I need to prepare for my lectures next week, and that botany grimoire I’m restoring is coming along at a snail’s pace. There’s plenty to keep me busy.
If only I’d stop thinking abouther.
My thoughts continue in this pattern all the way back to the academy—Maeve, classes, Maeve, errands, Maeve, hobbies—and by the time I change out of my tight slacks and vest and into a lightweight black tunic and cotton trousers, I’m fully frustrated.
Why can’t I control my thoughts anymore? My mind used to be under lock and key, with no thoughts getting in or out without my explicit permission. Now it’s as if I’ve lost total hold on myself and my mental state.
All because of that witch.
I grab the sheath holding my blade, then stalk out of my apartment and into the castle’s cool dark corridors. I’ll push myself hard tonight, until all I can think about is the blade as an extension of myself, as an expression of my breath.
These wild thoughts about my student need to stop. I mustn’t allow them to keep controlling me. Something must be done.
I climb the spiraling staircase up to the Skyreach Spire, reach for the door handle, and push the door open.
And like dark magic, there she is.
I can’t seem to escape her.
But she hasn’t noticed me yet—witches have far inferior hearing compared to vampires.
So I let the door close with a whisper, and I stand silently, watching as she spreads her arms and begins to gather energy from the air around her.
The magic causes the hair on my arms to lift, and a sense of dangerous tension crackles in the air as she draws the energy closer, compressing it until it forms a sphere of pure-white energy.
And suddenly, I recall that discussion we had on our first day of class.
When I let it move, she said,it stabilizes. Briefly. But long enough to prove it’s possible.
Isthiswhat she was talking about?
I know of the devastating power storm witches possess, but in my hundreds of years, I’ve never seen anything quite like this.
Maeve has her back to me, and the glow from the sphere of energy limns her in bright white.
Despite what she said in class, though, I feel her static energy, and the sphere she holds is fighting back. It wants to move, like storms do. And she’s attempting to contain it.
The sphere tries to escape her hold, but she fights it and wins, pulling it back in. Even from here, I can hear how hard she’s breathing, and her shoulders tremble under the moonlight.
Without meaning to, I whisper, “Astounding . . .”
Immediately, Maeve whips around to face me. And she loses control of the sphere.
Chapter 11
Maeve
“ASTOUNDING . . .”
I know that voice.
And sure enough, when I whip around, I find Professor D’Arques standing behind me, holding his sheathed blade in one hand, his midnight eyes narrowed against the bright light sparking off my energy sphere.
The moment I see him, I lose my focus—and my control.
My sphere slips out of my grasp, zipping up into the night sky like a cannonball. With a gasp, I tip my head back to watch it blaze across the darkness, and when it explodes, it’s like watching fireworks.
The energy spiderwebs across the blanket of starlight overhead, and a moment later, the sky begins to change, clouds condensing from the moisture in the air. A gust of wind tosses my hair into my eyes, and I shove it away to watch as the clouds grow thicker.
