“Very confused.” I stare up, anxious.
Faunus—Dr. Ephesius, chuckles, but compared to his kin, he might as well have rolled in fits of laughter for all the emotion he’s showing.
“Judging by your hair and eyes, you are from the Circle of the Oak, and knowing that Priestess Kareen is waiting for an understudy, that would mean you are the great Everly Stillwater, now an exchange student from the Academy of Divination to the Academy of Necromancy.”
I breathe a sigh of relief. He’s acting more like an elf now. More like what I’m used to.
“Better?” he asks.
I think he’s teasing me, but I can’t be sure. “I beg your pardon, sir, I meant no offense.”
“None taken, child.” He once more offers his palm to me, and because it would be rude not to, I take his hand in greeting.
A warmth spreads through my arm. He’s searching my soul. Because he initiated, I do the same. His mental shield is familiar, similar to all High Elves, and stops me from going further than surface level. As I lightly press against his boundary, he stops short of my own.
The first sense I get from him is befuddlement. Elves are a slow race, delving deep into their minds. He finds my patience with him refreshing, unlike his impatient students, who are always vying for answers to his “riddles,” as they call them.
Invisible arms tug at me, and the count’s possessive grasp holds me to his phantom front. It’s as though the count and I are connected—a side effect from the spell I created. That’s when I feel the slightest of tendrils, soft as a feather’s wisp, from the elf, searching further than skin deep.
Dr. Ephesius is going in a little further into my psyche than I’m comfortable. Typical. It’s not uncommon for one of the High to push the limits. Elves can be… pompous. The count blocks Dr. Ephesius from reaching any deeper, though the high elf’s magic isn’t seeking my core. Our mutual Identify is only a means to understand each other. But the count’s presence remains.
“I see your reasoning to want to attend our academy and I approve,” Dr. Ephesius pulls back and gives a nod.
“You… you do?” I can’t help but wonder if he feels the count inside me? Riven said to be wary of everyone since he doesn’t know who the necromancer is, but Dr. Faunus Ephesius isn’t a necromancer. He’s an exchange teacher from the Academy of Transmutation. A matter bender who can change time and space.
He should be safe.
He tilts his head in curiosity. “Yes. Wanting to know the ailments and inflictions you’ll be dealing with from the other side is thorough going. I expect you to be the pride of your Circle.”
“Thank you.” Riven’s cover as to why I’m attending the academy saved me from revealing the truth. I’m here to catch a necromancer, one who is tormenting Jean-Claude, but of course no one else can know that. The resident teacher of necromancy is under suspicion, but Riven doesn’t think it was him. Because that would be too obvious.
“You have remarkable shields for a dryad. You’ve been prepared well.” Dr. Ephesius gives a nod of approval.
Is he kidding? I’m not trained for this at all! My shields are nowhere near what they should be, considering my past experiences with Harlow and Riven. Most of the time, I’m an open book. If a high fae, such as Dr. Ephesius, wanted to float around in my brain, he’d know my life story. But I curtsy and say, “Thank you, sir.”
“Down the hall and two doors to the left is your destination.” Dr. Ephesius lifts a finger in the air, and a glowing ball the size of a grape hovers over the tip of his fingernail. Thin strands of light wave like smoke from its core. “The sprite will lead the way.”
“Thank you very much.” I curtsy again.
“Good day, Everly Stillwater.” Dr. Ephesius turns and enters the office he came from, and I follow the little sprite through the halls. A sigh of relief tickles my neck, and the count’s phantom hands loosen. I can feel him as though I’m lying with him in soft silks, and the luxurious feeling is a deep contrast to the chill of the hall.
SIXTEEN♀♥♂♂♂♂EVERLY
As the high elf instructed, the sprite leads me down to the second classroom on the left and disappears through the door.
Here we go.
I push open the door, and a loud creak fills the hallway, loud enough to make the students and the teacher turn my way and then they stare. Yeah, no one expects to see a dryad at the Academy of Necromancy.
Wonderful. I’m making a spectacle already. I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear and walk towards the front of the room, where I’m the most comfortable. The teacher is a blight, a plant with intelligence. One mistake many make is thinking dryads and blights get along, both being creatures of nature and all. But blights are aptly named.
They grow exponentially fast, choke everything in their paths, and leave destruction in their wake. Even cedar trees aren’t immune to a blight’s strangling vines. While they are of nature, blights are a terror. They kill without remorse and have been used for genocide in wars.
I hand Riven’s paper to the teacher and try not to glare at her.
She has a green bottom and a pink top, which means she has the potential to leave poison flowers to germinate and leave more blights to scourge the land. Blights look like flower people. They don’t
