51. Chapter 50 #2
“Good afternoon, class,” he greeted plainly, his voice at a low, level pitch.
Small, round wire glasses sat at the end of his equally thin nose, and his gray hair was just a shade darker than his waxen skin.
“Welcome to your first lecture on Deadly Flora. I am Professor Walsh.” He opened his briefcase on his desk, pulled out a stack of papers, and handed them to Silas, who began passing them out to the students.
“I will not bother discussing the syllabus as I assume you are all capable of reading, considering you were accepted into this academy.” He grabbed a piece of chalk and wrote the subject in all capital letters.
“Instead, we will begin by discussing nightshades. Please turn to chapter three in your textbooks.”
Ivy pulled the book in front of her. The cover was in rough shape, its edges dinged and frayed from use by other students who had borrowed the text from the school’s class libraries, and flipped to the correct page. The photo above the chapter heading was of a beautiful, unsuspecting purple flower.
“We’ll start first with maelectum solanaceae.
” He wrote out the words on the board, underlining them each before turning back to face the class.
“A form of deadly nightshade found only within arcane borders, as it cannot survive without the magical barrier we use to keep ourselves hidden from the mundane world. Can anyone tell me why that would be?”
Ivy waited for anyone else to answer. When the class remained silent, Walsh rose a single brow with disappointment. Before he could give the answer, she raised her hand.
He pointed to her. “Yes? And state your name for the class, if you would.”
“Ivy Heartwell,” she said, lowering her hand.
Ice pricked along her neck and her attention flicked to Silas for a moment, who was watching her curiously from the corner of the room, before returning to the professor.
“And based on some other native arcanial flora, the roots reach far into the earth to seek the earth’s well of magical energy.
With the corruption from the Nether, it’s impossible to reach when there is no other strong, constant magic near it. ”
“Mostly correct, Ms. Heartwell.” He nodded, moving around to the front of his desk.
He splayed his bony fingers against the surface as he leaned.
“While that happens with most, maelectum solanaceae—or grimshade, as folks like to call it—adapted to the corruption. It still seeks the purity of the well beneath it.”
“Due to this, it has become one of the most lethal forms of nightshade. So much so that when in full bloom, it cannot be harvested with bare hands. Otherwise, you may just wake up without a limb. When ingested, the smallest amount will paralyze you in under ten minutes and lock your body in that state for hours. Professor Thorne is brave enough to have a singular one of these plants in her greenhouse, which she provides for our necromancy students for their studies. Perhaps one day, when it is not in bloom, she will bring it to our class.”
Ivy continued writing her notes as he spoke, but she paused at his mention of paralysis.
Maeve mentioned there must be something incapacitating the victims somehow.
Maybe the Illusionists were stealing ingredients and brewing them in Abbott’s lab during the open hours she hosted.
Would she even suspect it, given how many students utilize them?
Initially, she thought the woman on Halloween had had too much to drink at the party, with the way she was acting.
Maybe it wasn’t the amount. But what was in it.
As soon as her class ended, she left, made her way to Galraine Hall, and searched the cabinets like mad until she found the picture she remembered.
There he stood, straight-faced at the end of the group.
He still wore all black, but the other students were not.
Perhaps this wasn’t another picture of the Illusionists? She had no idea.
A soft ribbon curled around her magic, warming her body. Ezra. She turned as he stepped through the front doors, wearing the sweater she had made him, at the end of the hall, and he smiled when he found her. Though as he got closer, she noticed it barely reached his eyes.
“Hey, I was going to meet you at Desmorium, but I felt you in here.” He paused, his brows knitting together as he studied her. “What’s wrong?”
“I have something to tell you.”
His jaw clenched, and he nodded once before taking hold of her hand and leading her out of Galraine and back to her apartment.
Once the door was shut, she let it all out.
How she found pictures in the attic back home, the birth certificate, the photos at Arcania, and how Silas said they were of the Illusionists.
Ezra’s head fell back against the couch, one hand running over his curls. “Why didn’t you tell me about this over winter break?”
“Well, until this morning, I thought it was irrelevant an—”
“Nothing about you is irrelevant to me, Ivy,” he said, pulling his head back up to stare directly into her eyes. “Everything about you is important to me. You are important to me, okay?”
“Oh.” She knew Ezra cared about her. But everything?
“Silas was right about one thing.” He pushed himself off the couch, stepping in close to her.
He cupped her cheek with his hand, using his thumb to tilt her chin so her eyes would meet his.
“I am protective of you, Ivy. I’ll do anything to keep you away from them.
And if they take you, I’ll do whatever it takes to get you back.
So don’t ask him to bring you there like some… sacrifice.”
Her heart ached in her chest as she slid her hands to his stomach, latching onto the sweater. She wished she didn’t have to consider that as an option. “I’m not s—”
“We will find another way,” he reaffirmed.
“And if there isn’t one?” The question hung heavy between them, almost as if they were certain it would come to that.
His eyes turned glassy as tears filled them, and he shook his head. “Then I’ll fight to get you back. Maeve’s vision will not come true because I will not let you die.”
She wished she could believe him. But every time Maeve saw it, it always ended with her lying in a pool of blood. She would die. It was only a matter of when.