Page 22 of Reckless Witch

“Not really,” Fran says. “The Stone is the only one here in the States, so any students named in the country have to come here to be confirmed.”

I grunt. “I didn’t know that.”

I liked Fran. Maybe she is a good person to have as a friend, as friends go. I scan the rest of the classes. The list goes on. My schedule is on the last page. I blink. Each class lasts several hours with little time for lunch. Wow, this is like real work.

“They’re light on details.” I turn.

Fran isn’t there. I glance at the open door, then return my attention to the syllabus. Reaping Preparedness. Hopefully, it’ll be challenging enough to distract me from the memory of Ethan Bordeau. Damn dragons.

Chapter Ten

LEILAH

Love, Trust and Shadow Husks

The following morning, after a forty-five-minute search for Stony on Academy grounds, I give up and trudge across campus to the dining hall. She’s, no doubt, punishing me for trying to turn her into a mouse—though, she’s likely turned into a mouse and is sneaking crumbs in the dining hall. I’m stupid to worry, but in our three years together, we haven’t spent a single night apart. Oh God, I’m acting like a tween who’s missing Mommy at her first sleepover. I’m glad Stony isn’t here to witness my humiliation. She would never let me forget that I missed her so much.

I reach the dining hall and my stomach growls at the dozen wonderful smells that assail my senses. I survey the food line where they’re serving everything from any style eggs to fruit and yogurt or bagels. At least I’ll save a bundle on food while I’m here. Typically, I eat a light breakfast, but my stomach gives another growl, so I choose eggs—no bacon, that is an offence Stony would not forgive—coffee, blueberries and yogurt. The bagels smell so damn good, I can’t resist taking an anything bagel.

I grab two cinnamon bagels for Stony and stuff them in my coat pocket, then turn from the counter and scan the room. Eighty or ninety people have come for breakfast and it’s clear that several cliques have already formed. The prettier than average, teenage to twenty-something girls hold court at a corner table, and a dozen geeks are trying to hide in another corner on the far side of the room. The older students are gathered in pairs or small groups and talk quietly. I’d bet the different clans gravitate toward each other. It’s always been that way.

I carry my tray toward an empty seat a few tables down. Two young men at a table nearest me glance my way. One leans close and whispers to the other. Several students stare as I pass. If I didn’t know better, I would say my hair is sticking up or my fly is down. I near the table and the two students seated to my left slide closer together, so the vacancy becomes a sliver of space I’d have trouble sliding an arm into.

I halt and survey the other girls seated at the table, but they murmur amongst themselves as if I’m not there. Oookay. I turn and scan the room. There’s another vacancy at the end of a table two tables to the right. I head that way. I reach the spot and set down my tray. The girl sitting closest to me slides away.

I sit and look at the girl sitting kitty corner from me. “Hey,” I say.

She smiles. The young man next to her nudges her and whispers in her ear. Her eyes widen. She and the young man pick up their trays and leave. An unexpected stab of hurt catches me off guard. What do I care if I don’t fit into their cliques? It’s not like any of them know me. My thoughts skid to a halt. Or is it? Well, fuck. Between the Stone naming me as a member of all four clans and me being the daughter of Miriam Crowe, I never really stood a chance. So much for feeling at home. Fuck them. This isn’t my home. Grams’ place is my home, and Stony is my family. I don’t need any of these people.

“Don’t let them get to you,” a guy says as he passes.

I look up to see broad shoulders as he keeps going. My chest tightens. Okay, so everyone here isn’t an asshole. I peel back the cover on the yogurt and eat my breakfast.

After breakfast, I find my Reaping Preparedness classroom and stop just inside the room. The sudden sense of featherlight weight that swirls around the sigil on my hand draws my attention to the dragon mark. I flex my fingers and release a breath. Apparently, some sort of energy inside the room deactivates dragon magic. I’m surprised at the relief that ripples through me. I hadn’t realized how much the absence of my magic bothered me.

I scan the octagon-shaped classroom. Directly ahead is a framed chalkboard on a scrolled woodwork stand. Beakers, Bunsen burners, and jars filled with herbs and the like fill tables along the far wall. A collection of black, spiral notebooks on a metal shelf near the door completes the mad scientist vibe.

At least fifty old-fashioned school desks fill the center of the large room and the students sitting in them range in age from teens to the thirty-year-old I saw in orientation. Awareness tingles in my gut and I sense that the teenage boy sitting in the desk to my left has a secret he fears will ruin him. At that age, a secret like that could be something as simple as his family not having as much money or influence as other students.

Then again, I bet he’s born of the Longthorpe clan, like me. Being connected to the Longthorpes has the potential to make the kid a pariah., considering witches were blamed for dabbling in the dark arts and empowering The Shadows in the first place. Not warlocks so much, mind you. After all, women get blamed for everything.

Fran sits in the middle, flirting with a group of guys. I wave and she waves back, but doesn’t skip a beat batting her eyelashes at the boy to her right. I spot the same young girl I caught staring at me yesterday. Her attention is on her desk, but I’m not fooled. She’s seen me. At least, this time, she’s keeping to herself.

Thomas, the RA I saw yesterday, sits at a desk in deep conversation with another student. Where to sit… The thirteen-year-old kid is slouched in his seat in the far corner of the room. His body language says he wants to be as anonymous as I do. A pang of sympathy stabs. Poor kid, it’s got to be tough being a High Potential at that age. So much for regular school, weekend movies and committing general teenage mayhem. Maybe his parents will be smart enough to allow him to be a kid during summers.

I grimace. I haven’t been in a classroom since…well, since I was fifteen. Even when I got my GED, I didn’t set foot inside a classroom to study for the test. I would love to tell myself that means I’m a genius. Truth is, the equivalency test is a joke.

I start toward the empty desk to the right of thirteen-year-old kid and ignore the glances as I pass other students. The cliques I left behind in high school are clearly alive and well here at Illumina Academy.

I slide into the desk next to the thirteen-year-old and brows go up. Interesting. He glances at me from the corner of his eye, then ducks his head. My guess is he’s of the Silwood clan, sirens and Fae. A siren, most likely. His eyes give him away. Sirens have eyes the color of the sea, crystal blue or an emerald green that makes you feel as if you can fall into their souls. I wonder what it is about him that makes the other students give a damn that I’ve sat near him.

A door in the wood-paneled wall next to the chalkboard opens and a woman enters. One glance at those gold-rimmed, horned glasses and my heart sinks. Miss Mack. She’s dressed in a tight green dress and her red hair hangs in perfect ringlets that give her a medusa look. She appears much older than what I’m guessing are her thirty or so years.

Miss Mack makes eye contact with me and I can’t help but feel she’s read my mind. I scrunch down in my seat to hide behind the tall boy in front of me as her heels click across the tile floor. The scrape of chalk on the chalkboard makes me wince and I lean sideways to see she’s writing Light vs. Dark on the chalkboard. She finishes the last letter with a flourish and drops the chalk onto the tray with a chink.

She faces us. “Can anyone tell me what the Reaping is?”

“It’s when we’re taken,” one girl says.