A woman appeared on the battlefield wearing a golden helmet. Her blond hair streamed down her back and she wore a beautiful golden breastplate. A Valkyrie. She looked exactly like the ones in books I’d read as a child. Modern Valkyries existed, of course, but they didn’t visit battlefields or wear the ancient garb of their ancestors.
“Odin has not forsaken you,” she told the leader, standing over him. “It has been decided that your time has come. You have served well and you are to be welcomed in the great hall of Valhalla where you are invited to take your place among our champions.”
The leader bowed his head before dropping to his knees. “What of Slatra, my sword?”
The Valkyrie glanced at the sword. The blade still dripped with the blood of his enemies. “The sword was a gift, but Odin feels that it should no longer be in the hands of a mortal.” She plucked the sword from the ground and bent it over her knee, breaking it into two pieces as though it were made of splintered wood. “When the two halves are reforged as one, the possessor will once again wield power over Life and Death with a single touch of the blade. If and until then, the pieces will be separated and scattered to the wind.”
“The gods have blessed me with Slatra and I am eternally grateful,” the leader said, and then he closed his eyes and died.
As his eyes closed, so did mine. When they reopened, I was back at the spring with Aenon but still in my astral form. “Thank you, Aenon,” I said. “That was very helpful.”
“You have earned it,” the water demon replied. “However, heed my words of warning, fire witch. Do not walk another’s path that is not meant for you.”
“I’ll take it under advisement,” I said. I felt my spirit snap back into my body and my eyes opened once more.
“Dani?” Cerys said, still at my side. “Are you feeling better? You fell.”
“I’m perfect,” I said, and jumped to my feet. “We can go now. I have the information we came for.”
“Any clue where the broken sword is?” Bryn asked.
“Not yet,” I said, “but I know why someone might want it and that’s a good start.” I turned to thank Aenon one last time, but his form had dissolved back into the spring.
“Let’s get back to the academy,” Bryn said. “If we hurry, we can make it in time for breakfast.”
I groaned. “Can you focus on something besides food?”
The dark-haired witch smiled. “Only after I’ve eaten.”
Chapter Five
I stood in front of the smooth black door, debating whether to knock. Bryn had stirred my feelings over guilt over Peter, so I’d decided to drop in and check on him. I’d ignored his last few messages and I knew it wasn’t fair. I also thought he might be able to elaborate more on what we’d learned from Aenon. His Death Bringer heritage afforded Peter access to knowledge that eluded the average paranormal. As the sword seemed to be connected to death in a way that was similar to Peter’s staff, it seemed plausible that he might know something about it.
Peter opened the door and I could see the delighted surprise in his eyes. “Another visitor?”
“Oh, my idea wasn’t original?” I asked, praying there wasn’t another young woman here. I’d be mortified.
Thankfully, there wasn’t. An older, balding man was seated on the sofa. He rose to his feet when he saw me.
“Barton, this is Dani, the lovely lady that refuses to acknowledge her deep, abiding love for me.”
Heat rushed to my cheeks. “You’re making me regret my decision to come here, Peter.”
“You should at least wait until he’s offered you a refreshment before regret kicks in,” Barton joked, inclining his head toward the plate on the side table where a half-eaten muffin stared back at me.
“Those muffins were perfectly edible when I bought them,” Peter objected.
“And when was that?” Barton asked. “Two weeks ago?” The older man ruffled Peter’s hair. “Your mother did her best, didn’t she?”
“You know Peter’s mother?” I asked.
“I’ve known Peter since he was a young druid with a potty mouth and a penchant for trouble,” Barton said.
I laughed. “And what’s changed exactly?”
“My size,” Peter said, puffing out his chest. “Barton took me under his wing when it was time to learn the healing arts. Needless to say, I was a huge disappointment to him.”
