Page 22 of Every Shade of Shadow

That’s the way I felt when he spoke to me today. Maybe I am just another student.

Another victim, my head cautions.

*

‘Casino buffet’ was spot-on, not that I’m complaining given my meals lately have consisted largely of Graham crackers and whatever I can dredge from the dark void of the fridge.

No, this is okay. Better than okay.

Lily insists I sit with her and her friend Ava Nightshade. Unlike Lily, Ava seems more guarded. Lily tells me her skills in divination and scrying are unmatched at the Academy, that she has a fascination with the unknown.

I’d rather hear it from Ava herself, but any time the poor girl speaks it’s like she does so in riddles, every sentence a puzzle. ‘Wow, the chicken tonight is overcooked’ becomes ‘a crimson moon whispers secrets to silent waves, echoes at the shore.’

I like that shit. It’s mysterious.

Lily, on the other hand, seems like the creative type, all energy and pop. She seems loyal enough, even if I do detect a whiff of self-doubt. There’s something about establishing her identity outside of her family’s legacy, but I’m still tired from being fucking drugged and dragged to ‘Greenland.’

I excuse myself and take a shower, the bathroom mercifully empty and towels in good supply, which is a plus.

I head back to my room and start unpacking my luggage into the tight wardrobe next to the door.

But when I’m finished there’s something that’s noticeably absent, something that’s missing I’m positive, absolutely certain I packed but is now either gone or taken.

My underwear.

*

It’s a rush to get to class the following morning. I have my cell and charger, but there’s no reception or Wi-Fi, as Lily warned. We may as well be in Narnia, which also poo-poos any chance of sending a message out to Sabrina. But I’ll find a way.

I search again for my underwear, but it’s nowhere to be found, so commando it is with a mental sidenote to keep my legs well closed today.

Herbology is a bore, even if it was Gran’s strong suit, the following Alchemy class surprisingly interesting, but it’s the Black Arts I’m most looking forward to.

The Professor’s threat of consequences for being late lingers as I scurry to make class on time.

When I enter the dimly lit classroom, he pins me with a stare. "On time today, Ms. Fairchild. Good girl."

This condescending tone goes unnoticed by the rest of the students, who are already seated, so either they’ve heard it all before or they’re too scared to speak out.

Still, it smarts.

"Find a seat," he commands. "We have a lot to cover this term and you’re at a significant disadvantage."

I slide into a chair in the front row. As he begins to lecture in that sinful voice, explaining the deeper history of Shadowcraft, I struggle to focus on his words. All I can think about is having those lips, that body, pressed to mine as he—

"Am I boring you, Ms. Fairchild?"

I snap upright, my cheeks a bright, cherry red in the blink of an eye. He's looking right at me, scarlet lips curled into a knowing smirk.

"N-no, Professor,” I stammer. “My apologies."

He looks away. "See me after class,” he trills.

The class passes slowly, everything way over my head, because Gran wasn’t big on the darker side of magic, always kept me well-shielded from this kind of stuff. I’ve always wondered what was on those pages she tore out of her grimoire. It might very well be what I’m learning now.

The class finishes and the rest of the students start to funnel out until I’m alone with the Professor.

He raises his hand, the door to the classroom closing by itself. It’s toddler-level magic, but the way he does it, the smooth twist of his fingers…there’s a certain style there, a je nas sais quoi, if you will.

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