Chapter 12
Archer
“Concentrate, Mr. Quinn,” Professor Blackwood said, her and the rest of the class standing outside of the summoning circle. “Complete your circle and speak the incantation to summon your air elemental.”
I nodded, trying to push down the sudden spike of anxiety of performing in front of the entire class.
Instead, I focused on the familiar weight of magical energy thrummed through my veins as I raised my hands.
I began the precise gestures I’d practiced hundreds of times in preparation for this moment.
The spell wasn’t difficult. I knew I could do it.
But as I started to trace the glowing symbols in the air, I caught movement in my peripheral vision. My concentration wavered for just a split second as I turned to see a figure approaching our outdoor classroom space.
It was my father.
He stood at the edge of the practice area in his perfectly tailored suit, arms crossed, watching me with those cold blue eyes that matched my own. But what was he doing here? Had he known about today’s exam?
The magical energy in my hands flickered as panic shot through my system. Had he found out about Valen? About what I’d been doing? Had the Dean told him about my auditing the monster history class? Hell, maybe someone had been watching me in Pigeon Forge after all. Father had spies everywhere.
“Focus, Mr. Quinn,” Professor Blackwood said again, though I could hear the note of concern creeping into her voice.
I forced myself to look away from my father and concentrate on the summoning circle beneath my feet. The intricate patterns carved into the stone seemed to blur as my hands shook slightly, the careful control I’d practiced was crumbling under my father’s unexpected presence.
The incantation felt clumsy on my tongue as I spoke the ancient words, my voice catching on syllables I’d pronounced perfectly just yesterday during my studies.
The air around me began to swirl, responding to my call, but something felt wrong.
The energy was erratic, unstable, feeding off my emotional turmoil rather than my focused intent.
“Archer,” Professor Blackwood warned, taking a step toward the circle.
But it was too late. The summoning circle flared with brilliant white light as the elemental materialized, but instead of the controlled manifestation I’d practiced, the air spirit erupted into existence with chaotic fury.
Wind whipped around the practice area, sending papers flying and forcing the other students to shield their faces.
The elemental towered above us, a writhing mass of condensed air and electricity that crackled with barely contained power. Its form shifted constantly, sometimes appearing almost human before dissolving back into pure wind and storm. And it was pissed.
“Everyone back!” Professor Blackwood shouted over the howling wind, her own magic flaring as she tried to contain the situation.
I stood frozen in the center of the chaos, watching my carefully planned demonstration turn into a complete disaster. The elemental’s attention fixed on me, recognizing me as its summoner, and I could feel its confusion and rage at being called forth by someone who couldn’t properly control it.
My father’s presence burned at the edge of my consciousness, and I knew without looking that he was watching every moment of my spectacular failure. This was exactly the kind of weakness he despised, the kind of emotional instability that he said, brought shame to the Quinn name.
The elemental surged toward me, and I threw up my hands instinctively, trying to reassert control over the summoning. But my magic was still too chaotic, too influenced by my panic, and instead of calming the spirit, I only made it more agitated.
“Dispel it!” someone shouted from the crowd of students. “Break the summoning!”
But I couldn’t. Every time I tried to focus on the dismissal incantation, my father’s cold stare cut through my concentration like a blade. All I could think about was Valen, about what my father would do if he knew, about how completely I’d fucked everything up in the span of thirty seconds.
The elemental’s winds grew stronger, and I heard Professor Blackwood beginning her own banishment ritual, her voice cutting through the chaos with practiced authority.
But even as she worked to contain my mistake, I could feel the weight of everyone’s stares, the whispered comments about how Archer Quinn had lost control like some first-year student.
And through it all, my father watched in silence, his expression unreadable but undoubtedly disappointed.
Only ten or fifteen seconds had passed before Professor Blackwood managed to banish the elemental, but it felt like an eternity.
The silence that followed felt deafening after the howling winds.
I stood there in the center of the now-quiet summoning circle, my chest heaving as I tried to catch my breath.
The magical energy still crackled faintly around my fingertips, but it felt weak and unstable, like the dying embers of a fire that had burned too hot too fast.
