Page 4 of Reluctant Wizard

To Cillian’s surprise, Alise’s smile warmed, and she nodded at Priyan. “I think we all did.”

“You?” Cillian blurted out—saying the wrong thing for the one-thousandth time in a row in Alise’s disconcerting presence. “I mean, you don’t seem like you would go for Sylus’s brand of…” He didn’t finish, decidedly uncomfortable choosing any of the several words that popped into mind. He regretted his outburst even further when Alise’s smile froze, then shattered entirely as she averted her gaze.

She handed him the book without looking at him again, saying offhandedly. “I was young and naïve.”

“Oh, to be that young and naïve again,” Priyan said, clapping a hand over his heart.

“Familiar Priyan,” the provost said from the doorway, sounding stern, but with amusement in her expression. “Can I ask you to leave off fluttering over romantic heroes and instead send in my next appointment?”

“Yes, Provost,” Priyan answered, but with a cheeky flutter of his lashes.

“Wizard Alise,” the provost said with much less amusement. “I believe I told you to be gone—and pursuing any number of more productive activities.”

“Going, Provost Uriel,” Alise replied, sounding chastened, but she gave Priyan a wink and left without acknowledging Cillian further.

He hadn’t even thought to ask her how it had gone with the provost, he’d been so flustered. As he turned to follow Provost Uriel’s preemptory gesture to enter her office, he reviewed Alise’s set expression and the provost’s parting comment. Alise had been upset, flushed and unhappy, but it sounded like she’d been given a reprieve and would remain at the academy—a relief for both of them.

Well, a relief for her, but not for him if he didn’t remain at Convocation Academy. Given the provost’s attitude, nothing boded well for that eventuality.

He was definitely getting fired.

~3~

Alise hurried her way out of the provost’s office and plunged down the long, winding steps that led ever earthward. Offices ringed the tower at each floor, on both the inner and outer circles, open doors emitting the chatter of conversation and rustle of paperwork. Ratsiel couriers flew over her head in a steady stream of myriad directions, carrying the communications of the busy academy. Some of the office workers glanced at her as she went by, giving her nods of respect. She might be the subject of gossip from all and disdain from some, but she was still her father’s daughter, when all was said and done, and a wizard.

No one wanted to cross an Elal wizard. Today’s mud-covered, disgraced student could be tomorrow’s Lady Elal, after all. Never mind that Alise wasn’t interested in intimidating anyone. For that matter, she had no intention of improving her wizardry. She’d caused enough damage as it was. She would find a way to learn the bare minimum to graduate, then contrive never to use her abilities again, for any reason. Never again would she risk doing what had killed her mother.

She could add how she’d treated Cillian to her long list of transgressions of how she’d failed everyone around her. He’d looked so flustered, barely meeting her gaze, acting upset. He was probably worried about getting fired. And why had he had he been reading The Saga of Sylus and Lyndella? That was so out of character for him. Then teasing her about liking it. Yes, of course she recognized the unrealistic aspects of that torrid romance, but it was fiction. Well, mostly. No doubt Cillian would be able to tell her exactly how much of the tale was historically accurate. Had his getting the book—and ostentatiously reading it where she’d run into him—been a way of trying to get a rise out of her?

No. She shook that away. Cillian had said he was pursuing some project with the book and had no reason to lie about that. After all, he had a much bigger life than assisting her research, projects he’d likely had to put on hold to help her, plus being dragged into House Phel business. Probably he was pursuing a project like parsing the history versus the fiction of Sylus and Lyndella, or some such and she was being emotional and paranoid, which seemed to be the new normal for her.

She didn’t know up from down these days, only that getting from one hour to the next felt like such an unbearable slog that she wanted to crawl under the covers and not come out until spring. Maybe longer.

This, however, was not an option.

Class. She was supposed to go to class. Alise racked her brain trying to remember where she was supposed to be on this day, at this particular time. It seemed like months instead of weeks since she’d been at the academy, and… Well, shit. Today was her senior practicum. The worst possible class to have to endure. Worse, the hands-on lasted all afternoon and required active participation. Even the delay of changing her clothes wouldn’t save her from several hours of pretending to know what she was doing. What dreadful luck.

But delaying further would only make it worse. So, Alise strode down the quiet hall in the dorm reserved for upper level wizard students. Everybody was in class at this time of day, a minor stroke of good fortune. She didn’t care to answer any probing questions disguised as friendly conversation. As she drew near to her own closed door, however, she spotted someone leaning against the wall next to it, wearing the garb of one of the academy proctors, which was… very odd. Proctors didn’t spend time where students weren’t. Their literal job was to monitor students.

Alise slowed to give herself time to think. She shouldn’t be in any danger, even though the academy proctors were all Hanneil wizards and despite the fact that House Hanneil seemed to be a part of the conspiracy to destroy House Phel, for unknown reasons. Still, not everyone beholden to a house supported that house’s politics—she should know, as she categorically hated everything House Elal did—nor would everyone in a house even know much about what the higher echelons were up to. Obviously on a few high-level wizards would know about conspiracy-level stuff, not wizards who ended up as academy proctors.

Only medium- to lower-level wizards settled for the grunt jobs that were basically being hall monitors for unruly students. The proctors scanned surface thoughts and attempted to nip infractions in the bud. They were generally effective at that, but the faculty handled any major trouble.

As she drew near, she found she didn’t recognize the proctor who was very obviously blocking access to her room. Even odder. At this stage of her academic career, after all these years of boarding and schooling at Convocation Academy, she recognized most, if not all, of the staff and faculty, if only distantly. A steady gig at Convocation Academy, even a lowly one—salaried, along with room and board—was nothing to sneeze at. Turnover was low. A proctoring job might not be the plum of the psychic wizarding world, but most of the academy proctors were wizards she remembered from more than ten years before when she first arrived at the academy as a girl.

That this unfamiliar proctor behaved out of character and clearly waited for specifically her sent a chill of foreboding down her spine. But Alise pulled her poise together and lifted her chin, channeling her best Lady Elal manner. “Can I be of assistance, Proctor…?”

The man smiled and sketched a bow. He had golden hair, pale skin, and a square jaw, classically handsome if you cared for that sort of thing. His coloring was striking with his black eyes. His psychic magic had an unsavory look to it, however, a murky quality that canceled out any physical appeal he might have. “A moment of your time, Wizard Elal.”

“Phel,” she corrected sharply, and his smile only curved as he tipped his head in dubious acknowledgment.

“I am Proctor Gordon Hanneil,” he said. “I must have a word with you.”

“Must you?” she inquired coolly. She set down her overnight bag, and her bag of books, folded her arms and waited. “Go ahead. I need to change clothes and attend my practicum, as I’m sure you’re aware, being a proctor.” She added that last pointedly, since she wasn’t at all convinced that was true. Proctor’s robes were easy to acquire.

“In private,” he qualified with a flash of a grin that was likely supposed to be charming, as he gestured to her door.

Oh no, boyo, I don’t think so. She made a show of looking around the empty hallway. “You can speak here. There’s no one to overhear.”

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