Trials

by Sadie Moss

  I can handle this.

  There’s the sound of thundering footsteps and I know that someone, hopefully one of the guys, is hurrying up toward the stage. Johnson doubles his efforts, blasting me again and again. I block or deflect, hurtling energy back at him.

  “Stay! Down!” Johnson bellows at me, his face red, his mouth twisted up into a snarl. It’s like he’s talking to a disobedient dog.

  I curl my hands into fists. “Never.”

  Johnson looks infuriated by my refusal to give in or beg for mercy, as if he thinks all Unpredictables should cower before him. What a fucking asshole. How am I—how are any of my friends at this school—more dangerous to society than this guy? At least we’re not fucking unhinged.

  As determined as I am to fight Johnson to the goddamn bitter end though, I can’t deny I could use a little help here.

  The footsteps pound louder behind me. Whoever it is has reached the stage.

  “Elliot!”

  I recognize the voice. It’s Dmitri, and I’ve never heard him sound so worried before. Johnson sends a blast that I dodge easily, but when I look over my shoulder, I see Dmitri fly backward. He lands hard on the stage, and trails of glittering light fall through the air above him like the last sparks of a fireworks display.

  Motherfucker.

  Panic beats at my chest as he slowly rises, shaking out his dark hair as if to clear his head. That blow wasn’t meant for me. It was meant for Dmitri, and anyone else who gets close. I can sense it in the air even as the sparks fade from view—the magic remains, sticky-sweet in the back of my throat, a buzz under my skin. Johnson’s put up some kind of barrier to keep us closed off from the others.

  Help might want to get to me, but until that spell is disabled, I’m on my own.

  Well, fine.

  “Come at me!” I yell, squaring off against the rogue mage.

  It’s probably not the smartest thing to do, but I have to keep Johnson distracted until Dmitri or someone can break that damn charm and get through the shield he put up. Maybe if I can get Johnson to use enough of his force on me, he’ll break through the shield himself? Weaken it enough for the others to burst through?

  I gather my magic, feeling it surging in me, and blast it at him. Johnson whips up a shield around his own body, using his charms to help him. I can’t help but glare. Who’s the fucking cheater now? I’m doing this all on my own, without any charms. And I’m managing to hold my own pretty well.

  Actually—that means I’m more powerful than he is, doesn’t it?

  Johnson makes blades materialize out of the air and sends them hurtling toward me, gesturing with his good hand. I yelp and throw sonic booms out to deflect them, but my aim isn’t great. I’m getting tired, and that’s making me sloppy.

  Shit, that was close.

  I can hear yelling, but it’s muffled, as if it’s coming through water or a thick wall, and I can’t afford to pay attention. I just have to keep hammering at Johnson until that damn shield comes down.

  He sends another whip of fire at me, and this time, I’m too slow. It catches me across the arm, sending white-hot pain flaring through me.

  A scream tears from my throat, and I clasp my hand over the bleeding wound. It’s deep, I can tell that already.

  As if carried by the pain coursing through me, anger floods my body. Ever since the first day it erupted from me, I’ve worried that my sonic boom is going to hurt people. That I’m going to use it and regret it. I sent Asher to the infirmary by accident once with my boom, and I never wanted to do that to anyone again.

  But right now? Who the hell cares if I mess this guy up? He’s trying to kill me; he thinks everyone like me, all Unpredictables, are dangerous and unclean, that we’re some kind of disease. Fuck that shit. All of us—even Alyssa, who’s annoying and shallow and sometimes downright mean—deserve to be treated better than that.

  I curl my hands into fists and raise them, drawing on every scrap of anger in my chest and every goddamn inch of magic in my body, then I unleash it.

  Johnson goes flying back, and the shield around us wobbles and shatters like glass, sparks of magic fluttering through the air before winking out.

  The middle-aged man lands in a heap about twenty feet away, off the stage, sprawled in the grass like a rag doll. For once, I don’t care if I’ve really hurt someone. Later, I’ll feel like shit if it turns out I killed him, but right now, all I can feel is relief that he’s down.

  Around us though, the battle is still raging. I turn to get a good look and see Roman crouched at the top of the platform stairs like he was trying to undo the shield. Dmitri is behind him, a trail of blood winding down from a cut at his temple, but otherwise unharmed. But where are Asher and Cam? I swivel my head, scanning the crowd in panic.

  Oh shit. They’re still in the crowd, still trying to help the admins and staff stop the fighting. I need to get down there. If we can explain to everyone what Johnson did, maybe—

  “Elliot!”

  I don’t know which of the men screams my name, just that the next instant my side and head are exploding with pain.

  The shield, I think as everything starts to swim, fire enveloping my mind, the world going black around the edges.

  The shield was keeping everyone else from getting to us, but it was also keeping Johnson and me from being hit with wayward spells from the battle.

  When it went down, those spells became a threat again.

  My legs turn to jelly, and I stumble. The blackness eats away at my vision, and pain crawls through me like a parasite taking over its host.

  Fuck, it hurts.

  It hurts so much…

  Someone make it stop…

  The nothingness is making it stop, the cool sweet darkness sweeping over me, the only thing that can save me from the pain—

  I plunge into black.

