Page 325 of Sigils & Spells

I should not be having thoughts like that. I wondered if the academy was to blame. Whoever was responsible for breaking tradition, and probably a few laws, when they choose the inhabitants of room 563W, had created this whole impossible situation with their meddling.

Was it on purpose?

To what end?

“Fire, like water, can represent rebirth and purification,” Professor Grimes said, carrying on as if I was not sitting there, having a mild panic attack.

She’d just started her comparisons of fire and earth when I picked up the sounds of footsteps in the hall. Odd, since my hearing was not any better than anybody else’s, but I paid it no mind. Classes stuck to the same time slots, and it was strange that anyone would walk around so loudly during them.

“Excuse me, Professor Grimes, I need to take Tana McKenna to see the headmistress,” Brandon’s slightly accented voice interrupted the lecture, and the professor’s head whipped from the strong, handsome sentinel to me and back again.

“Of course. Ms. McKenna, you are excused,” she told me, and I nodded at her before following Brandon into the hall.

“What is it? What’s going on?” I whispered, but he was moving so quickly I did not know if he heard me.

Finally, Brandon rounded a corner and stopped. I was walking so fast to keep up with his impossibly long strides, I would have crashed into him had he not steadied me with his hands.

“Don’t be mad. Just hear her out,” he said ominously.

Curiosity piqued, I followed him into a small storage closet where a row of mops, brooms, buckets, and old rags sat against a dusty shelf. Weird that the cleaning supplies were kept in a dirty closet, but whatever. I scrunched my nose as the harsh smell of chemicals filtered through my nostrils. The closet was big enough that I didn’t see who waited for me until Brandon flipped the light switch.

“What are you doing here?”

My head snapped to Brandon, whose face was schooled to be blank. For a shifter, he was annoyingly good at turning off his emotions. This was so not cool. I glared at the witch, standing in the corner with her arms crossed defensively over her chest.

“I heard something you should probably know about. In fact, ourfriendBrandon insisted on it,” she said, and her expression was mutinous.

“Ourfriend?” I asked, and could not keep the snark from my tone.

My magic pulsed beneath my skin, the flames of power I kept hidden from the world tingled, desperate to burn the grin off her face.

“Sure, I know I call him afriend. Brandon and I had potential once upon a time, didn’t we, baby?”

My heart thudded painfully inside my chest.

Was this true?

Did Brandon have history with the short-haired witch?

Fine. Props to Mabe, her stylishly unkempt bob was almost as black as Brandon’s, and I hated to admit it, but it looked cool. Just like her reddish brown eyes. The closet seemed to grow smaller as the short, curvy witch smirked at me.

I was taller, and my chest was flatter than hers. Sure, my ass was round enough, I supposed. And I usually loved my long, red hair—when it wasn’t dull from non-use of magic. I had never had a problem with my looks before, but suddenly I felt insecure.

Mabe seemed to feed off that, and the little witch walked over to where Brandon stood slightly to my left. She slid her hands up his chest and turned to wink at me. Before I could even process the show she was putting on, Brandon grabbed both her wrists in what looked like a painful hold and pushed her off him.

“Stop fucking around, Mabe. Tell her,” he growled.

It was a mistake to forget the power Brandon kept hidden beneath his cool, unflappable shell. Dragons, even hybrids, were remarkably strong. The fact he was half Druid meant he had reserves of magic only admissible to his kind. I was intrigued as fuck when it came to the sentinel, and apparently, I was possessive, too.

“Fine,” she grunted, rubbing her wrists. “I was waiting outside Stolbright’s office and heard her speaking to Armstrong. Your father was picked up prowling around some old, haunted graveyard with a necromancer. He’s being held by the Council—”

“No!” I gasped, covering my mouth in horror.

The Council of Covens outlawed the use of necromancers without special license, and I sincerely doubted Da had gone through any such niceties. He hated the fucking council, as did I. Traitors and users, the whole lot of them.

How else could they justify sitting on the sidelines while clans and covens held grudges and waged guerrilla warfare years after the last battle had been declared done?

“Stolbright seemed quite happy to have a McKenna behind bars. Apparently, she’s been holding a grudge against your family. She mentioned you by name. I didn’t realize you were flunking every single one of your courses. Ha! She didn’t seem to think you were any kind of threat at all, fire witch,” Mabe sneered.

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