“Well done containing that, Professor Blackwood,” my father’s voice cut through the quiet, smooth and controlled as always.
He stepped forward, his polished shoes clicking against the stone as he approached the edge of the practice area.
“Though I have to say, I’m concerned about the...
quality of instruction my son is receiving. ”
Heat flooded my cheeks as every eye in the class turned toward us. Professor Blackwood’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly, but she maintained her professional composure.
“Mr. Quinn,” she said with a nod. “What brings you to campus today?”
“I thought I’d observe one of Archer’s practical examinations,” he replied, his gaze never leaving me. “I wanted to see how he was progressing in his studies. Imagine my surprise at witnessing such a dramatic failure of basic magical control.”
I wanted to disappear. To sink into the ground or spontaneously combust or anything that would get me away from the mixture of pity and secondhand embarrassment I could see on my classmates’ faces.
This was exactly what my father seemed to live for, public moments where he could demonstrate his disappointment in me while maintaining the facade of concerned parental involvement.
It was a skill he excelled at remarkably.
“Summoning magic can be unpredictable,” Professor Blackwood said diplomatically. “Even experienced practitioners occasionally struggle with—”
“Archer is not an inexperienced practitioner,” my father interrupted, finally stepping fully into the practice area. “He’s been training since childhood. This level of... instability... suggests deeper issues than simple inexperience.”
The way he said ‘instability’ made it sound like a moral failing rather than a momentary lapse in concentration. I clenched my fists at my sides, feeling the familiar cocktail of shame and rage that always accompanied my father’s public critiques.
“Perhaps,” he continued, circling the summoning circle like a predator stalking wounded prey, “Archer has been allowing himself to become distracted. Unfocused on what truly matters.”
My blood ran cold. There it was again. Had he somehow found out about Valen, about the history class, about what had happened in Pigeon Forge? Or was this just his usual technique of implying he knew more than he actually did to keep me off balance?
“I can assure you that Mr. Quinn has been performing admirably in my class,” Professor Blackwood said, and I felt a rush of gratitude toward her for defending me. “Today’s incident was likely just a momentary slip.”
“Was it?” My father’s blue eyes fixed on me with laser intensity. “Tell me, Archer. What exactly caused you to lose focus during such a simple demonstration?”
I opened my mouth, then closed it again.
What could I possibly say? That seeing him unexpectedly had sent me into a panic spiral because I was terrified he’d discovered that I’d hooked up with the vampire professor?
That I’d been so consumed with thoughts of said vampire that I could barely concentrate on my actual coursework?
“I...” I started, then stopped. The truth was impossible, but I couldn’t think of a lie that wouldn’t make things worse.
“I see.” My father’s expression grew even colder, if that was possible. “Perhaps we should discuss this privately. After you’ve dismissed your class, Professor Blackwood.”
It wasn’t a request.
Professor Blackwood looked between us, clearly uncomfortable with the situation but unable to refuse a direct request from someone of my father’s standing in the magical community.
“Of course,” she said finally. “Class, please review chapters twelve through fourteen for Thursday. We’ll continue with summoning practice then.”
The other students began gathering their things, shooting curious glances in our direction as they filed out of the practice area. I caught sight of a few sympathetic looks, but mostly they seemed eager to escape before they got caught in whatever family drama was about to unfold.
Within minutes, it was just the three of us standing in the afternoon sunlight. My father waited until the last student had disappeared around the corner of the building before speaking again.
“Archer has always been an exemplary student,” he said to Professor Blackwood, though his words felt more like an accusation than a compliment. “His magical control has never been in question. Which makes today’s performance all the more concerning.”
“Mr. Quinn,” Professor Blackwood began, but my father held up a hand to silence her.
“I’m not questioning your teaching methods, Professor.
I’m questioning what else my son might be spending his time on instead of focusing on his studies.
” His gaze shifted back to me, and I felt like an insect pinned to a board.
“Perhaps you could enlighten us, Archer. What’s changed this semester that didn’t affect you before? ”