Chapter 35
Thirty-Five
Elodie
If I could go through my school day as invisibly as I snuck out of my house this weekend, I would.
Every glimpse I get of my would-be matches on the green, in the halls, and across a classroom makes my skin tighten with apprehension and my palm peal with pain as if fate has decided to punish me for not embracing them already.
Fuck you, I think at fate in reply, and avoid the four men every other way I can.
Walk in the opposite direction. Claim a seat as distant as possible.
Don’t look at them, don’t give the slightest hint of acknowledgment. Definitely don’t talk to them.
Thankfully, I don’t have Divination class today, so it’s easy enough to avoid Cole. Asher’s never pushed himself on me anyway, and Salvatore seems happy to watch me from afar these days, at least unless I’m attacked by a Beacon Prep student or a void creature.
That shouldn’t be an issue here.
So the problem is mainly Byron. I feel his pensive gaze on me when he spots me at my locker from his own halfway down the hall. It follows me when I take my seat in Global Politics class and when I plant myself at the opposite end of the courtyard for our Bloom practicum.
His attention rattles my already scrambled thoughts. I keep my mouth shut and my head down, because if the professors call on me, I’ll probably claim that Margaret Thatcher is the current empress of Peru.
When my mind isn’t trying to play my hasty, heated collision with Byron at The Eclipse on repeat, it’s stewing over what I saw last night at the back of Groove Garden. That woman who works with Dad, conducting… meetings? Or something else, out of the second floor.
She didn’t do anything questionable. She just saw someone I assume is a client off and went back inside.
Maybe she has an office space up there, or an apartment—although it seems like an odd location to have been chosen by someone so polished and established they’re working with one of the lucent government’s top officials.
Maybe it’s a recreational thing, nothing related to work.
Maybe she’s the start of the thread, not the end.
Other Elodie could have decided to tail Ms. Lupul one day after the consultant met with Dad, for who knows what reason—she obviously had a lot of conflicted feelings about the lucent powers-that-be.
She might have followed her to the dance club, snapped those pictures, and then noticed Grady’s bunch going in.
Grady could have led her to The Eclipse. And someone else at The Eclipse brought her attention to Beacon Prep? Or is the Beacon Prep mystery totally separate from the rest?
And which one of those pieces has compelled someone to want to stab a knife into me?
The lack of equilibrium in my brain has apparently spread to my body, because when I go to stuff my Psychology & Influence textbook into my satchel at the end of the morning’s last class, I manage to knock the bag over. Lip gloss, pens, hair clips, and a mirror compact clatter across the floor.
While I bite back a curse and scoop it all back in, the rest of the class files out. So I have no one around me for cover when I hurry out the door—and find Byron waiting in the now otherwise empty stretch of hall.
His straight stance turns rigid at the sight of me. A ruddy undertone darkens his brown face.
He speaks low and quickly, sounding more scattered himself than I’ve ever heard him. “Elodie—I’m so sorry about yesterday. I had no idea you were upset. I thought—if I’d realized you weren’t into it—I shouldn’t have gotten so caught up—”
The warmth drains from my gut, leaving a sickly chill in its place. Does he think he assaulted me? Parvati help me.
I can’t imagine how horrified he must be, both morally and at the thought of the potential consequences for him and his family.
And I can’t even put his worries to rest. Because the pang of my guilt has my hand rising toward him of its own accord.
I can’t afford to comfort him. He doesn’t know it, but he’s better off without me.
I jerk my hand back to my side. “Byron. I’m fine. Forget it. And leave me alone.”
His eyes widen. “Elodie—”
“Leave it,” I snap, wincing inwardly, and barrel on past him to the shelter of the crowd.
It’s lunch hour now, so I make a beeline for my friends in the cafeteria. The four of them should serve as an effective shield against additional apologies and/or clarifications.
They all chatter around me as we move along the buffet offerings.
My stomach is too twisted up for me to force much food into it, so I grab myself a small plate of salad and a bowl of carrot soup, which seems like an appropriately Other Elodie-ish meal anyway.
I barely pay attention to what the others are talking about, just chuckling and nodding when it seems appropriate.
Not long after we’ve claimed a table under one of the beaming skylights, Cadance waves her fork at me. “I noticed Byron hanging back after psych class. Did he talk to you?”
Madison snickers. “He probably thinks he can intimidate Elle out of snatching back the top spot. The month’s almost over—time to reorder the ranks soon!”
