Chapter 1 #2
Quentin gave Jaks his best glare, earning him a grin.
“With that, I’m leaving.” After a fake indignant sniff, he teleported to the alcove between the spell science and technology buildings.
It only had enough room for one person, which was convenient since Quentin didn’t have the patience to drive to campus or the fortune to pay for a parking pass.
Despite Jaks’s willingness to foot Quentin’s bills, he preferred to live within his means, which were currently budget-tight.
Teaching one class twice a week didn’t provide a living wage.
Good thing he’d recently sold some of his capture orbs to the bounty hunters for a nice fee.
They wanted to keep him on retainer, but the contract was still in progress.
He didn’t wish to spend all day manufacturing orbs.
Maybe he could find a group to make them in bulk.
Surely there must be magical manufacturing companies.
His mind whirled over logistics as he entered the spell creation wing.
Spotting the long line of students lounging outside his assigned classroom, he almost turned back around.
He sighed as he moved through the mass of academics.
They were propped against both walls, as if modeling for a student life magazine.
He brushed past them to unlock the door, then turned to address the crowd before entering.
“I know only twenty-five students are enrolled in this class. If you aren’t registered, please wait here until I’ve checked in my assigned students. Only then will I know if there are any openings.”
Cue the disappointed groans. He felt for them; he did.
Having recently been a student, Quentin could commiserate, but that didn’t change the limit he had purposely set for the class.
“I know it’s upsetting not to get into a class you want.
However, there are good reasons why this session must remain small.
While spell theory can be done on a larger scale, casting requires individual guidance.
” He didn’t owe them an explanation, but hopefully that would cut back some of the complaining.
He simply couldn’t have a large class if he wanted to keep accidents low.
If it were strictly a lecture class, it wouldn’t matter, but the practical portion demanded a limited number of students.
Unless he had two different lab times, he couldn’t accommodate all the students who wanted to attend, and he wasn’t going to bring it up with Dean Mearson.
He had other things he wanted to do, no matter how much money it would bring to the college.
He’d already had that fight with the administration.
They had wanted twice the capacity Quentin was willing to allow.
He had to go to the dean before they stopped harassing him.
If they were willing to give him an assistant, he probably could’ve pulled it off, but as a junior professor, it would have angered the senior faculty, who still didn’t have any help in their larger classes.
He didn’t want to start his career off by making enemies.
Or at least no more than Professor Rendell.
There was nothing he could do about that asshat.
Ignoring the groans and muttered backtalk, Quentin unlocked the classroom and went inside.
He left the door open behind him. It only took a cursory glance to realize Rendell had assigned him the shabbiest space in the building, possibly the school.
If this didn’t reflect what his department head thought of him, then his lover wasn’t a vampire.
As the head of his department, Rendell oversaw classroom coordination and had complained loudly and often that Quentin didn’t deserve a teaching position.
Since the first year he’d entered the college, Rendell had been envious of Quentin’s talent and tried to take credit for anything he created.
Unfortunately for Rendell, Quentin kept detailed notes to ensure that all the patents were in his name and that all his research was tracked from inception.
It was hard to claim someone else’s research if you couldn’t say how you came up with the idea or explain what it did.
Given the janitorial staff's excellent reputation, the classroom’s condition implied it had been so severely damaged that it could no longer be scrubbed clean by hand or magic.
The furnishings appeared to have been dumped there when they were no longer usable.
Slanted shelves were filled with what appeared to be random supplies.
A jar of incense sticks and three purified water bottles were snuggled between two piles of precariously stacked battered cauldrons, neither of which Quentin would need for his subject.
Quentin’s fascinated gaze followed the scorch marks covering the walls.
There were streaks from floor to ceiling in uneven intervals, leaving him wondering what class had been there before and whether there had been any survivors.
At the front of the room, a metal teacher’s desk squatted in all its aged, semi-beige glory.
Quentin pulled out the accompanying squeaky chair and sat down on its hard surface, trying to ignore the questionable rocking motion his actions caused.
Good thing he’d be standing for most of the class.
As the students shuffled into the room, all wide-eyed and eager, Quentin pulled his laptop out of his backpack.
A few clicks later, he accessed the student roll and began calling out names, trying to match faces to the list. More than one student had an alternate name they preferred, resulting in three shortened and two dead names that were completely different.
Quentin made careful notes next to every change.
After he had checked off the last of his students, he closed his laptop. “Well, that’s everyone. I'll go give the bad news to the others.”
He didn’t acknowledge the smug looks exchanged between those fortunate enough to snag a coveted spot. The entire situation baffled him. He had no idea how his class had become a prize to be won. This was his first time teaching it. Surely his reputation hadn’t grown over one seminar.
The students waiting outside perked up at his appearance. “I'm sorry to tell you, but this class is now full. Unless someone drops out, no one else will be admitted.”
“When are you offering this class again?” someone called out.
Quentin ran a hand through his hair, ruffling his carefully combed locks.
“I’m not sure. Dean Mearson wants to ensure I can teach one class before worrying about signing me up for more.
This is my trial run.” He offered a thin smile at the collective groans.
“You can start a petition to get another class added. If they know the need is high, they’ll probably be open to adding another session.
I can’t be the only teacher available.” Oddly enough, his words didn’t appear to appease any of them.
