by Theresa Kay
His hands are moving again. This time, I step out of the way when he tosses another burst of magic at me. I’m not letting him land another one of those things.
“You’re supposed to be defending, not avoiding,” he says, his upper lip curling.
“Well, excuse me for not knowing the rules,” I mutter under my breath. To Adrian, I say, “Defend myself, that’s the only rule, right?”
“Yup,” says Adrian as he flicks his hand out like he’s batting something away. Which he probably is. Duh.
I focus my attention back on Tristan and give him a sugary-sweet smile. “Let’s do this then.”
He makes that scooping motion again, this time balling something up with two hands before lobbing it at my face. I dodge to the side and move forward. The magic brushes by my head, and the smell of burned hair hits my nose. He threw magic at my head and singed my hair. What the hell kind of game is he trying to play?
As Tristan gathers up more magic, I stalk the fifteen feet or so across the field and shove him in the shoulder. “You could have really hurt me with that!”
He shrugs. “You’re supposed to be defending yourself from my very, very basic attacks. If you can’t cut it, why don’t you leave?”
He doesn’t need to know how much I’d absolutely love to leave this place, but I’ll certainly show him how I ‘defend myself.’ I set my feet, raise my hands, and send my fist at that stupid, smug face of his. He makes no effort to dodge or block or do anything but stand there as my punch lands and sends him backward onto his ass. He doesn’t even look like he knows how to do anything to defend himself without magic. Are all witches this dependent on magic to protect them? If so, that’s ridiculous.
Tristan scowls up at me from his position on the ground as he wipes a trickle of blood away from his mouth with his fingers. I tentatively reach out to help him up, but he smacks my hand away and stands on his own.
“I’m quite capable of getting up without your help.”
“I know that, asshole. I was just trying to be sportsmanlike.”
He snorts. “The mongrels taught you manners then? Or what passes for them among animals I suppose.”
My skin goes cold, and anger curls into my stomach. “My parents are not mongrels. They’re good people.”
“People.” He scoffs and pushes his hair away from his face. “I think that’s giving the canines a bit too much credit.” His fingers are moving again as if he’s plucking delicate strings from the air and weaving them together. He flips his hand palm side up and flicks his wrist toward me. Another ball of energy comes racing my way, but I step to the side.
He makes a slashing motion with his other hand, and a wave of energy flies up from the ground under my feet. I stumble backward. He tosses another energy ball in my direction. I avoid it again, but only barely. His movements get sharper and more precise, and his eyes narrow in concentration as he observes my movements for a second.
The corner of his lip twitches, and he jerks one hand toward my feet and the other off to the side . . . Of course, it’s the side I step to in order to avoid what he threw at my feet.
An electric current rips through me, and my teeth slam together, just missing my tongue. Muscles seizing, my legs give out and I go down, the ground jarring against my kneecaps. I catch myself before I faceplant on the grass and push back up immediately. Now I’m pissed.
Without even thinking, I dart forward on light feet, plant my left leg and send my right leg in a side kick directly into his abdomen. The air leaves his mouth in a whoosh, and he falls on his ass. I move closer and press my foot against his throat. “Why don’t you stay down there this time?”
He bares his teeth and grabs my ankle, trying to fling me off. I press my foot harder into his throat.
Someone grabs my shoulder and pulls me back. “Let him up, Ms. Andras. Physical violence is not tolerated here.”
“What?” I sputter as I turn to face the teacher. Everyone else has stopped practicing to stare. “What do you call what he was doing to me? A gentle massage?”
“Magic,” says Mr. Davis.
“You’re the teacher. You know I’m new here. Aren’t you supposed to teach me how to use magic instead of just throwing me into this situation? What did you expect me to do?”
“Magic,” he says again. “This was a very basic exercise using a skill you should have already mastered. It’s also the only acceptable method of defense and offense in this class. That is, if you want to have a place at this school.”
