Magic Bound

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Magic Bound Page 8

by Theresa Kay


  And the fact that I’m magically bound to an arrogant asshat certainly doesn’t do anything to boost my confidence. Sure, the guy’s acted like a jerk from the second we met, but antagonizing him was not one of my best decisions, especially after everything Adrian and Devin told me. What’s done is done though, and I need to find a way to make the best of this situation—or at least a way to endure it.

  Sighing, I pick at the lettuce on my plate, more moving the leafy greens around than actually eating them. The longer Tristan and I argue, the longer we’ll be stuck together, meaning my adjustment to life here at Ravencrest is only going to be harder and take longer if I can’t make nice with the scowling boy across from me. I’m gathering the nerve to speak again when another boy drops into the chair beside Tristan.

  This guy is one of the ones Tristan was with earlier: blond hair, blue eyes, and an attitude I’ll call preppy with a side of money. “St. James, Gordon and I are headed off campus. You coming?”

  “I can’t,” says Tristan, his expression blank and bored.

  “Can’t?” The guy looks at me and then back at Tristan. “You’re ditching a chance to hook up with Tasha for the crazy shifter girl?”

  Lovely. It didn’t take long for that to become my new nickname.

  “No.” Tristan flicks his gaze toward the ceiling and releases a slow breath. “Desmond thought it best if she and I learned to get along.”

  And I don’t have off-campus privileges yet.

  A pause as the guy cocks his head to the side and furrows his brow. He takes in Tristan’s bland expression, and I can practically see the guy replaying the words in his head before coming to a conclusion. “You’re kidding me.” He glances between us. “A binding spell? Can’t you get rid of it? Flash those dimples of yours or something? That normally has the girls dying to ‘get along’ with you.”

  I fight the urge to roll my eyes. Does this guy think Tristan is some sort of lady killer? The new albatross around my neck is hot, but his personality definitely doesn’t make up for it. I give the guy a tight smile. “Yeah, he tried that one. Didn’t work.”

  “Maybe not yet, shifter girl.” The guy snorts and turns back to Tristan. “Careful how close you get in your pursuit of getting along. You might get fleas.”

  Tristan closes his eyes and presses his lips together. He says absolutely nothing. I don’t know why I’d expect him to defend me, but he could, at the very least, tell his friend to piss off or something.

  The guy continues talking. “Wait a second. You’re going to have to go to all her classes, aren’t you?” He starts laughing, his face going red. “I bet she’s in basics, isn’t she? How are you going to keep your class rank without the advanced courses? Your parents are going to be livid.”

  Tristan’s shoulders go tense, but his expression doesn’t change. “I will deal with the spell and be back in my regular classes before the month is out. Until then, there’s plenty of extra credit work I can do.” His voice drops lower, and he gives his ‘friend’ a hard smile. “My parents never need to know about this just like yours don’t need to know about last weekend. Right, Jason?”

  Jason’s expression mirrors Tristan’s, like two predators facing off, both tense and waiting to pounce. They seem to come to some sort of silent agreement before Jason’s attention moves to me. “Yeah, sure man. They won’t find out from me.” His gaze roams down to my chest. “Considering the circumstances, I suppose we can extend an invitation to your new buddy. You might need to give her a bath first though.”

  And that’s it. I’ve had enough. “Look, douchebag, why don’t you go back to your own table? I’m sure your little crew misses their leader or whatever, but clearly you aren’t getting him back right now. And the more you piss me off, the less likely it is that you’ll get him back anytime soon.”

  Weirdly enough, the idiot listens, but not without sending a malicious grin in Tristan’s direction.

  “Catch you later, St. James,” Jason says as he walks away from the table, shooting a jaunty wave over his shoulder.

  And Tristan? He visibly relaxes and goes back to his dinner. Like nothing happened. I study him as he eats, my own food forgotten. Most of their conversation had a veneer of civility, but I definitely caught the undercurrent of it. Verbal power plays like that are common among shifters, and I’m starting to wonder if witches aren’t quite as different as they think.

