The subject matter of the class doesn’t help to keep my interest. It’s the history of Dread, which is interesting in and of itself, but today’s topic is a map of the city. Grim is in the class with me, although some of the teachers have been surprised to see him which makes me wonder if this really is his class or if he’s just following me to mine.
Yet he seems to have a book for each subject, so there’s that.
He pushes the tome of maps closer to me. We’re sharing the book since I don’t have one of my own. I’m grateful for Grim, even if he doesn’t say much. But, really, he’s the type of friend I need at the moment. Hopefully I can call him a friend. On that subject, I’m still not sure.
My sluggish mentality lowers my eyelids, and I find myself jerking awake.
Unfortunately, Grim isn’t the only familiar student attending this class with me. I’m the wall that sits between a certain raven rider and Grim.
“Are we boring you, Stillwater?” Tor sneers.
I rub my eyes and smile, going for the kill-with-kindness methodology. “Nah, I’m just tired after absorbing everything there is to know about cloning, familiar creation, and Animate.” I’ve meshed a variation of Identify with Commune with Nature and Comprehend Language that allowed me to read the entire book in less than twenty minutes. Nothing I can’t handle.
I tickle Riddle under his feathered chin, pleased to have him with me. And Grim seems to like him too. He’s petted the little guy a few times and Riddle hasn’t tried to remove any more of Grim’s fingers. Thank the goddess for small mercies.
Tor glares at me and then stares ahead, as if he doesn’t have any interest in me or Riddle. But the guy sees my every mistake and comments every time I fail at one of the exercises. Which isn’t very often, if I do say so.
Our teacher is a leprechaun, Mr. Capitain Dover, who pushes his desk all the way to the wall so he can stand on it to reach the dry erase board.
The bell rings and my map studies are over. Students shuffle into the aisle of desks, eager to leave, as this is the last class of the day.
As I rise from my chair, Tor pushes me sideways and I slam hard onto the combined table and seat. “Out of my way,” Tor snarls.
A tiny squawk whines all the way down the aisle as Riddle flies up from his perch on my shoulder.
“Watch it!” I yell at him.
It seems to be the last straw on the proverbial elemental’s back, because Grim’s eyes follow me, to my little golem, then land on the back of Tor’s head. A glowing orb forms above Grim’s hands.
One student panics and his fish eyes open wide. “Fire!”
It’s the one word that gets the others to turn, fear and panic in their eyes.
Grim pulls his arm back and releases the fireball at Tor.
Students scream as the fire engulfs Tor, lifts him off his feet and throws him forward, crashing him through desks and onto the floor.
“Grim,” the leprechaun growls. “What’cha do that fer?” The teacher lifts his arm and whisks his hand in the air as if he can swat the fire consuming Tor, and just like that, it’s gone—not just put out, but removed altogether.
Tor’s none the worse for being engulfed in flames.
“You’ve had this coming a long fucking time, Glassglow,” Grim yells at Tor.
Riddle flies over to me and resumes his place on my shoulder.
Grim doesn’t answer the teacher but forms another ball just above his palm.
Tor jumps up, eyes wide and teeth clenched. He’s furious. “You want to go, fire boy?” He throws down his satchel.
“Stop!” Mr. O’Neal jumps in the middle of the two of them and throws out an arm to each of the students. And then it’s as though they’re frozen where they are. Neither moves. The ball of fire above Grim’s fingers swirls in suspended animation. Tor’s reddening face tells all. If he could move, he would, but he can’t.
“Now,” our teacher says, and looks at Grim. “Do you remember the conditions in which you were allowed to attend the Academy of Necromancy?”
Grim rolls his uncovered eye towards the leprechaun and blinks.
“Good.” The teacher turns to Tor. “And you… are ye tryin’ to provoke him or are ye just tryin’ to get murdered? Because ye’re doin’ a great job of both, Glassglow.”
Tor snarls. Apparently, they can’t move their bodies, but facial expressions aren’t restricted.
“Go tell yer peace to the headmaster.” The leprechaun swishes his hand again, and in a flash and a crack, Tor disappears.
The fire is out, both from Grim’s hands and the anger in his eyes. If I were to guess, the forlorn glaze in his eyes is regret.
“Why, Grim?” Our teacher pats Grim’s knee and my classmate can move again. “I see what he did. But ye…” He shakes his head. “Ye knew ye were on shaky ground as it was.”
The teacher snaps his fingers, and with another flash-crack, Grim is gone.
I heave a sigh. “It was my golem that started it. I guess I’ll go to Riven and explain myself.”
The leprechaun’s eyes go wide. “Ye call the headmaster by his given name?”
“Um…” I lift my backpack off the seat and sling it over my shoulder. “Doesn’t everyone?”
He shakes his head. “Everyone calls ‘em headmaster.”
“Oh.” Though he told me to call him Riven, I might be overstepping my bounds, then? Riven’s congenial manner makes it easy to, well, be at ease with him. And there was that whole incident in the train, when he was dressed
