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That doesn’t mean I won’t try to find proof, of course. I snap my pen on the desk as the teacher talks and talks about metaphors and metatext and why do we have so many hours of literature at this school?
I’m thinking that if even one of the boys manages to tell Miss Worthy the truth about the enchantment, it could make a difference.
If she believes them.
Gah.
Right, so… If putting physical distance between them and Ophelia lessens her power over them, then that’s something I can try. Kidnap one of them and drag him to the office.
A giggle escapes me at the mental image of myself kidnapping one of the muscular, six-foot-something boys and hauling them against their will to the registration office. That would be something to behold.
“What’s the matter, Miss Apollinari? What’s so funny?” The teacher doesn’t sound amused.
Neither am I. I came to class because Miss Worthy said I should and I was too tired to think straight, but I should be at the library, looking for books on the Golden Moon, the Vasilissa legend, and hopefully a witchy dictionary to translate the symbols in Ophelia’s diary. I’m running out of time.
I’m about to get up and go when the classroom door opens and Emrys walks in, catching me in mid-motion as I lift my backpack from the floor.
“Better late than never, I always say,” the teacher mutters. “Have a seat, Mr. Ramsden, and open a book, assuming you know what that is. Next class, we’ll have a test to see how many of you have been paying attention, hm?”
Emrys says nothing, taking a seat two desks to my left, dropping his backpack to the floor and folding his arms over his chest. He looks the same as ever, and I drink in the sight of his handsome face. It’s set in unyielding lines—nothing has changed there—but no. That’s not true, he doesn’t look the same. He looks pale, dark crescents under his eyes, his lips pale. He looks drawn and tired.
I wonder if I’m the only one noticing. If his gang even check. If they even care.
My mouth twists. I take my notebook out and open it, grab my pen and glance down at my notes. My non-existent notes. At least he’s in class. Once it’s over, I’ll go talk to him. I make myself pretend to pay attention to the lesson, the use of figurative language and symbols in the play. I force myself not to look at Emrys again.
Bide your time, I tell myself. The moment the bell rings, go to him. Touch him. Ask him to go somewhere to talk. If he’s lucid—if he’s not a zombie under the enchantment’s influence, if Ophelia’s power indeed loosens when he’s away from her—you can lead him straight to Miss Worthy, have him tell her what Ophelia is doing.
A tall order when he’s been under her spell from the moment she came back to the Academy, but there were moments, glimpses—with Ashton, with me—when he’d almost been himself. I have to trust that was what happened.
The teacher asks a question and I look up. A mistake. My attention instantly strays to Emrys. He’s bowed over his desk and seems to be writing something, his movements jerky. It’s as if he’s carving the words into the page of his notebook. Is that even a pen he’s holding? He might as well be holding a blade and attacking his desk.
Can the enchantment drive them insane? My heart pounds. Swallowing hard, I return my gaze to my notes. The page blurs. The thought of how she’s hurting them makes me want to scream.
As the time rolls around for the class to end, I gather my things again, get ready to hop up and hurry to him before he beats me to the door.
But the moment the bell rings to end the class, the door opens and Ophelia appears.
Oh no.
Shocked at her appearance, I just stare. What is she doing here? With her dark hair loose on her shoulders, dressed in a long blue dress, she’s like an echo of my first night here at the Academy. At least now I know why we look so alike. We share the same blood, like it or not.
She shoots me a glare, and then turns to smile sweetly at Emrys. “Coming, hot stuff? We got work to do.”
He gets up from his desk, grabs his backpack and goes to her without looking at me at all. Like a robot. A slave, obeying a command.
Just great. Who knew she’d come pick him up after class? Such a romantic gesture, but there’s nothing romantic about the enchantment she’s weaved over them, making them think they’re in love with her, that they’re besotted with her, not realizing anything is wrong.
But I’m not done trying. Far from it. Think the boys are stubborn? I’m worse.
Watch out, cousin. I’m only getting started.
