by Sadie Moss
Holy shit.
I recognize the two people who just stepped into the room. They’re mages from two of the visiting academies: Syren and Houdini. Syren is the college for enchanters, and Houdini is the name of the college for illusionists. The fact that Harry Houdini didn’t believe in real magic and was annoyed at people like Sir Arthur Conan Doyle who thought Houdini was actually using real magic is the whole reason the school was named that—it’s a massive in-joke that I honestly don’t really get.
Anyway, I recognize these guys. They’re both upper level administrators. Not the deans, but pretty high up on the food chain—I think one of them is in charge of student life. I remember thinking when I first saw him that he had the kind of face a hawk might have if it were turned into a human, and now he looks even more like a bird of prey, his sharp features almost menacing in the dim light. The other, from Syren, is a short, squat kind of guy and looks almost jovial, relaxed. Not the type you’d expect to be making dark plans in a quiet classroom with an accomplice.
“She failed the previous Trial, Adelson,” the hawkish one from Houdini informs his companion. “She’ll fail the next one too.”
“But she shouldn’t even be in the next one!” the shorter one from Syren complains. Adelson, I guess.
“Perhaps, but consider this: the longer she remains in the competition, the more opportunities there are for her to be humiliated in front of everyone. Isn’t that what we want? If she just loses, that’s one thing—but we need her to fail in front of everyone, to show the world that Unpredictables don’t belong in the same league as the rest of us.”
My blood runs cold, and Cam’s grip on me tightens so much it’s almost painful. As if I didn’t already suspect they were talking about me, that just about seals it. Fuck. The other schools want me to fail—or at least these two do. I should’ve known. Anger and shame and frustration chase each other in circles inside my chest, making it hard to breathe.
Would it really be so bad if an Unpredictable did well in the competition? Not even winning it, but just doing well? Would that be too damn much to ask?
I guess so, according to these two assholes.
“That’s too risky, Merrimer.” Adelson shakes his head adamantly. “She embarrassed herself by not using any magic in the last challenge. What if she tries to compensate in the next one? Her magic could do serious damage. She’s too powerful, uncontrollable—”
“You could say that about a lot of Unpredictables. It’s why this is so important. If we can make sure she goes down spectacularly, we can discredit the whole school. They’ll never compete in the Trials again. Maybe they’ll even get shut down.”
Holy shit. I glance over at Asher and Cam. Cam’s mouth has dropped open, and Asher’s is set in a grim line. I wish I could take his cuff off so he could read their minds and figure out more, listen in on what they’re not saying aloud.
“The loss is more important,” Adelson insists. He seems genuinely afraid as they discuss me in hushed tones, and that actually makes me hate him more. “We can’t risk her causing harm. We need to remove her from the competition as soon as possible. Every day this farce continues is a disgrace to the magical community.”
“No argument there,” Merrimer says grimly, swiping a hand down his hawkish face. He looks more disgusted than scared.
“Besides,” the shorter man continues, “if she makes it to the final round, you know he’ll be pissed, and I’d rather not have to deal with babysitting his temper.”
“He’s not that bad.”
“He wasn’t that bad, you mean. He’s gotten worse in the last few months.”
He? Who’s he?
It sounds like these two have someone else they’re working with or reporting to. I strain my ears, hoping to hear a name, but no such luck.
Merrimer sighs. “Look, just stay calm, and we’ll take her out in the next Trial. All right? There’s no way she can make it through that.”
A chill works down my spine in spite of the anger churning in me. “Take her out” could have several different meanings, and I can’t tell by his inflection exactly what he means.
How far would these men go to stop me? Would they go so far as to—to hurt me? Really hurt me?
Holy shit, would they try to kill me?
I’m still trying to process that thought as the two men leave, slipping through the door after peering out into the corridor to check for passersby. Cam immediately springs to his feet, like he wishes he could run after them and give them a goddamn piece of his mind.
Or his fist.
“What the fuck,” he growls. I’ve never seen him so worked up before. The man has depth, I know, and he’s had a lot of pain to deal with in his life, but he’s generally laidback and always eager to see the positive side to a situation. Seeing him furious like this—it’s hot, I admit, it’s really hot, but it’s also concerning.
“That was…” Even Asher’s normally calm facade is broken, and I can practically hear the gears grinding in his brain as he tries to figure out the best way to handle this.
I cast around for my panties and slip them on when I find them, working them up under the fabric of my dress.
Neither of these guys should have to deal with this mess, and the school sure as hell doesn’t need more bad publicity. And I’m having a hard enough time in the Trials without bigots actively trying to bring me down.
I’ve fucking had it with this shit.
I’m going to go out there and give those two mages a piece of my mind, and God help them when I get my hands on them. Because maybe they can do magic and I can’t, especially with my dampening brace on and activated, but I’ve still got two fists that work just—
Asher and Cam each take one of my arms as I move to storm after the mages.
“Oh, no, you don’t, Sin,” Cam tells me, his voice a little calmer than before.
