Chapter 15
Fifteen
Colson
From the chatter and guffaws that bounce off the high ceiling, my students aren’t heartbroken over my disinterest. It’s difficult to tell whether they even notice.
They rarely do until the grade I give them could tip their future in one direction or another.
A smile I shouldn’t indulge tugs at my lips at the thought.
My flicker of good humor snuffs out an instant later with the arrival of a student who snags my attention despite my best intentions. I can’t stop myself from tracking Elodie Devine’s path across the classroom from the corner of my eye.
Something isn’t right about her this week. I’d swear it on my professorship.
It’s not the purple tint she’s added to her hair, although I wouldn’t have predicted she’d make that fashion choice either.
She’s dressed in the standard uniform, and she sits next to the same friends—for now, until I enjoy reshuffling the social order.
To a casual observer, her smile at whatever Cadance Hathaway said probably looks like the same coy curve of her lips as always.
The energy around her is different, though. Not in a way I can put my finger on, not with a clear picture drawn in the ephemera she carries, but a subtle shift that niggles at the edge of my awareness.
The way she sits, legs crossed beneath the desk, elbows resting on its top, head canted to one side—it doesn’t have quite the careless affectation of her peers, does it? The affectation she’s shared with them, as far as I can recall, for as long as I’ve been teaching here.
There’s a slight tension in her stance, an alertness to her small movements, as if she’s… wary? Determined?
About what?
It reminds me a little of Byron Worth, who’s currently a familiar imperious presence on the other side of the room. He always gives off a faint impression of frustration.
I’m never sure whether to appreciate that he seems to take his work more seriously than most of his classmates or be annoyed that his entitlement comes with a sharper edge. Even if he has to work a little harder to receive the same platter, he’s still getting his life handed to him on it.
He’ll never have to strive half as desperately for anything as the people who never set foot in Luminary Academy do.
But the heir to the Devine family has always given off carefree airs before. Where the hell did she get off challenging me when I called out her laziness last class?
I was ready for her to laugh it off as if my complaints weren’t worth her consideration. That’s what she’d normally have done.
Instead, the flash in her eyes jabbed right under my skin… and stirred an uncomfortable heat in places I’d rather not think about.
What the fuck is going on with her?
Why the fuck do I even care?
I shouldn’t, other than for the reason that I’m reminded of a moment later as the last students file in. Asher slips quietly to his spot in the back corner, out of the way like he prefers to be.
His attempt at flying under the radar doesn’t work as well as it usually does. Several glances dart his way, followed by a renewed flurry of gossipy murmurs.
My jaw sets on edge. Whatever attitude adjustment Elodie is undergoing, she should have thought twice before aiming it at my brother. Yelling at him like that in the middle of the hall, when even in my brief glimpse as I came around the corner, I could tell he was only trying to help her?
She’s painted a target on his back, as if the one already there as a Beacon Prep transfer student wasn’t big enough.
I restrain the urge to glare at her. If I turn the screws too blatantly, all I’ll get is a dressing-down by her father—and possibly her grandparents—in the headmaster’s office.
If she’s going to face real consequences, she has to be the instigator of the problem. I’ll need to catch her crossing a line no one can deny and then write her up for it.
I can’t make much of a difference to any of these spoiled heirs, but I can make them pay a little. Knock them a few steps down the rankings. Turn the gossip on her rather than my brother.
The class has quieted. They’re watching me—the chime just sounded—I’ve gotten distracted. Damn it.
She’s crept too much into my head, scattered my thoughts. I need to be at the top of my game this afternoon.
I already picked out an assignment for today that should cater to my goals just fine. Divide and conquer. It’ll get Asher away from prying gazes too.
I push my chair back with a deliberate squeak to bring any wayward eyes to me. Folding my arms over my chest, I contemplate the room without letting my gaze linger on any particular student. Especially not a particular student with purple hair and a suddenly guarded expression.
