Chapter Fifteen

The days of the week bled together in this blissful normalcy, and somehow, it was already mid-October. Occasionally, my telepathy would seek out Milo’s mind above all else, but without the urgency of danger lurking in the air—the future—I found it easier to unravel my magic when it wound around Enchanter Evergreen’s cases. Maybe I was gaining more control. Maybe I was just learning to be less controlling.

My mind wandered after a lecture on the foundations of guild life and the economic impact it had on America. Nearly every student in my first-year History of Witchcraft course had fogged over surface thoughts, absentmindedly reading over the assignment I’d distributed. I couldn’t blame their faltering attention spans or my own for this activity. The lesson was as dull as they came but a necessary evil for the state standards students would be required to exhibit proficiency on by the end of the year. Not every learning opportunity came with fun engagement. Sometimes, it required boring, repetitive study tasks.

As the class’s focus waned, my telepathy drifted throughout the academy, and I allowed it. Following the bustle of excitement kept me awake as I strolled around the classroom, keeping attentive if someone required help.

Magic exploded from the auxiliary gym, wave after wave of channeled energy that skirted against my overactive psychic branch. The casting frequencies wrapped around active thoughts and strong emotions.

I followed the sensations, buzzing from the palpable adrenaline in the air.

The excitement nearly pushed me away, but I latched my telepathy to Chanelle, whose mind buzzed with an aggravation reminiscent of mine. Much like me, she’d reserved the facility for the entire day, hoping to make the most of her time with Cerberus acolytes. And like me, she sweet-talked Milo into offering up his acolytes to assist in the training.

If it were anyone other than Chanelle, I’d be annoyed. Okay. I was annoyed since that meant I had to work around the fact Milo’s acolytes were double booked. But I understood the importance.

Chanelle studied Amani, who snapped her fingers and telekinetically redirected several projectiles thrown by her classmates, which sent them hurling back with a barrage of copies hiding the originals.

Not only were her glamours difficult to identify, but her root proficiency was on par with some of the best in my homeroom. While I wasn’t certain what the objective of this training exercise was, it was clear from the grimacing Acolyte Reed on the sidelines that this wasn’t what she’d intended for the students. It wasn’t what Chanelle had planned for either, equally vexed and impressed how Amani had taken the reins of the lesson, making herself the de facto instructor, and turned it into an opportunity to finetune her coven mates’ techniques.

A huge tidal wave of water crashed beside the opposing students. Between the powerful current of water and the redirected projectiles hiding among a sea of glamoured duplicates, it forced the competing students to retreat deeper into the forest terrain, where their mobility and flight were further hindered.

“You got this, Tiff!” Derrick shouted, shifting his arms and moving a singular wave above the others.

Tiffany straddled a large branch like a broomstick. Ugh—so grateful that trend died out well over a century ago. And like the stage names Milo tried to make trendy, no amount of retro styling could breathe life into riding brooms for flight again. I recoiled at the thought. Her familiar rode a smaller branch, gnawing on it while using her tail to pivot their direction.

She cackled, twirling round and round on the stick, propelled faster by her familiar’s casting. The mayhem in her laughter frightened those she chased, driving them directly into the crosshairs of the final member of their coven.

He chucked two vials. The first exploded, releasing green goop, which clung to all the students like a thick slime. The second erupted, shifting into a mist almost instantaneously that solidified the goop into a hard lime-green concrete.

Each member of Amani’s coven was perfectly in tune with each other’s magic, strengths, weaknesses, and personality, unlike the five peers they sparred against. It wasn’t what Chanelle wanted, but there was a calm that helped settle her thoughts as she observed their seamless collaboration, believing she’d done at least one thing right.

I quirked a brow, nearly drawn back to my classroom, but I latched onto the anxiety in Chanelle’s heartbeat, staying close to the stirring dread as she counted off how too many students had wandered from their assigned tasks to partake in Acolyte Reed’s lesson—well, Amani’s lesson—leaving all but three of her homeroom students to work elsewhere.

Chanelle eyed Jamie working with his sister, Acolyte Novak, and immediately levitated in the opposite direction to see why another student had distanced herself from everyone and chose to work alone. Well, not entirely alone. Tia practiced signs with her interpreter. Chanelle tried interpreting the meaning of Tia’s signs but struggled to remember the motions as Tia’s hands moved in rapid succession.