“I don’t think that’s a great idea.” Asher squeezes my arm gently. “I know you want to confront them, and I get it. But this isn’t a situation you should deal with on your own, Elle. There are too many ways it could backfire.”
“Well, what do you suggest I do then?” I don’t try to pull out of their grip, but my body is still taut with tension. I hate this so much. Asher’s right though, and I know it.
The two friends look at each other over my head.
“I think we should ask Dima what he thinks,” Cam says slowly. “His family’s high up and has connections. He might understand the whole… diplomacy of this better than we do.”
“Dmitri wouldn’t know diplomacy if it bit him in the ass,” I snort.
“Well, who do you think we should tell?”
“Roman,” I blurt out. I don’t even think about it, but once I say it, I know it’s true. I want him to know about this. He’s a professor who understands the administration side of things and how it all works. And as he proved with the whole Raul situation, he knows a lot of things that go on behind the scenes—if anyone can give us some good advice, it’ll be him.
Asher nods. “Roman’s had a hell of a past. I don’t know much, but I’m sure he’ll know what to do.”
Cam shrugs. “All right. I trust him.”
“I’ll get Dmitri,” Asher says. “If you two get Roman.”
The three of us sneak back to the giant white tent in the quad, keeping an eye out for any sign of the Syren and Houdini admins, though I don’t see them. I don’t know what corner Dmitri is hiding in, but Roman’s playing chaperone over by the drinks table when we grab him and drag him out toward Wellwood Hall.
“What the hell is going on?” Dmitri demands as Asher leads us into a different empty classroom. We’ve relocated, just in case.
Roman opens his mouth, probably about to ask the same thing. As briefly as I can, I explain what happened—and that Cam and Asher wouldn’t let me go after the two mages, damn it.
The two darkly handsome men look a bit amused at this, and I scowl at them. Hey, not funny, guys.
“
And why are you bringing us into it?” Dmitri grouches when I finish my story.
“Oh, no, I’m in trouble and I came to you for help, just like you seem to want me to do, how awful for you,” I shoot back, my irritation at this whole situation spilling over onto him.
Seriously though, if we hadn’t told him what was going on, I’m sure I would’ve gotten an earful about that later. I just can’t win with this guy.
“Damn it. This is not good,” Roman growls, and we all snap back to attention.
Ash squares his shoulders. “I say we go to the dean.”
His vote doesn’t surprise me. He’s a rule follower and comes from a well-adjusted family, so it only makes sense that he’d trust authority figures more than I do.
Roman shakes his head. “No. Hardwick’s hands are tied enough as it is. He can’t do anything, and he won’t be able to interfere without it looking like we’re just sore losers. Our position is delicate enough already.”
“And if we tell any of the admins, how do we know the wrong person won’t hear about it?” Dmitri points out, his dark eyes glinting.
“For once, I agree with you,” I admit. “I don’t think it’s a good idea. And we don’t know who this third guy is. It could be anyone. It could be… Hardwick himself.” It’s not likely—and God, I hope it’s not Hardwick. I like him. But I’d rather be safe than sorry.
“What do we do, then?” Cam rakes a hand through his hair.
“I’ll tell you what I’m going to do.” It feels like sharks are circling in my chest, hungry for blood. “I’m going to keep competing in the Trials, and I’m going to make it to the end. Screw those guys and everyone else.”
When this whole thing started, I didn’t care so much about winning; I just wanted to do well enough to make my school proud. But I’ll be damned if I’m going to let three prejudiced assholes take me down like this.
I’ll show them. I’ll prove them fucking wrong.
Somehow, some way, I’m going to win this damn thing.
Chapter 18
The next several days, as I prepare for the third challenge, are intense.
The guys agree it’ll look better for the school, and save us problems with the administration, if I beat the Trials on my own without Hardwick or anyone else knowing about the sabotage attempts, and without the two mages knowing I’m onto them.
“If you go to Hardwick, the other school representatives will spin it so you sound like you’re looking for an excuse if you fail. Even the ones who aren’t actively conspiring against you will likely jump on the opportunity to claim Unpredictables don’t belong in the Trials,” Roman counsels me. “But we cannot let you get hurt.”
I want to win this fucking thing, but the guys all seem much more concerned with my personal safety. It’s actually very touching—and understandable, given my recent struggles—but goddamn it, I want to kick ass and take names, not just make it out by the skin of my teeth.
Cam trains with me in the mornings before we go to class, and then I have private sessions with both Tamlin and Roman. They each give me homework, which Asher helps me complete, and I spar with Dmitri on top of it all.
“Come on, Princess. You can do better. You have to be so on top of your game that you don’t even think about it,” Dmitri growls at me after pinning me in one of our sessions.
I glare up at him. “What about taking it easy on myself? Trusting in my abilities? Isn’t that what you and Roman said I should do?”
His expression hardens. “That was before your life was in danger.”
Even the sexy edge to our fighting has gone, because he’s just so focused on getting me to win, to be the best.
Exhaustion and worry hang on me like heavy weights, and even though the guys do their best to make sure I’m sleeping enough and eating well, I lay awake for hours every night, running through drills and scenarios in my head. I’m strung out, and I know they can see it.