Barton offered a sympathetic look. “Not a disappointment, Peter. I know you have your reasons for forging your own path, no matter how crooked that path might be.” Barton waved a hand. “Offer the lady a beverage, Peter. Your mother taught you better than that.”
Peter moved into the small kitchen area. “Can I get you a drink, princess? I’m all out of nectar, but I have the usual mortal ales.”
“I’m fine, thanks.” I looked back at Barton, fascinated that this druid had known Peter all this time—and still opted to pay him the occasional visit. “So you know Peter’s a smuggler?”
Barton cringed. “We try not to discuss it. It’s one of those topics that everyone skirts during polite conversation. Like politics and religion.”
“What was Peter like as a little boy?” I asked, joining Barton on the sofa.
“Pretty much what you’d imagine,” Barton replied. “A thorn in everyone’s side.” He chuckled. “His mother threatened to send him to boarding school about once a week.” Barton sighed. “A headstrong boy like Peter needed a father figure.”
“We don’t need to get into that,” Peter said, returning to the living room. “What brings you by, princess? Somehow, I doubt you stopped in on a whim.”
Guilt tugged at me. “I hadn’t seen you in a couple of weeks,” I said.
“That’s because you didn’t reply to my messages,” Peter said. “I would’ve seen you whenever and wherever. You know that.”
Barton rubbed his hands on his thighs. “I can see you two need to work out a few kinks in your deep, abiding romance. I’ll be on my way.” He clapped Peter on the shoulder. “Good seeing you, boy.”
“Same time next month?” Peter asked.
“You can count on it,” Barton said. “It was nice meeting you, Dani. I’d advise you not to waste your time on this scoundrel, but I suspect I might be too late.”
“Thanks for the support, Barton,” Peter said. “I’ll remember that next time you want to talk about dating my mom.”
Barton brought a finger to his lips. “Not in front of mixed company, please.” He gave a final wave before exiting the apartment.
“And here I thought Professor Fraser was the only father figure in your life,” I said. Grantham Fraser was a wizard and Spellslingers professor that Peter and I had rescued from the clutches of a rogue giant group.
“Barton’s not really a father figure. We’ve just known each other a long time.”
“But you’re still in touch,” I said. “He must be fond of you.”
Peter chuckled. “He only comes to see me because he’s in love with my mom. Has been for years. It’s kind of sweet and pathetic at the same time.”
“Then why not ask her out?”
Peter blew out a breath. “Because of my dad. He thinks my mom still harbors a secret love for my father and wouldn’t settle for a druid. Too dull.”
“He knows about your Death Bringer side?” I asked.
Peter nodded. “He wasn’t kidding about how long he’s known me.”
“Do you support him dating your mother?” I asked.
“I support my mother, so if that means she dates Barton, it’s fine by me. He comes by once a month, like clockwork, to ask my opinion. I always say the same thing.”
“And what’s that?”
“You won’t know unless you try,” Peter said. He edged closer to me. “Words I tend to live by.”
“You do try, Peter,” I said lightly. “That much is true.”
“An ‘A’ for effort, huh?” he asked.
It was hard to lie to his face—it was such a handsome face, af
ter all. “I appreciate that you continue to make an effort,” I said.
A slow grin spread across his features. “Is Danielle Montrose Degraff encouraging me to continue wooing her?”
I plucked an imaginary thread on the sofa. “I think ‘wooing’ is a bit strong.” My heart began to beat faster, which always seemed to happen in his presence. I sucked in a breath, and tried to regulate my thoughts to something far more innocent than what was currently playing in my head.
“You feeling all right, princess?” Peter asked, mildly amused. “You look a little green around the gills?”
“Do you know anything about a sword called Slatra?” I blurted, desperate to change the subject.
Peter’s gaze flickered to the floor and, for a shadow of a second, I caught his crestfallen expression. He truly wanted me to be here for him and him alone.
“Slatra?” he repeated slowly. “What does that mean? Slaughter?”
