CHAPTER 8
By the time the Mentor Ceremony was over, it was lunch period.
Thorne didn’t return to the assembly, but I had enough to worry about without fretting over where my mentor was.
Mentor.
How had Thorne become my mentor?
It was all anyone talked about the entire lunch period.
Not about their new class schedules or even their own pairings.
Mine was the most advantageous pairing of them all, and everyone felt it was unfair.
Alma cast more than one perturbed look at me, but Blaze looked downright murderous as he stabbed the food on his tray, seeming for all the world like he wanted to stab me with that fork.
Since I’d needed to wash the dried blood off my hand before eating—most of it being Thorne’s—I’d once again had to settle for the last few scraps of food. What I managed to snag didn’t even come close to filling the gnawing hole in my stomach, but it was better than nothing.
When the Arcane Three didn’t show for lunch, I knew without a doubt that it was because of me. Were they already concocting a plan to get rid of me? Thorne might not be able to kill me, but nothing about our pactum said that his friends couldn’t.
Then again, all Thorne had to do was spill my secret, and our pactum would be null and void in an instant. Because I’d be dead. Executed.
But lunch period came and went, and there was still no sign of him.
Choosing to believe that no news was good news, I left the dining hall as soon as I was done eating, relieved that no one had tried to confront me this time.
My first class was across campus in a building that sported a massive indoor arena for demonstrations.
To say I was nervous about this class was an understatement.
I’d have to publicly reveal my magic eventually, but I’d somehow deluded myself into thinking I could get away with only using simple magic.
Wielding simple magic in an elite Conjuring class?
That had failure written all over it.
If I didn’t put on a show of some sort, proving that I belonged here, then I was screwed.
When I arrived at the arena, a professor was directing the first years into groups. “Name?” he asked a black-haired warlock with deep olive skin, and I remembered he’d been paired with Oz Parrish.
“Damien Lombardi.”
The professor consulted his clipboard before pointing to a spot behind him. “Fire Elementals are over there.”
Following the direction of his finger, I saw an orange banner on the wall with a ball of flame etched onto it.
When I realized we were being grouped by magical affinity, some of my nervousness turned into tentative hope.
Besides my own family, I’d never socialized with other Darkens before.
Maybe our common ground would spark a truce of some kind, or at least a semblance of understanding.
Darkens were often looked upon with fear and suspicion, even inside our own community.
Not because our magic was inherently evil, but because it was the most unpredictable—and dangerous if not properly harnessed.
If anyone here could understand the magic coiled within me like a deadly snake, it would be my fellow Darkens.
When it was my turn to be grouped, the professor’s stoic expression pinched, making his sharp features appear even sharper. Around thirty years old, the sandy-haired warlock wasn’t overly tall or broad, but his dark brown eyes promised a world of hurt if I dared step out of line.
“Darkens over there,” he said in a clipped tone, jerking his pointy chin to my left—and effectively dismissing me. “Next.”
Not surprised by his reaction to me, I moved past him without comment, heading toward the dark purple banner with twisting black shadows on it.
The students seemed to be avoiding the arena’s open center, so I did the same, navigating the stone path around its circumference.
Tiered amphitheatre-style seats circled the perimeter, giving the observers an unobstructed view of the flat circular center.
A large five-pointed pentacle was engraved in the stone floor, reminding me of my necklace safely tucked beneath my crisp white shirt, the tiny heartstone pressed against my sternum. It had kept me safe so far, albeit a little worse for wear. At least I’d survived the first day.
Columns lined the stone walls, punctuated by iron sconces that held actual fire.
The flickering flames weren’t the only source of light in the vast space, though.
A giant dome rose above the arena, curved metalwork holding it aloft.
But instead of glass panes keeping the outside elements from intruding, there was nothing.
Looking up, I could tell right away that it was raining outside, the sky dull and covered in dark clouds.
But not even a single drop of rain fell into the arena, making me aware that an invisible magic shield covered the dome.
Clever, especially for demonstrations.