And that’s it, the thing that finally pushes me past the line. I didn’t ask to come here, and I sure as hell don’t want to be here. Everything, every goddamn thing at this place, is awful. I’ve met only three—four if I count Basil—decent people here, and the rest are complete and utter assholes.
Just as I expected.
“Well, maybe I don’t want a place at this school,” I snap before stomping off the field.
The entire way back to my room, my mind races. What do I do now? How am I going to cut it here? Can I cut it here?
And what happens if I can’t?
Barely thirty minutes after I arrive back at my room—and open the door on my own, go me!—someone comes knocking. The sound makes me wince. What the hell was I thinking? Of course I’m going to get in trouble, hopefully not enough that I get kicked out, but there are damn sure going to be consequences. My actions were pretty stupid, especially after what Devin said about the St. James family, but I couldn’t help myself. From the very first moment I met Tristan, he irritated me. The fact that he’s a St. James just makes it all the worse.
I rest my forehead on my palms and shake my head. How am I possibly going to make it here all year? I haven’t even been here a day and have managed to piss off probably the worst person possible. I push to my feet to answer the door and find the smiling secretary from the director’s office posed to knock again.
He gives me a sympathetic smile. “Director Burke would like to see you in his office.”
I nod and gesture for him to precede me down the hall. Clean clothes might be nice, but what would it matter? There’s a chance I might not be here much longer, and I’ve already made all the first impressions I’m going to. I let the door shut behind me and follow the secretary in silence all the way to Director Burke’s office.
Unsurprisingly, Tristan is already sitting in the office, wearing a sour expression. He had time to shower and change somewhere in the last thirty minutes, and I could kick myself for not doing the same. I feel extra gross compared to him as I sit down in my damp and dirty gym clothes, but the sight of his fat lip makes the situation not entirely awful.
I give Tristan my best sugary-sweet smile. “How’s the mouth?”
His honey-colored eyes narrow, but he doesn’t answer. He simply sits there and scowls at me. Who knew such a pretty face could twist into something so ugly?
Burke clears his throat. “I assume you know why you’re here?”
I meet his gaze, conjuring up confidence I don’t actually feel before speaking. “I’m not going to apologize. I did as I was instructed and defended myself. He’s the one who took it too far.”
“I’m the one who took it too far?” Tristan exclaims, his voice rising and his face twisting with anger. It’s the most genuine, naked emotion I’ve seen out of him all day. He curls his hands around the arms of the chair. “You punched me in the face, you mangy—”
The director slams his hand down on his desk. “That is enough.” He glares across at me. “From both of you.” He sighs and rubs at his temples. “This is not what I needed this afternoon. Or this school year, really.”
We sit in silence for a minute as Tristan and I exchange glares, and then Basil comes bumbling through the door. He beams at me. He beams at Tristan. Does the man know how to do anything but beam at people?
Tristan raises his eyebrows, and for once, I think we might have at least one thing in common: Basil’s cheeriness in the face of, well, everything baffles both of us.
“Have you made the preparations?” asks Burke in a monotone voice.
Basil claps his hands, a delighted smile resting on his lips. “I have. It’ll be perfect. Two birds with one stone and all that.”
Burke looks skeptical, and I glance back and forth between them in confusion. What’s going on here? What am I missing?
Basil pulls out a small bag and then lines things up on the desk: a piece of chalk, a white candle, a few odds and ends I don’t recognize. Tristan must recognize them though because his eyes go wide.
“No,” he says. “Not happening. You will not—”
“Be quiet, St. James,” thunders Burke. “I already warned you this morning about showing proper respect. I’m not in the mood to go over that conversation again. This is not up for discussion. I assigned you as her student guide for a reason. The fact that you managed to weasel out of your responsibilities and get into a fist fight . . .” He trails off, shaking his head.
“I showed her where her class was,” says Tristan, the words clipped and bordering on petulant.
I snort. “And that’s about it.”
