I already hate this class and I don’t even know what the subject is, though if I were to guess, I’d say some sort of chemistry. There are no chairs, just waist-high tables with beakers, tubes and liquids. And students. Lots of students all staring at me. All wondering what I’m doing in this class, what I’m doing in this school, and what I’m doing in Dread, no doubt.
The blight takes my paper and reads it. After a long pause, she hands it back and I take it gingerly, making sure I don’t touch her or the place where she touched the paper.
“Find a place,” she says, then continues her lecture. She already dislikes me as much as I dislike her. Great.
Too distracted by a classroom full of eyes following me, I notice all the places in the front of the classroom are taken so I wade towards the back. Being top of my class, I’m used to being watched, but this is different. The vibe in this classroom is full of malice. My natural defense mechanism is to tuck my head down and lower my eyes.
A phantom finger lifts my chin, and a whisper in my head says, No representative of mine will be caught without pride.
Jean-Claude, the count, is watching me. That damned spell. I’d almost forgotten him—impossible as that seems. I’m getting accustomed to his presence
The ghost of a cloak wraps around my body, and his invisible arm drapes across me from shoulder to hip. His long fingers wrap lovingly around the outside of my thigh. Getting a little close to feeling up my ass, I think. But I’m grateful for him.
A faint chuckle sends nonexistent wisps of air over my ear.
I choose an empty lab station, but before I can put my purse down, a dirty-blonde nymph hisses, “No. That one’s taken.”
Red lips, blue eyes and a pale face dare me to stay where I am, but I look around and spot another station. Happiness is a choice, just like getting angry is a choice. It doesn’t mean I don’t feel rejection, but I can look at things differently and not always take things at face value. So, instead of protesting, I give the nymph a smile and whisper, “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize it was.”
She scoffs.
Turning to another empty table, I’m greeted by my neighbor with a stare. The guy has a messy mop of luxurious gray hair. It’s styled like it took hours, yet I wonder if he really cares about his appearance. His charcoal gray shirt is unbuttoned at the top and looks disheveled with skipped-over buttons, as if he were late to school and couldn’t be bothered about getting dressed. But it totally works for him because it off-sets his day-old stubble, perfect nose and plump bottom lip. His most striking feature, though, is his eyes. Although I can only see one, at the moment. His mop of hair covers the other one. The glow of his pupil is reddish orange and near luminescent. Unlike Riven’s shocking blue irises which do nothing but seek to push me away, this guy’s orangish eyes pull me in. If he could be summed up in one word it would be: Magnetic.
Spellbound and breathless, I’m caught by surprise when Ms. Blight slaps a wet chunk of clay on my table.
“Ack!” I puzzle at the newfound dirt speckles on my white dress and raise my eyebrows at the teacher. Her cool gaze speaks volumes.
“Grim, help Ms. Stillwater catch up,” Ms. Blight says. “And try not to light her on fire.” She sneers in a haughty, non-caring fashion.
An elemental. Mr. Magnetism is the embodiment of fire. That is so cool. I’ve never seen an elemental before.
Grim, my fire elemental neighbor, shuffles over. “Hi,” he whispers, and doesn’t say anything else.
“Hi.”
Not a talker, but the moment he shifts closer to me, I can feel his heat. His breath is dry, and the fresh scent of burning pine pushes its way to my senses. The heat he throws off is insane, like flames spewing off his body. He’s a head or so taller than me, which puts him on the right side of sexy.
“So, can you tell me what we’re doing?” I ask, hoping he’ll be nice.
He shuffles back to his table and hands over an open book. The page’s topic is on familiars. “We’re making a familiar.”
“What are we supposed to do?” I ask. I’ve never done this before although I know what familiars are.
Grim shrugs and starts patting his clump of wet clay.
Helpful.
Looking around, I see other students patting, squishing, and molding the clay. Still, I’m not sure what we’re doing.
The classroom door opens, and in walks Tor. “Hey, Ms. Fernren.” He holds a note out to the teacher. “Dr. Ephesius needed my help.”
The smug superiority from Tor is annoying. He doesn’t wait and sits down next to the nymph that tossed me off the lab table, setting his own bag of books down. Now I know why she wouldn’t let me take the table. Judging from her googly eyes and the way Tor stares back at her, they’re an item. It makes her rejection understandable and makes me feel a little better.
Ms. Fernren continues her lecture, but because I haven’t been privy to the earlier part of the lesson, it’s hard to understand what she’s talking about.
The one awesome thing about learning is that most knowledge can be found in books. Ask anyone what a book is, and they might
