Page 63 of Shattered Illusion

Axel jumps back, leaving me gasping, when a door slams down the hallway. Once again the hall is silent save for our harsh breaths.

“I should…” he trails off, throwing his thumb over shoulder as he unabashedly adjusts himself in his pants.

“Yeah.”

“Goodnight,cor meum.”

“Goodnight, vampy.”

My feet arelight as I bob and weave around my opponent, putting my barely-there skills to the test. I haven’t attended enough classes in this one subject to be any good, but there’s no telling the professor that. It was get in or get out and, at some point, I’d like to graduate. Hard to do if I continue skipping.

This class is one of the few required, and it’s the one I despise the most. Scratch that. Second most behind Transmutation.

Combat class. Bleh. Just what I want to do. Pound the crap out of people for an hour and a half and then listen to the assholes gloat for the next week. The whole idea behind it wouldn’t be so bad if it wasn’t set up street fighter style, where everyone circles around the two in the middle.

And there’s no way in hell to concentrate with the racket everyone is making as they cheer the two opponents on.

But you know what’s not happening, though? The cheering. Okay. That’s a lie. They totally are, but not for me.

Tank’s name—how freaking fitting—is being chanted by almost every student in attendance. But it’s the ones who havebloodlust in their eyes that worry me the most. They’re almost salivating for the kill.

“Go, Bailey! You got this!” Marion. Gotta love her. She’s the only one that’s been cheering me on.

I swear to all that is holy, I’m tempted to go complain to Jasper. Sorry. Headmaster Stonewell. Cause seriously. Where’s the track class? Give me a 100-yard dash or hurdles. Both of those are immensely better than making sure the person I’m up against doesn’t kick my ass.

And this huge mother trucker in front of me? Yep. He’s totally going to.

If I don’t keep moving, this asshole will take out the last curiomancer in existence without even knowing it.

But the two s’s I have that he doesn’t are working for me. Speed and size. I’m much, much smaller than the bulldozer trying to run me over, and he’s starting to flag under the constant movement of trying to catch me.

Like I expected, Tank stumbles, tripping over his own huge feet. The entire student body in attendance laughs or boos at his misstep, but I view it as a small blessing. It gives me a chance to wipe the sweat off my brow. Cause, gross. I don’t think I’ve ever sweated so much in my damn life. Hell, I think even my sweat is sweating. That’s just how bad it is.

Not only that but there’s a really good chance I stink to high hell. I don’t give a shit if I’m late to my next class. I’m taking a shower after this crap. Because there’s not a single person that would want to be near me reeking the way I am.

It takes a mere moment for Tank to regain his equilibrium, and I swear I can see steam pouring from his ears and nose at the sight of me. Like it’s my damn fault he almost fell. It’s them massive clown shoes on his feet that are to blame. Not little ole me.

But it’s apparent he doesn’t feel the same way when he charges me at full speed, faster than he’s been any other time. I didn’t even know someone of his size could move that quickly. I try to get out of his way, but I can’t. Too many people crowd behind me, not allowing me to break free to get away from the pain I know he’s about to deliver.

Marion’s scream rings in my ears before nothing but pain obliterates my entire body. My breathing becomes harsh and difficult to attempt with what feels like the weight of a boulder sitting on my chest. Bright lights flash behind my eyes, and I swear I hear little birdies chirp in my ears. I giggle, even though the movement is painful as hell. I remember those old cartoons where one character would get bonked on the head, and little tweety birds would flap around them. That’s exactly what this feels like.

“Alright!” Professor Simmon’s voice cuts through the haze of tweeties tweeting my name. “Great job, you two. Matthews, walk it off.” Where the heck have I heard that before?

I snort, but it sounds much more like a groan. That’s easy for him to say. I’d love to see him get run the fuck over and, as he says… walk it off.

Jerk.

“Come on, Bailey. I’ll help you.” Marion helps me to my feet, but the moment she lets go, my knees crumple beneath me, and I hit the floor once again with an oomph. “Fuck. Earth to Bailey.” She snaps her fingers in front of my face. “Can you walk?”

“Nope.” I pop the P, even though it hurts.

“Shit. Okay. I apologize now for what I’m about to do.” Uhhh.. I don’t know if I like the sound of that.

“Wa—” I don’t even get to finish telling her to wait before she grabs my arm and hauls me up, throwing me over her shoulder in a fireman's carry. “For shit’s sake, Marion. Put me down,” Ihiss, wiggling around as her shoulder digs into my ribs. I hiss again, but this time it’s because the shit goddamn hurts.

Marion marches out of combat class like a woman on a mission, but I hide my face in her sweaty back to escape the mocking laughter that follows behind us in our wake. Couldn’t she have just helped me hobble out or you know, carried me differently? At this rate, I’m never going to live this down. It’s going to haunt me for however many years I have here.

The second the door closes behind us, Marion carefully lowers me to the floor, propping me up against the wall. My legs shake under the exertion, but I manage to stay on my feet this time. Barely.

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