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For a moment Sanchez just stood there, glaring back at her, his eyes yellow and his ham-sized hands curled into fists. The stink of his anger was very strong in the small office—the smell of adrenaline and testosterone, I supposed—it smelled musky and animalistic.
I wondered if he was going to change—if he was going to let his Drake out the way he almost had on the PE field—and if it would fit in this room if he did. I remembered the Healer saying the dragons inside most Drakes were “as big as a barn” and that some of them breathed fire. Was Sanchez’s Drake able to do that? And would it matter? If he started growing fangs like he had out on the PE field, he would probably bite all our heads off first and then burn our bodies to a crisp afterwards.
But for some reason, he didn’t change. Maybe it had to do with some magic built into the Headmistress’s office or maybe she had the same gift Griffin did and was able to control beasts. Either way, all he did was go to the open door as the Headmistress had directed.
Before he went, however, he turned back and stabbed a finger at me.
“This is your fault, you fucking witch! You and that ugly little freak-friend of yours. Someday, you’re gonna pay!”
Then he stomped angrily out of the office, slamming the thick black door behind him.
Or at least he tried to. The door jerked to a stop about an inch from its frame and then, no matter how much he pulled on it, wouldn’t close any further. Sanchez yanked on it angrily for a moment, clearly wanting to make his point, though all I could see of him were his fingers curled around the inside of the door.
On the third yank, Headmistress Nightworthy said, “All right,” in a low voice and the door at last closed—on Sanchez’s fingers.
I heard a high, angry howl and then the fingers disappeared and he could be heard clomping down the hallway as the door shut very gently and quietly on its own.
“Thank you,” the Headmistress said, though if she was talking to the door itself or some unseen entity who had closed it, was impossible to determine. “Now, then,” she turned back to me. “Thank you for your candor, Miss Latimer, and for standing up for a weaker student, even in the face of what must have seemed a very formidable threat. You may go.”
Relief flooded through me and I opened my mouth to thank her but Winifred Rattcliff’s voice rang out instead.
“Wait! We still don’t know how she did it! I must find out!”
Well, crap.
42
Winifred Rattcliff gave me a penetrating look and I tried to stop myself from shifting around guiltily. I looked right back at her, trying to keep my face calm and blank. I only hoped she wouldn’t use the same truth spell on me she had used on Sanchez or my secret about using Blood magic was going to come out for sure.
“Your Elementary Casting teacher, Ms. Yasmeen, told me when I asked that you are still struggling with even the most basic of spells, Miss. Latimer. So please tell me how you were able to do such advanced magic which even I could not undo?”
“I…just got angry,” I said uncomfortably. “I got angry and slapped him for hurting Kaitlyn and laughing at her.”
“Yes, yes, we know the story,” she said impatiently. “But how can a witch who is unable to even light a candle with her magic suddenly perform a complex Shame-marking spell on the spot?”
“I don’t know,” I said stubbornly. “Sorry, I just don’t.”
“Perhaps we can find out,” she said. And reaching for me, she captured one of my hands in both of hers.
Two things happened simultaneously.
First, I felt something like a cold finger poking at me—poking at my brain, my memories, it seemed. I couldn’t see anything but I could feel it—an intrusive, prying feeling that wasn’t nice at all.
Second, the key necklace which had been sleeping between my breasts woke up with a jolt. But instead of burning, as it did when I encountered Griffin, it froze—radiating a cold so intense it felt like someone was shoving an icicle right through my chest into my heart.
“Oh!” I gasped and yanked my hand out of her grip. “Don’t do that! Don’t ever do that again!” I heard myself yelling at her, though I wasn’t even sure what ‘that’ was.
Headmistress Nightworthy looked at Ms. Rattcliff sharply.
“What exactly did you do, Winifred?”
“Nothing,” Nancy’s mother said hurriedly, a frustrated look on her face. “Just a little revealing spell, that’s all.” She reached for me again but I stepped out of her reach.
“Leave me alone! Don’t touch me!” I blurted. The key was still icy and throbbing a warning between my breasts.