  “I take it that guy’s not actually your friend?”

  “Still not in the mood,” he replies, but this time his words are a little softer around the edges.

  It’s almost like progress.

  Or not.

  Tristan insists on spending the rest of the evening studying in one of the common rooms in the boys’ dorm and, as I have no books or notes or anything with me except the clothes on my back, I get to spend the time staring at the wall. Just like at dinner, the downtime isn’t helpful. When I don’t have the whirlwind of classes and information—and the occasional argument with Tristan—to occupy my brain, all my mind can do is dwell on how much I miss my family and how alone I feel here.

  I hate this.

  It’s almost ten thirty before I make it back to my own dorm room, and the lack of sleep is catching up to me. Hard. All I want to do is crawl into bed and sleep for a week. But I still have homework, and I’m hoping Isobel might have some insight into this spell and how to get free of it. Tristan wants to be rid of me, but I want to be rid of him even more.

  I reach out for the doorknob, but someone grabs my arm and yanks me down the hall. After spending all evening with the stupid binding spell, I’m kind of getting used to being pulled around against my will. But this is different. The person who has hold of my arm is a shifter, someone who belongs here even less than I do.

  I glance back at my abductor. Shifter girl from the party? What the hell?

  Shifter girl shoves me into a small, darkened room and shuts the door. There’s the click of a lock before the light is turned on, and I’m left staring at a rack of cleaning supplies and an agitated shifter. I take an involuntary step away from her, and she growls with narrowed eyes.

  I lift my chin, refusing to back down. She doesn’t get to manhandle me and then growl at me like she’s my alpha. “What the hell is this?” I snap out. “Are you following me or something? What the hell do you want from me?”

  She paces a couple steps in one direction and then back, as if trying to decide what to tell me. She curls and uncurls her hands, and her nostrils flare with agitation. The longer she goes without speaking, the more questions form in my head. Who the hell is she? Why is she here? Did she have more to do with the binding on my powers being broken than I thought? She wasn’t surprised, and she somehow seemed to know what was happening and what I should do . . .

  She continues her silent pacing, and my anger flares.

  “Look, if you’re not going to say anything, I don’t have time for this. I need to get some rest.” I move to shove past her, but she stops me with a hand on my arm.

  “I’m a student,” she says.

  A student? At the witch academy? Curiosity is enough to stop me. I pause, one hand resting on the doorknob.

  “I’m Bitten,” she continues. “Two months ago.”

  What? I drop my hand from the doorknob. Except for OSA sanctioned “punishments,” it’s illegal for a shifter to give the Bite to a witch, and even if it wasn’t, what is she doing here now?

  I turn to face her, crossing my arms over my chest. “How in the hell has no one figured this out yet? Can’t they tell?”

  She averts her eyes. “Short answer is no, they can’t. Long answer is . . . I don’t know why you can.”

  “So . . . what? Are you going to threaten me into silence? I’m pretty sure the next full moon will give away your secret without a word from me. Unlike Born wolves, you have to shift then, all Bitten do.”

  “I know that.” Her gaze goes to the floor. “I wanted to be sure I didn’t run into you randomly and you
give me away somehow. I worked hard to get here. I’m not giving up my spot.”

  There’s an edge to her words, one that makes them sound like a threat. I feel like I should be scared, but I’ve had just about enough of being threatened today.

  I let out a harsh laugh. “Giving up your spot? And here I thought I was delusional about making it through this school year. How do you expect to complete your classes with no magic?”

  “No magic?” She smirks. “Is that what they told you? The Bite takes away a witch’s ability to use magic?”

  I drop my arms to my sides. “Yes. Why?”

  “It’s not true. Not completely anyway. Sure, I won’t be tossing energy balls or spells, but potions and wards I can handle.”

  My jaw drops. Can she possibly be telling the truth?

