Chapter 30
I watch as Wilson’s petite figure scrambles up the climbing wall with surprising agility, considering where she was just a few days ago.
The way her small hands reach out instinctively for the next hold, barely needing to glance at the path ahead, is a thing to behold.
“Once you reach the top, jump for the rope—got it?” I yell out.
I’m not worried; I’ve got her safely harnessed in, and I can always stop a fall with my magic.
Another quick push and she nimbly twists, launching her body into the air, then landing on the rope, quickly wrapping her legs around it like a monkey.
Fuck, she could wrap those legs around me.
I tell my hindbrain to cool it.
Wilson rappels down and lands with a soft thump. I give her a round of applause, and she bows, grinning from ear to ear. She should be pleased with herself. I’ve never witnessed such a change in physical performance in a week. It’s...unnatural.
When I’d first looked into the silver eyes, I’d seen fear, sadness, and so much self-doubt, but now I can’t stifle a laugh as she leaps from box to box around the course I’ve set up; a little bird finding her wings.
“Break,” I call, after she finishes the course with a whoop. She jogs towards me, and I pass her some water. “You fucking breezed through that, Wilson.”
“It’s wild, isn’t it? I don’t know why, but I just feel so good, like there’s nothing I can’t do. At least physically,” she makes a face.
“You’ll be in good shape for defense class,” I tell her. “You may not have the moves down, but your stamina and flexibility are impressive. With some more training, you could actually land some punches.”
“Ooh, and there are so many people who would be on my punch list.” She slides down the wall to sit, and I join her on the floor. Her cheeks are a rosy pink, and strands of dark hair have escaped from the long braids on each side of her head. “How was your Sunday?” Wilson asks.
My Sunday? Dull, with far too much time and space to fixate on the little bit of a thing sitting by my side.
Wilson swivels her head and stares at me. “Mostly boring,” I answer. "Some lesson planning, some research. I tried to find where Dean Dartmouth disappeared to, but no dice." I watch her shift uncomfortably beside me, a frown forming on her brow.
"Sorry," I murmur, knowing she can't respond. "The other thing I've been researching is how to break a binding. There are spells, but they all leave a lot of…damage.." The words hang in the air between us. I hate that I haven’t found a way out for her..
"Thanks for looking into it anyway," she replies, her voice soft.
"I'll get you out of his claws soon enough," I promise, my gaze locking with hers. "Don't you worry."
“Talking of claws,” she says with a half smile. "Did you know Validus Vale is built on land that was once called Claw's Cradle? Doesn't that conjure up just the nastiest images?”
"Nastier than the land’s current inhabitants?" I say, giving her a quizzical look.
“So cynical,” she laughs, her eyes flicking up to the gymnasium clock, and she winces, a flicker of something like dread crossing her face. "Shit, I have to head out or I'll be late for stupid Restricted Studies—I hate that class."
I mentally slap myself on the forehead. "Jumalauta! I was supposed to get you out of those Elite classes. I can’t believe I forgot."
“No worries, I’ve heard people’s memories tend to fail at your age,” she tells me, patting my arm and then giving a cheeky wink.
Nen?k?s kakara! I shut down a mental image of bending her over my knee. “I’ll talk to the dean today, get it sorted.”
“Thanks, Alexis, I mean, Professor Feniks.” Wilson gets to her feet. “And thanks for the training. Now, I’ve really got to run—can’t risk the donkey ears.”
“Donkey ears?” I have no idea what she’s talking about
“Hmph. I knew you were just being an ass,” she grins.
I watch as she skips off and try not to think about spanking her pert behind.
Fuck.
Adjusting my mind to one of an actual professor I’m pretending to be, as soon as I’m showered and dressed for the day, I head to the dean’s office.
“Can I get a word with her?” I ask Tina-Marie.
“Good morning, Alexis,” she says, batting her eyes at me in an annoying way. “The dean is booked solid today. I could schedule something for Wednesday?”
Fuck it. I give Tina-Marie my most charming, yet subtly persuasive, smile. It's a delicate balance of professional respect and the promise of boning. “Aww, can’t you squeeze me in? I promise to be good and only take up a couple of minutes. I’ll owe you a favor…”
That makes her eyes sparkle, and she smooths a stray strand of her Karen-bob hair.