Tamlin notices too.
“You look beat,” she tells me when I walk into the Combat classroom. It’s our last practice before the next challenge, and I’m nervous as fuck. I want so badly to win, but I just don’t know if I’m good enough.
Forget sabotage, what if I lose just because I’m incompetent?
“That’s one way to put it.” I set my bag down and start stretching. “It’s been a long week.”
Tamlin gives me a weak smile. “Yes, it has been.”
That makes me pause.
I look over at her and take in her expression more closely this time. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say Tamlin looks… sad.
Professor Tamlin isn’t the kind of person who shows her emotions easily. She’s very put together and always has a poised and confident air about her. I sometimes think she could have a hurricane raging around her and still manage to smile serenely and get on with her business.
But not today.
Her eyes aren’t quite meeting mine, her clothes look slightly rumpled, and there’s a slowness, almost a weariness, to her movements.
“Are you okay?” I ask. I can’t help it. Tamlin and I aren’t exactly friends—I don’t even call her by her first name, Josephine—but she’s a good person, and she’s making an effort to help me. And I think Roman hinted to her that it was more important than ever that I’m ready for the next trial, if the way she’s been drilling me is anything to go by.
Tamlin startles a little. I didn’t think I was capable of surprising her, so that tells me a lot. “I’m fine.” She gives me a wan smile. “Just had a long weekend.”
“Are you sure?”
She sighs. “It’s personal, and I’d rather not—you’re a good person, Elliot, and thank you for asking, but you are my student, and I’d like to try and keep our relationship boundaries in place.”
“You’re not much older than I am.” I’d say about five years. Same as Roman.
She rolls her eyes, but she looks fond of me, pressing her lips together to hide a smile. “I had a talk with someone—I felt one way about our relationship, they felt the other way.”
“Most of us eat a tub of ice cream and wear sweatpants for a week when that happens, so I’d say you’re doing pretty well,” I reply, even as butterflies erupt in my stomach.
So Tamlin did want to get back together with Roman. She must’ve said something after the dance, or maybe it was her behavior then that convinced him to sit her down and have a proper talk with her.
Either way—he said no.
He picked me.
She doesn’t know about that, obviously. I doubt she’d be quite so friendly with me if she did know. And given what she just said about professor-student relationships, she probably wouldn’t approve of me and Roman one bit.
But it’s true. He picked me. He told me he wants to be with me, that he’s okay with sharing me, and he doesn’t want to get back together with her or anyone else.
I almost want to cry, stupid as it is.
“Thank you,” Tamlin tells me, and what I really want to say is no, thank you, or maybe I’m sorry, but she wouldn’t understand that.
So I just nod, powerful emotions churning in my chest. “Of course.”
On the way out of Wellwood Hall, I run into Professor Goldstein, my History of Magic professor.
“Elliot! Do you have a moment?”
Shit. Her class was my easiest subject last semester, but right now, I’m barely scraping by. Who has time to learn about Salem when they’ve got a massive, terrifying competition to win? My heart sinks as I trudge after her to her office, expecting to be berated for falling behind in my work.
Professor Goldstein is the opposite of what you’d think a history teacher would be—not stuffy or stodgy at all. She has short, white-blond hair and a sort of manic energy in everything she does. She has us do reenactments where we role play as historical characters and will rant for hours about how terrible the Renaissance period was for women’s rights.
She’s kind of awesome, actually.
; Goldstein closes the door and frowns at me over her cat-eye glasses. “You’ve really been struggling since the Trials began. You were one of my best students last semester.”
That’s because even if I’m useless at practical magic, at least history is something you can learn whether you can cast a spell or not. It was one of the few courses I felt I actually could do well in.
“Sorry,” I murmur. And I do feel bad. It’s not like I want to be failing here. “It’s just…”
“I think it might be easier on you if you had some help.”
“I have the—”
“Ah, yes, I’ve noticed the entourage.” She smiles at me, and I feel my stomach flipping over. Even the professors have noticed the three guys and our… I don’t even know what.
But instead of making me nervous, it makes me weirdly happy. Knowing that people know. That most people don’t seem to question it or judge, that they look at it with humor and lightheartedness.
The more things like this happen, the fewer reasons I can come up with as to why I’m still holding back.
There’s still my fear of loss, of betrayal, but it’s so much harder to remember those fears when all four of the men in my life have been so supportive and good to me—even Dmitri, in his hot and cold way. I couldn’t quite tell you what he feels for me, but I do know that he’s put as much effort into helping me as the other three have over the past few days.
“But I think that you could use the help of another woman,” Goldstein goes on, which doesn’t surprise me. She’s all about lady power. “And I know someone who’s had quite a lot of competitive training. I think she could help you.”
“Dmitri’s good at battle magic.”
“I’m talking about someone who’s been going to competitions like this since she was a child,” she explains. “Her family had quite high expectations for her before her Unpredictable magic sparked. They’re very well known in the magical sports world, and competitions similar to the Trials are common there.”