“I believe so,” I replied. “It would be appropriate, given the sword’s history.” I filled him in on recent events, including my aunt’s stolen artifact and my visit to Aenon.
“And you came here for information?” Peter asked.
“I thought you might know because of your connection to Death Bringers,” I said.
“Death Bringers weren’t blessed by Odin or anything, though.”
“I know, but the sword sounds similar to your staff. The whole touching and killing thing. No need for the pointy end to penetrate a vital organ.”
“What did Robin have to say about it? Or Cato?”
“I came here first,” I said. “To you.”
Peter’s face lit up. “You came to me before those guys? But you always seek good intel from those two.”
“I know,” I hedged. “But you seemed like a good bet.”
“I’m always a good bet.” Peter moved directly beside me. “Face it, princess. It was an excuse to see me, but you know you don’t need an excuse. I’ve been hoping to see you again for weeks.”
He sounded so sincere, that for a quick second, I felt myself weakening. But I couldn’t. There was too much at stake.
“Is this your way of saying you don’t know anything?” I asked.
“I don’t know anything,” Peter confirmed. “But you can stay and I can teach you about something else.” He grinned. “Or you could teach me. Either way works for me.”
“Peter….”
He held up a hand. “No need to finish. I can hear the rejection in my name.”
“It’s not rejection,” I said. “I just need to stay focused right now. This assignment is important to my family and it will make me look good at the academy.”
“You always look good, princess. You don’t need to try so hard all the time. It’s got to be exhausting.”
He had no idea. “I’m sorry to have bothered you,” I said. When I stood to go, he grabbed my hand.
“I’m here whenever you need me,” he said. “Information, action, adventure, romance, a nap. I’m your guy. Understand?”
I smiled. “I do.” He was my guy. I just wasn’t ready to admit it yet.
Professor Mayweather gathered us in the open field not far from the orchard. Today’s lesson focused on controlling the element of air, so the greater the space, the better. Mia was enthusiastic to show off her skills, although she knew there were a few other specialists in the class.
“Lucy is better than me,” Mia pouted, as we watched the curly-haired witch complete her demonstration.
“I don’t think so,” I said. “Hers is more academic. If you watch her closely, she thinks about every move before she does it. That’s not going to help her in the field. Your magic is more intuitive.”
Mia seemed mollified.
“You don’t need to worry about being the best,” Cerys interjected. “You just need to do your best and that’s all that matters.”
While I didn’t agree, I wasn’t about to argue with Cerys. In a fight to the death, being the best definitely mattered. There wasn’t some abstract measuring stick of success—it was whether you completed your mission and lived to tell the tale. The odds were infinitely better when you could outperform your opponents on a regular basis.
“Miss Holmes,” the professor said, her gaze alighting on the brunette witch. “I believe you would be an excellent example of an air witch who exhibits power and control simultaneously.”
“That’s quite a compliment,” Bryn said, patting Mia on the back. “I get the whole ‘you’re powerful, but you must learn to control, blah blah blah.’ I’m like the Beast character in Beauty and the Beast.”
I laughed. “I don’t know what that is, but I don’t think anyone would refer to you as a beast.”
“Ask Peter,” Bryn said. “I bet he’s watched the movie twenty times. He can probably sing the songs, too.”
Mia took center stage in the field. I knew her well enough to see the tension in her face, but it was unlikely that others would notice.
“As agents, there will be occasions where you only have a limited time to produce a powerful spell for maximum impact,” the professor said. I fought the urge to laugh out loud after our evening with Aenon. “To that end, I’m going to set a timer for sixty seconds. Miss Holmes, I’d like you to conjure the strongest wind possible in the shortest amount of time.”
Mia’s brow wrinkled. “What about all of you?”
The professor smiled vaguely. “No need to worry, Miss Holmes. I’m putting us in a protective bubble to withstand any change in air pressure.”
