Page 81 of Every Shade of Shadow

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

I go about the following day on a different kind of cloud. Three times in one session seemed excessive at the time, but it’s left me floating today, shifting from class to class as if I don’t have a care in the world.

Happy, happy hormones.

As for my poor pussy, I might have found a spell or two in the grimoire to help with that, though I doubt a spell to ease neck pain was ever used in quite this way.

And placebo or not, my power is growing with every lesson. Even coming out of the shower last night I practiced a quick Arcanum Missilia Tormentum, almost shattering every mirror in the process before I reined it back in at the very last second.

It’s more than sex with the Professor. The more time we spend together, the greater my power grows. Is there Shadowcraft involved? No doubt. Is it legal? Probably not, but damn if it isn’t addictive. To say it bodes well is the understatement of the century.

But still doubt lingers that Darkwood is using me. After all, I am his pet, his plaything, and he’s shown as much, but there is far more to the Professor than he lets on in our little encounters. Of that I am sure. I intend to poke and prod at the edges, at least find out what makes the great Damien Darkwood tick.

He’s not a fucking clock, my head cuts in.

What I was not expecting today, however, was to be called to the Headmistress. I suppose she sent that message to Professor Hawthorn telepathically given the way he reached up to his head in class and singled me out, finger whipping to the door.

It’s a cool trick. I make a note to tell Sab about it when I get back home.

If you get back home, I consider.

Whatever, Head. I will get back to NY, and when I do, I will be an all-powerful, do-not-fuck-with, ass-kicking super bitch.

Though such thoughts of glory seem to disappear when I enter the Headmistress’s office and suddenly feel like I’m six and about to be told Gran’s going to be called because I put paint in my mouth.

I stand in the center of the room while the paneled doors close behind me.

She knows, I tell myself, but perhaps not. Perhaps this is simply something innocuous. Maybe it’s a simple catch-up and nothing more.

But that’s the problem with Lumina: nothing just is. There’s always more running underneath the surface.

The Headmistress looks up and acknowledges me, removing her reading glasses before standing and pacing to a cabinet in the corner. She’s in her usual emerald robes. They sashay around her as she moves.

“Tea?” she asks.

So shit, maybe we are in England.

I shake my head sideways, once. “No, thank you.”

“Perhaps something stronger?” she smiles with meaning. “I hear you’ve had quite the baptism of fire.”

What’s she hinting at here? Does she know about the Professor and me, the Fire Lash, what followed? Last night’s triple fuck-a-thon that I’m still smarting from?

No, surely not.

She motions to a solitary chair in front of her desk. “Please.”

I seat myself, unsure what to do with my hands and deciding to simply stack them atop one another on my thigh.

His thigh, I correct.

The Headmistress resumes her place behind her desk, lifting the teacup to her mouth and sipping. It’s all very cordial.

“So you’ve decided to become Damien’s latest plaything?”

Fuck me. So she does know.

My cheeks burn. “I—”

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