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Using Dark Magic wasn’t painful. Quite the opposite. It was like Goldwine bubbles bursting. A rush of endorphins.

Dawson got up and walked closer, but her eyes remained fixed on the ink on her finger, wishing it wasn’t there. Wishing she could turn back time and undo it.

He stood so close she could smell the iron in his blood, which he hadn’t even bothered to wipe away. It dripped from his nose, turning his lips crimson.

But even bloodied, he looked like he had won. The signifier on her hand was evidence that he had. She wanted to scream.

He leaned in closer until his face was just inches from hers.

“Don’t hide yourself, Winters,” he said in a low voice, and his words prickled across her skin.

Then he walked away and grabbed his jacket, and when the dark wall of mist around them disappeared, so did he.

14

Standing in her room at Ivercrest, Mira couldn’t take her eyes off the ink on her finger. Part of her hoped it was an illusion. Any moment now, the two lines would dissolve.

Pressure built behind her eyes. This place was giving her a headache. Most of all, it was Dawson who she blamed for all of this.

She stuffed her hand into her jacket pocket, pretending for a blissful moment she didn’t have the control signifier. But then she noticed her pockets were empty.

Of course Dawson had taken the vial from Buckley’s house out of her jacket before returning it to her.

A scroll to Dawson went unanswered. Mira kept waiting for a reply, even when she was at the library. Several times she was certain she heard the whistling in the air before a scroll drops, only for none to appear.

The library of Dark Magic stretched four stories tall with a winding staircase in the middle. Mahogany shelves were stacked with first editions and scrolls. An oval window reached from the floor to the ceiling. So far, Mira had avoided this library as much as possible, getting most of her materials from the common library, accessible to all students.

But now, she needed texts specifically on Dark Magic poisons, in order to try to understand what had happened to Buckley. And if Dawson hadn’t taken it, she could also analyze the spent magic from the crime scene.

Students read quietly at the tables, lamps with dark green glass shades illuminating their books. The only sound was the occasional clearing of a throat. The smell of old books was always comforting, and Mira took a deep breath.

She went to the section about Dark Magic extraction, looking for anything helpful for her scar removal. Wielders still stared at her funny, but it seemed by now she was an anomaly they could tolerate enough to ignore.

When she reached for a book, the signifier on her finger gave her pause. Perhaps she should get a glove like Amelia wore to conceal it.

Don’t hide yourself, Winters.

Dawson’s words echoed in her mind, and with it the sensation of his magic, teasing hers. The rush of Dark Magic pumping through her veins. It terrified her that she had liked it. Wasn’t that how it started? You get a taste of Dark Magic and then you’re never satiated. Even when Mercer was the most powerful Wielder, it hadn’t been enough. He had called upon Feeders, demons with sharp teeth who extracted a victim’s powers and transferred them to their master. Mira had never seen a live Feeder because she wasn’t on the front lines. But she had come across plenty of dead ones. Soldiers would pile up their bodies in a field and burn them.

Their pale, translucent skin wriggled with black veins. Their black teeth were razor-sharp.

Mira picked a leather-bound demonology book from the shelf and admired the writing on delicate parchment paper. After she selected her books, she squeezed by the students, making her way down the staircase, when she noticed silver-white hair. Dawson had a book in his hand as he stopped by the desk where a Wielder with disheveled mahogany hair and Amelia were sitting. They exchanged a few words before Dawson headed to the door and Mira picked up speed to catch up with him.

“No running,” the librarian scolded her, pointing at a sign that said just that.

“Sorry,” Mira responded, and darted out the door.

Did Dawson have to have such long legs? They were an unfair advantage.

The noise level changed drastically once she pushed through the library’s heavy doors. Amid the sea of Ivercrest students, Dawson towered over most of them.

When she finally reached him, she was out of breath but he didn’t give her the courtesy of slowing down.

“Winters.”

At least he acknowledged her existence.

“Do you have the sample I took from—” But she couldn’t even finish her question before he grabbed her by her elbow.