“You shouldn’t be so flippant about this.” Tristan turns his irritation on me. “Do you know what they’re planning?” He sniffs, and his upper lip curls. “No, you probably don’t. I’m certain your upbringing didn’t teach you much about witches. They’re going to do a binding spell.”
“And that’s so awful because . . . ? Isn’t that like what I had on me before?”
Tristan huffs in irritation. “Binding you and me. Together. Like squabbling siblings.”
“As in we’ll be handcuffed to each other like in some stupid rom-com? For how long?” This is not what I signed up for. The guy and I can’t be in the same room without arguing, and they want to force us together?
“Until you learn to get along,” says Burke.
“But . . . How will I get dressed? How will I shower? How—”
“It’s not literal,” says Tristan, implying the word idiot with a roll of his eyes. “Not in the physical sense anyway. We’ll simply have to maintain a certain proximity to each other.”
“Proximity? Just how close are we talking here? Fifty feet? Ten? Five?”
“That will depend on us,” says Tristan in a flat voice. “Unfortunately.”
“Oh, yes,” says Basil with a grin. “The better you get along, the farther apart you can be. Once you’ve come to some sort of peaceful arrangement, the spell will dissolve and you’ll be free to go your separate ways.”
The spell doesn’t sound quite as awful as Tristan made it out to be, but by the look on his face, the whole binding thing is probably worse than it seems.
“What’s the catch?” I ask. There’s been a catch to just about everything in my life lately, so why would this be any different?
“The more we argue, the closer we’ll have to be to each other to appease the spell,” says Tristan. “I hope you’ll enjoy sleeping on the floor in the boys’ dorm.”
Burke raises an eyebrow at Basil.
“Ah yes,” says Basil. He pulls an old-fashioned pocket watch from his bag. “I’m going to adjust the spell enough that you can each sleep in your own rooms. It will only be active from 8:00 a.m. to 10:00 p.m.”
“What about my classes?” asks Tristan. “We don’t have the same schedule, and I can’t afford to—”
“You do now,” says Burke. “Your schedule has been adjusted to be identical to Selene’s. Including tutoring with Basil.”
“That’s ridiculous!” yells Tristan. “I can’t afford to miss out on my classes because I have to sit in beginner courses with her. It—”
“Is not going to interfere with any of your other classes. You will not be required to complete the coursework for the classes you attend with Selene, and your other teachers will provide you with your assignments and allow you ample time to complete them. Think of it as independent study if you’d like,” says the director.
“My parents will hear of this.”
Burke gives Tristan a wry smile. “You’d like them to find out about you getting into a physical altercation in the middle of class?”
Tristan’s jaw tenses as he presses his lips together and casts his gaze on the floor. Apparently, Mommy and Daddy St. James wouldn’t be happy to hear that. I suppose they have to draw the line somewhere. Blatant hatred of shifters? That’s perfectly fine. But getting into a physical altercation? Total no-no.
Burke motions for Basil to continue, and the smaller man lights the candle before taking a piece of string and tying one end around my wrist and one end around Tristan’s. Basil touches each of the objects on the desk in turn, mouthing words I can’t hear, and then touches the string. A sudden pressure lands on my chest and squeezes before disappearing.
“It’s done.” Basil unties the string and then gathers all the spell components.
“Good luck.” Burke rises to his feet. “I’m sure the two of you will learn to enjoy each other’s company eventually.” He speaks with a perfectly straight face, but I can almost hear laughter behind his words. “Now, why don’t you two go eat some dinner and get to know each other?” He ushers us out of the office and into the hallway before closing the door behind us.
“And don’t let the door hit you on the way out,” I mutter under my breath in a bad imitation of Burke’s accent.
“Funny,” says Tristan in a voice that implies anything but. He strides off down the hallway, silently fuming. Once he goes past the third doorway, his steps slow. There’s a tug at the center of my chest, gentle and testing. The feeling turns into a hard yank, and I stumble a few steps in Tristan’s direction. The spell? He nods to himself, and there’s another tug.
