11. Chapter 10
It was a cruel joke that his Arcane History class was at eight in the morning.
Course selections were slim by the time he received his assignment from his father, and it was the only time available for the required class.
He rolled out of bed with twenty minutes to spare and quickly got ready.
He even put a bit of product in his hair to control the mess of curls on his head so they wouldn’t tangle too badly.
When he came out of the bathroom, his roommate, Callum McEvers, was pulling a protein shake from the fridge, wearing gym clothes.
He was a couple of inches shorter than Ezra, with shoulder-length blond hair and biceps likely capable of crushing a watermelon.
Callum seemed like a nice guy, but couldn’t be trusted should he be a spy for Ezra’s father.
He doubted the grunts hired from the Harvesters—a group of mercs who primarily siphoned magic from others to sell on the black market—would blend in easily with graduate students. But better to be safe than sorry.
“Hey man,” Callum said before chugging his shake, and his gold signet ring shone in the light from the refrigerator he’d left open. “Goin’ to class?”
“Yeah,” Ezra said, reaching into the near-empty freezer to grab a frozen waffle before making his way toward the door. “History.”
Callum groaned with disgust. “Good luck, dude.”
He’d need it to stay awake. Once he stepped outside of the bare-bones apartment, he ran through the rest of campus until he reached the lecture room in Galraine Hall.
He made it to the room with one minute to spare, though that didn’t stop most of the other students already seated from turning around and staring at him as he entered.
Luckily for him, one seat was still open.
And of course, it was next to the redhead who hated him.
His magic lurched forward in his chest as their stares connected, as if it couldn’t stand to be away from hers any longer.
There was only one other person his magic was lured to.
He never questioned it. He thought it was always in his head.
But with her…was that why they ran into each other at the station? And in the hedge maze?
His curiosity gnawed at him. But it didn’t matter.
He couldn’t give in to the temptation of trying to get close to her.
He wasn’t sure who was watching him or where.
If he allowed himself to get distracted, or let another person get too close, they would get caught in the crossfire.
He was already responsible for several lives ruined, and by the end of the year, there would be more.
He didn’t want to hurt anyone he didn’t have to.
He took the open seat next to her, and the heat from her glare could’ve scorched his skin if there was any actual power behind it.
He pulled out his supplies for class, doing his best to ignore her presence.
Except in his periphery, he could see her roll her eyes and grip her pencil tightly. Then—crack—the pencil snapped in two.
“Careful there, Snapdragon. Your rage will burn the classroom down,” he muttered before biting the inside of his cheek. Why must he always be a smart-ass?
She rustled around in her bag loudly. “That’s not my name.”
“It isn’t?” He tilted his head to study her, and he couldn’t stop the grin from coming to his face, even if he tried.
Her full lips were in a sharp line, and a crease between her brows highlighted her anger, and a light shade of pink spread across her freckle-dusted cheeks.
He really needed to tear himself away from her before he became too lost in her autumn eyes.
“No, it’s not,” she said defiantly as she pulled out a new pencil.
“Hmm, my mistake.” He shrugged. “It looked like you were about to spit fire at any second.”
But before she could argue further, the professor shuffled down the short aisle between the rows of desks.
He turned away from her and for once was happy to see a man dressed head to toe in tweed.
He ran a hand over his balding head as he dropped the giant pile of papers on his desk at the front of the classroom.
“Good morning, good morning, everyone,” he called out, shrugging off his coat and hanging it on the back of the chair. “I’m Professor Murray, and welcome to your first Arcane History class. While we’ll discuss past events, we will also discuss those happening today. Can anyone guess why?”
A few hands rose in the air, including the spitfire sitting next to him.
“Ah yes, you there,” the professor said, pushing his small glasses up his large, sunburnt nose as he pointed directly at her. “Your name, dear?”
She dropped her hand, and Ezra smirked as her lips pursed. He could guess exactly what was going on in her head.
“Ivy,” she said, peering over at him as if to check that he was listening.
He bit his tongue to keep his comment to himself, but committed her name to memory in case there was a need to use it. But her nickname would be enough for now.
She returned her focus to the front of the room. “Is it because our history is directly linked to what is happening today?”
Murray nodded. “That’s certainly one reason.
You’ll all find history repeats itself in one way or another.
But another reason is today’s events become tomorrow’s history, and I, among other historians, believe it to be of the utmost importance that they’re recorded and preserved as accurately as possible.
” The professor riffled through the stack of papers on his desk and began passing out the syllabus.
She stared at him expectantly, as if she were waiting for him to make some comment. Instead, he flipped open his notebook and wrote the date at the top of the page. When he continued his silence, she turned away and flipped open her notebook.
The professor handed them both the syllabus, which was four pages back-to-back with a summary of the course, grading system, assignments, and penalties.
As Murray went through it—in excruciating detail, of course—Ezra could barely stay awake.
He’d glance at Ivy every so often as she wrote notes about class expectations and what would be on exams.
She, on the other hand, didn’t look at him again.
When the class ended, he quickly packed his things.
He had another class shortly after this one in Harrow Hall, over in the School of Constructs.
His magic protested, as if it wanted him to stay in his seat next to her, but he kept going.
Whatever it was, he had to ignore it. He couldn’t afford to get distracted.
By the time he’d left Galraine, his magic had calmed enough that it faded into the background.
The sensation was there if he focused on it, but…
it was pulling him in different directions.
He shook his head, as if he could get rid of it that way, as he stopped by his apartment in Embry first to switch out his textbooks.
When he got inside, two folded slips of paper were on the floor—one with Callum’s name scrawled on it and the other with his.
He picked them up, placing his roommate’s on the kitchen counter before opening his own.
Ezra Thaler,
Your assessment will take place at 1:15pm this Friday, September 5th. Please be at the exam hall no later than 1pm.
Good Luck,
Arcania Academy Faculty
He sighed, tossing the page onto the counter.
So it would begin in only three days. Given that the dean herself said people frequently go missing in the exam hall, he suspected those would be the people his father would take.
Though there were likely multiple avenues for selecting the victims. His father always touted the importance of keeping options open.
When he asked his father for details on what to watch for while he was here, he was only told that those targeted would have something—a symbol or bolded letters—to indicate which posters to erase.
Of course, his father wouldn’t elaborate on why this was being done.
And all he got from Declan was that there was something powerful here at the school.
As long as he got his freedom in the end, he didn’t care why.
He’d do his father’s bidding one last time for a chance of never seeing him again.
He switched out his books, slung his bag over his shoulder, and left the apartment.
As he made his way to Harrow, he glanced around at the students passing him.
Out of them, who could be spying for his family?
How many were there? Were they watching him everywhere, or only when he was expected to cover up the disappearances?
So far, everyone he passed paid him no mind.
They were going to their classes, staring at the maps as they walked or chatting with a friend.
He turned toward Constructs and beyond the end of the path was the forest. Shadow cloaked the tree trunks and roots in an inscrutable darkness.
Something was familiar about it. He wanted to sink into it and let it curl around him.
A chill coursed through his body, like darkness itself reached out and caressed his skin.
His breath hitched in his throat as he squinted to inspect the spot closer.
The sun flickered between the leaves, casting a fraction of light against the dark.
Beneath its rays was a sliver of pale blond hair and eyes dark as night.
He’d know them anywhere, despite it having been years since he last saw them. His heart slowed, his chest tightened.
“It can’t be,” he whispered, stepping closer.
But the eyes in the woods disappeared just as quickly as he had seen them, and the shadow retreated.