Page 50 of Two Who Live On

“I’m the only Smythe who ranked. Fucking slackers.”

“Gonna rock out with my cock out!”“Bawk!”

“I’m so sick of your dick jokes.”

“Gael never makes dick jokes. It’s all about the cock.”

“So annoying.”

Given there wasn’t much time left for homeroom before they’d be heading to their next class, I allowed them to hang around the auditorium, soaking up their excitement for their achievements and chatting with other homeroom students also lounging about.

A new email pinged on my laptop from the person coordinating this year’s showcase, Chanelle Whitehurst. It offered instructions for staff duties during the event and brief explanations of the competitions planned during the event. I glowered. All this information was strictly confidential, so I couldn’t disclose any of it to my students. Yet, reading the challenges involved and realizing Chanelle had a hand in picking these competitions, I had words for her. Storming out of the auditorium, I took deep breaths, which did little to ease the frustration building inside me.

I walked into Chanelle’s classroom, glad none of her students were there because I wasn’t certain I could bite my tongue for very long. “Are you serious about these competitions?”

Chanelle kept her eyes locked on her computer screen, unfazed by my arrival. She half-expected it and was half-prepared for resentful staff, whether about the competition setup, our extra unpaid duties, or complaining their students were improperly ranked.“We’ve always got to balance entertainment alongside proficiency.”

“That first round completely ignores proficiency, and you know it.”

“I beg to differ. Honestly, I despise selling the second round to spectators—problematic, in my opinion—but that’s what this is all about. Butts in seats.”

“You’re running this event. You’re the one bringing in more guild witches than any first-year showcase has ever done.”

“What’s your point?”

“My point is you have more say in the competitions, which ones we include and the ones we shouldn’t.” I frowned, holding back a judgmental glare as the first competition clung to her surface thoughts proudly. “It’s absurd you’re so proud of an event that literally prevents students from using their root magics. Half the kids who ranked into the competition rely on the combination of root magics to assist in their branch magics.”

“Exactly. This showcase isn’t about promoting root magics or subpar branches. There, I said it. The mean, nasty words we all know to be true here.” Chanelle waved her hands, half a gesture and half to reorganize the desks in her classroom.

I winced at the screech of metal desk legs dragging across the floor.

“Not everyone’s blessed with a fancy branch, and that sucks.” Chanelle continued moving items around her classroom. “It’s also why I wholeheartedly invest in my students, so they’re prepared for the harsh reality of this industry. But the fact remains we’re trying to attract sponsors, which means we need an audience with guildmembers who are awed and return for rounds two and three and want to fund these budding branches. And no one gives a fuck about boring branches or roots we all have.”

“You realize this will affect over half of your homeroom coven.” My jaw tightened.

“Fewer than you think since only seven of my students ranked.” Chanelle swiveled her chair in my direction. “But let’s just say the truth of it, shall we? You’re not worried about my students. You’re not worried about all the students competing. Hell, you’re not even worried about your homeroom coven.”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re worried about your three little golden stars.” Chanelle stood and walked across her class, leaving handouts on each desk. “I’ve seen the way you work with your kids over the years, and I can always tell when you’re doting on one a bit more. Whether in guidance or the occasional telepathic stare.”

Despite all I did to distance myself from others, to make myself unreadable and unapproachable, Chanelle managed to cut to the heart of things about me without a psychic branch.

“I know you’ve got a soft spot for Caleb. Who wouldn’t? He’s a nice kid. Plus, a branchless student beating out so many other prospective applicants lining up to make something of their magic? That’s a catchy story. Unfortunately, there’s a lot of other factors to consider during the showcase. And none of the enchanters want to see that story.”

I ground my teeth.

“Besides, he barely squeaked by in the rankings. Even if the first round allowed root magics, I doubt he’d finish.”

“You’d be surprised.”

“Then there’s that little snot nose Kenzo.” Chanelle immediately skirted the conversation, eyes and thoughts fixated on the veinbulging on my forehead. “He has a hell of a powerful branch, but not one built for this competition. My guess? You see a bit of a younger grumpy Dorian in that kid. Minus the overdone guyliner and grungey wardrobe.”

“Of all my students, he’s the one I’m least concerned with.” It was true. Kenzo had an unyielding determination and aggressiveness that pushed him through any obstacle. I had no idea how he’d manage in the first event, but I knew he would.

“Oh, your precious Whitlock, perhaps? She’s lovely, polite, and has amazing branches. Branches she can’t or won’t use.”

“She’ll be fine.”

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