“Well," she says in a stupid, breathy whisper, "Dean Crankshawe is a stickler about her schedule, but perhaps…” More eyelash batting. “Perhaps I could slip in a quick word.” Yeah, there’s a gross emphasis on her words. “Wait here, Professor."
I lean against the reception desk, acting nonchalant, which I’m not. Theo shouldn’t be in those Elite classes. She hasn’t complained, but I can see how nervous the idea of going to Restricted Studies made her.
Tina Marie pokes her head around the door. “Five minutes, Alexis. I promised her you wouldn’t take more than that.”
“You’re an angel,” I grin, almost sincerely.
◆◆◆
“Can I help you with something, Professor?” Dean Crankshawe says, looking up from an intimidating pile of papers on her desk.
“Yes, I’ll be quick,” I reply, sitting in a chair, uninvited. “I’m the councilor for Theo Wilson, the Guggenheimer Scholarship kid? She’s been placed in some Elite classes and is obviously struggling. I’d like to have her transferred to something more on her level.”
“She’s complaining?” the dean frowns. “Getting that scholarship should mean she’s willing to work harder than anyone else in the school.”
“No, no complaints,” I say hastily, trying not to land Theo in the shit. “Just something I’ve noticed in our meetings. I’m sure Professor Gimble can corroborate the need for something more basic.”
Dean Crankshawe narrows her eyes at me, her voice cool and measured as she replies. “I don’t think so. I’m simply giving Ms. Wilson a little tough love. Being among the Elites will force her to adapt and grow.”
Yeah, right. Then why aren’t the other remedial witches in with the Elites? I don’t bother asking because it’s obvious Dean Crankshawe is not going to shift her stance.
“I understand,” I say, keeping my tone neutral. “What about extra tutoring for her, something like that?”
“Let’s see how she does this term, then reassess,” Dean Crankshawe replies, firmly dismissing the topic. “Now, is there anything else?”
Seeing an opening, despite my better judgment, I decide to press forward.
“Actually, yes. Wilson mentioned she was particularly friendly with two boys while she was here for the intensive: Wesley and Donovan Hart. Do you have a forwarding address for them? She expressed an interest in renewing their friendship.”
Dean Crankshawe’s expression shifts. “You seem very concerned with Ms. Wilson’s affairs, Professor,” she says, allowing me to hear the suspicion in her voice. “Is this something I should be concerned about?”
I try my best to look utterly affronted. “Dean, I’m sorry if that crossed a boundary. I’d just thought a little moral support from old friends may, what’s the phrase, gee her up.”
Her mouth presses into a hard line; the giggling girlish dean-persona is nowhere to be seen. “We cannot give out private student information. You must be aware of that, even with your limited teaching experience.”
Retreat, retreat, retreat, the last thing I need is her delving into my background. “Apologies, Dean,” I say quickly. “I can see I’m being overzealous in my new counselor role. I’ll dial it back.”
“See that you do,” she agrees, her eyes still narrowed. As the dean reaches across the desk to pick up a file, a whole stack of papers is knocked to the floor. “Damn it.”
Deciding it’s politic to get on her good side again, I immediately crouch down and start collecting the various files and forms. “Leave it,” Dean Crankshawe snaps.
“It’s no problem, I got it.” The dean is out of her chair, hurriedly grabbing papers and dragging them away from me.
I’m curious as to why, and begin taking a closer look.
The paperwork doesn’t look like anything special until I notice a WMO form that includes a DNA analysis.
And the name Theodora Wilson is at the top.
She snatches it up before I can read any of the results.
“I’ve got this, please leave.” She gives me a cold look. “And close the door on your way out.”
Back in the outer office, Tina-Marie has applied a fresh coat of maroon lipstick that makes her look like she’s been coughing up blood. “Get what you needed?” she asks, with a tilt of the head.
“Absolutely,” I say, forcing a smile. “Thanks for your help.”
“Don’t forget you owe me a favor now, Alexis,” she reminds me, her smile widening like an alligator.
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” I mutter under my breath as I exit.
That trip got me precisely nowhere. Worse than nowhere. Now I'm under the watchful gaze of Dean Crankshawe, a spotlight I absolutely do not need.
The secrets of Validus Vale were not going to be sprung from the new dean, including why she had Theo's DNA results on her desk.