Chapter 7 #2
I only just survive Prophecy and Prediction 101, where I mostly practice staring into a tiny, rose quartz marble, trying and failing to envision my true love.
My classmates aren’t having any luck, either.
After we’ve all admitted this, Professor Almara gleefully tells us to put our marbles down and make note of the importance of a clear head before attempting any sort of prophecy.
The rest of class is spent reviewing the basics of meditation, followed by a few simple yoga poses.
“Do not come in here expecting to find answers if your mind has wandered,” she warns, and I feel a little better when I leave.
At least meditation is the same whether or not you’re magical.
The next day is much the same. I walk into Spell Casting I silently hopeful that I’ll get to practice setting fires (a sentence I never thought I’d utter) and instead spend the entire five-hour class squirming under Elarion’s glare as he drones on and on about safety measures.
“Do not practice outside this room,” he warns, his gaze resting on me, icy blue and irked. “I don’t want anyone burning down their dormitory or exhausting themselves.” He glares each and every one of us down. “Let’s start with the basics: safety.”
The guy next to me groans. He’s got dark, spiky hair, a crooked nose, and a decidedly round, human face.
I think his name is Jordan, but I could be wrong.
Role call was quick and perfunctory, nothing like what I’d experienced in college, where we spent the first block or two of each semester playing little introductory games, like there was some chance we’d see each other again next term.
“Yes, unfortunately we can’t have you summoning monsters or worse, going to the hospital,” sighed Elarion, dragging a ringed hand through his blond hair. Today, it’s in a loose braid that hangs nearly to his waist. “Entirely too much paperwork.”
I try not to stare.
I’ve had crushes on teachers and lecturers before. It always makes class ridiculously uncomfortable, especially in smaller, more, um, intimate classrooms.
Luckily, Elarion already thinks I’m an idiot, and he’s definitely at least half a century older than I am—full-blooded fae can live a really, really long time. Besides, he’s so stern he probably he won’t even notice me staring at him.
Braid swinging behind him, Elarion scrawls on the board. He wears a suit of some kind of fabric I don’t recognize. It’s probably fae, but it’s soft and flattering, if a little more human than I’d expected, with the cut of the waist.
I wish I had a better understanding of the fae. Is it rude to assume they’d dress more like characters from a fairytale, all flowing gowns and cloaks? Am I being closed-minded right now?
I think of Dr Ward, and realize I’m definitely being closed-minded. Fuck. OK. I’m really bad at this.
“The rules,” Elarion drones, turning to face us, “are as follows: Do not interact with anything you don’t understand.
Whether it’s summoning, cursing, or even basic spells, don’t attempt anything unless you are certain you know what you’re doing.
It should go without saying that magic isn’t safe, but every year, there’s some sort of…
.” He lets out a long-suffering sigh. “…incident. Do not be the cause of the incident. Trust me when I assure you it will be humiliating at best, fatal at worst. Do not tempt fate. No matter how seductive you think you are, you will not best her.” He shakes his head.
“For the purposes of this class, you are not allowed to attempt anything—and I do mean anything—outside of this room. If you are in this class, your grasp of magic is tenuous, perhaps even nonexistent. Do. Not. Tempt. Fate.”
He glowers at each and every one of us, like he thinks we’re going to run out of the room to start levitating our classmates and lighting fires.
Maybe he’s right. Maybe this is more common than I might expect.
“Now then.” He swishes to the other side of the board, gesturing with long, slim hands.
“The other rules. Do not attempt to brew potions, elixirs, draughts, serums, or tonics outside of this room. Do not, under any circumstances, ingest potions, elixirs, draughts, serums, or tonics without express permission. In general, you should never drink anything you didn’t brew yourself, but we can’t all be experts.
” He rubs his forehead. “Think of this classroom as a very deadly sort of bar. You don’t know if your drink is laced, and you don’t know if the bartender used Draino or vodka. It’s not a risk worth taking.”
A few uncomfortable laughs. I try to look appropriately sage, but when Elarion’s gaze lands on me, I get the uncomfortable impression that he knows I’ve got a bad habit of drinking whatever people hand me, no questions asked.
I’m insanely lucky I’ve never been drugged.
“Don’t. Drink. Things,” says Elarion sternly, like we’re a bunch of naughty children. Someone giggles nervously.
“And finally: Always follow instructions. Magic is dangerous. Magic is volatile. Not a single one of you is an experienced spell caster. You won’t be prepared for the effects, even if you think you are, and you won’t be able to fully control your power.
