Her Stolen Magic Page 5

  He took my insult in stride and pulled Hannah closer to him. I could tell that she was enjoying the closeness — a lot. He was a wall of muscle and manliness, a magical male model who promised nothing but pleasure, but gave nothing but heartbreak.

  Valerian wasn’t just an over-sexed, user of girls. He was an arrogant magical jerk — part of a group who called themselves Purists. He made no secret about his hatred of non-magicals. Valerian was one of a small but growing group of students on our campus who felt that non-magical people had no place in the world. They called all non-magicals, Voids. It was an insult worse than calling them cockroaches or monsters or any other insult you can think of. The slur dehumanized them and made them less than nothing. They weren’t just powerless; they were devoid of value — Voids.

  Then there was the yin to Valerian’s yang, the magic haters in the Red Scare. Those guys were secretive and just as bad in their own way. I mean how could anyone be so self-hating that they wanted to get rid of their own kind? I didn’t understand that at all. They argued that magic was too powerful and could be abused. This was true, but magic also did a lot of good. Magicals watched over non-magicals and helped them. A world without magic would be a horrible place. This was something I knew from firsthand experience. Not having magic in a world that assumed I had it was a super crappy position to be in.

  Poor Hannah.

  She raised her coffee to her lips. “Stop,” I said, remembering the greenish tinge in the sugar Hannah had just added to her coffee. At the same moment, Valerian bumped her, spilling coffee down the front of her shirt.

  “Crap on a cracker!” she cried as brown coffee stain seeped across her chest.

  “I’m so sorry,” leered Valerian as her shirt became more or less see-through. “Let me help you out of that.”

  Then he reached for her shirt. “Are you mental?” I yelled at him. “She’s in the middle of the cafeteria. She’s not letting you take her shirt off.”

  “Can’t blame a guy for trying.”

  “Um, no, I can blame you. Back off,” I said.

  Hannah shook with rage. Now that she had an idea of Valerian’s scumminess, she could avoid the walk of shame. I couldn’t believe what a horrible creep he was.

  “I need to change,” Hannah said to me, deliberately avoiding Valerian. “I’ll see you at class.”

  “Do you want me to come with you?” I offered.

  She cast a glance at Valerian and shook her head. “I can take care of myself.”

  Passing Valerian, she dumped the rest of her coffee on his head. Sputtering on a little coffee that had found its way into his mouth, Valerian spat on the floor.

  “That’s completely disgusting,” I said.

  He wiped his mouth on the back of his sleeve. “I hate coffee,” he said and then he walked away.

  6

  I walked to Magical Transformation, and spotted the new guy, Chase. He met my eyes as soon as I walked into the room, probing me with those deep, Caribbean blue eyes. He had black hair and pale skin and if vampires weren’t illegal here, I’d have guessed that maybe that was his deal.

  But Illysian was off-limits to werewolves and vampires and any other demon or monster. I know a lot of books like to paint vampires as super hot guys. I get that. But in real life, they’re dead guys with ice cold skin. Remember Bella and Edward in the tent when she almost froze to death because he couldn’t keep her warm? Yeah, cold, dead guys just don’t do anything for me. Plus, in truth, they’re evil. Vampires are from the world of black magic.

  Nevertheless, Chase had a dark, brooding, loner vibe that was very sexy.

  “Tell me about the new guy,” whispered Hannah slipping into the seat next to me. “I ran into Ava and she mentioned that he’s quite the gentleman.”

  Jealousy flared within. Sure, I could tell her all about him and then watch her get him to ask her to the dance.

  “Jeremy hit me with a basketball and Chase helped me,” I kept the details to a minimum. I didn’t know why, but I was feeling protective of the moment I had shared with Chase. Not that my heart still didn’t pine for Jeremy, but for some strange reason, I couldn’t shake this magnetic draw I felt to Chase.

  Tabby slid into a seat in front of me. She turned around, leaning her elbow on the back of the chair. “Oliver is going to ask me to Homecoming,” she grinned.

  As if on cue, Oliver stalked into the room with slow deliberate steps, a wolf on the hunt, owning the room with his muscular physique. He cast a smouldering glance in Tabby’s direction.

  “Are you going?” she asked me, following Oliver with her eyes as he moved across the room.

  “I have other plans,” I said.

  “That’s nice.”

  “Yeah. I’m going to do a little human sacrifice and then see if I can score some meth.”

  “Cool,” said Tabby, who was in a grossly sensual staring contest with Oliver.

  “Can you guys just get a room?” I said.

  Tabby finally broke her eyes away from Oliver. “We’re not a thing, Greta. He hasn’t even asked me out, yet.”

  “Oh, you’re a thing, Tabby. Trust me.”

  Miss Aslynn, the teacher for Magical Transformations, entered the classroom with an air of authority.

  My anxiety spiked. My stomach tightened like I’d eaten someone’s fist and it was grabbing me from the inside. I felt like that a lot. Taking a deep breath, I tried to regain a sense of calm.

