by Ilana Waters
“The only roof you’ll be sleeping under tonight is the infirmary’s,” I growled. I used my general’s voice again. It bears the weight of centuries, that voice. The murder of countless men, the certainty of absolutes. There was magic behind it—and power. I knew the others felt it, including Victor. His smile faded a little.
“Are you sure you want to go up against him, V?” one of his goons asked in hushed tones. He had teeth that were a little too big for his face. “He is Titus Aurelius’s son. His dad probably taught him fifty different ways to kill you.” In addition to being a blood drinker, my father was also one of the more violent military leaders in history. At the moment, I was glad his reputation preceded him—even if it overshadowed me.
But Victor quickly regained his composure, his smile widening again. “Mason, look at this git. He’s skinnier than the school flagpole, and probably weighs even less. I’m pretty sure I can take him.”
“You know a witch’s appearance has nothing to do with magical ability,” said the other goon. This one had a caveman brow that threatened to eclipse his eyes. “He could still hand you your arse.” Victor gave him a dark look. The goon held up his hands. “Just saying.”
“He’s not a witch, Dirk.” Victor narrowed his eyes at me. “He’s just a mage.”
“I may be just a mage,” I raised one hand as if to throw a ball of magic, “but at least I’m not—holy shit, what is that thing?” My eyes went wide and my jaw dropped as I pointed behind Victor. He whirled around in alarm.
There was nothing there, of course. A simple enough trick, with no magic involved. But it got the job done. Victor turned back around in confusion. Before he could react, I punched him in the jaw. He fell down, and the cheering and screaming began.
“Get him, Victor!”
“Go, Victor, go!”
“Don’t let him get away with that!”
Victor had no intention of letting me get away with that. A growl that started deep in his throat ended in an unintelligible roar. He sprang up and held out both hands on either side of me. I felt a wall of fire go up. Only a lightning-speed leap into the air kept the flames from engulfing me.
Is the son of a bitch really trying to kill me? I thought. All I did was punch him. Victor flew up and made a grab for me, but air is my element. I deftly twisted away while firing magic back from both palms. They hit Victor squarely in the chest. He was thrown against the wall of the opposite building so hard, a few bricks tumbled out.
“You sodding little . . .” Victor telekinetically threw the loose bricks at my head. They came so fast, I barely had time to get out of the way. One of their jagged edges grazed my cheek, and I felt blood running down my face.
Damn, he’s good with earth magic, too. This became all too apparent, as the next thing Victor tried to hit me with was a massive stone bench. It took him a few seconds to telekinetically lift it, grunting and swearing. But when he did, it caught me in the stomach, and I doubled over it, flying toward another brick wall.
Although the pain in my belly left me breathless, I knew I couldn’t afford to hit that wall. If I did, I’d be crushed between it and the bench. Witches are immortal for the most part, and would probably survive such a blow. A mage? My immortality was a question mark.
Magic of earth, hear your son now . . . I squeezed my eyes shut, willing magic into the bench. Return to your true form . . . be as dust again.
It worked. Sort of. I tried to make the bench crumble entirely, but all it did was break apart in chunks. Still, that was enough to slow its momentum, and I hit the wall with an “Ooof!” and slid down. It could’ve been much worse. The crowd was whooping and clapping, but I couldn’t tell whether it was for me or Victor.
We faced each other again, this time in the middle of the courtyard. We were both perspiring, our shoulders heaving as we tried to catch our breath. I could already feel the gash on my cheek mending, but it still burned. A mage may heal more gradually than a witch, but faster than a mortal.
“You think I can’t do earth magic, too?” I snapped. “That I can’t keep up with you? I can do everything a witch can do.” I just have to work harder for it.
“Like hell you can,” Victor spat. “A mage will never be equal in power or abilities to a witch.”
“You tell him, Victor!” Mason shouted.
“Yeah!” cried Dirk, pumping his arms in applause.
You will be if your father trains you like the hard-hearted son of a bitch he is.
