Page 150 of A Heart of Bluestone

Dray waits a moment, watching the potion, the black tar start to churn, as though stirred from the bottom of the cauldron.

I look around the others, at panicked and flushed faces, at frowns aimed nowhere in particular, just lost, and at Courtney who, down the way with James, lets a great grin split her face. Her potion is a success, and she is quick to lift her stare to Master Welham’s back—and wait for his approval.

Once she gets it, she’s out of here for the night.

Me, too.

So I stare at Master Welham even harder.

He has his cheek to me, just two cauldrons down, peering into the sleek ivory brew that both Serena and Oliver are chuffed with, if their shared smiles are anything to go by.

Master Welham nods, firm, then makes a show of a purposeful tick on his clipboard.

They are dismissed.

Oliver grabs his satchel and tugs the strap over his shoulder. He drops onto the stool, then yanks Serena onto his lap.

They wait—for the other Snakes.

Landon and Mildred are approved next. Courtney and James are among the next few pairs. It takes a while for Welham to get his round ass up here. But finally, he does.

Dray and I are given the tick.

I don’t wait for anyone, I just leave them behind.

It’s not easy to get out of the gardens.

Stragglers gather in the narrow aisles between potted plants and netted flowers. I’m squeezing by the belladonna and stepping over toppled crates of small shovels and water bottles when, ahead, Teddy throws a smile over his shoulder.

It lands on me.

It wasn’t meant to, I know that by the quick disappearance of the smile and that he says, “Oh, sorry, thought you were Piper.”

He lifts his gaze over my head, his steps slow, almost stagnant, on the narrow path. I have half a mind to shove him into the fertiliser.

But then, Piper brushes by me with a muttered sorry, then slams into Teddy, hard.

He does fall into the fertiliser.

My face tightens with a grimace—but he just laughs, pushes up, then fixes his jacket. No harm comes to Piper.

He follows her out of the garden, some stragglers leading the charge, more falling into line behind us.

Courtney catches up, cheeks red and nose runny. “We got white.”

Her potion, I understand. She got a pass.

I nod. “Same.”

“Well,” she breathes, rushed, “Dray Sinclair got white. You’re lucky—”

The look I flare her way is enough to stumble her words, then silence her completely.

I’m not lucky to have him as a partner for this class. I would rather fail than be forced into his proximity all the fucking time.

The itch to shove her is strong.

But I don’t.

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