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4
MIA
Is this a joke? Will she really come pick up every single one of them after class? And what does she do with the others meanwhile, keep them tied up in her room?
At least Ashton picked up my note. I kept my eyes on him until he took it, read it, and tucked it inside our book of the Tempest.
Not sure yet how this will help, but at least I’m letting the boys know that I got their messages. That I know that it’s not their fault, that they’re imprisoned in their own minds, that they’re doing what they can.
It’s up to me now.
An Apollinari.
Daughter to a dead witch mother and a mysterious father.
Well, if there’s one thing my life has taught me so far is that you have to make your own decisions. Informed decisions, sure, but you can’t let your parents, biological or not, hold you back when you know what’s important to you.
Like my boys.
As I walk out of the classroom, I close my eyes and think of my connection to the boys, their magic, seeking the reassurance of that touch—of their elements, the sensation as familiar to me by now as the inside of my own head.
But I hit a mental wall, slamming against it, and I jerk, coming to a stop. No. This is new. I could always feel them before. Horrified, I try again, but… Nothing.
Holy crap.
The enchantment. It’s becoming stronger.
Whereas my magic is practically nonexistent. Apart from connecting to the boys, sensing them, and opening Ophelia’s door—my greatest feat so far—I don’t know how to use it.
I need training. The fact is inescapable. But who can train me? Only one person comes to mind, but why would she help me? I’m not even sure she likes me, but what if it wasn’t all an act?
It takes me a long moment to register that the group of girls approaching me from across the corridor have come to a stop.
“Apollinari. The witch.” Zoey snaps her gum and gives me a disdainful once-over. “You look sad. I mean, you must be, losing all your boys to another girl, right?”
“You lost Jason, too,” I point out, certainly not out of kindness, and am gratified to see Zoey’s mocking grin fade.
“That’s your fault,” she hisses.
“Hardly. He can’t stand you. Didn’t he tell you?”
She recovers quickly, I’ll give her that. Her glare fades and her grin returns. “I see how it is. You think you’re someone now because of your name. And someone else gave you her cast-offs, from the looks of things, so you can wander the halls of the school dressed up to the nines. It’s overkill, if you ask me. You’re overdressed for going to class.”
“In my jeans and top?” I make a show of glancing down and shrugging. “The boys gave me these clothes. They like to see me in them.”
“Oh?” She can’t hide the surprise and envy flashing over her face. “Who cares? You know what they say: the clothes don’t make the man, or the woman in this case.”
“Really? A pity you didn’t know that a month ago when you teased me about my clothes, isn’t it?”
Her eyes narrow. “You think you’re someone now, Trash Girl? I left you alone for a moment and you grew teeth?”
“Why did you leave me alone?” I tilt my head to the side, considering her. “I’ve wondered about that.”
“I got bored.”
“I doubt that very much. Bullying people and kicking puppies is your only real hobby.”
She bares her teeth at me. “How dare you…”
