Severin.
The thought of him makes a spark of warmth blossom in my chest. I’ve felt it there since the night he fed on me, like I carry him around with me now. I’m not sure what it means, but it’s comforting to me, and I smile as it heats my heart just beneath my sternum.
Once I’m centered, I lift my hands and call on my magic, beginning to pull energy from the air, weaving individual strands together, building my sphere in the way I’ve practiced hundreds of times now.
One of the girls—I’m not sure which—takes a small but audible breath as my energy sphere grows. It starts to pulse and crackle between my palms, and I remind myself of Severin’s teachings, focusing on letting the energy move rather than trying to contain it.
And each time I do this now, it gets easier and easier. It’s almost like learning how to ride a bike: It feels impossible untilyou figure it out, and then you wonder why it was so difficult to begin with.
Typically, I’d try to push myself, hold the energy sphere for a longer amount of time, try to grow it bigger. But with Poppy and Lyra here, and with Poppy already nervous about it, I don’t want to take any unnecessary risks. So, instead of pushing it further, I let it swirl between my hands, the bright white light illuminating my face as I turn to show it to my friends.
They’re both wide-eyed, mouths slightly parted, breath steaming in the cold air. Even Juniper looks impressed.
I smile. This is the first time they’ve seen me pull this off. I used to practice my storm magic in our dorm room, but ever since they kicked me out and made me start practicing out here, they’ve not seen the progress I’ve made.
Slowly, without allowing the sphere to explode (though I imagine Lyra would get a kick out of that), I dismantle the crackling energy, letting it drift off like glowbugs on a summer breeze. And when all the energy has been returned to the air, Lyra launches herself forward, wrapping me in a big hug.
“You’re amazing!” she says, squeezing me tight.
“Whoa! Watch out for Juniper!” I tell her.
Lyra pulls back, and Juniper pokes her head up from Lyra’s jacket again, squeaking something to Lyra that sounds very much like a rebuke. Serves her right, kooky fire witch.
“Sorry, sorry,” Lyra says quickly. “But that was crazy good, Maeve.”
“It really was,” Poppy says as she steps forward. Now that my demonstration is over, her anxiousness seems to have softened. “You’ve made so much progress. There’s no way you’re not going to get selected for the fellowship.”
Her praise makes my body tingle with pride. “You really think so?” I ask, voice softer now.
“Absolutely,” Poppy says.
“They’d have to be idiots not to pick you,” Lyra says. Then, gentler, she adds, “You’re going to do so much good with that magic. We’re really proud of you.” Her crimson eyes get a little glassy in the morning sun, and this time when she pulls me in for a hug, she’s careful not to squish Juniper between us.
“Get in here, Pops,” I say, and I tug her into the group hug.
Arms tangled, heads together, we hug and share a laugh. Then a feeling of dread comes over me.
Because this is our last year together like this, our last year as roommates, our last year as students at Coven Crest.
Now my eyes are getting glassy, and I hug Lyra and Poppy tighter.
“I love you guys,” I say, voice starting to get choked up with emotion.
They both return the group hug, and Lyra says, “We love you too, you crazy storm witch.”
LATER THAT EVENING, AFTER MY bath, I’m walking through the quiet corridors on my way back to the dorm when I spot something glinting on the floor in the torchlight. I pause when I get to it, narrowing my eyes as I stare down at the little glittering golden thing lying on the floor. Curious, I crouch to pick it up.
It’s a cuff link. And as I turn it over in my palm, I realize it’s not justanycuff link.
It’s Severin’s. I’d recognize it anywhere. He wears these every day, and I’ve spent enough time admiring him to know what his cuff links look like.
I straighten, cupping the little golden clasp in my hand. I could return it to him after class on Monday. But knowing him, I imagine he’s distressed at having lost it. He’s probably tearing his staff quarters apart in search of it.
The thought makes me smile. As I curl my fingers around the cuff link, that new familiar warmth stirs beneath my sternum again, the pulse of heat that’s lingered since Severin fed from me last weekend. Sometimes I forget about it, but other times—like now—it flares to life in a way that’s impossible to ignore.
Slipping the cuff link into the pocket inside my cloak, I continue down the corridor. The hallways are quiet at this time of the evening, though as I pause at the turn that will take me into the staff wing, I look around. At least if someone spots me, I have an excuse for why I’m here.
Almost subconsciously, my fingertips go to my throat, where Severin’s fangs pierced my skin. The wound has mostly healed, though it’s just visible enough to warrant me still wearing a scarf whenever I go to class. To be seen in the staff wing with fang marks on my throat would likely be a touch more suspicious, especially standing right outside Severin’s door.
