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Finally, finally the bell rings and immediately the door opens, Ophelia appearing in the opening.
How unexpected.
I wonder if she lurks outside, playing games on her phone while waiting for one of her pets to finish class.
Unsurprised, I see Jason gather his stuff and go to her, no backward glances, no deviation.
And of course it all smacks of magic, this utter obedience, this single-mindedness. Why is she picking them up? What for? How does she manage? The boys have different classes at the same time, don’t they? Unless she made them change their schedule, so she has time to go from one class to the other to get them.
I wouldn’t put it past her. She’s organized.
Unlike me. And it chafes. I need to get my ducks in a row, decide how to stop her. But first… I have to hurry because students are waiting outside. Another class is about to start. I hurry over to Jason’s desk, excited, my heart racing, though I don’t recall seeing him do anything out of the ordinary. He took some notes and kept quiet.
And there is nothing—on his desk, on his seat. Nothing scribbled, nothing carved.
Nothing.
Disappointment chokes me. There goes my theory. Just wishful thinking, I guess. Though of course two out of three is not bad. I need to have patience, wait a few days, maybe Jason will leave me something, too.
Only I don’t have days to wait for my name to be scrawled on a desk. The Golden Moon is coming up and I need to find a solution.
Turning away, I’m about to go when something on the floor by the desk draws my eye. A wadded-up piece of paper. Is it Jason’s? I unfold it and stare at something scrawled in the middle. It doesn’t look like a word, more like weird symbols.
I take it with me anyway. I need to find a book on symbols. I stuff the paper in my pocket and go. There’s also History class. Let’s see what happens there.
To my relief, Ashton doesn’t skip History class. He sits at the back, though, so that I have to turn in my seat to check him over. I hadn’t seen him since that awful moment at the lake when I realized Ophelia had gotten to him, too.
He looks pale like the others—then again, he’s a vampire. Hard to tell from across the classroom if he looks particularly worse for the wear today or not. Still, I can’t help myself, taking in his tousled black hair, the sharp edges of his cheekbones, the breadth of his shoulders stretching his usual gray T-shirt.
He’s not looking at me.
None of them do anymore. Is that part of the enchantment? Is it an indirect effect, making them resent me or find me uninteresting? Is it some sense of self-preservation—does she jolt them through the spell, as if with a cattle prod, if they so much as lay eyes on me?
I’m annoyed. I shouldn’t be annoyed at them, I know that. Her magic is crazy strong and it caught them when they were at their most vulnerable, like she so openly bragged to me. So blaming them for not fighting it harder, for not succeeding in resisting it is stupid.
Maybe I’m not as much annoyed as sad and frustrated and missing them so badly. Missing what we had. How can I be feeling this way? What we had lasted a couple of weeks at best.
Time has the same toffee-like quality it had during the last class—stretching and stretching and never-ending. Ashton is quiet, and I can see the worry in the teacher’s eyes. His star student has been out of it for days now.
The class is a recap of what was said in previous lessons and again it goes over my head. I keep finding excuses to turn around and look at Ashton. Is he writing anything? Doing anything unusual?
He’s probably taking notes. He’s a fastidious note-taker, his handwriting precise and clear, almost as if printed on the page, his points bulleted and numbered, titles and subtitles marking every section. I know because I’ve sat beside him a few times.
I wonder how his brother is doing. If the enchantment lets Ash worry about that, if it lets him grieve and rant and make plans to go visit him again, or if it has taken all his free will and real emotions away, at least temporarily.
Are their real selves locked behind a transparent wall, aware and observing what is happening, yet unable to act? Or rather, as it appears to be, most of the time they don’t realize they are enchanted, thinking they know exactly what is going on, the enchantment acting like an invisible hand, directing their thoughts and actions? Like a parasite, I think disgusted, wrapped around their minds, controlling them.
“Ashton.” The teacher turns to him. “When did the last Golden Moon event happen?”
The class turns toward Ash who lifts his head for the first time since he entered the classroom and blinks at the teacher. His eyes look bruised all around, dark circles framing them like a robber’s mask.
“I don’t know.” His voice is quiet and empty of any emotion.
“Ashton,” the teacher tries again. “What is going on with you? You replied to this very question a week ago. You know the answer.”
Ashton only gazes back at the teacher impassively, saying nothing more.
A lot can happen in a week, I think. A lot can happen in a day.
