My only interest in Starla—Stevie—is the prophecies. That’s how it has to be. For me, for Kirin, and for anyone else who may find himself inappropriately fantasizing about peeling her out of those delectably tight jeans and pressing his mouth between her thighs…
“So, should we knock?” Stevie asks, startling me from my musings.
Somehow, we’ve already reached the office at the end of the hallway. The wide oaken door rises up before us, the name-plate polished to a shine.
Anna Trello, Headmistress.
“Ah, yes, here we are,” I say awkwardly.
“You’ll back me up in there, right Doc? Sorry—I mean, Dr. Devane?”
Ignoring her question, I turn toward the door and knock, hoping she hasn’t noticed the bulge in my pants.
Boundaries, Devane. Take your own damn advice for once.
“Come in,” Anna calls.
I push open the door to her office, then stand aside so Stevie can enter.
“Guess it’s trial by fire,” she mumbles. “Thanks a lot.” But, undeterred as ever, Stevie simply rolls her eyes and marches in ahead of me, straight to the center of the room.
Anna is seated at her desk, flanked by Professor Phaines, the Academy librarian and archivist who’ll be assisting Stevie with the research, just as he assisted her mother. At our entrance, the pair looks up from whatever paperwork they were reviewing, Phaines offering his grandfatherly smile, while Anna remains reserved.
The air is charged, the immediate tension between the two women like an electrical field, intensifying with every passing second of silence.
When it’s clear no one else is going to make the first introduction, I clear my throat and say, “Starla Milan, meet Anna Trello, our headmistress, and Professor Phaines, our esteemed librarian.”
To her credit, the girl—woman, rather—raises her chin, her eyes resolute as the others extend their hands to shake.
Stevie obliges, but there’s a definite chill in her demeanor, her movements much stiffer than they’ve been up to this point.
Understandable. These are the very people responsible for ousting her parents. Despite the complexities of that particular tale—most of which I don’t even know myself—the terrible outcome is clearly all Stevie knows of it.
“I’m so pleased you’ve decided to join us, Miss Milan,” Anna finally says, sitting back down and motioning for Stevie to take an empty chair in front of the desk. “I trust Dr. Devane filled you in on the requirements of your enrollment?”
Stevie remains on her feet. “My understanding is that I’ll be taking classes to gain a foundational understanding of magick, and working via independent study on my mother’s Tarot research.”
Anna laughs, a tight, strangled sound that’s nothing like the woman’s genuine expression. “You make it sound as if it’s all work, no play at the Academy. But I assure you, there will be plenty of opportunities for you to enjoy yourself. You’ll be meeting lots of other witches and mages, mingling, learning new things. We’ve got shops and restaurants, arcades, pools and hot tubs. If you enjoy the outdoors, there’s lots of that to explore here, too.”
At this, Stevie offers a nod, but says nothing.
Smart girl. Anna is shrewd and discerning, ferreting out information like a vulture scenting carrion. Ingratiating herself is only the first step. Thankfully, Stevie seems immune to it.
“We want you to be happy here, Starla,” Anna continues. “Or at the very least, comfortable. This is not a prison.”
“So I’ve been told,” Stevie says.
“One thing I’d like to make clear from the start,” Anna says, “is the importance and delicacy of your work. I cannot overstate the need for discretion. If word were to get out, it could cause a lot of unnecessary panic at a time when we’re not even sure what we’re dealing with.”
“I understand,” Stevie says.
“The people in this room, along with one other graduate research assistant you’ll meet later—we are theonlyones you can trust in this matter. Whether you’ve made a discovery or hit a wall, you can count on us to help you—but only us. As far as the other students and professors are concerned, you are a regular student working on a special research assignment for Professor Phaines via independent study. Is that clear?”
“Of course, Miss Trello.”
“I’m looking forward to working with you on the prophecies,” Phaines says. “The library is simply magnificent—wait until you’ll see it.”
Again, Stevie nods. There’s a flicker of a smile at the mention of the library, but then it’s gone, the office descending into awkward silence once again.