“That’s probably why you had to resort to tricks to get a hit.” Victor rubbed his jaw where I punched him. Good. I hope it hurts. Then, he grinned. “Though, come to think of it, maybe that’s not such a bad idea.” Then, he disappeared.
I blinked several times, thinking maybe it was a trick of the light. Very skillful fire witches can bend light, but I doubted Victor was that advanced yet. I looked to the left and right, above, and behind. But Victor was nowhere to be found. Confused whispers filled the courtyard.
“Where’d he go?”
“He was right there.”
“Couldn’t have gotten far.”
I felt someone tap me on the shoulder, and turned around just in time for Victor to punch me.
Damn. An invisibility spell. Should’ve seen that coming. Well, not literally, but still.
But unlike Victor, I knew how to fall after a punch. On the way down, I grabbed his extended arm, threw him on the ground, and straddled him. I punched him again; this time, blood from his nose smeared his handsome features. His mouth twisted in an ugly snarl as he grappled with my arms, sending painful magic through them. I sent my own magic back, equally angry and strong.
“I just . . . wanted . . . you . . . to stop . . . hurting people,” I said through gritted teeth. Our faces were inches apart. “What’s . . . your . . . problem . . . anyway?”
“My . . . problem . . . is . . .” A surge of magic burned through me. It felt like I’d been electrocuted. I cried out and released Victor, but was on my feet before he could overtake me.
“My problem is you.” Victor leaped up and shoved me against a brick wall. Still recovering from the pain in my arms, I felt heat begin to surround me again. This energy was even stronger than the wall of fire from before.
Mother of God, he really is going to burn me alive. Witches and mages may not be able to drown like in Salem, dear readers, but fire, decapitation, and certain kinds of spells will end us. I’m sure Victor would’ve loved to see me endure all three.
The crowd around us was going wild. Some were screaming at Victor to “finish me,” while others pleaded with him to stop.
“You’re just an air mage.” He was getting closer, grinning at me again. My heart pounded; I was soaked in sweat. Powerful magic flowed from his arms to the tunnel of fire which was my prison. I desperately tried to push it away, but knew it was only a matter of time before I succumbed. The tunnel was so thick, I couldn’t see Victor anymore. I could barely hear him as he said, “I’m not going to be undone by a worthless puff of air.”
That’s the funny thing about air. It’s the kind of element you don’t miss until it’s gone. Like the ground beneath you, or the sky above. You just assume it’ll always be there.
But strange things happen to fire when it’s not.
Slowly, the tunnel of fire grew thinner. The heat began to die down. I could see Victor again, see the confused look on his face as he tried to force out more magic, only to have it keep dwindling. His brow furrowed, and he grunted in frustration. But no what he did, the walls of fire got lower and lower until they disappeared entirely.
My face was bright red from holding my breath for so long. But that’s what you get when you remove the oxygen from a small area. Still, I had enough left to deliver a spinning kick to Victor’s chest. He cried out and stumbled back.
“Go, Alderman!” Miles shouted, throwing his fist in the air.
“What’s wrong, Victor?” taunted Penelope. “Big stron
g fire witch can’t handle a little air mage?”
“Serves you right, you heartless bastard!” one of her friends yelled. Victor looked like he wanted to murder them all.
“Looks like you’re not quite the juggernaut you thought you were,” I said. Again, we stood in the center of the courtyard, only a few yards apart.
“You . . . you . . .” Victor gnashed his teeth and tried to replenish his magic, but he’d used up most of it making the fire. It would be a while till it returned—never a good feeling. “Who cares what you think? You’re the son of a demon. Vampires aren’t supposed to be able to have children. That makes you an abomination, an unnatural freak.”
“You do realize my being here without any fertility interventions makes me completely natural, right?”
“Fertility?” Victor hooted. He stopped trying to gather magic. Now, he just balled up his fists. “Yeah, I’m sure your mum loved getting all down and dirty with a vampire. Must be like shagging a corpse.”
“At least mine only shagged my dad,” I retorted. “And after a fairly involved courtship. I heard your mum doesn’t take nearly as much convincing.”
