by V. Vaughn
“What’s this one do, Nico?” he called, as he tugged his sweaty t-shirt over his head and grabbed a towel.
Nico emerged from behind the lab table, grinning and pushing his goggles up into his crazy hair. “Powdered moonlight!”
Mal stopped and stared. “What?”
“Technically,” Nico said, waving a hand at these trivial details, “it’s a powder with some of the magical properties of moonlight. To use in other potions, mostly. But I’m betting it’ll make you high as a kite. Come on, try some, be my guinea-wolf.” He rocked on his feet and rubbed his hands together in anticipation, still grinning madly.
That sounded like a really bad idea. “Maybe later, after the Dean eviscerates me.” He explained about the Sending and his suspicion that he’d failed all his midterms and was about to be unceremoniously dumped on the chopping block.
Nico grimaced in sympathy. “Good luck, bro, and we’ll get our potion on tonight,” he said, flipping his goggles back down and turning back to his work.
“Yeah, great,” Mal muttered to himself, and ducked into the bathroom to shower.
Fifteen minutes later, he slunk into the Dean’s office, where the receptionist took his name and waved him over to sit in the waiting area. He’d barely pulled out his phone when the outer door opened again and a girl walked in like she owned the place. She was petite, curvy, and perfectly put together, from her braided crown of strawberry-blonde hair to her expensive little boots. This was exactly the kind of Keep girl he hated — rich, entitled, the type of girl who looked down on Afflicted bastards like Mal.
“Wait, Miss —” the receptionist called out as the girl breezed her way through to the Dean’s personal office door. The girl spun toward him, her dress swirling around her knees and showing the barest hint of creamy thighs.
“David,” she said, giving him an insincere smile. “I must speak with her immediately. I’m sure these other —” she glanced at Mal and the two other students sitting there — “people won’t mind waiting.”
With that, she pushed through the Dean’s door and disappeared from view. But not from hearing — at least, not if the listener was a werewolf. But Mal had no interest in listening to a spoiled brat whine about whatever girls like her had to complain about—even if she did have pretty thighs—so he dug out his headphones and pulled up the recording of Ash’s band’s latest set at the campus cafe-slash-venue, the Broken Wand. He had to play it on the lowest volume to be able to stand the sound—wolf ears kind of suck for music—but it was worth it to hear Ash play.
But he hadn’t even finished one song when the Dean’s door opened again and the Dean herself beckoned Mal into her office. Wary, he crossed the waiting area, ignoring the pitying expressions of the other students and the receptionist, and slipped through the inner door.
The Dean’s office was bright and minimalist, white and silver and glass, with a view of the honors dorm from its tall, oddly shaped windows. She was sitting behind the desk, and the girl was standing in front of it, her tiny frame quivering with emotion, her cheeks blushing hotly.
“Have a seat,” the Dean ordered. She speared the girl with a sharp glance. “Both of you.”
What had he gotten himself into this time? Mal dropped into a chair, and the girl did the same, with a little huff of annoyance. She wrinkled her tiny nose as if being within three feet of him offended her delicate sensibilities. Well, she could disapprove of him all she wanted — he didn’t care. He leaned back in the chair, lacing his fingers together over his chest and crossing one booted foot over his knee. He made sure the muddy sole was facing her, mere inches from her pristine knee socks.
The Dean turned her glare on Mal, and he instantly regretted his casual pose, but forced himself not to move. She sighed, and Mal got the impression that if she were a less controlled person, she would have been pinching the bridge of her nose in exasperation. Instead she gestured curtly between them.
“Mr. Sheppard, meet my daughter, Cassiopeia Blake. Cassie, this is Malcolm Sheppard. Now. I have a proposal for you both.” She turned to Malcolm and flipped open a file that he recognized as his own. The vital stats on the inside cover were all codes and acronyms, but he knew what they said. PTSD, poorly integrated werewolf, failing grades, anger issues, etc., etc. The paper at the top of the stack in the folder was his Rituals midterm, marked with a bold red “D.”