Skimming Tia’s thoughts gave me added insight. Apparently, she worked with her interpreter on alternative phrases to find ways of reducing the chanting necessary when creating an invocation. Smart. Similar to Katherine and Harrison’s enchantment branch, Tia’s invocation allowed her to create a spell for any purpose so long as she channeled the magic correctly and created the right verse in her spell. It was a language-based magic, requiring every sign to be cast correctly with enough channeled magic to summon her spell. Too little and the spell would fizzle out; too much and the invocation would explode.

“How are you today?” Chanelle signed.

Her eyes followed Tia’s hands, catching every third sign. Smiling, she tried not to show how utterly confused she was. Admittedly, she’d done better picking up ASL than I had with Spanish to benefit Gael. Okay—I’d made zero effort because Gael spoke fluent English, and I often relied on the emotions my branch caught when his thoughts drifted into words or phrases I didn’t understand.

“I’m fine,” the interpreter said. “Working on simplifying my invocations with phrases that’ll carry through. The problem is they tend to create weaker spells, but that’s probably because of my channeling output. It’s hard balancing what to put into my branch while directing my root casting elsewhere.”

Tia had learned at a young age not to rely on her hands for root magic, unlike most witches who used the easy gestures of directing their telekinesis or banishment. While levitation and sensory were easier for her, the other two floundered when signing for her enchantment branch.

“Still can’t maintain them together?” Chanelle asked while signing. “Finding ways to make my branch more versatile was difficult until I learned how to conjure my whip. Something my husband actually taught me about my casting. Keeping your roots in play as you train your branch is commendable, but I find when trying something new with my branch, I wait until I’ve perfected it before reintroducing my roots to that training. Does that make sense?”

“ She does what with her whip? ” Tia’s eyes widened.

The interpreter quickly worked to correct Chanelle’s signs, blushing a bit at whatever provocative mishap Chanelle had signed when mentioning her whip.

As Chanelle continued working with Tia, I found myself slowly drifting away. My focus returned to my class, assisting the few first-year students who struggled to find the answers to the content covered in the assignment. I’d nearly severed my telepathy when a spike of guilt struck, pulling me back to Chanelle’s mind.

She struggled when watching Jamie and Acolyte Novak interact, wanting to help redirect the lesson that Lena had completely disregarded. Chanelle’s stomach churned, adding to the discomfort and blame eating away at her. A similar chord of guilt plucked at my insides.

“You can do better than that.” Lena kept her arms folded across her chest, guarding her heart from spilling out as she lectured Jamie. “You’re barely casting. Stop and properly channel your branch.”

Bubbles popped around the outer swirls of three of Jamie’s whirlpools, disrupting their flow and breaking the water into puddles on the ground.

He furrowed his brow, expression twisting into the same spiteful and sour face I’d seen too many times last year. Hateful, harmful words festered along his surface thoughts. I winced at the cutting comments he planned to hurl toward his sister, venom oozing from the cracks of his mind.

“It’s my fault.” Vik grimaced, having experienced Jamie’s wrath firsthand and desperate to avoid it. They weaved their arms round and round, summoning three shadow cats that each worked to manipulate the broken droplets of water and regather them into a single vortex of transportation. These cat silhouettes batted the air playfully, totally aloof in comparison to the strenuous efforts Vik displayed when directing their behavior. It seemed even magical kitties didn’t listen to directions.

Jamie eyed his coven mate, eyes softening. It pinched at my heart and Chanelle’s, who observed the pair as silently as me.

“You’re doing fine.” All the rage inside Jamie washed away, replaced by guilt and regret and horror that he provoked such fear simply by existing. Taunting Vik used to be a sporting event for him; watching a member of the Smythe family squirm so easily made him question how they ever became such renowned enchanters in the first place.

“You’re both shit at this point.” Lena eyed Vik. “You’ve got built-in radar for frequencies. Your branch allows you to manipulate and alter your frequency to mimic another witch’s magic.”

“It’s more complicated than…” They swallowed hard, as frightened of Lena’s scowl as they were of Jamie’s.

Vik reminded me less of their cousin, Layla, and more like Caleb—both were equally nervous when it came to confrontation. The difference being that Caleb didn’t allow himself to believe the comments that said his branchless status made him worthless, whereas Vik became consumed by every word directed their way. Instructors, family, peers, even friends who pointed out how great their branch was sent a constant reminder that the only flaw with their magic was them. Vik Smythe’s deepest casting struggle came from being gifted with a powerful branch and believing they were unworthy of it. Cursed, in fact, since every other Smythe inherited a bestial branch, and they were just a subpar copycat.