Some of you will be more powerful than others and will have to make adjustments accordingly. ”
As Elarion speaks, he makes unmistakable eye contact with me. I want to sink into my seat, but I’m afraid to draw more attention to myself.
“You’re powerful?” Jordan side-eyes me.
I give a shrug that I hope is humble and nonchalant. My gaze doesn’t leave my notebook.
“Wow, powerful and smug,” Jordan grumbles, displeased.
Fuck. Even though I’m pretty sure this is an exaggeration on Elarion’s part, I’m afraid to say anything. “I don’t know,” I mumble.
Elarion’s gaze snaps to us, and I freeze. He watches us a long moment, calculating a retort. “Don’t interrupt,” he sighs at last, scowling.
At my side, Jordan crosses his arms, rolls his eyes.
After this introduction, Elarion passes out plastic cups and one biodegradable water bottle per two people. Jordan and I are forced to share a bottle.
“Fill your cups to the three-quarter mark,” Elarion instructs.
I examine the plastic and can’t find a mark. Jordan uncaps the water bottle and starts pouring, estimating the amount. A quick glance around reveals others are doing the same, so I dump the rest of the water into my cup and wait for further instruction.
“Now,” says Elarion, clasping his hands together in front of him. “I want you to close your eyes. Focus on the cup in front of you. Imagine a single droplet forming at the surface, breaking the tension, becoming a proper bead, slowly rising above the rim of the cup.”
I look around, quickly realizing that I’m one of the few students who didn’t immediately obey instructions.
Shit. I’m used to human teachers walking us slowly through tasks, like they’re afraid we’ll light ourselves on fire with only a cup of water.
(I am nothing if not a product of the American public school system.)
Closing my eyes, I envision a bead of water.
“Hold a little longer,” says Elarion, his deep voice calm and soothing. Instead of focusing on the water droplet, I wonder if he’s ever narrated an audiobook or a guided meditation. That might be a more fulfilling career for someone who obviously hates teaching. “And open your eyes.”
I open my eyes to find absolutely nothing. When I glance to my right, I discover that somehow, infuriatingly, Jordan has a perfect, tiny ball of water hovering just over the rim of his cup.
Fuck. I hoped water might enhance my abilities, but I’ve just completely failed at this.
Furious, I close my eyes, force myself to focus. Elarion is saying something, but the pounding of my heart drowns him out. I try to picture a bead of water, but there’s nothing. The weak grasp I’d had on the fire in the testing room is long gone.
We try other things. A droplet of water climbs up the inside of the plastic cup, then crawls over the rim, traveling slowly down the outside. I manage to force a drop of water up the inside, but then it falls back down, landing with a plop.
My classmates create and levitate two drops of water, then three. I manage only a single droplet that hovers a mere millimeter over the surface before plopping back down.
By the end of class, I’m bordering on furious. I was never allowed to set foot in a swimming pool because why? If Mom thought water magnified my abilities, she was dead wrong.
Or maybe I don’t have any abilities in the first place.
No matter what Elarion thinks, I’m not skilled at all.
I can’t conjure a tiny tidal wave. Can’t spill water over the edge of the cup using only my thoughts.
Even when we try using hand motions, I barely manage a ripple and that honestly might be the result of the airflow from my quick movement, no magic involved at all.
Jordan, to his credit, keeps his mouth shut while I flounder. He offers no sympathy, but at least he doesn’t laugh at me. Especially after Elarion implied that I was powerful.
“Maybe you’re just frustrated,” suggests Jane over dinner.
I poke sadly at my baked fish and rice. “Maybe.”
“I mean, it’s not like you’ve used magic before,” she reminds me. “And mental hangups will block even experienced magic users.”
“I guess,” I say, pushing rice with my fork. “I just… I thought water was the key.”
“The key to what?” she asks, shooting me a confused look.
I shrug. “Isn’t fae magic elemental?”
The laugh she lets out is nothing short of incredulous. “What?”
I take a bite of fish. It’s flaky, perfectly seasoned, but it turns to ash in my mouth. “Oh. I just… assumed my magic was tied to water.”
Something strange and dark falls across her face. She sits up a little straighter, glances around. “What are you talking about?”
“I just… I wasn’t allowed near water as a kid,” I explain, face growing hot. “Or ever. I kinda assumed my magic was connected to it and my mom didn’t wanna deal with it.”