Page 77 of The Black Witch

He glares at me. “Give that scholar back her food!”

That “scholar”? Is he kidding?

“No,” I refuse, stepping away from him, guarding both slices of cake protectively. “She doesnotget to terrorize meall night longand then get to eat the cake thatIiced!”

The professor turns to Ariel, who’s flapping her moth-eaten wings agitatedly. He eyes her suspiciously. “What’s this about, Ariel?”

Ariel? He’s on a first-name basis with her?

“It’s not my fault!” Ariel cries. “She shows up in our room last night, says she can’t lodge with filthy Icarals and throws herself into a closet! I tried to get her to come out, but she kept yelling about how she’s a Gardnerian and the granddaughter of Carnissa Gardner and can’t mix with Icarals or Elves or Kelts! That we’ll pollute her pure blood! She kept going on and on about how the Gardnerians are the superior race, and how everyone else is an inferior Evil One, and how she’s the next Black Witch!”

I’m momentarily paralyzed with shock and outrage.

The Keltic teacher turns to me with an odd, pained look before his expression goes hard.

“That’s...that’s alie!” I sputter as Ariel’s face behind him morphs from that of the traumatized victim to a dark, calculating grimace. “Shestalkedme!Terrorizedme! I had to barricade myself in acloset! And then she spent most of the night scratching at the door with aknife!”

The professor looks back at Ariel appraisingly then back at me, his eyes cold, his lips set in a tight line.

I’ve lost. Of course he’s on her side. He’s a Kelt.

“Mage Elloren Gardner,” he orders, his face tensing as if my name pains him. I’m not surprised that he knows my name. Everyone knows my name. “Give those scholars back their food.”

The sheer injustice of this roils through me.“Fine!”I snarl, throwing the cake down on the table so hard it bounces off the plates, adding to the general mess.

“Thank you, Professor Kristian,” Ariel says with wide, puppy-dog eyes.

I want to strike her.

“Elloren,” I hear a familiar voice say from behind me, “aren’t you done with your shift?”

I turn to see Lukas approaching me.

His eyes flicker over to Professor Kristian and the Icarals disdainfully then back to me again, his sword and wand at his side. I straighten and set my jaw forward defiantly.

Good. I have backup. Real backup. A Level Five Mage. Not some useless Kelt teacher who’s too ready to believe lying Icarals instead of me.

I turn to Professor Kristian, who’s glaring icily at Lukas, and feel a bitter surge of triumph.

Lukas holds out his arm to me. I take it and walk out without another glance back.

* * *

I walk halfway back to the North Tower with Lukas, the two of us pausing near a small grove of trees in the center of a small courtyard.

I lean back against the tree trunk behind me, my hands finding the cool bark. I close my eyes, breathe in deep and let the wood of the tree relax me.

Mmm. Rock Maple.

The wilds rattle me, but lone stands of trees, cut off from the forest, soothe me, rounding out my sharp edges like calming waters.

When I open my eyes, Lukas is watching me closely, his head cocked with curiosity, his hand also on the tree, his fingers languidly rubbing at the bark.

“Can you feel it?” he asks. “The roots?”

I swallow. These odd leanings of mine—I’m not supposed to speak of them. But clearly, Lukas feels them, too. “They run deep,” I hesitantly answer.

He smiles at me. “Mmm.”

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