Chapter Eighteen
Following Milo’s advice, I returned to work, training my students as the Spring Showcase encroached.
I did my best to tune Milo out when his mind synced to mine.
It was challenging and disappointing and exhausting all in one breath.
For weeks he’d chased leads, followed thin trails, and nothing panned out.
Victims continued falling to demon activity, and despite enchanters from every guild in the city out in full force searching, nothing stopped the murders.
I could’ve stopped them simply by not acting rashly. Something I needed to master.
Guilds were in chaos, clamoring to solve a case nobody could.
Enchanters tracked and slaughtered demons responsible for the killings, but then new demons arrived, continuing the cycle.
Some in the media claimed they were new, while others noted the same demons returned, accusing enchanters of failing to properly banish them.
Milo continued urging for guild collaboration, believing it’d help solve the case.
But every guild kept their doors firmly shut, hopeful of gaining the notoriety that came with saving the city single-handedly.
Enchanter Evergreen’s mind continued repeating that if he’d only found the source of the demon resurrecting those that’d fallen, creating an army of subjects, then the city wouldn’t be on the verge of collapse.
We weren’t. Life was abundant, and many ignored the deaths in favor of reminding themselves they were small in numbers, and things would be back to normal soon.
Not Milo. His thoughts constantly looped through potential futures and bigger threats than I could see, lost in visions of horror.
When his mind clung to his guilt for his failures, I pushed away the link holding us together.
Though his thoughts never actively stirred to blame my interference, I continued dwelling on how it had. How I ruined everything.
With my thoughts mostly my own, I escorted my homeroom coven to the auditorium for our headmaster’s announcement. I stood along the back wall with a few other first-year instructors, ushering students to file inside and take a seat.
“It’s wonderful to see everyone here this morning,” Headmaster Dower said, about to begin a very long speech before announcing the ranking results for the Spring Showcase.
As she spoke, I read through emails—some from her or others about the upcoming showcase—tuning out the mix of surface thoughts and strong emotions many of the 600 students crammed into the auditorium gave off.
Excitement, dread, embarrassment, and anticipation radiated in equal measure as the headmaster spoke.
The curtains behind her opened, and a screen covering the stage lit up.
I huffed. Students scoured the list of 160 names, searching for their name and ranking—worried they might not find it listed, terrified they’d be handed a paper copy listing their ranking and explaining how and where they could improve during the rest of their first year.
Public shaming on rankings was alive and well in this new system. Disgusting. Effective. Cruel.
Either I hadn’t read an email thoroughly enough, or someone forgot to add me to the list of instructors handing out rejection forms to students who didn’t make it into the showcase.
Who was I to complain? Breaking dreams was the worst part of this career.
Plus, it helped me keep a psychic pulse on my homeroom coven because those who didn’t make the cut would need empathy.
One by one, relief hit my students. Some, like Kenzo, Katherine, Yaritza, and Layla, maintained confidence the entire time, not concerned about finding their name or surprised by their rankings.
Others, such as Gael, Jamius, and Carter, released a bated breath, stunned and excited to find themselves listed.
A few were annoyed they’d be expected to participate while also hiding their joy for making the cut: Jennifer, Melanie, and Tara.
Two were ecstatic to participate but embarrassed at their low ranking: Gael, confidently boasting with his rooster, and Caleb.
I smiled momentarily before Peterson thought in my direction, pissed so many of his students hadn’t made it into the showcase, utterly convinced I’d rigged the event since my entire homeroom coven placed.
I shrugged away his envious rage and then realized that was why I didn’t have any forms to hand out.
None of my students had fallen below the required 160 ranking in order to qualify.
It was rather shocking, impressive as all hell, and a bit of arrogant pride swelled in my chest. I might’ve barely contributed to their success, but this was the first time in all my years of teaching that every single first-year student from my homeroom coven had qualified for the Spring Showcase. They were an amazing group of kids .
“We all made it into the showcase.”
“Duh. Get off me, porcupine.”
“ Not the best. Worst, in fact, but room to improve. ”
“ I hope no one gets hurt. ”
“There’s gonna be so much paperwork.”
“That’s the industry, darling.”
“ It’ll be nice finally showing off my branches. So long as my training doesn’t falter. ”
“ I’m the only Smythe who ranked. Fucking slackers. ”
“Gonna rock out with my cock out!” “Bawk!”
“I’m so sick of your dick jokes.”
“Gael never makes dick jokes. It’s all about the cock.”
“ So annoying. ”
Given there wasn’t much time left for homeroom before they’d be heading to their next class, I allowed them to hang around the auditorium, soaking up their excitement for their achievements and chatting with other homeroom students also lounging about.
A new email pinged on my laptop from the person coordinating this year’s showcase, Chanelle Whitehurst. It offered instructions for staff duties during the event and brief explanations of the competitions planned during the event.
I glowered. All this information was strictly confidential, so I couldn’t disclose any of it to my students.
Yet, reading the challenges involved and realizing Chanelle had a hand in picking these competitions, I had words for her.
Storming out of the auditorium, I took deep breaths, which did little to ease the frustration building inside me.
I walked into Chanelle’s classroom, glad none of her students were there because I wasn’t certain I could bite my tongue for very long. “Are you serious about these competitions? ”
Chanelle kept her eyes locked on her computer screen, unfazed by my arrival.
She half-expected it and was half-prepared for resentful staff, whether about the competition setup, our extra unpaid duties, or complaining their students were improperly ranked.
“We’ve always got to balance entertainment alongside proficiency. ”
“That first round completely ignores proficiency, and you know it.”
“I beg to differ. Honestly, I despise selling the second round to spectators—problematic, in my opinion—but that’s what this is all about. Butts in seats.”