“Malcolm, you’re clearly struggling with your courses. Understandably so, given your circumstances, but nevertheless, something must be done. I’m afraid Penrose has been failing in our duty to you, and I assure you, that is not our intention. Perhaps it’s time to try something new. So. Your professors have agreed to let you either retake your midterm exams or submit a paper or project for additional credit. You’ll have two weeks to prepare, and Cassie will be your tutor during that time. She is—for the most part—an excellent student, and should be able to help you master some fundamentals so you can pursue your studies with more success. Cassie has her own makeup project to work on during this time. It is my sincere hope that by helping you, she’ll be able to improve her own work.”
There was a frozen silence in the room, as Mal sat there, stunned, while Cassie seethed with anger in the chair next to him. Her expression was bland, disinterested — but her hands were clutching her bag as if she wanted to strangle it, and her heartbeat was racing. She had the scent of someone who was about to commit matricide.
Just what he needed. An uptight overachiever judging his every move for two weeks.
3
“This is a great idea,” Malcolm said in a voice dripping with sarcasm.
“Thank you, Dean. I’m sure you will be surprised at the progress we make,” Cassie sniffed. She took Malcolm’s elbow and led him out of the office and straight to the elevators. The Dean’s eyes burned against her back, but as soon as the elevator doors were closed, they were safe.
“Let go of me,” Malcolm snarled, yanking his arm away.
“Shush,” Cassie said. She produced a necklace from her satchel. It was a leather bag as small as a blueberry fastened neatly to a silver chain. “Put this on,” she said, handing the necklace out to Malcolm.
“Are you nuts? I learned on my first day here not to accept jewelry from witches. This jock girl gave me a bracelet that she said was for all freshmen on the tour, but really—”
“It made you drool uncontrollably? Or did it turn your ankles to jelly? Did it make your voice sound like that cartoon duck with the speech impediment?”
“Donald Duck?”
“No, the other one. The one who fights with the rabbit.”
“Daffy. His name is Daffy Duck. How do you not know that? Did you grow up watching wizard TV or something?” Malcolm was staring at her like she was an alien but Cassie never lacked in perseverance. She held the charm out patiently as the elevator descended.
“This is an anti-scrying charm.” That sentence clearly had no effect on him. “It prevents people from spying on you with magic. All the senior students wear them.”
“Why?” Malcolm asked. “Why do I care if my professor spies on me?”
Cassie rolled her eyes. “You lack imagination, did you know that? We all wear these. Not to protect against snooping professors, but because other students learn scrying senior year and what do you think the first they try to do is?”
“Watch concerts for free? Sneak into movies?” Malcolm shrugged and suddenly the elevator felt too small to Cassie. She was too close to him and what did she even know about him other than he had a face that irritated her and was on academic probation?
“Maybe where you’re from. But around here the first thing they try to do is spy on their crushes naked.” Even as she said it, she knew it was a mistake. Cassie felt a deep flush rise in her cheeks. The wolfish grin Malcolm gave her did not help at all.
“Is that what you did?” he asked, his voice low.
Cassie’s eyes were drawn to his lips. He had pretty lips. If he shaved and cut his hair and pu
t on clean not-ripped clothes, he might be halfway handsome. He also needed a shower—in the close quarters of the elevator the scent of his musk or whatever was overpowering.
“I certainly did not. I was raised to be a proper witch,” Cassie sniffed.
The elevator doors dinged open. Two terrified underclassmen were waiting, both afflicted with numerous curses and hexes and jinxes. One boy had a magically enlarged nose that frogs kept hopping out of, hair that tried to crawl off his head and hands that had turned into miniature forests. The other had no voice, but an image hung over his head, showing pictures of all his thoughts, like he was in a comic book. His clothes were covered in some ichorous purple goo. His thought balloon displayed an image of the Dean, dressed like a dominatrix, slapping the boy around. But when his eyes turned to Cassie, his thought balloon shifted, showing her slowly undressing and doing a lewd dance.
