Chapter 15
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
In the week and a half between finals and graduation, I fall into a steady routine.
I spend my days with the omegas, driving up there with Ian after leisurely coffees and breakfasts.
I finally get to ride in his sleek, low-slung black coupe—a more ostentatious car than I would have guessed for him.
And no doubt pricier. Saints, he must have been making good money as a professor.
Driving with him is also a revelation. Normally so controlled, he drives like it sets him free, taking the roads around Deer Island with a speed that should make me queasy with worry. Instead, all I feel is perfectly safe.
It’s also a nice break from driving everywhere with Marcus, something I desperately needed.
“Plans for the day?” I ask Ian, taking his hand between our seats.
“Third order sigils, if you can believe it,” he says wryly.
“Saints, already?”
“Already,” he confirms. “With as intensive instruction as I’ve been giving them and their determination, I’m not surprised, but I’m still amazed. They’re learning to cast quickly and well, too. If I was their professor, most would be getting top marks.”
I smile to myself. “You’ve done such an amazing job teaching them, Ian. They’re lucky to have you.”
“And I’m lucky to have you,” he says, raising my hand to his lips and kissing the back of it before returning his attention to the road as he takes a curve well above the marked speed limit.
As soon as I’ve left Ian to his students, Cora approaches me hesitantly. “Can you work on my magic with me today?”
“Absolutely,” I say with a grin. “I hope you’ve been studying.”
“Studying but not practicing. I’ve been afraid to practice alone after that first night,” she admits. “My magic was too… explosive.”
“You could practice with some of the other omegas,” I suggest. “I’m sure they’d be happy to work with you.”
“I don’t want to hurt them. All my magic has ever done is hurt people,” she says, her voice low and sullen.
“Oh, Cora,” I say, wishing I could take her hand or set a hand on her shoulder, but knowing better. Even if she didn’t zap me, I’m sure the touch wouldn’t be welcome.
“I’m afraid of it,” she says softly. “My magic, that is. I always have been, ever since I got it early. It’s always been harmful, not helpful. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to use magic like you do. What if I keep hurting people?”
“You can control it,” I promise her. “I know you can. Let’s go get started, shall we?”
We head to the room where Ian’s safety chamber still stands. Cora eyes it with apprehension, but steps inside gingerly once I give her a nod.
“Were you ever assessed to see your magic levels?”
She shakes her head. “I was already on the street by then. I didn’t see the point and couldn’t afford it, anyway. Why?”
I worry my lower lip between my teeth. “My theory is that you have a lot of raw power, like me. It can be hard to control. This time, focus on drawing up the thinnest thread of your magic possible. Barely a speck.”
She eyes me doubtfully, but nods, and then centers herself, drawing in a deep breath. Magic flares from the tip of her scribe, less explosive than in our previous practice session.
“Again,” I encourage.
She tries again, and again, until she finally lights just the tip of her scribe.
I beam at her. “Perfect. Keep practicing doing just that. You can always come into this room and work alone. You’ll be safe in the safety chamber. As will anyone else in the room if you decide to work with the others.”
“Still not sure about that but thank you for helping me.”
“We’ll start casting real spells next time, so keep studying. Use your flashcards.”
She rolls her eyes at that, and I can’t help but grin.
Though my days are full, I feel a freedom I haven’t since Yule break, when all that mattered was my pack.
I remember those days fondly, days spent reading on the couch, curled up in my nest with my pack, drinking coffee and sampling candies with Simon.
And if not for the shadow of Baphomet’s Prince and his army of Soldiers hanging over us, our lives could always be like that.
Easy. Loving. But that shadow does loom, so I try to make the most of the time as I can.
I finally get to find out where my visions with Luca were taking me when he shows up in my nest with my motorcycle helmet under one arm. I let out a squeal of delight and launch myself into his arms, laughing, needing this adventure with my mate more than anything.
We whip up the long roads curving around the coast and up to the All Saints’ Pier Market so fast and so free, it feels like we’re flying.
I hold tight to my alpha, his wine-and-cherries scent and the smell of his leather jacket in my nose, feeling like the whole of the world is so far away, that there’s only us, snaking up the two-lane highway north.
We park in a gravel lot near All Saints’ Pier, Marcus slipping in beside us, guarding me as always, protecting me regardless of the space between us.
Luca grabs my hand, kisses it, and then guides me up to the All Saints’ Pier Market.
The farmers’ and artisan market hosted every Saturday at the pier is full of colorful stalls, wind chimes tinkling in the wind, and suncatchers snagging the summer sun, their colorful lights dancing around.
We stroll through it, hand in hand, stopping at every stall.
We load my backpack up with fresh local honey and summer-fresh strawberries, with a beautiful carved wooden bowl, and a beaded wall hanging for my nest.