  Things would be okay. I took another deep breath. Miss Aslynn was no nonsense. She was dressed in a crisp, white button down blouse with long sleeves buttoned smartly at her wrists and black slacks. She wore medium high heels with round toes, very sensible. Her black hair was poker straight and cut in a neat bob, most likely by a Marine. She was all about straight, crisp lines.

  And straight, crisp magic.

  “Today’s test,” she said placing an apple on her desk, “will assess your aptitude for object transformation. This is not an ontological change, mind you. Who can tell me what ontology is?”

  Ava’s hand shot up. “It’s the metaphysical study of being, the “what” of something or someone.”

  “Very good,” said Miss Aslynn with a smile. “While we do teach inanimate Ontological transformation at the higher levels, Ontological changes to humans are illegal. Who can tell me why?”

  Ava’s hand shot up again.

  “Anyone else?” asked Miss Aslynn surveying the room.

  Oliver, who moments ago seemed intent on spraying the room with his scent and claiming Tabby, wiped sweat from his forehead. He was cute, but he wasn’t the brightest crayon in the box. Words like ‘ontological’ hurt his brain.

  Chase spoke without raising his hand. “Ontological changes are illegal because they are soul work and require dark magic. It changes the essence of what a thing is intended to be. Like, when a human chooses to become a vampire or a werewolf, he is giving up part of his essence, his soul, and adding to it something animal or demon, something that was never intended to be a part of him.”

  “Exactly,” said Miss Aslynn. “You’re new here, but I see you know your stuff. Where did you attend school before?”

  Chase looked down at his desk and shifted uncomfortably in his seat, clicking his pen out and in. “Blackwater,” he muttered.

  Miss Aslynn pressed her lips together and her eyebrows shot up. “Oh, well. We don’t get many students transferring from there. Welcome.”

  Chase didn’t look up and didn’t acknowledge her welcome, probably because it wasn’t much of a welcome. Blackwater was a school we didn’t mix with — ever. It was a school of dark magic, where they messed with the sort of thing she was warning us against - human ontological change. It was sort of like DNA manipulation, but with magic. Werewolves were said to be common there, as in, the school produced them. Vampires, too.

  I swallowed the lump in my throat. Throwing a fearful glance in Chase’s direction I wondered if he was a vampire after all. Then I shook off my paranoia. Impossible.
There was no way Illysian would allow a vampire in.

  Then again — a werewolf had just killed a girl. Who’s to say vampires hadn’t infiltrated, too?

  “Greta?” Miss Aslynn’s voice broke through my reflection.

  “Sorry,” I muttered.

  Miss Aslynn frowned, but before she could say anything Ava jumped in. “She got hit in the head with a ball yesterday. She’s a little loopy.”

  The class tittered. Ava to the rescue.

  Miss Aslynn gave a half-smile as if she wasn’t buying Ava’s defense, but wasn’t going to hassle me about it. “I was talking about soul work,” she said directly to me. “Werewolves are an excellent example of why we don’t dabble in soul work. There is a lot of power in soul work, but it’s a power that’s not ours to take. Some things are not ours to manipulate. They rend the soul, tearing it into two pieces and joining two halves of creatures that were never meant to be joined.

  Greg Hill, one of the smartest guys in the school, raised his hand. “What happens to the leftover halves of the soul?”

  “There aren’t any leftovers,” said Miss Aslynn.

  “Don’t there have to be if there are two souls torn in half?”

  “Oh.” Miss Aslynn’s face clouded in puzzlement. “I don’t know.”

  She reached for a book on her desk, presumably to check the answer, but the timbre of Chase’s voice resonated through the classroom. “They’re useful.”

  Miss Aslynn paled and looked up, startled. “What was that?”

  Chase clicked his pen in and out. “Souls are useful.”

  “Elaborate, please,” asked Miss Aslynn, her hands gripping a book so tightly her knuckles turned white.

  “When a werewolf is created, dark magic tears a human soul and a wolf soul and joins them. Then the soul is infused into a human host. The person in charge of the transformation then has a choice — infuse the wolf with the other two halves, or allow the wolf to die and use those half souls for someting else.”

  “You’re saying that two creatures can be created, not just one?”

  Chase nodded, the clicking of his pen continuing. “Yeah, because souls can’t be destroyed. They can be trapped, torn, frozen, and tortured, but they are eternal. Only their creator can destroy them.”

  He said it so casually, almost coldly. I shivered at the idea of my soul being tortured. It was a concept I couldn’t imagine and yet it filled me with dread.

  “Why would anyone do that?” asked Ava.

  The clicking pen continued for a few moments, all eyes were trained on Chase. Finally he said, “Souls are a source of magic.”

  I swallowed hard. My mouth was dry. If souls were a source of magic, and I didn’t have magic, did that mean I didn’t have a soul? I shook my head, trying to clear my thoughts.

