I wave at the whole group, and then smile extra bright at Baz, fluttering my lashes in the sluttiest way I can manage.
Carly glares at me, and I’m pretty sure Blue’s whispering some kind of curse on my perky boobs, her ringed brows drawn tight together. I hit the pause button on my shameless flirting long enough to scrape the bottom of myfucks to givebucket, but sadly, I come up empty.
All out, ladies! Sorry!
There may come a day when I cringe at my petty behavior, but today is definitely not that day, so I smile once more at the guys, giving Baz a nice eyeful of my enhanced cleavage before settling into my seat.
Thank you, Isla, for convincing me to buy this push-up bra!
“That was amazing,” Nat whispers. “You are such a stone-cold bitch. I think I kind of love you.”
I slide the tablet out of my bag and power it up, hoping I don’t have to take too many notes on this thing. “I swear I’m not usually like this. But women like that need to be given a dose of their own medicine sometimes, and I’m still pissed that Carly ruined Isla’s potatoes.”
“Remind me never to get on your bad side.”
“Or mess with my food.”
Our laughter fades as the clock chimes nine and Professor Maddox stalks into the room, her stern, no-nonsense vibe immediately commanding our attention.
“Where does magick come from?” she begins without introduction. “And what, if anything, does it have to do with Tarot? Some say Tarot was invented as a game in the fifteenth century. Others believe it’s a much older divinatory system, passed along from an ancient Egyptian source—the Book of Thoth, specifically. Possible? Fanciful? Maybe a bit of both, yes?”
She looks over each of us in turn, her gaze calculating and shrewd, but her smile full of passion. When she reaches me, she pauses, her eyes widening a fraction. A tendril of her energy reaches out, rising above the din in the room—a mix of familiarity and surprise, followed by kindness.
She seems to recognize me, or at least know who I am. Did Trello give everyone advanced notice about my arrival? Or was Professor Maddox one of Mom’s professors, noticing the resemblance in my eyes? No, she doesn’t look old enough for that—in fact, she looks about the same age Mom would’ve been now.
Maybe they were friends.
I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or not.
When she finally moves on to Nat, I let out a sigh of relief, wondering if it’s going to be like this every time I meet a new professor—them wondering if they’ve seen me before, me wondering if they knew my parents. If they were supporters… or something else entirely.
“Very good,” she says with a sharp and sudden nod, as if she just had an entire conversation in her mind and figured out the answer to the most pressing question in the universe. “While the pop-cultural, human-centric mythology of the Tarot is a fascinating subject, witches and mages have a fundamentally different understanding of this most sacred tool. It wasn’t invented as a fortune-telling device or a card game for wealthy aristocrats. In fact, it wasn’tinventedat all, but recorded—a pictorial accounting of our magickal energy. The very thing that makes us tick.”
Her eyes dance with excitement as she launches into an explanation of the Tarot suits and elemental correspondences, most of which I’m already familiar with. I relax a bit, glad that I’m not totally lost on the first day of class.
“All of us exhibit specific powers and talents connected to—and mirrored in—the minor arcana of the Tarot,” Professor Maddox says. “That can play a huge influence in many aspects of your life. Not just your magickal abilities, but your interests and hobbies, your favorite foods, your friend groups, and even your romantic partners.”
At these words, a sudden tingling sweeps across the space between my shoulder blades, quickly racing up the back of my neck. I squirm in my seat, waiting for it to pass, but the feeling only intensifies.
Blue better not be putting an actual curse on me.
I turn around to glare at her, but she’s not paying me a lick of attention. Even Carly seems riveted by Professor Maddox’s trip through the minor Arcana, and their other guy friend is doing something on his phone.
There’s only one person staring at me.
Baz Redgrave.
He’s slouched halfway out of his chair, legs stretched out casually, pen tapping absently against his knee. He’s making asupremeeffort to appear bored, but it’s clearly just that—an effort at seeming.
Bored? Hell no. This man’s energy is so singularly focused, it’s like he’s trying to set something on fire.
Or someone.
Baz is still staring at me. Hard. Normally, a person who gets busted ogling you in the middle of class has the grace to look away. Not this guy. When I meet his eyes, he winks at me, his lips twitching as if he’s trying to hold back a smile.
Sometimes I wish Icouldn’tsense people’s emotional torment. It would be a whole lot easier if I could just take people at face value and write him off as a sexy but egotistical ass who just assumes women will melt at one glance from his pretty red-brown eyes.
Or fight with another woman for his fleeting attention.