“As you’d better all know by now, the highest pinnacle of divinatory skill isn’t in reading what’s already existed but being able to extrapolate from the ephemera you sense into the future. The greatest diviners have been able to anticipate events as far as months in advance.”
I let my mouth curve into a smirk. “I wouldn’t expect those heights from any of you.
But it’s time you stretched your abilities in that area farther.
I want you to spend the next hour examining Luminary’s campus and evaluating ephemera until you’re ready to write down a prediction about something that will happen within the next few days.
The closer you are to correct, the better your grade.
But I’ll also award a higher grade for larger and more complex correct predictions than for simple ones. ”
Discontented mutterings pass between the desks. Byron Worth fixes his incisive gaze on me and raises his hand.
I restrain a sigh. “Yes, Mr. Worth?”
“Do you have any guidance about how to approach this assignment? Best strategies to follow?”
His tone is even, but I’m sure he’s perfectly aware that he’s implying I’m not doing my job.
I frown at him. “I believe we’ve covered approaches to predictive divination many times over the course of your studies here, Mr. Worth. If you’re unsure of yourself, perhaps you should review your notes.”
His face tightens as if he’s restrained a wince, but I feel no guilt.
They’ve got only a little more than a year left of their schooling. If they can’t think for themselves yet, they’re hopeless.
I direct the class toward the door with a shooing motion. “Get on with it. Your hour has already started. I’ll make my way around campus and check on your progress.”
And ignore their attempts at prodding easy answers out of me. Someone in this damned place needs to make them knuckle down.
The students get up, slinging their bags over their shoulders and tucking notebooks under their arms. I expect Elodie to stick close to her usual friends, but she lets Cadance and Madison Somerset pull ahead of her together.
She strolls out slowly with a contemplative air, as if she’s looking for possible prophecies even in this room.
The urge to crack open her head and find out what she’s thinking is doused with a stray remark from one of her straggling classmates to another. “Here’s a good prediction: the charity case gets expelled by the end of the week.”
He says it under his breath, but I get the impression he doesn’t care if I hear. Both of the boys sneer at Asher’s retreating back on the way out the door.
Of course they all assume Elodie’s outburst is my brother’s fault. Of course they don’t care if I know they think that.
No one’s ever wanted us to feel we belong here.
I didn’t fight tooth and nail to become so adept the administration would have been insane not to hire me, spend every spare minute learning the upper-class lingo and scraping together enough pennies to look the part, just to watch my efforts smashed by a coddled brat.
As soon as the last student has vacated the room, I reach into my briefcase for the small paper envelope that tucks so easily into the side. The leaf I pluck out dissolves on my tongue with a familiar bitter flavor.
Kavish isn’t illegal by any means, but most of the staff frown on the use of artificial stimulants.
I take all the advantages I can get. And right now, I need my focus honed to a razor’s edge.
If they knew every measure I’ve taken to get where I am, the kavish would provoke the least of their horror.
I stalk out of the classroom to find that a depressingly sizeable portion of my class hasn’t even made it out of the first hallway.
At least a dozen students are clustered in pairs or trios, examining the thick rug, the heavy mahogany doors to the nearest other classrooms, and the brass sconces hanging from the arched ceiling as if they think they’ll land on some useful prediction here.
Asher’s smart enough to have gotten some distance from the crowd. Elodie, her friends, and Byron have all moved on, so I suppose I can’t criticize them for a total lack of ambition.
Let’s see what else I can come up with.
I don’t neglect my other students in the meantime.
“No two predictions can be the same or you’ll both fail,” I inform a couple of girls who’re giving off a conspiratorial energy.
When one of the boys I know is already down in the bottom ten of the 15th year gives me a pleading glance, I offer the slightest bit of pity.
“You’ve got the whole campus to work with. Put in some effort.”
That scatters most of the students nearby. I prowl onward, watching for purple hair.
Something’s changed with Elodie Devine, and in a way that’s made her less relaxed, so probably not for the better. If I can figure out what that is, it might be all the advantage I need.
Where would she have gone?