5. Fangs For Nothing

Fangs For Nothing

Asshole

A fter dinner—which was marginally better than yesterday's microwaved catastrophe—I collapse onto my bed, bouncing slightly as I land face-first into the pillow. I'd work at my desk, but it's covered in potion bottles, herbs, and what can only be described as magical debris. At this point, my desk is more like a chemistry lab for a witch on caffeine than an actual workspace. So, bed it is.

I grab my notebook and pen, flipping it open to a fresh page. Time to get to work. I've got 30 days to recreate an entire grimoire. No big deal, right? Just a few years' worth of spells, enchantments, and potions to remember. My future literally depends on me rewriting my entire magical education. No pressure at all.

I tap the pen against the paper, staring at the empty page.

And staring.

And... staring.

Nothing.

It's like my brain has decided to take the night off without telling me. Sure, I remember some of my spells—at least the big ones, like the Invisibility Glamour or the No-Slip Hex. But when I actually try to think about the finer details, it's like reaching into a void. Every tweak, every little improvement I made to those spells feels distant, like I'm grasping at smoke.

What if I get something wrong? What if I try to remember one of my potions, only to end up with something that turns someone's hair into snakes? Actually, that could be useful on certain people—Kyla comes to mind—but it's not exactly what Professor Malakar would call "confidence in magic."

I chew on the end of my pen, frustrated. What's wrong with me? I've done these spells a million times before, and now it's like my magic is slipping through my fingers. The blank page mocks me, daring me to write something— anything . But instead of writing, I sit there, frozen, my hand hovering over the paper like it's cursed.

I sigh heavily and fling the notebook toward the foot of the bed, watching as it lands with a soft thud. Great start, Zaria. Maybe tomorrow you'll actually get past the staring part.

I let my head fall back against the pillows, staring up at the ceiling. The room feels too quiet, like the silence itself is pressing in on me, reminding me how little time I have. My usual witty comebacks feel dull in my head, and for the first time in a long time, I wonder if I'm actually going to pull this off.

I'm about to drift into a full-blown spiral when I hear it.

A soft, lilting melody, the sound of a violin, weaving its way through the walls like some kind of enchanted breeze. I sit up slightly, listening. The tune is haunting, beautiful in a way that catches me off guard. It's not a song I recognize, but it pulls at something deep inside me, making the tension in my chest ease, just a little.

One of the musically inclined students must be practicing. There's a few of them scattered around campus—singers, instrumentalists, the occasional bard-in-training. But whoever's playing this? They're good. Like, "make you forget your problems for a moment" kind of good.

I close my eyes and let the music wash over me, the melody swirling and dipping in ways that feel almost magical. Maybe it is. Maybe some enchanted violin is being played by a ghost or something, here to lull me into a peaceful sleep. Wouldn't that be just my luck?

But for once, I don't care. The sound is mesmerizing, pulling me away from my frustrations and doubts. I sink deeper into the pillows, feeling the weight of the day start to slip away. Maybe tonight isn't the night for rewriting an entire grimoire from memory. Maybe tonight is about letting go, just for a few hours.

"Fine," I mutter to myself, my voice barely more than a whisper. "You win, mysterious violinist. I'll take the early night."

I pull the blanket up to my chin, letting the music be the last thing I hear before I close my eyes. Tomorrow, I'll try again. Tomorrow, I'll be better. Or at least I'll make an attempt that lasts longer than ten minutes.

The library is quiet, the kind of quiet that makes you feel like even your breathing is too loud. I stand between the towering bookshelves, scanning the titles on the spines, looking for that one book I picked up last year—the one that gave me a whole bunch of ideas for appearance-changing spells. Of course, now that I actually need it, it's nowhere to be found.

"Come on," I mutter under my breath, my fingers trailing over the dusty covers. "It was right here last time... or maybe it was on the other side?"

I step back, squinting at the rows of books, hoping that one of them will magically leap out at me. No such luck. I'm just about to give up and try a different aisle when I hear footsteps approaching.

"Of course," I mutter to myself, rolling my eyes. "Who could it be but the one person I don't want to see."

Sebastian appears at the end of the aisle, his hands casually tucked into his pockets, looking annoyingly confident as usual. Just what I needed—a half-vampire with a knack for getting under my skin.

"Well, well," he drawls, strolling down the aisle toward me. "Didn't expect to see you here, Zaria. Trying to find a book on how to improve your personality?"

I snort, crossing my arms. "Funny. I didn't know they had books on how to pick better girlfriends. Maybe you should look into that."

His smirk doesn't falter as he steps closer, but there's a glint in his eye that I don't trust. "Oh, and what exactly do you know about my taste in women?"

I raise an eyebrow, my voice dripping with sarcasm. "Only that it's terrible. I mean, Kyla? Really? If I had to pick the most self-absorbed, backstabbing witch in this entire school, she'd be at the top of the list."

He chuckles softly, but it's the kind of laugh that makes me think he's hiding something. "You think you know what I like, huh?"

I roll my eyes. "It's not that hard to figure out. Beautiful on the outside, hollow on the inside. You've got a type."

He steps closer again, and I realize just how narrow this aisle is. My back is almost up against the bookshelf now, and he's standing entirely too close for my comfort. There's something in his gaze—something that throws me off, makes my pulse quicken, though I refuse to show it.

"You have no idea what my taste is, Zaria," he says quietly, his voice low, almost dangerous.

I blink, surprised at the intensity of his words, but I don't let him see that. "Right, because you're just dying to defend Kyla's honor. Spare me."

He takes another step, and now he's right in front of me, his presence practically suffocating. My heart speeds up, but I refuse to back down. I meet his gaze, my voice steady. "What are you doing?" Before he can answer, we hear it. Kyla's voice, shrill and unmistakable, echoing through the library.

"Sebastian!" Sebastian tenses, his eyes flicking in the direction of her voice. He looks back at me, a flicker of something—panic?—in his expression. Without warning, he grabs my arm, yanking me to the other side of the bookshelf.

"What the hell?" I start, but before I can finish, he shoves me up against the stack of books, his body pressing into mine. My protest dies on my lips as his hand clamps over my mouth, silencing me.

"Shhh," he whispers, his face so close I can feel his breath against my skin. My heart is pounding in my chest, and not entirely from anger.

I hear Kyla's voice again, closer now. "Sebastian? Are you in here?"

A few students grumble nearby, and one of them pipes up. "There's no shouting in the library."

Kyla huffs loudly. "Whatever."

A moment later, the sound of her heels clacking fades away as she storms off, clearly in a mood. I try to move, but Sebastian's still holding me against the bookshelf, his hand still over my mouth.

He finally lets go, stepping back just enough for me to breathe, though he's still entirely too close for comfort. I shove him off me, smoothing out my clothes as I glare at him. "What the hell was that? Hiding from your girlfriend now?"

He rubs the back of his neck, looking irritated. "Just shut up, Zaria. You don't know what you're talking about."

I roll my eyes, stepping past him. "Right. Well, from where I'm standing, your paradise doesn't just seem like trouble. If you're willing to literally hide from her, you might want to rethink your choices." He glares at me, but there's something deeper behind his expression, something he's not saying. I don't care enough to figure it out. "Anyway," I say, flipping my hair back. "I've got better things to do than be felt up by a half-breed." With one last withering glance, I turn and walk out of the aisle, leaving him standing there.

I can still feel the heat of his body against mine, and I hate myself a little for how it affected me. But I push the thought aside. I have more important things to focus on— like finding that damn book .