He’d only seen faces that sad on Professor Rendell’s assistants.
Before anyone else could interrogate him or complain, he quickly returned to the classroom and closed the door firmly behind him. He wasn’t hiding. He was ensuring that he didn’t waste class time.
Shut up, conscience.
“All right. Let’s start with the basics. What spells do you combine for a fire whip?”
Complete silence.
“Well, let’s break it down. How is a spell created…”
Two hours later, the students shuffled out of the classroom, still discussing Quentin’s presentation.
He smiled at their excited chatter. His first class had gone smoothly. The students were bright, engaged, and receptive to constructive criticism. A few challenged his ideas, but they listened when he explained his theory and seemed excited that he was willing to answer their questions.
With his laptop securely in his bag, Quentin headed out.
He made it two steps out the door before he encountered his least favorite person.
“Professor Heart.” Rendell’s tone turned snide at the word ‘professor’.
“How can I help you, Professor Rendell?” he replied in his politest voice.
The one he’d seen his mother use when she talked to someone she particularly disliked but couldn’t be rude to.
Two could play that game. He offered his most innocent expression as if he didn’t have a clue about how much Rendell hated him.
“I came to check on how your first class went. Did you have any difficulty controlling the students?”
Considering Rendell’s assistants constantly burst into tears. He doubted Rendell had any insightful tips that wouldn’t get Quentin banned from the program or arrested.
“The students appeared to enjoy it.” He kept his tone neutral and his dislike hidden, mostly.
“And did you?”
Quentin shrugged. “We’ll see. It’s hard to judge after just one class. The students were motivated to learn, so that helped.”
The truth was, he had enjoyed it more than he’d expected. He’d also stab himself in the eye with a stake before admitting he liked anything to this man. If he didn’t appear eager, Rendell might leave him alone. Experience had shown that Rendell hated anyone having fun, especially Quentin.
“Hmm. I guess we’ll see. It takes more than one class to tell whether you can cut it as a professor. Right now, you’re new and shiny. Wait until you return graded work.” With those inspiring words, Rendell stomped off.
“Asshat,” Quentin muttered. A giggle behind him revealed the hallway wasn’t as deserted as he had thought.
Oops.
He didn’t turn around to confront the eavesdroppers. Instead, he staged a strategic retreat. He was already late for his long-awaited nap. Hanging out with nocturnal leaning creatures was hell on his sleep cycle.
As he stepped outside, Dean Mearson appeared from around the corner, blocking Quentin’s escape. Had someone pinned him with a location spell?
“Good afternoon, Dean Mearson,” he greeted her politely.
Her delighted grin did nothing but send shivers of apprehension down his spine. “Professor Heart, just the man I was looking for. How did your first day go?”
He didn’t sigh, but the urge was strong. He knew he should be happy that she bothered to ask about his teaching, but he was pretty much done for the day. He wanted his vampire and cuddles. All the stress before teaching had left him exhausted. Worrying was an energy sucker.
“I think it went well. Not much has happened yet. I took roll and explained the foundations of spell theory. Nothing too exciting.” They had to know the basics before they could move on to casting, despite their enthusiasm.
“Good. Good.” She patted him on the arm. “If this works out, we might make it a permanent class. Let me know if I can do anything to help.”
“Thank you. I will.” He kept his opinion about being a full-time professor to himself.
As much as he was enjoying teaching so far, it wasn’t where he saw his career heading.
He’d rather be inventing spells than explaining them.
For now, the extra money was nice, and a teaching position on his resume, even for one semester, would lend him extra credibility when he finally branched out independently.
He almost mentioned the students’ request for an additional class, but held back.
She might assign it to him if he spoke up.
Never volunteer for anything. That was his personal motto.
That reminded him he still needed to clear out his lab.
Rendell had been getting far too nosy about Quentin’s projects.
As much as he liked the security of his college lab, it wasn’t truly secure if the one person trying to steal from him had access.
It wouldn’t be impossible for Rendell to break Quentin’s safeguards if he were dedicated enough.
Right now, Rendell was trying to be subtle and cautiously poked at Quentin’s wards, but not hard enough for him to complain to the higher-ups.
By the time he could lodge an official complaint, Rendell could have made off with his research.
He’d already decided to accept the lab space Jaks offered him last week. He was just dragging his heels on packing his stuff.
No one enjoyed packing.
The vampire manor would be more secure because the vampires wouldn’t care enough about his research to sabotage anything, and even if they wanted to, his new rune design would keep them out.
He’d modeled them after his necromancer friend, Grevin’s.
Due to their lethal nature, the university wouldn’t allow them, but Jaks had agreed to let him have as many security features as he wished on his manor lab.
Some days, it helped to have a sugar vampire.
Unaware of his thoughts, Dean Mearson gave him a cheerful goodbye before scampering off, undeterred by her three-inch heels.
He’d never understand women.
She had barely left his sight before an oddly familiar perfume of old roses and mint wafted through the air.
Spinning around, he saw nothing nearby to explain the scent.
It triggered a vague memory, but for the life of him, he couldn’t recall where he’d last smelled it. Not surprising with his crap memory.
Brushing off the scent, he changed trajectory and headed for the lab. He could safely hide here for a few hours before Jaks started to worry.
Sometimes, he just needed to get away from it all.