  Epilogue

  Roman

  I pace restlessly outside Hardwick’s office, my jaw clenching rhythmically.

  Patience and self-control are two things I had to learn at a very young age, and the dark memories of my childhood are all it takes to remind me why those qualities are so important. Why I swore to myself I would never let my life be governed by wild emotions.

  But today, for the first time in years, I can feel my control slipping.

  My patience is hanging on by a thread.

  At last, Hardwick opens the door. His gaze falls on me, and he sighs. “All right, Roman, come in. Thank you for waiting.”

  I stride in, trying to force my body to relax. My hands have been clenched into fists for so long that they feel painfully stiff as I open them, stretching my fingers.

  Elliot nearly died two days ago.

  She nearly died, and the High Circuit’s handling of the aftermath has been laughably pathetic. They issued a carefully neutral statement condemning the violence that broke out at the end of the Trials and urging all magic users to embrace and respect one another. No one else was hurt as badly as Elliot, but there were a large number of minor injuries, and the quad was nearly destroyed.

  Does our government truly think they can smooth this over with a bland PR campaign, and it will all be fine? Elliot was targeted by Johnson because of her power. Because her performance in the Trials challenged everything he knew, and his small mind couldn’t take it. Is that how we treat Unpredictables—is that how we treat women?

  I’ve been teaching at Griffin Academy for five years, and Hardwick has never once seen me lose my temper. But I could punch my fist through the wall right now, and I’m sure he can sense it. I’m just glad he seems to think my anger is all about the mishandling of the Trials and the prejudice from the outside magical community.

  Not about the fact that I’m falling in love with one of my students.

  It’s the one thing I envy Dmitri and the others for. I’ve seen the connection Elliot has with each of them, and I’m not threatened by it or angry about it. The light inside her is too bright to be selfishly hoarded by one
man, and whether she sees it in herself or not, she’s more loving and passionate than anyone I’ve ever met. I saw it in her that first night at the bar; even then, I knew she was someone special.

  She is worth sharing. I told her that, and I meant it. And I truly like the other men in her life, Dmitri especially. He’s only two years younger than I am, and we get along well. There’s something inside of us that’s similar, I think.

  But they got to go to her when she fell. I couldn’t, and it fucking wrecked me.

  I had to hold back, even when every instinct in my body screamed for me to run to her, to cradle her in my arms. I’m just her professor in the eyes of the world. And that’s how it has to stay, for now at least.

  Truth be told… I shouldn’t be falling for Elliot.

  I don’t feel anything but friendship for Josephine anymore; I made my feelings very clear to her after the Inter-academy Ball, when it seemed like she was interested in rekindling our relationship. But when I did end things between us, it wasn’t because I’d fallen out of love with her. That was part of it, yes. But it was also partially to protect her.

  There are demons in my past—both literal and metaphorical—that I’m beginning to think will always haunt me. And when my past comes rearing its ugly head… I don’t want to let someone I care about end up in the middle of that.

  But knowing I shouldn’t love Reckless doesn’t change how I feel about her. And it doesn’t change the frustration of watching someone I care about fall and not being able to go to her.

  At least the others take good care of her. Cam got to her first using his teleportation power and scooped her up almost immediately. Dmitri, despite being unassisted by magic, was by her side only a second later. And Asher, usually the most cool-headed and peaceful of any of us, looked about ready to murder Johnson.

  That’s why Hardwick called me into his office today, actually.

  Something about Johnson.

  “What is it?” I ask as he settles in behind his desk. “What did they find?”

  Truthfully, I can barely focus on the politics and broader implications of the provost’s actions right now. I just want to get to the infirmary. Asher has been texting me to keep me updated on Elliot’s condition.

  It’s… not good.

  “Sit down before you wear a hole in my carpet, please,” Hardwick replies. He leans back in his own chair, resting his hands on his desk. “I just had it installed.”

  I stop pacing but don’t sit, leveling him with a hard stare. “What do you want to talk to me about?”

  He sighs. “You and I both know Provost Johnson was never that fanatical.”

  “People change. They can surprise you.”

  “They can indeed.” The older man gives me an assessing look, tilting his head.

  Hardwick is smart and perceptive. There’s a very good chance he knows, or at least suspects, something of the truth about me and Elliot. But he doesn’t say anything about it, and neither do I. That’s a problem I’ll deal with another day—after I’ve made sure she’s all right.

  As the silence stretches, I finally sink into the chair opposite his desk. “You were saying about Johnson, sir?”

  Hardwick shakes his head slightly. “Right. Johnson. The man has an impeccable track record. Before he was let go after the Trials, he was head of the Phoenix Training Program for fifteen years and ran the program well. Although he’s never openly embraced Unpredictables, it was still extremely out of character for him to say what he did at the closing of the Trials. You and I both know that. No matter how angry you might be over what happened to Miss Sinclair, I think we can agree Johnson’s behavior wasn’t in line with the man we knew.”

  “Maybe not. But it doesn’t change what he did.”

  He runs a hand over his hair, which gets a little more gray every year. “True. But it worries me. If someone like Johnson could become so radicalized… what about others?”