  At my surprise, her face twists into an expression of disgust, and there’s an unexpected bite to her words considering the circumstances. “The Coven Council would have everyone believe that shifters are the enemies of magic itself.”

  A Bitten witch who isn’t anti-shifter? This girl is a mess of contradictions.

  “That’s . . .” The breath leaks from my lungs. “I don’t know what to say.” I drag a hand over my face. “Look, I’m spent. If this is the ‘threaten Selene into silence’ bit, can I just stop you now? Besides the fact that I have more than enough to worry about already, I don’t care whether or not you’re a shifter. Why should I? I like shifters. I have no idea how you’re going to keep it hidden, but that’s not my problem now, is it?”

  “No, it’s not.” One side of her mouth curls into a wry smile. “But I’d appreciate it if you’d keep my secret. And maybe help out with my classes if I run into something I can’t fake.”

  I pinch the bridge of my nose between my fingers. If she runs into something she can’t fake? Sounds like she definitely will.

  “Fine,” I say, too tired to do much more than agree. “I don’t know how much help I’ll be. You know more about all this than I do, but . . . I’ll do what I can.”

  “Thanks.”

  “I am curious, though. What the hell were you doing at that party and with Bridget of all people?” I pause as the picture becomes a little clearer. “She doesn’t know either, does she? That whole thing where I thought she was picking on you for being a shifter . . . that was something else, wasn’t it?”

  “Yeah.” She won’t meet my eyes. “There was a time when you might have considered the two of us friends. I kind of ghosted her this summer, and she was pissed.”

  “Well, it appears you had bigger things going on,” I say with a shrug.

  “Much bigger.” Her half smile turns into something closer to a real one. “I’m Penny.”

  “Selene.”

  She swallows. “I know.” Her gaze moves away from me. “You’re not what I expected, not from what they told me.”

  “What who told you?”

  She flinches. “Never mind. I’ve said too much. You better get back to your room.”

  She scurries away before I have time to ask anything else, leaving me with more questions than answers, but my head is way too foggy to bother trying to figure her out now. Maybe tomorrow I’ll have the brain power to devote to finding some answers, but for now, I’m going to bed, homework be damned.

  I find my way back to my room and successfully open the door. If nothing else, I’ve managed to master that little bit of magic.

  Isobel glances up from the book she’s reading at her desk as I enter the room. “I hear your day got even more interesting after I saw you last.”

  “I don’t know if interesting is the word I’d use for it.” I sigh and plop on my bed. “Maybe . . . stupidly awful or level-ten irritating.”

  She laughs. “It can’t be all that bad tied to the hottest guy in school. I can think of at least three girls here who would pay for that privilege.”

  I shoot her a death glare. “Why don’t you try it then? It’s not nearly as fun as you seem to think it is. He barely speaks to me. I’m like some weird valet who has to follow him around but not actually do anything.” I sigh. “And then there’s the fact that he’s a St. James and I’m, well, not a shifter, but they’re who raised me, so the St. James family isn’t exactly one I enjoy being associated with.”

  “What if I told you that you don’t have to follow him around?” She flashes me a mischievous grin and lifts the book she’s reading so I can see the title: Advanced Usage and Implementation of Binding Spells. “I plan to concentrate in Spells. I can probably make a tweak or two to make the spell work for you instead of against you. I can at least give you the upper hand on who’s following who.”

  “So, I wouldn’t have to get up early to make sure I’m dressed and ready before he summons me to his dorm?”

  She nods.

  “That is maybe the best news I’ve heard all day.” I pause. “But why would you do that for me?”

  “Us lowly peons need to stick together . . . and it’s good practice.” She smirks. “So you’re okay with it?”

  “Definitely.”

  At her request, I give her a brief overview of what Basil did and answer some oddly specific questions about the color of the string and the candle before she nods to herself. She’s bouncing with excitement as she tells me what she plans, something about symbolism or maybe syllables. Most of it goes completely over my head, but she’s so enthusiastic about it I can’t help but smile along.

