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She motions toward the back of the stage at a Fae with donkey ears and a tufted tail. At her invitation, he joins her, carrying a cage with something inside. Soft black fur. Long, floppy ears.
They take the poor bunny out, his body limp and unmoving. Then Eclipsa unwraps a dark green linen napkin, revealing a light brown ball of fluff.
“This is third year Evermore Milken and his familiar, Bramble. Unfortunately, Bramble died three days ago of old age. A preservation spell was used to keep him fresh and his spirit close until another vessel presented itself. This”—she holds up the smaller brown baby rabbit—“is a baby rabbit born in Professor Balefire’s menagerie. He died shortly after birth today.”
Mack makes cooing noises along with half the girls in class.
Eclipsa sets the baby bunny down beside the older one. Then she places her hands palm down above the two rabbits. Behind her, Milken watches the ordeal with a stricken look, his hands tugging at his shirt.
From here, I can see Eclipsa’s lips moving as she speaks the incantation, but I can’t hear what she says.
Anticipation charges the room as we wait for something to happen. Then someone gasps.
At first, I don’t see what’s causing the class to react. Leaning forward, I spot the glow swelling beneath Eclipsa’s left palm. More light begins to seep from the older bunny. I watch, speechless, as shimmering fingers of sentient mist unfurl. They give a languid stretch and begin prodding the air.
They’re searching for . . . something.
When the tendrils of light reach the baby bunny, they hesitate, cautiously running along its brown fur. All at once, the light surges, pouring into the poor little guy. A sense of awe falls over all of us as we train our eyes on this tiny, furry thing. Willing him to awaken.
His foot jerks. I don’t blink, afraid I’ll miss what happens next.
With a startled squeak, the baby bunny begins to kick and thrash. But his fur is changing, darkening. When he’s completely black, he seems to calm, his frenetic movements ceasing. He hops to his feet and begins to chew on some grass Eclipsa hands him.
“Milken,” Eclipsa says, motioning him over.
Milken trembles as he approaches the bunny. “Bramble?”
The rabbit stops chewing and glances up. When he sees his familiar, he hops into his arms. It’s basically the cutest thing I’ve seen in years—or the creepiest. I’m still not decided.
The room erupts in applause, and Eclipsa performs a bow. “The transfer of the soul is complete.”
For the first time ever, I wonder how many times the prince has completed the soul transfer thingy-majig, and how old that makes him. Being attracted against my will to a reincarnated Fae thousands of years older than me was never part of my life goals.
Then again, I’m starting to question everything I ever thought I wanted. Six months ago, I would have told you my biggest ambition in life was finding enough food to feed my family. Six months ago, I would have laughed in your face if you told me I would be secretly attracted to a Fae Ice prince.
Six months ago, the idea that I would attend an academy and find not only friends, but a home, would have been ridiculous.
For whatever reason, the thought that I might love this place terrifies me more than anything. Because if life has taught me anything, it’s that the moment you love something, the universe rips it away.
42
After Properties of Magic class, we meet our Combat Theory instructor, Crenshaw, in the great hall. Most of the students lounge on the wide marble stairs that split into separate stairwells on either side of the mahogany paneled walls.
A stained glass window at the top of the stairs depicts deer and foxes playing in the snow together near a lake. It’s actually quite beautiful, like most Fae art, the light shining through the glass coloring the students orange and teal.
Professor Crenshaw has to call out three times to get the group’s attention. Today is Friday, and the Fae Yule holiday, meaning many of the students will be going home for the weekend. I try not to be bitter that I’m stuck here, telling myself I wouldn’t know what to say to my family, anyway.
The lie almost sticks.
Mack babbles on about her plans to visit her parents as the entire group follows the professor down a low-lit corridor to a dank set of stairs. We trudge single file for what feels like thirty minutes into a dingy basement. Cold, damp air settles around us, the scent of magic everywhere.
The professor waves his hand and orbs light from the overhanging chandeliers. That’s when I realize how big this place is. Glass cases line the worn wood floor, jewelry and chalices and other oddities inside. Beautiful, worn armor made of silver and gold hang off wooden mannequins. Gorgeous jewel-toned ball gowns fit for a Fae queen sparkle beneath the magical light.
“This is the hall of antiquities,” Professor Crenshaw says, his voice trembling in awe. “Some of these items are ten thousand years old. If you experience an overwhelming sensation of magic, that is the preservation spell you feel.”
Someone gasps and points to the ceiling. I follow their gaze.
At first, I’m not sure what I’m seeing. It looks as if a girl is suspended in the air above, her long vibrant red hair hanging far below. The peaks of her high, pointed ears are just visible. The train of the emerald green and gold brocade velvet gown she wears tumbles a good fifteen feet below, the delicate silken fabric putting every dress in the room to shame.
