Page 17
Quietly, he paced the floor as he read her notebook. Would he burn it? She couldn’t lose her research.
“Please,” she begged, and hated how weak her voice sounded. “It was my father’s notebook. It’s important.”
She stretched out her hand in a desperate attempt to get it back, but the Highmage ignored her and instead read every page with interest.
“You’re trying to heal your scar,” he finally said, and she hated hearing it out loud. Normally it was followed by someone telling her it was impossible.
“That is why you wanted to join the healing department.”
It wasn’t the only reason. She came from a long line of healers. But the short answer was yes, so she nodded.
His long fingers traveled over the pages like spider legs.
“Let me get this straight.” With a loud thud, he closed the notebook. “Not only did you use magic unsupervised on school grounds, but you also decided to break one of the most fundamental rules of this institution by obtaining ingredients illegally?”
She swallowed hard and looked to the ground, prepared for the words that would follow. Miss Mira Winters, you’re hereby expelled from Ivercrest.
“Is that correct?” he asked again with fury.
“Yes.”
He should just get it over with, but perhaps he wanted to revel in this moment for a bit longer. The odd student who wasn’t supposed to be in his department from the beginning was finally being kicked out.
She looked up at him again, his black gaze like a judgment itself.
“This calls for expulsion.”
There it was. All her hopes and dreams dashed. She had acted too rashly. She should have waited before trying the potion. The emptiness in her spread like wildfire.
“I’ll get my things.” She took a step toward him, reaching for her notebook, but he didn’t move.
He couldn’t keep it. It was hers. She was about to say as much when she noticed something else besides disdain in his eyes.
“You have a choice to make, Miss Winters,” he finally said. “I can either expel you from Ivercrest—or you could work on a project of high importance.”
What could the Highmage of Dark Magic possibly need her help for? “What…what kind of project?”
“My office, tomorrow morning at eight.” Without another word he disappeared, taking her notebook with him.
Mira lay awake for the rest of the night. She felt naked without her notebook. It had been the one constant in her life ever since her parents’ deaths. Was she going to get it back? More importantly, what was the project Highmage Obryn wanted her to work on?
She entered the Highmage’s dimly lit office.
“Take a seat,” Obryn instructed her, pointing at the heavy leather chair in front of him.
Books and scrolls spilled from the shelves. A pile of them was stacked on the floor, another on the desk. Mira closed the door, and the deeper she moved into the Highmage’s office, the thicker the air smelled of incense, leather, and candle wax.
But they weren’t alone. In the corner stood Dawson. He wore an expensive-looking jacket with a matching waistcoat. His black ascot tie was fastened with the Dark Magic pin. He had one foot crossed elegantly over the other, and his cold eyes followed her closely. Why was he here? Or better yet: Why was he not leaving?
The old leather chair groaned when she sat down. The Highmage’s hands were neatly folded on the large mahogany table, right next to her notebook.
“Mr. Dawson has been given a very important task,” Obryn continued. “But we have come to a standstill in our research. Imagine my surprise, Miss Winters, when I read through your notebook and found that you have discovered a crucial piece to the puzzle.”
She had? Her eyes darted to Dawson, who remained still and looked indifferent.
“What is this about?” she asked when Obryn didn’t offer more information.
His left eyebrow darted up, highlighting the scar across his eye. There was a prolonged pause in which only the ticking of the large grandfather clock was audible. “There has been a death. You’re familiar with diagnostic spells and magic autopsies, yes?”
