Dryads soak inside a book. We gain more than the words kept within the pages. We see the author who wrote with emotion, passion, experience and wisdom. Dryads live books more than we read them. It’s why so few actually do read in a dryad’s natural way. It can be painful to experience what others have.
When I take the tome that’s offered me, I do what I always do. I hold it in my hands and in a compressed timeline, experience the lessons offered within the pages. By the time I’m finished, the students are nearly finished with their clay sculptures. This time, while looking around, I know they’re molding the clay, visualizing the magic needed to create a golem, a form of familiar. Only one student is already done and staring at me in disgust. Tor.
“Freak,” he whispers.
His girlfriend snickers.
It doesn’t matter. What they don’t know is that I have no more use for the book. I’ve absorbed the lessons already. The author was wise, but didn’t have the ability to communicate all of his knowledge on paper. The thoughts he had during the writing of the book leak through with passion, and that’s what I’ve gained above all else.
Stepping over to Grim, I set the manual on the table. “Thank you. I don’t need it anymore.”
Grim stares at me with his one visible eye, keeping his other safely tucked behind his hair. It’s hard to tell what he’s thinking. He’s not smiling, but he’s not frowning, either. Neither glaring nor showing apprehension, he’s more intense than anything. Not like I’m a bug under his microscope, but it’s as if he sees straight to my soul without the need to use Identify. He’s alluring. Sexy.
He glances at the book, then nods.
Focus, Everly. I can’t tell if the thought is mine or the count’s.
I start playing with the clay left in front of me and remember a creature I saw in the lesson book. It was birdlike with large wings and glowing red eyes. It was black and its body was the size of a cat’s. It had a smallish beak and plumy fluffs coming out of its cat-like ears. I have the shape of the little guy, plus some facial features by the time Ms. Fernren says, “Time.”
Everyone stops playing with their claymation and opens their books.
Grim turns an intense eye over to me, flips the book open, and shifts it closer to the end of the table near me.
I shake my head. “I’m good,” I whisper.
Tor snorts. “Ah, looks like we’ve got a straight A student over here.”
His nymph girlfriend laughs. “Nerd much?”
It’s the first time I see Grim show any emotion, and it’s heated, full of disapproval and pointed at Tor.
“Don’t listen to them,” he whispers to me.
I smile at him. “I’m not, but thanks.”
For myself, I don’t care what they say about me. I’ve heard worse. I’ve dealt with worse. When you’re consistently the top of the class, people get jealous and envious. It’s nothing new.
Ms. Fernren goes into how to infuse energy into our little mini-golems. “Now, all you have to do is ignite the spark inside your familiar by…”
I shoot my hand up and wait to be acknowledged.
“… moving energy from your source.” Her lips thin as she notices me. “Ms. Stillwater, I understand if you aren’t caught up, but you can finish the project later.”
“Oh,” I start, shaking my head. “I just wanted to say that I’d like to try…”
Tor scoffs, and the nymph groans, “Kiss ass.”
Geez, what is their problem? Yeah, Tor saw me with Harlow—and the two of them clearly aren’t friends, but I tried to apologize earlier. He’s the one who wouldn’t accept it.
I’m pulled away from my thoughts when I notice Ms. Fernren is teaching the lesson incorrectly. She completely missed the truth in what the author was trying to say. And I feel the need to correct her.
“The energy needed is more complicated than just a normal spark transference,” I explain once Ms. Fernren calls on me. “The author understood this golem was a life. It’s more like the creation of a child…”
The nymph laughs, “What does a vampire’s paramour know about creating a child?”
Gasps fill the room. Dumbfounded, I turn to Tor’s girlfriend. “Huh?”
“Oh, please.” She rolls her eyes. “Everyone saw you, gallivanting with the master of vampires.”
Gallivanting? “What does that have to do with…”
“Ladies,” Ms. Fernren stops our tit-for-tat. “Gossip on your own time.” Then she faces me. “Ms. Stillwater, thank you for your input, but it’s time now for the students who have studied and have been preparing for this exercise for the past week to begin the second phase. I’ll remind everyone there’s only a five percent success rate for this project.” She points to the student closest to the door. “You first. Remember, life is energy. Proceed.”
Life is energy. But a brain is more than just gray matter and electrical sparks. I wait as, one by one, the students fail. Some burn their golems. Others explode them. One melts, and another squishes their clay formation, which is an impressive implosion. Then it’s Grim’s turn. He focuses on his square with eyes and a mouth. Slowly, the thing dries out and cracks. Tor and his nymph are last.
Tor’s monstrosity starts wiggling, and it almost looks like it’s going to be a success when the thing lets out a blood-curdling scream and implodes.
“Damn,” he swears.
“My turn,” the nymph says.
She takes a deep breath and begins her set of incantations. So far, no