Somehow I doubt my performance over the past couple of weeks is going to see me leaping over Byron on the list. The only class where I seem to have impressed the instructor at all is combat, and that’s only because Other Elodie appears to have been a bit of a wimp.
Frankly, I should probably tumble at least a few spots, considering how distracted I’ve been. And how pissed off one of my professors has gotten with me.
Although maybe after our last confrontation, Cole will be marking me up rather than down in the hopes that’ll keep my mouth shut about improper student-teacher relations.
I suspect all my other professors will be grading me much more generously than they would have in my own reality, making their excuses for me simply because I’m a Devine.
It’s all so fucking fake. So manufactured to keep the top people at the top and everyone else under their thumbs.
Even after we leave this school, regardless of marks, Other Elodie would have slid easily into whatever prestigious position got handed to her while Byron will have to keep busting his ass to prove he’s got twice the chops anyone else does.
Asher never hoped to accomplish more than if he’d gone to Beacon in the first place…
The words burst out of me before I realize what I’m going to say. “Don’t you ever get tired of it?”
My friends fall silent.
Mia’s forehead crinkles with confusion. “What do you mean, Elle?”
I’ve stuck my foot in it now. Might as well wiggle it around.
“Just…” I motion my hand vaguely in the air.
“The constant competition. The way we’re judged.
It feels like the academy is all about how good we can make ourselves look and whether we say things the professors want to hear.
Isn’t the point of magic supposed to be how we can use it to make a difference? ”
Cadance raises her eyebrows. “Wow. What did Byron say to you that’s gotten you all worked up?”
I can’t stop myself from glowering at her. I bet she likes that her family’s standing comes with so many inherent advantages. It’s not that she doesn’t know the playing field isn’t fair—she wouldn’t want it to be.
None of them would.
My voice comes out short. “He didn’t say anything. Is it really so bizarre that I’d want to do something useful with this power we have?”
Madison is staring at me like I’ve grown a second nose, but Stella clears her throat delicately and shoots me a quick smile.
“I think Elodie has a point. When we’re working in the community after graduation, what ranks we had here at the academy aren’t going to mean much.
Mistakes will have a real impact. How we can handle our magic should matter more than anything else. ”
Cadance huffs. “Easy to say when you’re already in the top five.”
Is it? Or is Stella only agreeing with me to see what other rebellious remarks I’ll say so she can hold them against me later?
I consider her, and she looks right back at me with her bright brown eyes. Her expression offers nothing but its usual cool composure.
I stab at a piece of cucumber on my plate. “Sometimes it all feels like a stupid game. But never mind. I’m obviously in a gloomy mood.”
Mia lets out an awkward giggle and pipes up about the Chelsea boots some fourteenth year was wearing that she’s now totally coveting. I gulp a bite of lettuce that scratches its way down my throat.
Would it be too much to ask for the poet Virgil to show up and guide me out of this hell?
I switch to my soup instead, stirring the thick liquid with my spoon and leaning over as I bring it to my lips. The creamy, sweet flavor washes over my tongue—and bristles into something sharper as I swallow.
Sharp… like ginger lemonade gone rancid.
The flavor jolts me through time and realities to those cramped spaces where I’d crouch, tilting a vial to my lips. To the searing burn that would crawl all through my body.
The taste bites deeper with a first jab of pain in my throat, and my pulse stutters. An icy wave of panic floods my veins.
I wrench myself around, double over, and shove my finger as far as it’ll go into the back of my mouth.
My gag reflex activates, and my stomach heaves the little bit of lunch I’ve eaten back up. I cough and sputter over the floor, chewed food and stomach acid souring my mouth.
Again. Again. Until I’m vomiting nothing but spittle.
My head spins. Claws rake through my abdomen.
I might not have been fast enough. I might not—
Uncle Nik said we used that one because it didn’t take much. Because it worked fast.
Raised voices warble all around me. Someone’s gripping my shoulder.
“Elle! Elle, can you talk to me?”
Salvatore’s baritone rumbles with an implied threat. “What happened to her?”
“What does it matter to you? Get out of here, Cosgrave.”
“Elodie? We’ll get the medical team. I’m sure—”
Some part of me wants to keep up the charade even as the toxin gnaws its way through my innards. My voice stumbles over my lips. “Fine. I’m f—fine. I—”
My muscles give. As I crumple from the chair, my mind goes blank.