Mia’s gaze flitted to the treetops in the distance. “And the birds? I see a crow up there. They’re not migratory. They won’t know how to circumvent the wind.”
Professor Mayweather glanced over her shoulder. “You’re quite right. A crow isn’t migratory. They are passerines.” She scanned the class. “Does anyone know what that means?”
Cerys raised her hand. “They’re perching birds.”
“So what does that tell us about the likelihood that the crow will be harmed by strong winds?” the professor inquired.
“Perching birds will latch on to a perch,” Cerys said. “In this case, it’s a tree branch, and the crow will lock its feet on while at rest, which will allow it to not expend energy in order to remain secure.”
“Very good, Miss Davies,” the professor said, clearly pleased. “So there’s little need to worry about our feathered friends. They can take care of themselves in a storm or, in our case, a bout of elemental magic.”
Professor Mayweather used her wand to create a protective shield around us. It was similar to a weather bubble—it prevented any passing weather changes from impacting whatever was inside the bubble. The professor twirled the end of her wand in the air, indicating that the countdown had begun.
Mia wasted no time in summoning her magic. She commanded the air like a decorated general. The wind jumped to attention to do her bidding, gusting and spinning to the point of flattening the grass in the field. Branches in the nearby forest were visibly bare, the leaves joining the stream of woodland debris in the air. Mia was the eye in the storm. She stood perfectly still, her brown hair gently blowing. She was the epitome of powerful control.
“Ten seconds left,” the professor said.
The timer triggered something in Mia and she released a final burst of magic that toppled the first row of trees on the edge of the forest. Oops.
“So much for the crow’s perch,” someone muttered.
The professor signaled Mia to stop the spell. The wind immediately deflated and the air pressure returned to normal. Professor Mayweather popped the protective bubble and I turned to inspect the damage to the trees.
“You almost managed it,” the professor said. “It’s a lot of power to harness, Mia. Don’t be discouraged.”
Mia rejoined the group, and I could tell she was mildly disappointed in herself. There was no need as she’d demonstrated incredible strength and control. Cerys could heal those injured trees after class with
no trouble at all.
“Ha! Nice work, Holmes,” Wilcox said. “You blew that crow’s perch out from under it. Let’s hope you haven’t killed the poor thing.”
Mia’s expression crumpled. With one insensitive remark, Wilcox undermined whatever feeling of achievement that was left.
“Let’s hope the next gust of wind doesn’t kill you, Wilcox,” I said pointedly. “It isn’t like you have much body weight to keep you anchored to the ground.” The wizard managed to get under my skin more times than I could count. He never had anything nice or supportive to say.
The reedy wizard glowered at me. “You’re one to talk, Degraff. Everybody knows why you’re so thin. After all, it’s a common trait among magic addicts.”
It wasn’t what he said that triggered my anger.
It was the smirk.
Before I could stop myself, flames licked my palms, itching for a fight. Magic surged through me, demanding action.
Wilcox crooked his finger. Idiot. He was no match for me.
He pointed his wand and I laughed. If he needed a wand to fight me, then I’d already won. Orange light streaked toward me and I threw up my hands to block the spell. The streak dissipated and I focused on the ground beneath the wizard’s feet, warming the earth until it became too hot for him to stand on. He screeched and jumped to the side, but I’d anticipated his reaction and warmed the ground there as well. Every time his feet hit the ground, my magic was waiting for him.
“Miss Degraff!” Professor Mayweather’s voice jolted me back to reality. “That is quite enough.”
Terrific. She hadn’t seen Wilcox’s attack on me, only my response.
“She was only defending herself,” Bryn said.
“That’s not a defensive spell,” the professor objected. “That was clearly an offensive move. Miss Degraff, you know better.”
Wilcox sneered at my misfortune behind the professor’s back and it took every ounce of strength not to retaliate.
“My apologies, Professor,” I said. “I didn’t mean for it to get out of hand.”
Outfox_Spellslingers Academy of Magic Page 5