psychic skills,” the druid replied. “It is one of the reasons I make an excellent counselor. There is a connection between empathy and psychic abilities when the power is strong enough.”
“And your psychic skills tell you that I’m going to have multiple children? Seems like a waste of a talent.”
“Multiple children, same father. A very happy union.” She smiled, satisfied to report this to me.
“Peter?” I asked, before I could stop myself. Did I really want to know? More importantly, did I really want it to be Peter?
Alana seemed to have the same thought. “This is not the reason you’re here. You are here for the future, yes, but a way to control it rather than predict it.”
“I just gave birth to a fire baby in the middle of class,” I said. “And then I couldn’t control it. Professor Mayweather had to destroy it.”
“I see.”
“Do you?” I asked.
“It must have been a frightening experience,” she said. “To feel that loss of control.”
“I don’t want to end up like my grandmother,” I said bluntly.
“And tell me about her,” Alana said, tucking her feet up on the chair.
“She was a powerful fire witch like me,” I said. “Her magic spiraled out of control over time. She became a slave to her magic. Couldn’t control herself. Had the constant need to use magic. To feed off the energy.”
“Almost like a succubus with sexual feelings,” Alana said.
“I suppose.” I finished my tea and set the empty cup and saucer on my lap. “Lately, I’ve felt like my magic has been taking over. Like an astral projection experience, except I haven’t left my body.”
“I understand,” Alana said. “You feel no longer in control.” She cocked her head. “Why do you think that is?”
“That’s why I’m here,” I said. “Maybe because I’m growing stronger now that I’ve been training?”
“Why would training result in more power than you can handle?” Alana asked. “Training is refining your skills, not losing control over them.”
“Then maybe it’s me,” I said. “Maybe I’m responsible for losing control.”
“And why would you do that?”
I hesitated. “I don’t know. Not on purpose. I want the Degraff name to be associated with positive power and good deeds, the way it used to be.”
“You seem to put a lot of pressure on yourself to perform at a high level,” Alana said. “Perhaps too much pressure?”
“There’s a lot riding on my success,” I said.
“You think you won’t secure a sentry position with the AMF?”
“No,” I said, tossing my ponytail over my shoulder. “I’ll definitely get chosen, probably for the division I want, too.”
“Then what?” Alana pressed. “What is riding on your success that is so important?”
“I told you,” I said. “My family’s name.”
“And why are you solely responsible for restoring their ‘good name,’ as you put it? What about your father or your mother? Your aunt? Where is their responsibility?”
I tapped my finger on the edge of the cup. “I’m the most like her.”
“Your grandmother?”
I nodded. “We even look alike.”
“And that means the responsibility to atone for her actions rests solely on your shoulders? I do not see why that is. You are your own witch, Danielle.”
“I’m the one with power and knowledge,” I said. “I was trained for this purpose.”
“And what if you didn’t want to be an agent? What if you wanted to become a seamstress with a reputable fairy company?”
I laughed. “Why would I want to do that?”
Alana shrugged. “Why not? It’s an honorable profession and fairies make the best clothes. Everybody says so.”
“But I’m not a fairy.”
“You’re a talented witch,” she said. “You could learn their ways.”
Was she serious? “I think I’ll be fine once I get my magic under control,” I said. “I think the whole counseling requirement is blowing things out of proportion.”
“Even though you have admitted your own fears,” she said.
“I’m worried about Bryn,” I said. “My emotions are running high. I’m not surprised I went a little overboard in class.”
Alana studied me. “And yet Cerys did not cause an earthquake, nor did Mia blow everyone away in a hurricane.”
I folded my arms. “They’re not as powerful as I am.”
Alana cocked a pale eyebrow. “Are they not? I believe one of the reasons the four of you were matched to a room was the extent of your abilities.”
“Bryn was assigned to our room because we had an opening,” I said.
“Finish your tea,” Alana said. “We’ll resume our conversation another time.”
I blinked. “That’s it?”
“For now.”
“Why?” I asked. “I’m here talking.”
“Yes, you are, but there is a barrier you’ve created,” Alana said. “Our conversations will improve once that barrier is removed.”
“And how do you propose to do that?” I asked.
She met my inquisitive gaze. “I don’t. I will leave that up to you. Good luck.”