As I approached the few Darkens already in the room, I tried my best to appear friendly, even managing a small smile despite my nerves. One of them noticed me and immediately gave me a cold look.
“It’s her,” she muttered to the other Darkens, who turned and also gave me cold stares.
The smile on my face faded.
All but the first one looked away again, dismissing me without a second glance. I tried to shrug off their reaction. After all, I didn’t even know them. But I couldn’t help feeling a little hurt that they’d cast aside one of their own so readily.
I was about to move around the group and take a seat when a sudden bout of stubbornness gripped me. Tossing aside my pride, I stopped in front of the girl and thrust out my hand. “Hi, I’m Winter.”
Her eyes rounded in horror, and she glanced down at my hand as if it was about to bite her.
She wasn’t the only one caught off guard by the unexpected move.
The other Darkens whirled around again to gawk at me, equally horrified by what I’d just done.
Although my back was to the rest of the room, I was more than aware of how quiet it had suddenly become. Even the professor had stopped talking.
Great. I’d really put my foot in it this time. Or hand.
Despite how uncomfortable the moment had become, I kept my hand outstretched. Whether the girl accepted it or not, I wouldn’t be the first to look away.
A lengthy moment passed before the Darken witch managed to school her expression and evenly reply, “I know who you are, Mayweather. We all do. But that doesn’t mean you’re one of us.
Your family gave witches a bad name, especially Darkens.
Look around. How many Darkens do you see here compared to the other subsects?
We were persecuted too after what your family did, judged for crimes we didn’t commit.
Allowing you to poison our ranks would be the end of us.
We would fade into oblivion like the Syphons, becoming myth rather than legend. I, for one, won’t let that happen.”
“Me neither,” another Darken said.
“Nor I,” said the third.
As one, they turned their backs on me, leaving me with my hand still hovering midair. When I felt it start to shake, I quickly lowered it to my side and did what I should have done, moving past the group to take a seat by myself.
Wow. That interaction had been much more painful than I’d anticipated. And humbling.
I knew the community blamed my family for a lot of things. Our name alone had taken on the role of bad luck. Hard year at work? Blame the Mayweathers. Going through a divorce? Blame the Mayweathers. Death in the family? Blame the Mayweathers.
But this was the first time I actually felt responsible for a complete stranger’s misfortune.
If I pestered the other Darkens into allying with me, it would only hurt their chances of making it to graduation.
I might not know them personally, but they’d obviously been through a lot to get here.
It would seem that I wasn’t the only underdog at this school.
Busy ruminating on that surprising revelation, I almost missed the two familiar figures entering the arena.
Oh, great. Mayweathers really were bad luck.
None other than Alma and Blaze strode into my Conjuring class, greeting several of the other students as they did.
Alma, of course, went to stand with the other Water Elementals under the dark blue banner sporting a cresting wave.
But Blaze veered away to join the Fire Elementals, something I should have guessed from the start.
Not all Fire Elementals were hotheads, but out of all the witch subsects, that one suited his personality most.
Plus, his name was Blaze.
Soon, around fifty students had entered the arena, seven or eight in each group—except for the Darkens, which only had four.
Each banner clearly represented a magical affinity.
The green one with a fully-bloomed tree was for Earth Elementals, of course, and the white one with swirling lines that represented wind was for Air Elementals.
The Oracle banner was a sparkly cerulean blue, a third eye staring out from its center, while a star and crescent moon on an electric blue banner was for the Cosmics.
The final banner was red with a symbol in the shape of an hourglass.
It represented the Syphons, even though not a single witch or warlock stood beneath it.
They’d all been wiped out a century ago, tied to a curse from one Syphon witch’s failings.
Although the curse had been broken a decade ago, the only living Syphon at that time wasn’t a part of our community.
Just like with my family, she’d been labeled an outcast, a disgrace to our entire kind.
I could only imagine that they’d chosen to display the Syphon banner more as a cautionary tale than anything else. Actions had consequences, ones that could affect generations to come. And if I didn’t heed that warning, I could very well cause Darkens to be wiped out next.