Page 51 of Two Who Live On

Tara had made vast and swift improvements over the past few weeks using the weighted blocks to redistribute her branches so she could seamlessly cast one branch at a time.

Chanelle sucked her teeth, fighting back a frown. “You haven’t read the email yet, have you?”

I pulled my laptop out of my satchel, set it on her desk, and opened my email to find the one—among two dozen unimportant or spam messages—I’d missed. A lump grew in my throat. Tara’s support tools hadn’t been approved for the Spring Showcase.

“Why?” I asked, perplexed and ready to collapse. “I did everything right.”

I’d informed the administration who’d passed it on to the supervising proctor for the event—Chanelle. I’d even gotten it submitted early. Everything was checked off. How they functioned and their purpose. Tara had filled out her forms. It was all done by the book to help her.

“You didn’t attach a waiver, so I had to deny the request.”

“I explained the medical purpose behind them,” I snapped. Tara and I didn’t have time to apply for a waiver, but her branch overlap should’ve sufficed.

“I’m not saying her condition isn’t real, simply saying there’s no medical record to support her overlap.”

The Whitlock family, her father, had years to have Tara’s branch overlap diagnosed and accounted for, yet he’d never want a condition like that disclosed, even if held as a confidential file in the academy records never made it public record. God forbid he acknowledged she needed assistance. No. He saw that kind of thing as weakness, and the Whitlocks weren’t weak.

“You can’t just deny her support,” I said weakly. “That’s not fair.”

“Without a medical, magical, or casting waiver to support the use of accommodations during the event, it’d be unfair to give her that edge. Like any other student, she’s just going to have to do her best without support items.” There was no joy in Chanelle’s voice or thoughts. “I am sorry.”

The bell rang, startling and louder than usual. “I need to get to my classes.”

“It’s nothing personal, but this is a business first.” Damn, if she hadn’t summed up the entirety of education in one line. “It’s okay to have a soft spot for the kids. Hell, when I saw five of mine hadn’t made the cut this year, I was devastated for them. Heartbroken knowing I’d have to rip their dreams for the Spring Showcase away before they even had a chance to compete. But kids are resilient, and it might take time, but they’ll bounce back.”

“I don’t have a soft spot for anyone.”

“Not even Milo? Or do you prefer giving him your hard spots? Parts. Dammit. Eh, that double entendre almost worked.” Chanelle chuckled, attempting to draw me into a lighter conversation, but I wasn’t able to flip a switch that easily.

I resented everything about academy-first stances, and since taking this extra add-on to her position, she’d become more and moreabout the business model, which was upsetting. Her opposition to all things authoritative was one of her qualities that kept my mind synced onto hers year after year at Gemini.

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Nineteen

My mind buzzed with excitement, despite all the irritability and sadness I’d carried leading up to the showcase. Mostly because I kept my telepathy latched onto the anxious joy oozing off my students. This allowed me to stay active during the ceremony without wandering toward Milo’s mind, and it also helped stifle the loud surface thoughts of every other participant alongside the roaring crowd.

A thrilling shiver ran along my spine as contestants entered the auxiliary gym. Staff like me, first years not participating, and esteemed guests—those we’d wrangled into coming—had already arrived and taken our seats in the makeshift arena bleachers surrounding the auxiliary gym. Each of the students quickly absorbed the massive change of the equally distributed terrains shifting locations and the half-filled stadium surrounding them as they entered.

Curiosity stemmed from how the academy had moved everything around seamlessly while adding the stadium. A few guessed the correct magics at play: primal earth, cosmic transmutation, and high-tier enchantment spell craft. Easy enough to do but expensive as hell.

They were in awe at the turnout, which I did my best not to roll my eyes at. The stadium seating only ever reached full capacity during the second-year Spring Showcase, and Gemini wasn’t hosting the event this year. Not that we were on the docket to host the event, but administrators’ minds still buzzed with ways to change that. Gemini took a particularly hard hit first semester, and their thoughts often matched the daggers they shot me with scornful gazes. I wasn’t at fault, technically, but oh, how they still believed my Saturday training led to the warlock incursion along with the negative press Gemini received afterward.

Truthfully, I should’ve taken all the blame considering everything that happened was due to my ego. The arrogance of undoing the void vision, which worked, my one saving grace in my obsessive nature, and Milo’s coy tactics of altering events subtly.

Something he hadn’t been able to do during this demon case. No. I clenched my fists, channeling telekinesis into the grip. The telekinetic energy tightened my chest, squeezing my muscles and keeping me locked here and now. There was a lot about Milo and his case I wanted to see unfold, but today had to be about the students. Each of them worked so hard to get here. Some more than others. Caleb followed the directions of proctors as they guided and ushered students to a starting point on an obstacle course event I abhorred.

The glass ceiling retracted, allowing the warmth of the sun to shine down on everyone. In the center of the auxiliary gym, a massive four-sided screen—the type used during sporting events—hovered through the assistance of enchantments. Small cameras floated throughout the gym guided by tech and telekinesis, zooming in onstudents and shifting shots from who appeared on the screen and when.

Caleb panicked when the camera landed on him. It was bad enough for him to see his face a hundred times larger in an expression he tried fixing—yet somehow made worse with each scrunched expression—but on top of that, the screen displayed their abilities and rankings for all to see.

He’d barely made it into the competition, and now everyone in attendance knew it, too. I hoped he’d shrug it off as quickly as he’d done every setback thrown his way, but he dwelled during Chanelle’s enthusiastic opening speech to the crowd. Her position had given her more esteem at every turn, and administration believed there was no one better to host. She was alive with spirit while explaining the first round in the showcase, and I didn’t have the heart to tell her admin only passed it on to her to avoid the hassle themselves. Even if I was still pissed at her.

“Arriving here is a momentous achievement,” Chanelle’s voice boomed through loudspeakers while she walked back and forth in front of the students who’d lined up. “There are many talents that brought each of you to this starting line today, but one above all the others.”

“Don’t say it,” I thought, biting back my telepathy before linking to her mind. Grumbling, I squeezed the bridge of my nose for the impending flood of doubt about to hit my mind.

“It’s your wonderful branch magics which allow you to rise to any challenge, which is why for this event—we’ll only be allowing the use of branch magics through the obstaclecourse.”

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