Then, Victor tried to strangle me with his bare hands.
This is absurd. I stared into Victor’s hate-filled eyes as he held me down on top of an empty pedestal. Fighting for breath, I tried to pry his fingers off my throat. Everyone around us was yelling and screaming. Why is it the mother gibes never fail? And it’s not like I care. I don’t even know Victor’s mum.
“At least my mum stuck around,” Victor hissed. He leaned so close I could feel the spray from his saliva. “I think yours disappeared because she couldn’t stand being near you anymore.”
That was when I lost it. I’m almost ashamed of what happened next, though the feeling was mitigated by the fact that Victor deserved it. Suffice it to say, it constitutes an unusual display of temper from me. I hope you won’t judge me too harshly, dear reader.
I let out a guttural cry of rage and flew up in the air with Victor. My fingers were tight around his collar; he wasn’t getting away. With a burst of magic, I threw him against a wall. There, I splayed out my palms and starting sucking the oxygen from Victor’s body. All of it.
It was beautiful to watch, in a vengeful sort of way. Victor wore an expression like he didn’t know what hit him. His skin began to get pale and flaky. Then, he starting turning blue, clutching his throat. His skin shriveled, and he sank to his knees, leaning forward. He looked for all the world like a little old man. I heard voices from the crowd, roaring. Some told me to stop, others said the opposite. But the loudest was the one in my head. The one that wanted to hurt Victor more than anything.
“What in gods’ names is going on here?” a voice called from behind me, in a thick Scottish accent. “Oy, you!” A strong hand grabbed me by one shoulder and whirled me around. My spell on Victor broke. Behind me, I heard him gasping for breath, finally able to get some air. I gruffly shrugged off the hand and turned back around.
“Leave me alone!” I barked. “This stupid wanker has it coming.” I held my palms out to resume the spell, but once again, the strong hands were upon me. This time, they grabbed both my shoulders and spun me around. The spell on Victor petered out, and I knew I wouldn’t be able to work up enough magic again to complete it. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him stumble to his feet, looking a bit ashen, but otherwise unharmed. His skin had returned to normal. Mason and Dirk tried to help him sit down, but he shoved them away.
“That’s enough!” The strong hands belonged to a wiry boy about my age, with small eyes and a severe expression. “What on earth do you think you’re doing? Do you know what this means?” He pointed to a badge sewn on his blazer, next to the Equinox crest. In elegant script was a large, capital P.
“That you need help remembering what goes between O and Q?” I pushed the boy’s arms out of the way and marched toward Victor.
But the boy flew over my body and stood in front of me, blocking my path. His lips formed a thin, tight line. “The P stands for something, you git.”
“Yes. Your name. Prick.” I raised my arm to push him aside again. As soon as I did, the boy threw up a massive shield. It prevented me from getting to any of the other students—including Victor.
“My name is Oliver MacLeod.” His eyes glittered like the shield. “Year Thirteen. And I’m House of Air’s prefect.”
Ah, the prefects. Otherwise known as house captains, usually from the sixth form. They were tasked with governing the other students, though some might say they just delighted in throwing their weight around. Still, a prefect’s authority was similar to a staff member’s. And this one made quite a formidable shield. It wouldn’t be easy to dismantle. I stepped back.
“Prefect, eh?” I said sourly.
“Yes. And I don’t know what things were like at your old academy—”
The one I’m believed to have burned down.
“—but here at Equinox, we do not go about destroying school property or assaulting people.”
“He started it!” I pointed to Victor.
“Me?” Victor motioned to his chest. “You’re the one who hit first.”
“Enough!” Oliver’s shield flared at the edges, and he slowly lowered it while looking from me to Victor and back again. “You’re lucky none of the professors or parents saw this. It’s the first day for both of you, so I’m going to let you off with a warning. But really, Victor, it’s your last year. You ought to know better.” Victor glared while Oliver straightened his lapels and turned back to me. “And you . . .”
“Alderman. Joshua Alderman.”
