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With one hand he snatched the scroll from her. “Didn’t think you had it in you. Reckless usage of white spells—you’ve become a true Wielder.”
He was right. A Caster would never use a shackling spell unless it was for self-defense or absolutely necessary. He had blurred the lines so much for her, even her tiny moment of triumph was instantly taken away.
“Do you recognize that name?” she asked, focusing back on why they went to the ball in the first place.
He checked the scroll and shook his head. “I’ll ask Obryn.”
She wanted to ask him more questions. How much longer did he have to work for the council? Who gave him his orders? He had acknowledged he was killing Wielders for the council, yet he wanted to solve these murders. Why? It didn’t make any sense. But she knew better than to voice any of them.
Dawson rolled the scroll back up in silent contemplation. It was a strange picture—the Dawson heir in his mansion. It looked like it might swallow him whole; too large for any one person to live in by themselves.
On the one hand, the estate seemed fitting for the Dawson scion. Unattainable. Cold. Aristocratic. But there was a fire in him, and she wondered if that fire was getting slowly smothered by the coldness around him. Not just by the mansion, but by the wall of ice he seemingly had built up around himself.
He stood there, like an ancient statue, always so controlled. She was the opposite, never being able to hide how she really felt. Dawson was a puzzle she desperately wanted to solve even though she didn’t quite understand why.
His silver eyes studied her closely, and she wished, just once, she could read Aidric Dawson’s thoughts. But just as this idea bubbled up in her head, she pushed it away. Establishing any emotional closeness with him scared her. He scared her. Not because he wielded deadly dark spells like it was nothing, but because he seemed to understand her in a way that even she didn’t. The more she let him in, the more power he had to destroy her, and the last person she wanted to give that power to was Aidric Dawson.
She cleared her throat. “All right, let me know what Obryn says.”
He looked at her firmly, his hands in the pockets of his perfectly tailored tux.
Right before she flipped her coin, he said, “Good night, Winters.”
Then she was gone.
During the next few days, she didn’t hear anything from Dawson or Obryn so she focused on her potion work. In between, she tried to dodge Ella’s questions about Dawson. Her friend insisted on knowing the details and didn’t believe her flimsy lies.
“I can see the way he looks at you,” Ella had said with a wink. “The way you look at him, for that matter.”
“You have a wild imagination,” Mira countered, unable to think of anything. “We’re just friends. Things just got out of hand for a moment. I blame too much Goldwine. It meant nothing.”
The kiss was meaningless. A stupid game. Nothing more. And yet…she was still able to recall the exact feel of his lips on hers and how his muscles had flexed under her touch.
She tried to distract herself with her work, but her scar removal potion was stuck in never-ending research and dead ends. Although she had found some form of Dark Magic substance attached to her, she had yet to separate it from her powers.
Her focus on the murder investigation meant she was behind on her coursework. At least Obryn had agreed to keep her out of combat class for another week.
In the afternoon she went to the Circular Hall to meet up with Rylan, which was perfect because nobody ever used it and it was one of the few rooms accessible to students from both specialties.
He worked on his potion, and she focused on her presentation on signifiers, which was due tomorrow and she hadn’t written a single word for it yet. She had to choose which signifier she was trying to gain next and give an elaborate argument as to why. Since she didn’t want another signifier, she picked the one that seemed the least grotesque: sin. As with most things in magic, acquiring signifiers took practice and knowledge. But unlike White Magic spells she had to master before, Dark Magic had this element of unpredictability. A Wielder didn’t know which sin might be their dominant one or which spirit they would get. Would she even be fully in control of her own powers? Or would Dark Magic take over?
She tossed the signifier book to the side and pulled out her notebook instead.
Rylan looked up from his research. “I thought you have a presentation due tomorrow?”
“I do. I just wanted to try this potion that I’ve been experimenting on first.”
While she wasn’t getting anywhere with her scar potion, she had started working on a little side project with much more success.
She pulled a small onyx bowl and a pouch with ingredients from her bag and propped them up on a bench.
Rylan sat up straight. “You know, for a Wielder, you’re practicing an awful lot of White Magic.”
“Yes, because that’s what I’m actually good at.”
She combined the ingredients in the bowl and activated them with her magic. White lights danced along her fingers. They swirled around her control signifier and it looked so…wrong. Everything about her was.
She dipped a pipette into the bowl and put one drop on her tongue.