We hop back on his bike, just as the sun begins to set, and I know my vision paled in comparison to the feeling of sunshine on my skin, the alpha I love at my side.
“Now, flip!” Cassian instructs, passing me the spatula.
We’re on my sixth batch of French toast, and I’m determined for this one to turn out, if not perfect, then at least edible. I quickly flip the pieces of toast in the skillet, finding them to be perfectly golden brown.
I let out a squeak of surprise. “Saints, I did it!”
Cassian has had the hardest job of our break between finals and graduation. He’s been teaching me to cook during the mornings we’ve lingered at home, and while I’ll never match his skills, I’m pretty damn proud that I’ve mastered French toast.
When I take the slices from the skillet and plate them up with homemade whipped cream, maple syrup, and a few of the strawberries from the farmers’ market, artfully sliced into roses—which I’m not too proud to admit was completely Cassian’s doing. I nearly sliced my finger open attempting the same.
I present the plates to Simon and Luca, and they look up at me dubiously.
“Oh, come on,” I protest, ready to stamp my foot. “I’ve been practicing! There aren’t even any eggshells in this batch.”
“An improvement,” Simon says with a wry smile.
Saints bless them, they’ve tried every single burned, mushy, too-eggy batch, all with smiles on their faces as they choked down my disasters.
“This one’s good. I promise,” I plead with them, passing them forks.
Luca is the first to dig in, and when he takes his first bite, he lights up and nudges Simon with his elbow. “You’ve got to try this, man. She really did it.”
After they’ve both cleaned their plates, they pass me between them for sweet syrupy kisses, and if that’s not the best reward for a job well done, I don’t know what is.
“Is the goop… goopy enough?” I ask Simon, looking over his shoulder at a bowl of face mask.
“Trust me on this one. I’ve done tons of spa days with Ellie to cheer her up. The goop is perfect.”
Now it’s my turn to look at him dubiously. The goop in question is an unappealing grayish color, and I can’t imagine having it on my face.
But Simon lies me down and puts my head in his lap, gently massaging my temples and scalp and then combing his fingers through my hair.
Saints, it feels amazing. I could get used to this.
After pulling my hair back from my face, he applies goopy stroke after stroke to my face, gently rubbing it into my skin. It does feel good, cool and thick.
“I’ve ever done this part for Ellie. Normally she applies it herself. Am I doing it right?”
I’ve only had spa days at the highest end spas in New York and London, so I honestly have no idea what it’s like to not be worked on by multiple aestheticians at once, but it feels great. I hum my agreement. “It’s perfect.”
When he’s done applying my mask, we switch places and I gently massage his scalp, too, earning me a moan of utter contentment. “Good to know,” I say with a mischievous grin, the mask pulling at my skin when I smile.
After I’ve carefully applied the mask to his freckled face, he sighs, staying in my lap. I card through his rust-red curls, happy to have this time with him. I’m even happier when the mask comes off and we exchange goop-free kisses. That may very well be my favorite part of the day.
I’m lounging against Ian, the both of us reading when Simon mutters, “By the saints. It can’t be…”
He quickly gathers my pack and Marcus. “There’s something you all need to see,” he mutters, waving his phone. “We just got a school-wide email from the headmaster, and it’s… it’s straight bullshit.”
I assume the worst, that Fairhaven Academy has finally bowed to the Council’s decree about banning omegas from higher education, but as Simon reads on, I’m filled with rage, not forlorn fear.
“I’m pleased to announce,” Simon reads, “that we’ll have a guest professor in the upcoming fall term.
Pharmaceutical CEO Redwood Rose of Rose Pharmaceuticals has graciously offered to teach a course on the intersection of magic and science in the healing arts.
This course will be open to all students; however, all omega students will be required to take it as part of their Restorative Magic requirements. ”
Simon tosses his phone onto the couch cushions. “Does no one realize what a terrible man your father is, Junes?”
“He’s careful,” I say, my voice hoarse. “To most, he’s the affable CEO of a company that’s done a lot of good in the world. No one knows about his… other work. Besides, he’s on the academy’s board. I’m sure they’d give him anything he wants.”
His facade is a lie, just as it always has been. No loving father or responsible pharmaceutical leader would dare do the things he’s done to me. The things he’s no doubt doing to other omegas this very minute. Experimenting again.
It’s no wonder he lost his license to practice medicine, a fact swept under the rug when he took on the mantle of CEO after his own father stepped down.
“There’s more to this,” Ian says, drumming his fingers on my knee. “Your father is up to something, and I don’t like it.”
“I don’t like it either,” Luca growls. “Whatever he’s up to, it can’t be good.”
“He’ll be going after Juniper. You saw what he did at the Lunar Ball,” Cassian says, his voice hard. He takes my hand and squeezes it. “Whatever he’s up to teaching this bogus class, we’ll protect you, love. I promise.”
If only that could be enough against my scheming villain of a father.