Chapter Nine
Blackwell Industries was located in a beautiful historic building in downtown Silver Moon Springs. The stone facade reminded me of a romantic castle in miniature form. Each structure in town seemed to be competing for the title of ‘most charming,’ but Blackwell’s clearly served as the jewel in the crown.
Peter and I went straight to the small desk, where a receptionist was finishing a phone call. The elf set down the phone and stared blankly at us.
“We have an appointment to see Mr. Blackwell,” I said.
She scanned the paper in front of her. “You don’t look like a Mr. Zilla.”
“That’s because I’m Mr. Zilla,” Peter said.
The elf squinted at him. “You said you want to meet with Mr. Blackwell about a business opportunity?”
“Yes, I also run an import and export business,” he said. I stifled a laugh and he pressed his foot on top of mine to silence me. “I’m hoping we might be able to do some work together now that he’s back in the quadrant. I hear he’s a great guy.”
The elf smiled dreamily. “Mr. Blackwell is my savior. When I was down on my luck with two kids and a dead husband, he took me in and gave me this job. He rescued my family from a horrible situation.” She shook her head. “No idea where I’d be now if he hadn’t stepped up.”
“That’s very admirable,” I said.
“Mr. Blackwell is so generous,” the elf said. “He donates to all sorts of charities. You couldn’t ask for a better boss. I get all my weekends off.”
“Good to know,” Peter said. “I like my professional relationships to have a touch of the personal.”
“Oh, you’ll definitely get that with Mr. Blackwell. You’ll become family before you know it. Take winding staircase number two to the third floor and he’ll be waiting for you.”
I surveyed the large stone lobby until my gaze rested on the middle of three spiral staircases. “Thank you.”
Peter and I climbed the narrow stone steps and I was careful not to lose my footing. “Well, he treats his employees well,” Peter said. “That’s a positive sign.”
“No, a positive sign would be ‘water witches held in the dungeon.’ That way, we could find Bryn and bring her home.”
Peter cast a glance over his shoulder. “Let’s not assume everyone we meet is the culprit.”
“I think that’s part of the job.” We couldn’t rule Blackwell out simply because he was nice to his receptionist. Maybe the elf reminded him of his single mother and he felt compelled to help her. That didn’t mean he had no connection to Bryn’s disappearance.
“This winding staircases make me dizzy,” Peter said. “Is it too much to ask for an elevat
or?”
We arrived at the third floor, which emptied directly into Blackwell’s office. The room was, in fact, the entire third floor. That was probably the reason it had a dedicated staircase.
As promised, Blackwell was already on his feet, waiting for us. With his lionlike body and scorpion tail, he looked remarkably like the mechanic. The main difference was the human head. Blackwell’s hair and eyes were much darker than the mechanic’s.
“Mr. Zilla, great to meet you.” He crossed the room and pumped Peter’s hand with an impressive paw. He turned toward me. “And you’ve brought your assistant. It’s nice to know I’m not the only one who insists on the company of a beautiful woman under any circumstances.”
Inwardly, I cringed at the sexist babble. “Kim Taylor,” I said, using the same fake name I’d used at the Liberty Project.
Blackwell cradled my hand in both of his paws and growled. “You’re a lucky man to gaze at this face all day, Zilla.”
“We keep our relationship strictly professional,” Peter said. “No matter how much she’d prefer it be otherwise, we have a policy in place for a reason.”
My hands itched, ready to zap Peter with a painful spell. He’d be sorry later.
“Come in and sit,” Blackwell said. “Tell me all about your business. I love chewing the fat with a fellow entrepreneur.”
Peter cleared his throat and gestured behind the manticore. A woman stood at the far window, facing the opposite direction. She seemed intent on enjoying the view from the office.
“Ah, yes. I’d like you meet my diamond in the rough,” Blackwell said. “She’s so quiet that I sometimes forget she’s here.”
The woman turned and I was immediately struck by her haunted expression. I had flashes of my grandmother and the sadness that had plagued her after being stripped of her magic.
“Brittany,” the woman said. She didn’t smile in greeting as she moved closer to us.
“Nice to meet you,” I said. As I shook her hand, I was startled to realize how bony she actually was. Her face was gaunt and I was fairly certain her flowing red hair wasn’t natural. In fact, something wasn’t quite right about her overall appearance.
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