“Watch how I conjure the portals,” Jamie said, feigning a weak smile. It was a difficult effort, something so unnatural for him that he thought his face might crack and fall to pieces. “And ignore Lena. She’s all bark because she’s a…”

Jamie’s smile faltered just as it almost slipped into something snide, just as he was about to cut Lena down and call her a bitch, just as he reminisced Lena’s many failures, shortcomings their father brought up at the few holiday dinners Lena attended. Jamie despised this hatred latched to his very being, believing he’d never shed the desire to pick people apart, pick them apart the same way the chimera had picked Jamie apart for months.

It didn’t just torture him physically. It broke his spirit with as many words as it had bruises and breaks.

Jamie hadn’t recovered since the possession. Not emotionally. Not even sure he had physically. Skirting away from Chanelle, I hovered toward Jamie. Floating as a ghost of psychic energy, I attempted to delve deep into his mind, search for those broken pieces, find something salvageable. Normally, I preferred a manifestation for these tasks, but I wanted to help, to do something…anything.

Guess I hadn’t untethered from Chanelle’s mind entirely since that same sensation, same yearning, screamed from her inner core, silencing the entire academy if I listened to her regrets loud enough.

I stepped toward Jamie’s open, vacant mind and immediately jolted from the agony that seethed inside him. Every pain was as fresh as when first inflicted. A hundred haunting past memories he wished had been lost to the ether with the thousands of others and a million moments with the chimera so overwhelming it hurled my mind back to my classroom.

Clenching a fist, I fought the tremble in my hands. A searing pain burned the muscles of my wrists—exactly where Jamie’s branch threads were located. His body was riddled with pains and aches, from his strained muscles to his foggy mind, all the way to the phantom pains that continued haunting him.

Chanelle’s guilt drew me back to the auxiliary gym. She watched Jamie from afar, allowing his sister to work with his coven, unsure how to assist herself. I’d never known Chanelle to doubt herself so much, to lack a new strategy of engagement, or to have the resolve to work with a student. Jamie was a challenge last year, and now she believed her own shortcomings brought on what happened to him.

“ Lena’s probably the worst pairing for that coven. ” I linked my telepathy to Chanelle, unable to silently stalk her.

“ Dorian? ” She bit the inside of her cheek, resisting the agitation that bubbled in her thoughts.

“ I know you’re struggling with Jamie… ” With his whole coven, really.

Chanelle swallowed the words she wanted to say about how she’d failed Vik, too. Most of all, how she’d utterly failed that entire coven. Chanelle’s guilt expanded, filling my mind as if it were my own. This whole coven struggled in every single way, and that failure belonged to Chanelle. She’d taken on too much last year, believing after so many years of balancing a hundred projects, she could carve out an added position just for herself. The liaison position was a stepping stone, sure, but she deluded herself into thinking it wouldn’t take away from her passion in the classroom.

“It hasn’t,” I said, eyeing my students who hadn’t noticed my out loud mutterings and continued working—and goofing off—on the assignment I’d given. Burying Chanelle’s doubts that surfaced so loudly, I tried to find a comforting word. “ You haven’t failed this coven. ”

“ Yes, I have. ” Chanelle studied Jamie, her gaze fixated on him and frightened she might break if she looked at the other members of his coven, who she believed she’d failed even more.

The bell rang, pulling my mind back to the classroom where every student stared, awaiting me to dismiss them. This was a good batch of first years in my Introduction to History, and most had aching surface thoughts of their teachers in the past using telekinesis to hold a student who attempted to zip out of the classroom when the bell rang. Guess some teachers really took the philosophy that ‘they dismissed their classes, not the bell’ as if I could be bothered to give a fuck about a kid trying to savor the few minutes of freedom they got between eight consecutive classes.

I waved a hand, dismissing the class, and sat in my desk chair. Thankfully, my planning block was starting, so I channeled my magic back toward Chanelle.

Stepping inside her mind, I ignored the bubblegum pink interior of an inner core stylized almost as extravagantly as her closet. Well, I assumed, given her extensive wardrobe. “Knock, knock.”

“What the f—”

I pulled Chanelle deep into her thoughts before she finished speaking.

“Figured a little face-to-face might be helpful.”

“You could’ve walked to the auxiliary gym instead of…whatever the hell this is.”

“Like I’m walking all the way across campus. You realize I’m already sacrificing my smoke break for this chat.” I frowned, fighting back a smile.