  “Basil is a master spellworker,” she says. “The opportunity to work on one of his spells is . . . I can’t even describe how cool this is.”

  And I probably wouldn’t understand if she did since, well, my ignorance becomes more and more apparent as this day goes on. There’s been something bugging me, and to save myself the embarrassment of asking in class, I might as well ask Isobel. “What exactly is the difference between a spell and, well, magic like what we were doing in PE and what happened to me last night?”

  To give her credit, she doesn’t laugh full out at the question. She bites at one fingernail and thinks for a moment. “I don’t know if that’s something I’ve ever had to explain.” She pauses, and her brows pull together. “Think of it like this: magic is the energy, and a spell is how we manipulate it. Every witch has a . . . spark of something inside them that lets them access the magic in the world around them and kind of draw it into themselves. In PE, you were pulling magic and just throwing around the energy itself, something quick and easy. But a spell takes that energy and shapes it into something that performs a specific action. For example, if I wanted to create light, I’d need a spell, but only a simple one, a word or two depending on the desired effect. The more complicated the effect, the more complicated the spell, so for something like this, I need not just words but also other items to help me cast—like these candles and the watch you said Basil used to set the time constraints on the spell.”

  “Huh.” That’s about the most eloquent response I can offer. Her explanation isn’t perfect, but I think I understand it. Emphasis on think.

  Isobel puts the candles and other items she’s gathered on her desk and starts doing whatever it is she said she was going to do. She lights the candles, moves things around, and mutters words under her breath. When she’s done, I don’t feel any different, but she looks ecstatic, so whatever she did must’ve been successful.

  “You should be good to go in the morning,” she says.

  “Thank you so, so much.” I bury my face in my pillow, once again neglecting to ask how everyone around here wakes up on time. I’ll figure it out tomorrow.

  She giggles, and I smile into my pillowcase. This place might not be so bad after all. Not everyone hates me, and I have at least one friend. Two, maybe three if I can count Adrian and Devin. I drift off to sleep with the sound of turning pages and a pencil scribbling across paper playing in my ears.

  A mild tugging sensation in my chest pulls me out of the most wonderful dream. I blink my eyes open and glance around the room in conf
usion. What? Where? My stomach sinks as the last day and a half comes back to me and I remember where I am and what that stupid sensation growing in insistence is: the damn binding spell. This must be some kind of precursor to when the thing fully kicks in at eight.

  At least it will make for a handy alarm clock.

  Still, I’m exhausted, and the last thing I want to do is get out of bed. No, the last thing I want to do is deal with Tristan and his whole ‘do what I say’ attitude. My chest grows tight as the spell pulls taut and the pounding in my head returns. I let my eyes slip closed with a sigh.

  But . . . I don’t have to get out of bed now, do I? I grin and replay Isobel’s words from last night. If her tweak works, I can bring him to me. Once he’s in range, the spell will back off and I’ll be able to get a little more desperately needed sleep.

  The spell yanks at my chest again, this time more like a summons from the king of bad attitudes. The spell is about to kick back in, and he’s attempting to do what he did yesterday by dragging me to him.

  Not gonna happen.

  I close my eyes, concentrating on the connection, and try to remember Isobel’s instructions. I pull at my magic, sending it to poke at the spell. Once I find a hold, I yank on the connection, hard enough that I feel Tristan stumble wherever he is and start involuntarily in my direction. He, of course, pulls back, but I’m not giving in this time. I’m not letting him dictate where I can go and when.

  A couple minutes later, there’s a knock at the door.

  Damn, I should’ve thought about that. Now I actually do need to get out of bed. With a groan, I swing my legs over the side of the bed, stand up, then make my way to the door. I open it, give Tristan a vague wave, then crawl back into my bed and pull the covers over my head.

  “Not a morning person, I take it?” The question has no bite to it, merely a polite observation—or as polite as Tristan can manage anyway.

 

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