Eager to prove myself, I head to the front of the room and face the class, take a deep breath, and square my shoulders. “It’s my belief that… Well, when a person finds herself in a situation in which there are no options… That person may… It’s challenging, of course, but…”
“Miss Devane, your assignment is to convince the class that the use of mental magicks is justifiable, not to convince them that you’re a waffling politician devoid of opinions of your own. We both know nothing could be further from the truth.”
The Claires are snickering in the back, half the class yawning and tapping messages into their phones. It’s Tres Búhos middle school all over again, and I’m the weird witch-girl trying to give an oral report about the mating habits of kangaroos while all the kids spit at me and make signs against the evil eye.
I glare at Devane. He’s sitting behind a large metal desk with his arms folded across his chest, smug and superior, as usual.
That’s it, buddy. Gloves are off. You’re fucking with the wrong witch today.
“Let’s say you’re faced with a formidable… opponent,” I say, finding my voice and shooting a pointed glare at the good doctor. “He’s backed you into a corner, left you vulnerable and defenseless. He’s taking great pleasure in asserting his presumed power over you. Maybe you’ve got combat training. Perhaps you’re packing weapons. Maybe you’re an ace spell-caster, and with a few simple words, you can blast your opponent to oblivion.
“But it doesn’t always go down like that, does it?” I ask, making eye contact with each person in the room. “Sometimes your opponent catches you unaware and unprepared. Sometimes he’s a person you know, a person you might be starting to trust. You’ve got no weapons, no spells, nothing at all with which to defend yourself. After all, why would you need weapons against a so-called ally?
“I’m here to tell you, buck up, girlfriend. You’re not down for the count yet. You’ve got a weapon no one can match.”
“Pussy power!” someone calls out. Pretty sure it was Emory, and okay,fine, that one’s kind of funny.
“Alright, two weapons,” I say with a smile. Then, tapping my temple, “I’m talking about this one. Your brilliant, beautiful mind. One whose potential we’ve only just begun to tap.”
I pace before the class, adopting the same techniques I witnessed Devane using moments ago. I wait until they’re hanging on, desperate for my next statement, then I whirl around and lock eyes with our illustrious professor.
“Mr. Devane.”
“Yes, Miss Milan,” he says, clearly amused.
“I want you to imagine a moonlit beach.” I approach the desk, my boots clicking against the floor. “Waves lapping seductively against the shore, a gentle breeze ruffling through your hair like a soft caress.”
He cocks his head, his eyes flashing a warning. I keep waiting for him to throw up his mental shields, or call off the exercise, but he doesn’t. It’s like he’s testing me, wondering just how far I’ll push this.
If he thinks I’m going to back down easily after all his attempts to humiliate me in front of the class, he doesn’t know me at all.
I gaze into his eyes, daring him to look away.
He doesn’t.
In my mind, I let my thoughts roam into dangerous territory, the kind of superheated, inappropriate thoughts that could get me inserioustrouble.
But there’s no going back now.
“You see a woman sitting on the shoreline in the distance,” I say, “gazing out over the glittering sea. Everything about this night, this moment, is pure serenity…”
My words fade away, and suddenly my thoughts no longer feel like mine. The classroom vanishes, leaving only the good doctor and me, standing on that moonlit beach.
Wordlessly we join hands, the waves lapping our toes. In the distance, a wolf howls into the night, and Dr. Devane pulls me into a passionate embrace, his lips on my jaw, my neck, my collarbone. Our clothes fall away, and we kneel in the sand, our kiss unbroken as we tumble backward…
The class bell chimes, and the vision falls away instantly.
I’m back in the classroom, breathless, completely disoriented.
Dr. Devane is still sitting behind the desk, and still staring at me, just like he was in the vision. But instead of the desirous gaze of a man devouring his woman with kisses, Devane’s eyes are full of red-hot fury.
That’s my cue, thanks for playing along, bye for now!
I rush back to my desk and grab my bag and tablet, then scoot toward the exit to file out with the rest of class.
But I’m not fast enough. In a low whisper that slides across my skin, he says, “Miss Milan, a word, please.”
I wait until the rest of the students leave before finally turning to face him.
