Page 113 of The Black Witch

I level my gaze at Tierney. “Yes, well, there’s something strange about you and water.”

A flash of fear crosses Tierney’s face.

Whereas I know Tierney has been surreptitiously watching me, I also know she hasn’t realized that I’ve been doing the same. On several occasions, I’ve peered into the lab, late at night, and have caught sight of odd things. Things that left me blinking and wondering if my ongoing sleep deprivation is playing tricks on my mind. Tierney absentmindedly playing with water rivulets, the streams and balls of water following her swirling finger like playful kittens. Tierney directing steam with her fingers. Tierney holding a ball of water in her hand.

I’ve been forced to come face-to-face with the truth of it—like Gareth, there’s no doubt that Tierney and I have mixed blood.

Fae blood.

For a long moment Tierney and I stare at each other in edgy silence.

“Have you noticed,” Tierney ventures, “that we’re the only two people in class without white armbands?”

More and more Gardnerian scholars have begun wearing these armbands, showing their support for Marcus Vogel’s rise to High Mage in the spring referendum, Fallon Bane being one of the first. I can’t bring myself to wear one, no matter how important it is to fit in. The thought of Vogel as our next High Mage fills me with a powerful dread I can’t explain.

“Oh, I don’t get involved in politics,” I tell her with forced lightness. “That’s my aunt’s domain.”

Tierney shoots me a look of hard appraisal, her mouth inching up in a coldly sardonic smile.

It makes me uncomfortable, her look. Like I’m being harshly judged and found lacking.

“I’ll need your help with the vials,” Tierney uneasily blurts out. “Carrying them, I mean. With this crook in my back—I can only carry a little.”

I nod, eager to let all these threads of conversation drop into oblivion. I take my bowl of powder and shake it into the viscous syrup that’s simmering before us. The rich scent of cedar and cloves flavors the air.

“They’re in my room,” she adds.

I cough out a sound of disbelief as I wipe the bark powder from my hands. “I can’t go to your room. What if Fallon sees me there?”

“She won’t,” Tierney says with a shake of her head. “She has military drills most evenings.” She shoots me a significant look. “Weapons training.”

A dark laugh wells up. “Oh.Weapons. Is that all? So she’ll be well practiced when she walks in and slays me.”

Tierney cocks a shrewd eyebrow and regards me evenly. As if waiting for me to get this humor out of my system.

I let out a long sigh. “I cannot run into her, Tierney.”

“Fallon’s a fanatic about her schedule,” Tierney states evenly. “She won’t be there for a few more hours. I’m sure of it.”

* * *

I stare at Diana Ulrich, blinking.

She’s dozing on one of the four beds in Tierney’s crowded room, belly down, one arm dangling listlessly off the bed, snoring loudly.

Completely naked.

Tierney notices me gaping at Diana as she packs soft cloths around each vial in the first of two long, partitioned wooden boxes. She shrugs. “It’s shocking at first. But I’ve gotten used to it.”

Diana makes a snarfling sound and rolls over, her legs splayed apart. I blush and turn away.

Tierney sends me a thin smile. “I’m almost done.”

I glance around the room as Tierney works, curious. “So which bed is Fallon’s?”

Tierney snorts and gives me an incredulous look. “You think she’d sleep outhere? With all ofus?” Tierney jabs her thumb in the direction of a side room. “Her bed’s in there.”

I cautiously step into the adjacent room as Tierney begins loading the second tray of vials. It’s dramatic, as I expected it would be—done up in deep red and hard black, an expansive four-poster bed in its center, expensive sheets thrown about, a half-eaten plate of fruit spilling onto the white undersheet.

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