Behind the boys was a campus security guard, dressed in hex-resistant riot gear. “Get in the elevator, you nitwits,” she said.
As the jinxed duo went off to either get help or get expelled, Malcolm laughed. “I think you have an admirer.”
“Shut up,” Cassie said.
“Did you see that kid’s thoughts? Can you really dance like that?” Malcolm did his best impression of the dance, shaking his hips in a circle.
“No more talking until you put this on. Mother is watching.” Cassie held out the charm.
Malcolm shook his head. “I can’t take that.”
“I promise you it’s not cursed,” she said. “But I will not be spied upon. Privacy is every wizard and witch’s right.”
Malcolm held his hands up, like he was calling a truce. “Do you have another chain for it? I don’t do silver.”
“Does it clash with your—” Cassie waved her hands, referring to his ripped jeans and stained shirt and muddy boots, “ensemble?”
“No, dude, I’m a werewolf.”
As his words sank in, Cassie realized the trap her mother had laid for her. She’d been expecting your average poor student, someone that she could work with, teach some basics to. Turning around a mortal-born in two weeks was not unusual. With enough hard work and natural talent, the simplest of spells and rituals could be mastered. But an Afflicted? Teaching self-control and magic to someone who wasn’t even human anymore? Most professors couldn’t do that in four years. What chance did she have in two weeks?
“Y’know what?” Malcolm said with a sneer. “Forget it. I know that look. I’m sick to death of that look. I didn’t ask for your help. I didn’t ask to be sent to this circus. And I sure as hell didn’t ask to be bitten. So you can keep your noblesse oblige and your slumming-it attitude and go ask your mommy for a new pet to train.” His eyes flashed with golden fire as he spoke. His teeth elongated into fangs. If Cassie had been able to look away from his face, she was sure she’d see nasty claws at the ends of his fingers. Had she ever been so close to one of the Afflicted before? Perhaps, but none so close to losing control as this boy.
“Wait,” Cassie said. “Please wait. I need this. If I don’t work with you I’ll have to—no, it’s not important. The details aren’t important. But I need to help you, okay? It’s the deal I made with the Dean.” She fished around inside her bag looking for another chain or string she could use for the necklace. Her mother’s eyes were on her, even then, she could feel it like a hot stone pressing on her back. She couldn’t think straight when her mother was watching her, like all of the soured expectations and pursed lips of her childhood were chains binding her.
Malcolm closed his eyes and took three long breaths. For a moment, a calmness descended on him, smoothed out his features. And for the briefest of seconds Cassie could see how beautiful he was when his attitude wasn’t getting in the way of his face.
When he opened his eyes, the glow was gone. His teeth were human teeth again. His fingers sported no claws. “You can help me with this? Really? Because no one else has been able to. I’ve been here for months, and no professor has had any answers or expertise to drawn on. How can you have a magic school and not have a single, y’know, shifter on faculty?”
There was nothing in Cassie’s bag that could work as a necklace chain. Her boots weren’t the lace up kind, either. Nothing around her that she saw could be used as a chain or even enchanted to have chain-like properties. Her mother was grinning now. She could sense it. Up there above them she was sitting in her office and gloating. She would force Cassie into blow-off classes meant for witches majoring in finding a husband. She’d marry Cassie off to Anoxamander if she could, or to some sweaty old widower with a fortune and just the right name. He’d probably be bald as a toad.
An idea occurred to Cassie. She reached up and plucked three strawberry blond hairs from her own head and with deft fingers and a hint of magic, wove them into a string that was as delicate as gossamer and strong as steel. She threaded the charm bag onto the strands of her hair and before Malcolm could scowl or growl or threaten her, she looped it over his neck.
Malcolm flinched, expecting some terrible curse to hit him like a hammer made of skunks, but of course nothing happened. Cassie had been telling the truth. “Hey, that’s weird,” he said, glancing around. “I feel better. It’s like there was someone standing right behind me, breathing down my neck, and now they’re gone.”