Chanelle studied the single circular screen representing her optic reception. A nicety added by me so she wouldn’t wonder what was happening outside her head since she’d never had the pleasure of standing inside the inner core of her own mind. Not that her students noticed her absence.

“So, what are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking I need to regroup the kids, but I waited too long, and the other covens are so comfortable with each other, I’m…I’m afraid I’ll…” Chanelle fought the thoughts and the frown on her face.

“You’re afraid you’ll fuck it up more.”

“Exactly.” An easy smile lit up her expression, even if it was a self-deprecating grin.

“Lena’s attention is split. She’s not helping all your kids because she’s prioritizing Jamie.”

“At least they have a connection, something I can’t make.”

“She doesn’t though,” I said. “Lena has as much guilt and regret—if not a hundred times more—as you do. She’s not helping Jamie. She’s letting half the coven assigned to her flounder while projecting her frustrations onto Vik. It’s not good for them, serving as a proxy to this little family…bullshit.”

“It’s not good for any of them, I know. I tried putting Jamie in a one-on-one with Acolyte Novak, but they just yelled at each other the entire time.”

“What about Ellie?”

“She’s a pushover.” Chanelle tsked. “Jamie did absolutely nothing during her lesson. Though it was good for his coven.”

True. I’d seen how Amani had taken charge of their group lesson and turned Acolyte Reed into a glorified cheerleader.

“Okay. How about Hayden?”

“He’s even worse. Notice he didn’t show up to today’s training?”

Acolyte Russo was frustratingly tardy.

“I don’t wanna give up on Jamie, but I’m out of solutions. Not that I had any to begin with.”

“Have you considered maybe he shouldn’t be here?” I twinged, doubting the words as they escaped my lips. Did I ask because of Jamie’s best interest or because seeing him every day made Chanelle question her role as an educator? No. I asked because seeing him was a haunting reminder of my own failures.

“I have. I know he has as well, but Novak’s don’t quit,” Chanelle explained. “I had that very uncomfortable conversation with Jamie’s mother over the summer.”

The confrontation—not conversation surfaced in Chanelle’s memories. A scowling woman stood between us. She looked just like her daughter Lena, only older and meaner, with the same wicked glint Jamie’s gaze cast last year.

“What the hell?” Chanelle trembled at the surfacing recollection, her whole body outside her shaky mind, in fact.

I waved a hand, repressing the representation of her memory. Since I usually only dived into Milo’s mind these days, I forgot other folks didn’t understand how to navigate the insides of their own heads.

“Christ, that woman.” Chanelle took an uneasy breath as the image of Guild Master Novak faded away. “She’s spiteful as hell, too. When I so much as made the suggestion that Jamie take a leave of absence, she tried to remove me from my liaison position.”

The coordinator role, where she served as a delegate between Gemini Academy and the guilds of Chicago.

“Not that it would matter if she managed. Clearly, I can’t handle the responsibility on top of everything else.”

“That’s not true.”

“It is. I failed Jamie. I am still failing him. Failing every student in my homeroom coven—you should see some of their rankings this year. What the actual fuck am I even doing here? I had a devil in my class last year, and I was so busy I wrote it off as a spoiled brat living up to his douchebag entitlement.”

Every uncertainty Chanelle kept tucked beneath meticulous belief in herself, her goals, her hopes for everyone bubbled inside her inner core. A necrotic rot eating away at her.

Guilt swelled, festering in her mind like an infection. Even with the chimera dead and gone, that monster had a hold on those of us left alive. A silhouette appeared, taking the form of Jamie’s possessed body, a haunting apparition that flashed fresh in Chanelle’s mind because she believed what had happened to Jamie fell on her. But it didn’t. This guilt was mine, a torch of regret she shouldn’t be burdened with carrying.

“You know that devil was there because of me, right?”

“That’s what it said.” Chanelle averted her gaze from the recollection of Jamie smirking, snide and menacing, before I wiped it away with a wave of my hand. “I wondered, but I didn’t want to pry. You, Milo, or Jamie himself.”

Given the massive amount of agony Jamie Novak endured while possessed, I highly doubted he had any semblance of understanding what had happened that day.

Telling Chanelle the truth about the devil, the chimera, wouldn’t change what happened to Jamie. It wouldn’t remove the guilt buried deep in her chest, rotting away at the smile she almost never let falter. But I owed her a piece of my history, the truth that led to her and her wayward student caught in the chaos of my life.

“I should probably start at the beginning when I lost one of the two men who’s ever held my heart.”

Chanelle stood captive and curious, and I finally shared a piece of myself with someone I considered a true friend.