Page 313 of Sigils & Spells

No no no.

Do not think about naked and Brandon Flint in the same sentence.

That way led to disaster, and wreck that I was, I knew better than that. I had a job to do. There was a reason I was at Westwood, and nothing was going to stop me from completing it.

Not even hot boys with hard muscles and glittery silver eyes.

CHAPTER3

Headmistress Armstrong was standingnear Miss Cleve, the new librarian who’d recently taken over the immense job after Seamus O’Flannery announced his early retirement just last week. I was nervous because O’Flannery, being an Irishman and a wizard friend of my Gran, did not mind my unusual hours, or my tendency to borrow books past the allotted time.

I wondered if Miss Cleve would be as forgiving. Since I had three volumes in my hand that were, of course, late, it looked like I was about to find out.

I cleared my throat, but the headmistress was leaning down, speaking in earnest, and Miss Cleve looked equal parts harried and shocked. Finally, she glanced in my direction and the headmistress turned and saw me there.

“Good evening, Miss McKenna. Returning some books?”

“Yes, I am. Hi, I’m Tana McKenna. My apologies, these are late,” I mumbled.

“Oh, I see,” Miss Cleve replied. “Well, that’s all right this time, since I am just getting acquainted with the system.”

“Cool, thanks. All right if I look around?”

“Sure, but we will be closing promptly at ten,” she informed me.

“Miss McKenna,” Headmistress Armstrong said, delaying my departure.

She approached on short-heeled shoes, cloak billowing around her as if lifted by some wind only she could feel. It was possible, and I wondered why she even needed the heavy thing. Then again it was spring, and nights were chilly on campus. With her dark hair in its usual braided coil atop her head, she looked like some throwback Fraulein from an old movie.

“I understand you will miss Mr. O’Flannery and his lenient ways, but I would like you to make an effort to mind the rules now that Miss Cleve is here. Do you think you can do that?” she asked and smiled at me.

“Of course,” I replied, offering an uncomfortable smile in turn.

I had little practice with the expression, and since this was forced, it was as good as it was going to get. Headmistress Armstrong raised an eyebrow, and I exhaled. She wasn’t done with me yet.

“Good. I’ve spoken to some of your professors. They are worried you’re slipping, Miss McKenna. I would like you to visit me tomorrow at noon.”

“I’ll do better,” I said immediately, fear of being expelled crept up my throat, and my magic reacted predictably.

Shit balls.

Sparks would really not be a good idea in a library.

Closing my eyes, I exhaled sharply and nodded. Anything to make the woman leave.

“Excellent. I shall see you tomorrow at noon, then,” the headmistress said, and turned around to leave.

The air was easier to breathe once she’d gone, and I sucked it in greedily, rolling my head on my neck to cool my inner flames. Sometimes, it was like my magic was a separate entity, conscious and aware, and angry as fuck. Maybe it was because I’d inherited so much of my magical stores from my grandmother and mother, both having died violently.

Maybe it was just pissed I’d been keeping it bottled up. Either way, I could not let a spark go off in this precious place. I controlled myself in record time, walking past the aisles where several students milled about researching for their classes.

What I sought was not so easily reached. I was looking for personal accounts of the witch wars, picking up where Da left off in his last update. He didn’t remember to text on birthdays or holidays, but he updated the electronic diary we shared viaMagiCloudwhere we kept all our research.

It was untouchable. TheDraco Fortiscompany was shifter owned, but they made hella good software with the best damn firewall (no pun intended) I had ever seen. I liked technology. Especially, tech that was magicked with witchy geeks like me in mind.

Sure, I looked like a badass in tight jeans and biker boots, but I was also a Hobbit fan, and I flipping lovedWolfMoon, the online role playing game. My inner nerd girl always thrilled whenever I entered the Westwood Academy Library, but this time, there was another reason.

Standing in front of the shelf I sought, with his wide shoulders taking up most of the aisle, was Brandon Flint. The Druid dragon hybrid had his nose buried in a scroll that looked suspiciously runic in nature.

---