Page 18 of Group Studies

“Hey!” I poked my friend.

Derek shook his head and frowned, taking my phone from me. “So, the Gibson family,” he brought up a website. “They can be traced back to the twelfth century. “

I blinked at the family crest. “Saffron’s a Natural Mage? But he’s got yellow rimming.”

“Saffron was born a Natural Mage, but the magical fall out’s random. It sometimes picks a Natural Mage.” Derek focused on my clasps. “Any word on when those are coming off?”

I shook my head. Derek typed something else into the Institute’s limited web capabilities and handed me my phone back with an article pulled up: Gibson Family Curse Amplified by Fallout.

I hid my phone in my history textbook as the teacher began lecturing. Although I knew I should be listening, I was too excited to learn more about Saffron.

The tragic article didn’t have many details. Saffron and his family had all been in their private jet when it went down in the Caribbean. No one saw why it failed, but someone had taken video of the family jumping out of it before it hit the water.

What happened under the water remained a mystery. Saffron and his parents were found by the coast guard. Pieces of Saffron’s little brother showed up on the coast a few days later, partially eaten by sharks.

I swallowed, reading the sentence again. Saffron had only been a teenager and his brother a little kid.

The article moved on, correlating the crash with the bright yellow rimming appearing around Saffron’s eyes. “The Curse” as the media called it.

I closed my eyes, seeing the images Saffron had sent me weeks ago in Metaphysics. The one of a Golem holding him underwater clicked into place. He hadn't only sent me his wishes. He’d sent me his fears.

I took in a sharp breath. Was Mercedes’ pregnancy a fear? Or a fantasy?

It wasn't my business.

I pushed the thought away and finished the article.

None of the Gibson family had ever talked to the press about any of it. Damon told me not to trust journalists. They only pushed the MA’s agenda. If that were true, logically, Saffron’s family didn’t get along with the MA. I liked the thought, but if Damon was wrong, it could mean many things. Somehow, Saffron had ended up here, at the Institute. I should’ve let him explain the first time he tried.

I rubbed my temples. It was too late now. Putting away my phone, I focused on the lecture until the foghorn blared, releasing me to my lunch break. Usually, Ashe joined me, but he was oddly absent today so I ate alone, still trying to wrap my head around all of it.

Ashe was waiting for me in my first class of the afternoon, one of the only two intermediate classes we had together. He already wedged himself into his self-assigned spot, cutting my back corner seat off from the rest of the room.

He turned to me, arms crossed with his legs spread out in front of him. “Tonight, dinner. Whatever you want, on me.”

I blinked. “Ah, like our usual dinner, but different?”

Ashe cracked his neck. “I’m tired of watching you force down PB&Js. It’s not a fucking date unless you want it to be.”

Heat filled my cheeks, Ashe smirked.

I shifted uncomfortably, still not wanting to pull him into my drama. “I have tutoring tonight. I usually eat with Professor Garnet.”

“I was hoping, maybe you could do less tutoring with Professor Garnet,” Ashe said carefully. “You’ve told me nothing he’s doing works. That’s why you talked to ‘your friend’ yesterday.”

My eyebrow twitched. “It’s required by the Director.”

“Dinner sure as shit isn’t,” Ashe said, scowling.

I frowned, not breaking our silent staring contest. It really wasn’t a date. I had a feeling Ashe at least suspected almost every tutoring session ended with me being thoroughly fucked. Though he probably assumed it was by Professor Garnet.

I looked away first. “Until ‘my friend’ helps me, Professor Garnet's all I’ve got.”

Ashe lowered his voice. “I fucking dreamed about you last night. It’s unusual for me to dream at all. You’re mixed up in too much crap. Kitten, lean on me, please.”

Before I could respond, the foghorn blasted through the room.

Doctor Roy stood from his desk. “Good afternoon, all my charming thinkers! And what a fine afternoon it is for Trust Models!”

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