Page 21 of Magical Academy for Delinquents
“Um, clothes, sir?” I asked as I brushed my disgusting sweaty hair off my face, trying to ignore how Zavier grinned wickedly at me. My feet throbbed and my nipples were sore, though not quite as sore as my stomach, where the damned zipper had rubbed despite my best efforts. I’d almost unzipped the shirt and thrown it into the fucking trees, but that would have given Zavier a free show or revealed my powers if I used shadows to cover myself. I wasn’t quite ready for the students here to know I was a Darklight.
Lundy just pushed open the double doors of the gym with his back and gestured for us to walk inside. I did. The atrium of the gym was a long, tiled hallway filled with glass cases of trophies and a couple random red doors.
Lundy cleared his throat and pointed right. “Girls locker room is that way. We have spare uniforms for students to wear after the first day run,” he said. “We find that most students here don’t follow dress code when they arrive.”
My inner frown was so intense that it was hard to keep from glaring at Lundy. Spare uniforms? Like the kind my cousin Sara’s preschool kept on hand for when some kid pissed their pants? Spare uniforms? Patched, misshapen, oversized grey monstrosities filled my head like monsters. There’d be no fading into my seat with that shit on. There’d be no impressing Grayson or Malcolm.
I sighed and made my way to the girls’ locker room. Nothing I could do about it. I crossed my fingers and hoped my hacking into Metamorphose’s class schedule had stuck. If it had, then I’d have P.E. with Grayson and I’d have Malcom as a tutor. I needed those ins.
I turned the shower on and let the water warm up. Then I sat on a wooden bench backed by red and grey lockers and stripped off my leather shirt. I carefully lifted one of my sore feet up so I could untie my boot.
A sound had me turning around, palm out, ready to let my power flare.
But then I saw it was just fucking Zavier. “Get outta here, perv!” I was actually annoyed at him this time. My feet were fucking throbbing.
Zavier held up a bundle of clothes in his hand. He was still wearing his running gear. “Our spare clothes ‘accidentally’” —he used air quotes—”got switched. Normally, I don’t mind parading around naked, but since Ms. Nazer’s serious and this is my last shot here, I thought maybe you’d be cool with swapping out. Unless you want to wear guy’s clothes.”
I sighed. “Have at it.” I gestured over at the basket on the wall labeled “spare uniforms.”
Zavier walked by me and dumped a plaid skirt and black button up top on the bench beside me. “Thanks.” He rifled through my basket and pulled out some guy’s clothes, MAD issue dark red pants and black collared shirt. I noticed his ankle monitor was missing. Hmm… I eyed him suspiciously. Suddenly, I had a whole new appreciation for his drum solo.
“Know who switched em?” I asked as I eased the first shoe off with a hiss. Dammit, that hurt. I carefully peeled off my sock to see my foot was swollen and raw on the bottom.
“Nah, could be anyone around here. You’re gonna wanna watch out,” Zavier warned as he walked back toward me. “In here, not everyone is as nice and innocent as you.”
I didn’t roll my eyes, but only because I was busy untying my second boot. “Yeah, that’s me. Perfectly innocent.”
“I figured you were. Otherwise, you’d have known better than to turn me down.” He winked.
I laughed, and the sound echoed off the lockers and the tiles as steam started to fill the room. “Get outta here.”
“You sure? I’m an expert at rub downs.” He looked at me in my bra and then rubbed his own nipples through his shirt, making the world’s most ridiculous face.
“Zavier, don’t make me use my powers on you.”
“Aw, sweetheart, don’t freeze me out,” he said, assuming I was an Icefire.
I let him keep his assumptions. As soon as people found out I was a Darklight, there was always a little cluster of annoying groupies who wanted me to perform on demand. I glared into his deep brown eyes. “Don’t call me sweetheart.”
“Don’t be so tempting.”
“Don’t be so impossible.” I chucked a boot at him, which he ducked, laughing. Dammit. There he went again, flipping my annoyance around to amusement. Fucker!
“Alright. Alright. Do you want help with those feet real quick or not?” He pulled a silver wand out of his basketball shorts and tossed the guy’s uniform on the bench next to me.
I grimaced, wondering how he’d kept his wand in there, how he’d kept it clean—maybe he hadn’t—how he hadn’t stabbed himself with it while running. My confusion must have shown on my face because he laughed as he pulled out a tiny, finger-thick roll of parchment out of his pocket. “I have a shrinking spell on it and a hidden pocket. Or … if you like … I’m a grower not a shower.”
I shook my head. “You’re a walking, talking headache.” But internally, I was taking notes. When I broke into the Pinnacle, a shrinking spell like that could be useful. I’d have to practice on my gear.
Zavier sat on the bench next to me and took my foot into his hand. I winced as he touched it, and another hiss escaped through my teeth.
“Damn, sweetheart, those don’t look good,” he commented as he examined my foot. His hands were big and rough and warm, and in other circumstances, I might have caught my breath for other reasons. As it was, I just clenched my teeth together and tried not to scream.
“I can write a healing spell real quick, if you just let me use your wand,” I offered. Healing spells took time to work, because they had to penetrate through the skin to the bloodstream to take effect, but still, if I limped through my shower, I’d hopefully walk normally by the time I was opening my classroom door.
“Nah, I got this,” Zavier set my foot on his lap and then clicked a button on the side of his wand. Blue ink appeared on the tip. Then he unrolled a bit of parchment, laid it on my calf, and scribbled onto it, the magic swirling around the parchment and burning it up nearly as fast as he wrote. The magic heated my leg, but only slightly. Magic didn’t really burn unless someone intended it to. When Zavier finished, he ripped the parchment, leaving the rest of the blank roll for another spell, as the piece with writing burnt to a crisp from the strength of the magic, leaving a floating orange ball of light. He put his hand on my ankle and held it steady as a soft orange light from the spell he’d created penetrated my skin.
Seconds later, both my feet felt like they’d been encased in water. I writhed as they stung from the astringent created by the healing spell, but then, just as suddenly as the wet sensation had appeared, it evaporated. What? Shock and disbelief filled me as I stared down at my feet. They looked fine. Perfectly fine. The red, sore, raw patches were gone. But … that couldn’t be. That happened fast. Way too fast. Even faster than the time I’d fallen off my bike as a kid and had gotten stitches at the local magical hospital.