No. He’s doing this. The spell might tie us together or whatever, but he’s the one using it like a leash to pull me around.
Another hard yank.
“Stop that,” I snap. “If you—”
“The dining hall closes in thirty minutes. Let’s go.” He doesn’t even turn around.
The next time he yanks on the connection, he gets pulled backward a little. Probably from the spell tightening.
He tilts his head back and lets out a loud, exasperated breath. “If you’d like to be rid of this stupid spell, you need to cooperate with me.”
“I think we actually need to cooperate with each other.”
He turns to me, lips pursed. “Look, I can’t afford to have you following me around for long. The quicker we get this over with, the quicker we both can go our own ways.” He plasters on a smile complete with dimples. If his eyes weren’t blank and bored, I might even call it a panty-dropping smile. “I’m so sorry we got off on the wrong foot. Do you think we could be friends?”
I gape at him. “Are you being serious right now?”
The smile on his faces grows strained. “Of course.”
“I may be new to all this, but I’m pretty sure getting rid of this spell isn’t as simple as that.”
His face goes blank, and he shrugs. “It was worth a shot. Sometimes binding spells can be more literal.”
“Had this problem often?” I snort. “I can’t say I’m surprised.”
He scowls and yanks on the spell again, pulling me closer.
“Can we stop at my room before dinner? I’d like to change.”
“I’m sure you would.” Those dark amber eyes move from my toes to my head. “But we don’t have time.” He starts walking but not before yanking on the spell again.
Asshole. I need to figure out how he’s doing that. If he can use the spell to his advantage, I’m sure there’s a way for me to use it to mine. Until then, I’ll just let him take the lead. I smirk to myself. He seems to be more tolerable if he thinks he’s in charge.
I really thought Tristan was kidding about the whole ‘we don’t have time’ thing.
He wasn’t.
He drags me straight to the dining hall. No stops. No bathroom break so I can maybe salvage a semblance of normalcy by taming my hair and sp
lashing some water on my face. Nope, it’s directly to the dining hall, a large, semi-noisy room holding most of my classmates. There are various groups of students gathered around long tables, and it’s generally what I’d expect to see at an OSA academy that’s known for catering to the Coven Council and the old money families. The place still screams ‘high school cafeteria’ with a salad bar and plastic trays, but there’s a sushi chef and a gourmet deli counter along with other made-to-order stations, and the dessert bar holds artisan pastries and handmade chocolates.
Tristan walks to the salad bar and loads up a plate without pausing or asking me what I want to eat. The dessert bar is calling to me with all its chocolaty goodness, but the spell won’t let me go any farther than five feet or so from Tristan, and his path takes him nowhere near the sweets.
I have nothing against vegetables and load my plate up too, but after the day I’ve had, I think I deserve a little sugar. Not enough that I’m going to ask for permission like a child, though. Instead, I follow Tristan to one of the tables and sit down across from him without uttering any of my complaints. Hey, maybe I’ll get bonus points from the spell for not complaining. That could happen, right?
The situation shifts from irritating to awkward rather quickly as the silence between us grows longer and longer. Am I supposed to make small talk or something? Will that help appease the spell? I can’t imagine sitting here staring at my plate in silence will be helpful. I glance at Tristan. “So, do you—”
“Not in the mood,” he says, not lifting his gaze from his plate.
Well, neither am I.
Okay then, back to silence. The awkwardness, that feeling of being surrounded by people but still alone and out of place, reminds me of being at the party while standing on the edges and having no one to talk to. It sucks. At least the party had music.
And Reid.
And people who didn’t eye me with suspicion or outright disdain like the witches at the tables around us.
Not a single one of the three people who have actually been nice to me here are in sight, and that lost, lonely feeling with hints of homesickness hits a new high for the day. I don’t know how long I can keep this up. I’m already failing at being a witch, and it’s only my first day. My parents raised me to never give up, but I’m still so confused and I’m beginning to think this whole thing is hopeless.