“See?” Cassie said. “You can trust me. Honestly, they should give these out to all the incoming students along with the map and student IDs.”
“And the free condoms.”
Cassie blushed again. Why was he saying such rude things to her? Why was he grinning at her like that? Could he smell that she was a virgin? No, of course not. That was ridiculous.
“Anyway,” Cassie said, looking anywhere but at Malcolm’s irritating face. “I have class now. Let’s meet up tonight at eight to assess your skills and develop a plan of attack.”
“Where?” Malcolm asked. “Your dorm?”
“I live in The Keep. No boys allowed.”
“I bet I could sneak in.”
“And I bet better wizards than you have tried and failed.” Cassie whispered conspiratorially. “They say the House Mother has a display cabinet in her office with all of the male members of those who’ve tried to sneak in on display.”
“What does she do with them?” Malcolm asked. She could see the inference in his eyes and hear it in his tone, but whatever he was getting at was past her.
“Keeps them in a glass case? As a warning?” Cassie shook her head. “We can’t meet there, as I’ve said. What about your dorm?”
“Spenser is holding a talent show tonight,” Malcolm drawled. “A noisy one. We won’t be able to study anywhere near there.”
“The library then,” Cassie said. “Eight p.m. sharp. Meet me outside. Do not under any circumstances go in yourself. And make sure you bring pennies.”
“Pennies?” Malcolm asked, his forehead furrowing.
“To pay the librarians, duh.”
Maddie was waiting for her when she got back to The Keep after her afternoon classes. “Oh my god, are you okay? I can’t believe how brutal that was.” How long had Maddie been waiting for her? Had she been perched on her bed all afternoon?
“I’ll be fine. I worked out a plan with mother and I have two weeks to turn my research around. I’ll be fine,” she said, but it felt like a lie. Maddie gazed at her with sharp eyes and not for the first time Cassie wished they had the kind of relationship where she felt she could reveal her vulnerabilities. But they didn’t. They really didn’t.
They’d met first year, in The Keep. They’d lived in the same hall and had found themselves in the same honors classes. It took the better part of a year for them to warm up to each other, but they did.
She and Maddie shared a competitive spirit and seeking to outdo each other drove them to higher heights. They had their ups and downs as friends, but since they both agreed they were the smartest witches on campus, they shared a common sense of superiority that bound them togeth
er. But while Cassie was from an old and proud wizarding family, Maddie wasn’t. Her father had attended Duncairn and refused to let his only child be subjected to the same horrors he went through. Her mother was mortal born, exceedingly chubby, and routinely sent gift boxes full of the treats that Maddie grew up with and that Cassie had never dreamt of.
Even now there was a new package, freshly opened, spilling rice krispie treats and chocolate mint brownies across Maddie’s desk. Cassie helped herself to one of each.
“I’ve said this before,” she said. “But I think if more wizards ate your mother’s baked goods there’d be much more emphasis on integrating with normal society.”
“One of these days I’ll have my mother send you some tiramisu or cannolis,” Maddie said. “They’ll really blow your blind.” There was something different in her tone today. Pity? A sense of superiority? Whatever it was, it rankled Cassie.
“Tell me about this deal you made with your mother,” Maddie said, reclining on her bed. She took out her wand and mumbled a charm, tapping her fingernails one by one, changing their color from a muted shade of clay to a metallic blue.
“There’s this boy I have to tutor,” Cassie said in a rush. “He’s having a hard time because he’s Afflicted, y’know? And if I can save his grades, then I can stay in Professor Schtrumpf’s class and show you how much smarter than you I am.” What was she saying? Cassie slapped a hand over her mouth while Maddie stared at her wide-eyed, her mouth hanging open in shock.
“You did not just say that!” She gasped. Then she narrowed her eyes mischievously. “Tell me about this boy. Is he hideous? Covered in thorns or sap or reeking of wet fur?”