Page 90 of Savage Hope

“Idon’t think it’s safe for you to go in there alone,” Bryony murmurs, and I offer her a tight smile. I don’t want to step in there on my own either, but it’s literally the only class she’s not with me. I should be able to handle that. Ihaveto.

Her concern is appreciated. She’s been all hawk-eyes on me since I told her everything that unraveled yesterday. When I hadn’t shown up at our next class, she assumed Juniper had kept me behind longer, and by the time the end of the day rolled around, she was summoned by her coven leader.

The guilt is etched into her eyebrows now as she glances between the classroom before us and me. It’s not her fault, though. It seems I’m the subject of some sick game, and as much as I don’t like it, I can’t hide from it.

“I’ll be okay. Nobody in here could be doing it. None of us have access to our magic,” I state, and although her lips are pressed in a firm line, she nods in agreement.

“Don’t leave here without me. Understand?” Her glare leaves no room for questioning so I nod as she squeezes my arm before pushing me over the threshold of the classroom entryway and hurrying to her next class.

My sudden burst through the door earns me a few questioning looks from the others in the room. However, it seems my weirdness is no different from how it was at Florentine’s because everybody from there doesn’t even bother to roll their eyes at me.

Professor Sommers stands in the far corner of the room, hands clasped together as she stares at me with wide eyes. She rocks back on her heels, waiting for my outburst to continue, but when I drop to the carpet in the middle of the room, hoping to become invisible, she claps, garnering everyone’s attention.

“Gather around everyone; there’s no time to waste. We have sigils to break and magic to learn. The quicker you master what’s holding you back, the quicker you see the back of me,” she declares, a soft giggle vibrating through the room. “Has anyone broken their sigil without me knowing?” she adds, casting her gaze around the room, only earning everyone’s disappointment before she proceeds. “Okay. Well, those who have been with me longer, please, make use of the books in the corner. My newest Florentines, please, follow me.”

Scrambling to my feet, I run my hands down my jeans nervously as I follow behind Sian and Terence to where Sommers guides us. There’s a large table set up with just enough seats for us, and I opt to take a chair on the opposite side of the table from the vampires, who think I’m beneath them now. Helena and Danica get comfortable on my left, and it’s clear that B still isn’t here.

Would he need to be if he’s a human?

I don’t know, but it’s still concerning.

“Okay, it’s important for us to learn a little more about you. I don’t have much, but I have very limited documents that specify your last name and the place that name originated. By some miracle, it may trigger your sigil, but the chances are slim. However, from there it’s possible to begin searching for lineagein the right places that may offer the smallest sliver of knowledge that is the true key to your sigil.”

My heart pounds in my chest, shocked by her words, as I try to take a calming breath. She needs to prepare me for groundbreaking information like this. I’m not ready.

“I’ll start at random in whatever order the documentation is filed in, and then you can join the others searching through the research files we have. Any questions?” she asks, taking the free seat at the head of the table, only waiting a beat for anyone to respond before she proceeds. “First up, Helena Davenport,” she states, glancing around the table, and Helena lifts her hand nervously beside me. “Davenport is your family name that trails back centuries, a strong line of witches from Buttercup Roe, which is confirmed from the knowledge we have stored. When researching, focus on the bloodline Davenport and any connection to Buttercup Roe,” she explains, waving her hand for Helena to join the others.

“Thank you,” she breathes, twisting her hands nervously in front of her as she slowly rises and scurries away without a backward glance.

It’s as simple as that: Helena now has something to go on. I’m almost irritated that this information wasn’t provided in our last lesson, but I guess it was already information overload, and we can’t learn everything all at once.

“Sian Gloom. Gloom…Gloom…” Professor Sommers repeats her last name a few times, tapping at her chin as if she’s deep in thought. Then her eyes draw wide and her face seems to pale.

“What is it?” Terence asks, planting a hand on Sian’s shoulder as she rolls her lips together nervously.

“Oh, it’s just…I believe the Gloom line of vampires leads back to those initially impacted by the curse.” Her words grow soft with every new one that parts her lips, unaware that she’s stolen everyone’s breath at the table as we wait for her to proceed.

“As in the blood kin curse?” Sian clarifies, eyes sparkling with awe as the professor nods. “You’re telling me I’m linked to those loved by the witch?” Her voice is almost whimsical, like there’s a sense of pride in what she’s hearing, but the way Sommers’s lips draw thin as she looks down at the table tells a different story.

“Actually,” the professor states, offering a tight smile Sian’s way. “I believe the Gloom lineage is linked to those banished for treason.”

“What does that mean?” she asks, balking at the accusation as if it affects her personally.

“Well, it means your ancestors were some of the first cursed because of their prejudice.”

“My ancestors were…bad?” Her bottom lip wobbles and Terence drapes an arm around her shoulders in comfort. It’s weird seeing them like this, but it doesn’t seem to stoke any feelings inside of me.

“Bad is subjective; I guess it depends whose side you stand on,” Sommers explains, scanning the document in her hand again. “Right now, what you need to focus on is your ancestors and their connection to…the Marshlands.”

“I have banished ancestors and you want me to focus on something other than that fact?” Sian grumbles, her face heating with agitation as Sommers sighs.

“Unless that fact alone will lift your sigil, then yes.”

As if triggered by her words, Sian’s hand clamps on her chest, a scream rippling through the air as she tosses her head back. Terence leaps back, eyes bugging out as we all gape at her. The cry of pain seems to stretch on for an eternity before she falls silent and limp in her seat.

“What the?—”

“Quiet, Terence,” Sommers snaps, seemingly unaware that panic flickers through all of us until Sian slowly tilts her face. She slips her fingers beneath the neckline of her t-shirt, her frowngrowing tighter and tighter with every passing second as she slowly retrieves a golden pendant from around her neck. Only…it’s as if it’s been burned right down the middle and the chain is no longer hanging as one.

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