“Well, Alderman, just be careful, or your tenure here will be shorter than you expected. You’ll soon find that this sort of troublemaking isn’t welcome at Equin.”
“Yes.” I sniffed. “I’m beginning to see a lot of things aren’t welcome here.”
Oliver pursed his lips again. “I’m serious. One more slipup—from either of you,” he said over his shoulder to Victor, “and I report it to Specs.”
My brow knotted. “Who’s Specs?”
Oliver gave me a look of sheer disbelief. “Gilliam Specs. Headmaster of the school. It’s in all the brochures.” He rolled his eyes. “Please tell me you learned something about Equin before enrolling.”
“Well, I could hardly be bothered.” I folded both arms across my chest. “According to you, I won’t be here very long.”
Oliver regarded me stonily. He didn’t let gibes ruffle him the way Victor did. Level-headed . . . if a bit of a twat. No wonder they chose him as prefect. “Don’t think just because we belong to the same house means I’m going to be easy on you, Alderman. You have to follow the same rules as everyone else, no matter who your fath—” He stopped. “Well, no matter what, that’s all. Now, move along, all of you. Show’s over.”
Oliver motioned to the crowd of students. They groaned with disappointment, reluctantly picking up blazers and suitcases, heading through the archway to the dorms. “You have a lot of settling in to do before classes start tomorrow,” he continued, “and the new students need acclimating. Remember, there’s a penalty for hogging all the sausage links at breakfast, and the new chemistry lab has been moved to . . .”
Oliver was still shouting miscellaneous instructions when I went to retrieve my duster and bag, which were dangerously close to Victor. I thought he might try to come at me again. Part of me was hoping he would. I expected him to be a little scared of me after what I tried to do to him. A few of the other students froze in place, staring at us. Even Mason and Dirk looked worried.
But if Victor was intimidated, it didn’t show. He just narrowed his eyes as he jerked his blazer on and grabbed his suitcase.
“You’ll pay for this,” he hissed as he passed me. “No one makes me look like a fool. No one. And if we ever meet up during Tournament, you’ll have wished I destroyed you here today. Trust me.”
“Why ever would I not?”
I replied, smirking as Mason and Dirk pulled Victor away. Freshly made nemesis or no, I really must find out what this tournament is that everyone keeps talking about. Especially if Victor plans on using it against me.
I watched my newfound enemies leave the field of battle. I was exhausted, and I’d wager Victor was too, though he’d never admit it. Doing serious magic wears out witches and mages, the same as physical labor does mortals. Right now, I just wanted to lie down somewhere soft for a few centuries. But first, I needed to collect my effects.
“Looking for these?” My coat and bag hovered in front of me, and I turned to see Miles magically holding them aloft. He was with Penelope, her friends, and a handful of other students.
“Why, yes. Thanks.” I shrugged the duster on and threw the bag’s strap across my shoulder.
“Just so you know,” he said, “you don’t need to go doing things like that in future. I can take care of myself, all right?”
I blinked hard a few times. “Not exactly the reaction I was expecting. A simple thank-you would have sufficed.”
Miles made a face, but leaned in closer. “It’s not that I don’t appreciate it, but I can’t have my girl thinking I can’t take care of myself, see? Bit embarrassing and all that.” He stood up straight and said, louder: “I could’ve handled it if I had to.”
“Handled it?” Penelope echoed. She came up beside Miles. “And leave the rest of us to make your funeral arrangements?” Miles got red in the face, but said nothing. “Victor was going to thump you, and you know it. Just be grateful you’re not pushing up buds under Specs’s prize rosebush. Thanks for saving him,” she said to me. “I’m Penelope Rigaletti, but everyone calls me Pen. This is Imogen and Suyin.” She motioned to her friends, who smiled shyly and waved. “They’re fire as well. You already know Macho Man Miles.” Miles sighed. “We’re all Year Eleven,” Penelope added.
“Pleasure to meet you. I’m . . . well, you all know my name.”
“The mysterious Joshua Alderman.” Miles nodded. “We heard you were coming. Couldn’t quite believe it, though. You’re not what I expected.”