Page 36 of Shadowed Fate

Oh god. What's happening?

"I knew it." Despite the mayhem in front of me, Laria’s voice rings loud and clear. "There’s something wrong with her— her magic is rancid, just like she is.”

She stands with her arms crossed in front of her chest, her shirt tighter and her shorts shorter than anyone else’s. She looks like a cross between every high school’s head cheerleader and an amazon warrior princess.

"Shut up, Laria," I snarl, still wrestling for control.

But her words have done their damage.

I see the fear in my classmates' eyes as they back away.

Monster. Freak. The old taunts echo in my head.

With a scream of frustration, I clench my fists and I force the magic back down. The vortex collapses in on itself. The shadows recede, slithering back to me like chastised pets. My heart hammers against my ribs as I struggle to breathe.

Silence hangs heavy. I can feel their eyes on me—wary, accusatory.

Judging.

"What the actual fuck was that?" Urian's voice cracks as he scrambles to his feet.

I open my mouth, but no words come out. How can I explain something I don't understand myself?

"That," Laria's silky voice offers, "was shadow magic. Rotten to the core." Her eyes lock onto mine, gleaming with malice. "Just like Brigid herself."

"I didn't mean to—" I start, but Laria's not done.

"Oh, of course not," she coos, her tone dripping with fake sympathy. "Poor little Brigid, can't even control her own powers. What if next time someone gets hurt? Or worse?"

Murmurs ripple through the crowd. I feel the shift in the room, fear crystallizing into something harder, colder.

Anger flares in my chest, hot and familiar. I want to lash out, to shut Laria's lying mouth. But the magic still simmers beneath my skin, and I'm terrified of what might happen if I lose control again.

So I do what I've always done. I shut down, face impassive, revealing nothing.

"Class dismissed," Professor Azaeron's voice booms, breaking the spell. "Brigid, a word."

As the other students leave the grounds, I overhear snippets of hushed conversations.

"...could've killed us all..."

"...knew there was something wrong with her..."

"...shouldn't be here..."

Each word is a dagger reopening old wounds. I clench my fists, nails digging into my palms.

My heart hammers against my ribs as I approach Professor Azaeron. His face is unreadable, but there's a tightness in his brawny shoulders that wasn't there before.

"Professor, I—"

He holds up a hand, silencing me. "What happened back there, Miss Ryan?"

I swallow hard, searching for words that won't come. How can I explain the raw, primal surge of power that ripped through me? The rush of letting it out, followed by gut-wrenching terror?

"I don't know," I finally manage, hating how small my voice sounds.

His eyes narrow, searching my face. "Are you certain? Because what I witnessed was not just ordinary, not even for shadow magic.”

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