Page 80 of Gemini Queen
That’s him. His voice.
I want him out of my head. I pour all my energy into visualizing the wall the way Ronin taught me, and I add extra mortar and extra bricks to keep him out.
With a short huff that resonates with displeasure, the bastard resumes his liquid prowl around my desk.
“Let us consider the case of our First Boy, Mr. Mercury,” he says, low and lethal. After every sentence, he taps his pointer on the floor. “Head of the Dean’s List.” Tap. “One of the most purebred arcanes currently resident at this Academy.” Tap. “His arcane pedigree barely attenuated to any discernible degree by his earthbound human DNA.”Tap. “Your. Fated. Mate.”
“He isn’t,” I blurt out. Which probably isn’t wise, but I feel a driving need to contradict him. For some reason it feels instinctive, this need to challenge him, and I’m burning to put this prick in his place. “I don’t care what’s in our natal charts. I’m not claiming a fucking mate.”
“Why, my future queen, how not?” Zerxes sweeps his arms wide, long sleeves trailing, and addresses his astonishment to the entire class. “This entire Academy felt the earthquake that rocked this island only last night, and the Med is hardly a seismic zone, is it? The ability to make the earth tremble is distinctly a Capricorn trait. To wit, your fated mate is the Capricorn scion, and the only Capricorn on this island strong enough to accomplish such a feat. By this token, you do seem to be in a claiming sort of mood, Ms. Gemini.”
I’ve had way more than enough of being threatened and bullied by him and every goddamn asshole at this Academy. I push my chair back with a noisy scrape, fold my arms over my chest, and glare a warning straight at him. “Actually, I’m in a none-of-your-damn-business sort of mood, Master Zerxes.”
I use his title for politeness, when what I really want to say isyou asshole.
And I don’t give a fuck if he hears me. In fact, I open a portal in the brick wall I’ve built between us and fire the phrase like a cannon straight into his fucking head.
A soft breath puffs past his parted lips. I probably just gave him a migraine with that telepathic fusillade, but it sounds to me like a gasp of pleasure.
The air turns thick with a potent onslaught of Mogadon pheromones.
Right now the psycho’s either feeling aggressive or aroused, and I’m hoping like fuck it’s the former. He leans over my desk like the carnivore he is. I practically expect to see gobbets of blood and shredded flesh dripping from his jaws. It’s all I can manage to hold my ground and not lean back in my chair.
“Detention,” he breathes in a whisper, a mere scrap of sound. “Tonight. After moonrise. With me.”
Oh fuck no. Not tonight. Anddefinitelynot with him.
But, admittedly, I’m not exactly sure what my options are. If I’m a no-show for our little date, what exactly can he do to me? Is it possible they’ll actually expel me for disobedience? And isn’t that what I want? I don’t know why the idea of expulsion hasn’t occurred to me before.
Or why I’m not feeling more enthusiastic about the concept now.
I’m still working through my complex emotions about expulsion and whether that should be my new strategy when Zerxes stalks back to his lectern.
“Four arcane races,” he announces, sweeping his pointer across the incomprehensible jumble of genetic code spilling across the old-fashioned chalkboard. No prof in this Academy seems to use a laptop, and I haven’t actually seen a computer or a smart phone since I got here. I’m betting the magical wards on this island seriously mess with the electronics.
“Ms. Prynne,” he raps out without turning. “Grace us with your insights. What genetic traits are expressed by Mogadon DNA?”
Racetrack, whom I’ve already learned hates being called Ms. Prynne or, God help us all, Abigail (which is apparently her real name) pops her gum and doesn’t bother answering. She’s parked two rows over, so I’ve got an unobstructed view of her sulky profile.
Zerxes sighs and raises his gaze heavenward for patience. “Ms.Prynne. Unless you’re particularly eager to join Ms. Gemini in her impending detention, I’d strongly advise you to answer the question.”
“Riiiiight.” Slowly Racetrack tips back her chair and swings her booted feet to the desk with a thunk. She’s wearing knee-high combat boots, which is definitely not part of the girls’ uni, but no one seems inclined to make an issue out of it.
“So.” She pops her gum. “Mogadon traits. Pheromones. Mating scent. Aggressive. Territorial. Witchcraft manifests as telekinesis, teleportation, levitation—basically, physical manipulation of matter. Most Mogadon only have one of those tricks in their bag of laughs. Because of all the human DNA.”
“Very good, Ms. Prynne. That wasn’t so difficult, even for you,” Zerxes purrs. His pointer drops to another line of genetic code. “Next, we have the Valyrian race, with its own distinctive traits. Ms. Maali?”
Dez is Valyrian, so it’s no surprise he’d call on her. She poises her sharpened pencil above the neat lines of text in her notebook and answers promptly. “Gifts of the mind, yeah? Telepathy, clairvoyance, clairsentience, precognition. The strongest Valyrians can summon and wield psi fire… or, er, lightning.”
She adds the last with an apologetic look at me, which is unnecessary. I already know I have my Valyrian DNA to thank for the lightning voice. It’s a distant cousin to the psi fire Ronin sprayed all over Wang’s penthouse roof.
“Correct.” Zerxes seems almost bored with her recitation, if not for the sly look he casts over his shoulder at me. “Due once again to genetic pollution with human DNA, the vast majority of this Academy’s current Valyrian population—like our own Ms. Maali—is barely capable of party tricks. The few inhabitants currently capable of summoning psi fire include our absent Mr. Pendragon… and myself.”
Great. Another pyromaniac warlock. In addition to belittling Dez, it almost feels like he’s warning me, except I don’t know why he’d bother. Since I refuse to use my power at all, I’m pretty much a magical nonentity.
“Next we arrive at the Kryll, whose genetic pedigree may best be described as the Turkish bazaar of the witching world.” Zerxes slices his pointer across another line of code. “Mr. Romanov?”
“Weather magic.” Vasili sounds bored to tears. “Earth magic, wind magic, rain magic, alchemy. A veritable grab bag of magical minutia. Cyclones and earthquakes if they’re exceptionally lucky, although most Kryll are nowhere near that powerful. But a Kryll can only cast by channeling psi power harvested from other arcanes through a telepathic, physical, or sexual bond. A Kryll on his own is entirely useless.”
