Page 41 of Gemini Queen
Zarina Gemini is going to cause real trouble.
Both my wolf aspect and my teacher aspect have an excellent nose for impending mischief, particularly when it’s brewing in my classroom. I’m keenly aware the Gemini girl’s only been sitting in my History of Witchcraft class for ten minutes.
But she’s already thoroughly distracted every student in it.
To say nothing of the teacher.
She’s opted to sit apart, choosing a desk with her back to the wall and a path to the door, both instincts that seem eminently prudent for a new freshman. With her wild hair and her studded cuff and her don’t-mess-with-me expression, the Gemini queen manages to look thoroughly untamed and thoroughly defiant despite having dutifully assumed that rather provocative uniform. Her fellow classmates can barely take their eyes off her, even when all she’s doing is frowning and scribbling notes in her leather-bound journal.
In short, she appears to be the only student in the entire room who’s paying any heed whatsoever to my strategically chosen lecture on the historical origins of the witching world’s endangered species status.
I rap my knuckles on the desk in a futile bid to regain the room’s attention, pivot toward the chalkboard, and take up my writing stylus.
“As we saw from last night’s reading,” I resume, “arcane scholars have advanced three primary theories for the four races’ endangered species status. First is the Theory of Genetic Exhaustion.”
I chalk the phrase on the board. Like any proper teacher, I’ve acquired the ability to lecture and write simultaneously, while also cultivating metaphorical eyes in the back of my head to scan my classroom for trouble.
“This theory tends to be closely associated,” I continue, “with the origin myth that we arcanes are descended from alien races who visited this planet in Roman times. Exhaustion scholars suggest we’ve drifted too far from our alien roots, our powerful DNA too attenuated by centuries of crossbreeding with earthbound humans. Consequently, the witchcraft and related traits encoded in our arcane DNA are simply being bred out of us.”
I pause and scan the room. Zarina’s pencil is driving across the page while she writes furiously, colorful brows furrowed and lower lip trapped between her teeth. At least I’ve captured her attention.
Now if only I could capture everyone else’s.
Neo Mercury, typically my star pupil, is currently a hopeless cause. He’s sitting as close to his fated mate as her prickly temper will permit, a scant two rows away, and he hasn’t stopped mooning at her with his broody eyes since the moment he sat down.
Fortunately, Neo’s already so well established at the head of my class that he can afford the occasional distraction. Academically, no other student even challenges his star billing on the Dean’s List, although the absent Vasili’s certainly smart enough to make Neo sweat. Given all that raw talent paired with his blistering intellect, Vasili’s test scores are invariably off the charts.
If only he’d bother turning in his homework.
Ronin Pendragon’s another problem child, albeit for an entirely unique set of reasons. The Leo scion is lurking at the very back of my classroom, as far from me as physically possible without sitting in the corridor. He’s been scowling at me since the bell rang, and I can see my bite is troubling him.
A fine glitter of perspiration dampens his skin, and he’s sitting far too stiffly, with none of his signature lounging grace. I fancy I can almost feel the pulsing heat where I’ve bitten him in the burn of my own flesh.
Seeing Ronin suffer on my account, my wolf whines and scratches at my skin.
My heart plummets like a stone under the heavy weight of guilt.
Christ, I never wanted Ronin to suffer. I fully meant to tend his bite thoroughly, to provide the leisurely and dedicated aftercare that allows the genetically optimized healing agent in my saliva to cleanse the wound and speed recovery, a process that’s typically reassuring for all involved after a bite. The shameful truth is, after all his provocative teasing during our travels, I was so damned desperate to get my mouth on my student’s diabolically alluring body in the only way my unsparing morals would sanction that I underestimated the likelihood that Zarina would interrupt our encounter, and that Ronin in a rage wouldn’t permit me to finish.
If I thought I could possibly persuade him now, I’d assign the class group work in a swift minute and drag him into the privacy of my office to give him the dedicated and sustained attention he clearly requires.
Solely for therapeutic purposes, obviously.
Regrettably, it’s equally obvious by the way Ronin’s glowering that he’ll refuse to tolerate my attentions. Of course, I can Compel him. That’s the whole purpose of a disciplinary bite. It’s intended to connect us in a manner both more permanent and more intimate than a common Compulsion spell.
But, for some damned reason, I want him to come to me willingly.
Besides which, judging by the way he’s been behaving since the moment I humiliated and rejected him by denying any suggestion of a personal relationship in front of Zarina, thereby relegating him firmly to the role of erring student, the prospect of Ronin Pendragon ever again coming to me willingly now seems unlikely.
Deeply troubled, I turn back to the chalkboard to conceal my frown and dutifully take up my stylus.
“The second theory to explain our endangered status is pure Darwinism, and rather fatalistic.” I writeDarwinism/Fatalismon the chalkboard. “Scholars who ascribe to this view argue that all life is finite and all species must suffer eventual extinction. If it’s our turn now, we arcane races may be able to slow our extinction, but we can no longer prevent it.
“The primary flaw in this argument is that most species endure for millennia; there’s typically a causation such as climate change, a planetary crisis, or the introduction of a rival species that triggers an extinction event. When asked to attribute a cause to our predicament, Darwinian scholars are simply silent.”
My enhanced senses are detecting in the air the distinct whiff of trouble. I pause to scan my classroom with a minatory eye.
Most of these students hail from Villa Tiberius, and Master Zerxes’ little monsters always bear watching. Vasili is off somewhere brooding over his two-thousand word essay (or so I hope), although it’s equally possible he’s burning down thedomusin a fit of vengeful rage. Racetrack and Dez are sequestered in the library, where they have study hall this period.