  A frown tugs at the corners of my mouth. “Perhaps a better question is, who radicalized him? Something like that doesn’t happen in a vacuum.”

  “The Circuit investigators told me there’s someone Johnson was in contact with recently. They’re looking into who it could be, but the messages they exchanged fit with Johnson’s changing world view. They were all encrypted and have so far been untraceable.”

  Fuck. Yes, that’s concerning.

  A new suspicion enters my mind, and my brows draw together. “You don’t think it could be the same person who was working with Raul to—”

  Hardwick lifts a hand to stop me, shaking his head. “We can’t say for certain whether this is connected to last semester’s unfortunate incident. That was a plot to steal a dangerous, powerful artifact. This was to stop Unpredictables from achieving recognition in the magical community. There’s a difference in motive.”

  “And yet both involved this school.”

  “There are coincidences in life, you know,” he offers with a weary smile.

  “Not in something like this.”

  He blows out a breath. “As I said, the authorities are looking into it. But for now, you’re the only one who knows about the possible… indoctrination. As far as the rest of the magical world is concerned, Johnson was the man behind all of this, the sole instigator behind the sabotage. He’s the one who recruited the other school administrators to help him work against Elliot. Understood?”

  I know why Hardwick is telling me this. I’m close to Elliot, and I’ve got the training needed to protect her from whatever’s coming.

  And something is coming. I can feel it in my bones.

  Elliot is fierce, determined, and has a level of raw power I haven’t seen in a student in a very long time. But she’s still human. Still vulnerable. She needs backup; people on her side. I will do everything in my power to protect her, and at this moment, I find myself intensely grateful there are three other men who care for her like I do.

  It may take all of us to keep her safe.

  “Understood, sir,” I say. “I’ll keep that information to myself. You’ll let me know if the Circuit investigators find anything about the person Johnson was in contact with?”

  “Of course.”

  I nod, and Hardwick nods, and the subject’s closed. We’ve known each other long enough that half the time we don’t need words anyway.

  I leave the administration offices and head straight to the infirmary. I held myself back from going to see Elliot right away, but as a professor, I can justify visiting an injured student. I’d do the same for anyone in my classes, and if people suspect there’s more to it than that… well, right now, I don’t give a fuck.

  Inside the medical building, I walk past the nurse at the front desk, keeping my face an impassive mask even though worry has a vise grip on my heart. I’m one of the youngest professors in the school and was one of the youngest students in Griffin Academy history.

  I don’t usually feel young, though. Not until moments like these.

  Right now, I feel helpless, and I haven’t felt that way in a long time.

  Elliot has a private room off the main wing. It’s not surprising, given what happened. The medical staff don’t want everyone gawking at her. I push the door open, and three heads swivel around to stare. Dmitri even half-rises from his seat, like he’s expecting another attack.

  “At ease,” I tell him. It’s half a joke, half serious.

  He sinks back down into his seat, looking miserable and on edge. I feel for him. The man’s just as attached to Elliot as the rest of us. But unlike the other two, I don’t think he’s said anything.

  I used to be the same way, until I lost enough people to learn that you might as well be open with someone when you have the chance. There are no guarantees, and life is too brutally unpredictable to waste time pushing people away.

  That’s the one silver lining I’m clinging to in this horrific mess. Elliot knows how I feel about her. I haven’t held back or hidden my feelings out of fear of what might happen—I’ve
told her I want to take a chance on us, and that I will share her gladly if that makes her happy.

  Asher nods at me in greeting. He looks exhausted. Cam’s holding Elliot’s hand as she lies propped up in the bed, her face too pale and her eyes closed. The spark of light I love so much about her is dim, and she looks more fragile than she ever has before.

  “How is she?” I ask, my voice low and raspy.

  Asher shakes his head, his gaze still fixed on Elliot.

  Cam gestures for me to pull up a chair, and I see that there’s an extra one sitting in the corner. Like they brought it in for me.

  Wordlessly, I take my seat and join the vigil.

  I’m only a few years older than everyone in this room. Well, five years older than Elliot. I have two years on Dmitri and four each on Cam and Asher, who are both twenty-three. Right now, it doesn’t feel like that much at all.

  For the first time, it feels like I could become a true part of this group.

  Asher, Cam, and Dmitri are good men, and while they all have contrasting personalities, they balance each other out. And they all give the woman I care about different things she needs. I have to admit though… as close as I’ve gotten to Elliot, there’s always been a bit of distance between myself and these three. Asher and Cam were friends before coming to the academy, and all three of them have been close as brothers since they got here. And I’m their professor, which naturally put up some barriers between us.

  But right now, none of that is important. None of our differences in personality or in life matter. All that matters is the woman lying on the bed between us.

  We’re all here because we care about her. And if that’s the case, then everything else is just white noise.

  I’ll keep vigil by her bedside for as long as I need to, and I know even without asking that the other three will do the same.

  We need our girl back.

  THANK YOU FOR READING!

  Reviews are a book’s lifeblood. If you enjoyed this story, please take a second to leave a review (even a sentence or two makes such a huge difference!).