“You’re running this event. You’re the one bringing in more guild witches than any first-year showcase has ever done.”
“What’s your point?”
“My point is you have more say in the competitions, which ones we include and the ones we shouldn’t.
” I frowned, holding back a judgmental glare as the first competition clung to her surface thoughts proudly.
“It’s absurd you’re so proud of an event that literally prevents students from using their root magics.
Half the kids who ranked into the competition rely on the combination of root magics to assist in their branch magics. ”
“Exactly. This showcase isn’t about promoting root magics or subpar branches. There, I said it. The mean, nasty words we all know to be true here.” Chanelle waved her hands, half a gesture and half to reorganize the desks in her classroom.
I winced at the screech of metal desk legs dragging across the floor.
“Not everyone’s blessed with a fancy branch, and that sucks.
” Chanelle continued moving items around her classroom.
“It’s also why I wholeheartedly invest in my students, so they’re prepared for the harsh reality of this industry.
But the fact remains we’re trying to attract sponsors, which means we need an audience with guild members who are awed and return for rounds two and three and want to fund these budding branches.
And no one gives a fuck about boring branches or roots we all have. ”
“You realize this will affect over half of your homeroom coven.” My jaw tightened.
“Fewer than you think since only seven of my students ranked.” Chanelle swiveled her chair in my direction.
“But let’s just say the truth of it, shall we?
You’re not worried about my students. You’re not worried about all the students competing.
Hell, you’re not even worried about your homeroom coven. ”
“Excuse me?”
“You’re worried about your three little golden stars.
” Chanelle stood and walked across her class, leaving handouts on each desk.
“I’ve seen the way you work with your kids over the years, and I can always tell when you’re doting on one a bit more.
Whether in guidance or the occasional telepathic stare. ”
Despite all I did to distance myself from others, to make myself unreadable and unapproachable, Chanelle managed to cut to the heart of things about me without a psychic branch.
“I know you’ve got a soft spot for Caleb.
Who wouldn’t? He’s a nice kid. Plus, a branchless student beating out so many other prospective applicants lining up to make something of their magic?
That’s a catchy story. Unfortunately, there’s a lot of other factors to consider during the showcase.
And none of the enchanters want to see that story. ”
I ground my teeth.
“Besides, he barely squeaked by in the rankings. Even if the first round allowed root magics, I doubt he’d finish.”
“You’d be surprised.”
“Then there’s that little snot nose Kenzo.
” Chanelle immediately skirted the conversation, eyes and thoughts fixated on the vein bulging on my forehead.
“He has a hell of a powerful branch, but not one built for this competition. My guess? You see a bit of a younger grumpy Dorian in that kid. Minus the overdone guyliner and grungey wardrobe.”
“Of all my students, he’s the one I’m least concerned with.” It was true. Kenzo had an unyielding determination and aggressiveness that pushed him through any obstacle. I had no idea how he’d manage in the first event, but I knew he would.
“Oh, your precious Whitlock, perhaps? She’s lovely, polite, and has amazing branches. Branches she can’t or won’t use.”
“She’ll be fine.”
Tara had made vast and swift improvements over the past few weeks using the weighted blocks to redistribute her branches so she could seamlessly cast one branch at a time.
Chanelle sucked her teeth, fighting back a frown. “ You haven’t read the email yet, have you? ”
I pulled my laptop out of my satchel, set it on her desk, and opened my email to find the one—among two dozen unimportant or spam messages—I’d missed. A lump grew in my throat. Tara’s support tools hadn’t been approved for the Spring Showcase.
“Why?” I asked, perplexed and ready to collapse. “I did everything right.”
I’d informed the administration who’d passed it on to the supervising proctor for the event—Chanelle. I’d even gotten it submitted early. Everything was checked off. How they functioned and their purpose. Tara had filled out her forms. It was all done by the book to help her.
“You didn’t attach a waiver, so I had to deny the request.”
“I explained the medical purpose behind them,” I snapped. Tara and I didn’t have time to apply for a waiver, but her branch overlap should’ve sufficed .
“I’m not saying her condition isn’t real, simply saying there’s no medical record to support her overlap.”
The Whitlock family, her father, had years to have Tara’s branch overlap diagnosed and accounted for, yet he’d never want a condition like that disclosed, even if held as a confidential file in the academy records never made it public record.
God forbid he acknowledged she needed assistance.
No. He saw that kind of thing as weakness, and the Whitlocks weren’t weak.
“You can’t just deny her support,” I said weakly. “That’s not fair.”
“Without a medical, magical, or casting waiver to support the use of accommodations during the event, it’d be unfair to give her that edge. Like any other student, she’s just going to have to do her best without support items.” There was no joy in Chanelle’s voice or thoughts. “I am sorry.”
The bell rang, startling and louder than usual. “I need to get to my classes.”
“It’s nothing personal, but this is a business first.” Damn, if she hadn’t summed up the entirety of education in one line.
“It’s okay to have a soft spot for the kids.
Hell, when I saw five of mine hadn’t made the cut this year, I was devastated for them.
Heartbroken knowing I’d have to rip their dreams for the Spring Showcase away before they even had a chance to compete.
But kids are resilient, and it might take time, but they’ll bounce back. ”
“I don’t have a soft spot for anyone.”
“Not even Milo? Or do you prefer giving him your hard spots? Parts. Dammit. Eh, that double entendre almost worked.” Chanelle chuckled, attempting to draw me into a lighter conversation, but I wasn’t able to flip a switch that easily.
I resented everything about academy-first stances, and since taking this extra add-on to her position, she’d become more and more about the business model, which was upsetting.
Her opposition to all things authoritative was one of her qualities that kept my mind synced onto hers year after year at Gemini.