  Miss Aslynn laughed uncomfortably. “Chase, no one knows where magic comes from. That’s why it’s magic.”

  His pen stopped clicking. Leaning forward, his body tensed like it was getting ready to spring. “With all due respect, Blackwater teaches us about multiple sources of magic. How can Illysian call itself elite when you don’t teach the truth? What could you possibly gain by pretending no one knows where magic comes from?”

  Oliver snorted and leaned back in his chair, “As if anyone from Blackwater could understand where magic came from.”

  The back of Chase’s neck pulsed with tension and his shoulder’s strained like he wanted to throw a punch at Oliver. Wisely, Chase stayed seated.

  Miss Aslynn drew in a shaky breath. “That’s quite enough, Chase.” His critique of our school set everyone on edge, but what did anyone really expect? He was a Blackwater student.

  So, to sum up,” continued Miss Aslynn, “today you’re creating a complex illusion. You’re not literally changing an object into something else. You’re only changing its appearance. Is that clear?”

  Everyone nodded except me. Her words were clear, but the action was impossible without magic. Ava was angry with me for throwing a head on her bed. I wasn’t sure she’d have my back now. I mean, I guess she would, but my heart hammered like crazy as my mind filled with doubt.

  “Greta Verity.” Miss Aslynn leveled a stern gaze at me.

  My head swam. I closed my eyes and swallowed my heart. Of course, I was first. I hated demonstrations of power more than anything else in the world. It was horrible. The pressure. The eyes. The expectation. The risk. The possibility of failure, a failure which would result in complete and total humiliation, social blacklisting, and expulsion.

  Not your run-of-the-mill school anxiety.

  I pushed myself out of my seat and willed myself to the front of the room. I walked around the demonstration table and tried to imagine that my heart hadn’t dropped into my stomach. My pulse pounded like I was running from a monster. Tongue sticking to the roof of my mouth, I couldn’t loosen it to speak even if I wanted to.

  Don’t fail me, Ava. Don’t fail me.

  “Please transform this toothbrush.” Miss Aslynn set a pink toothbrush in front of me.

  I glanced at Ava. She winked and gave me a sly smile. Crap. What was she going to do? I shook my head, barely making any movement. Please Ava, I tried to communicate to her. Just do something normal and small. Don’t do anything crazy. Please. I pleaded with her from my eyes. My heart. My whole being.

  But I didn’t have magic. I didn’t have telepathy. And despite what you might think you know about twins, Ava and I didn’t share a secret language.

  “Proceed when you are ready, Miss Verity.”

  Sweat soaked my armpits. Goosebumps paraded up and down my arms. I took a last breath and closed my eyes.

  Ava’s magic bumped gently against me and then invaded my arms. I hated the feeling of being invaded by another, even if it was my twin sister. Her power flowed through me, thick and foreign, like alien blood, and then back out, through my fingertips.

  “Balloon,” her magic prompted me to say.

  A loud BAM reverberated through the classroom.

  “Oh dear!” Miss Aslynn cried and leapt backwards, her wooden chair crashing to the floor.

  My eyes flew open, and I had to grab the edge of the demonstration table to keep from falling over.

  My sister had transformed the pink toothbrush into a balloon alright. A water witch’s head bobbed and bounced gruesomely against the ceiling, its eyes milky white, its gray skin the color of death.

  Miss Aslynn drew a sharp breath.

  My nerves were shot. I glared at Ava. She played along with the class, staring in mute horror at the larger-than-life witch head. My blood boiled. What was wrong with her? She was such a show off. She knew I wasn’t one. This was totally not something I would do. She’d blow everything. I was supposed to be average, unnoticed, plain. This — I glanced at the giant, bobbing decapitated head — was not average.

  “Greta, a fine job on the transformation. A bit — bigger than I had hoped — but you managed a — umm — gruesome illusion. Glad you’re pushing yourself out of your shell.”

  Shaking with anger, I sat down in my seat.

  “You’re welcome,” Ava whispered in my ear.

  “I didn’t thank you,” I whispered back.

  “Ungrateful,” she countered.

  I bit my tongue and stared ahead. What else could I do? I was at her mercy.

  7

  Even if you go to a school of magic, you still have to take a foreign language. Yes, Elvish and Ogre were offered at Illysian, but Spanish was the only language that didn’t require magic.

  After Magical Transformation I took a quick detour to discuss my plummeting Spanish grade, which turned out to be a terrible idea. It started innocently enough. Señora was sitting at her desk grading papers with a red pen. I knocked on the doorframe.

  “Can I talk to you about my grade?”

  She grimaced, and I knew I should walk away. Clearly this conversation wasn’t going to go the way I wanted it to, but it was too late. I’d look like an idiot if I walked
away now.

  “So, on my last test you took off a lot of points for spelling mistakes.”

  She cut me off, “Spelling counts, Greta.”

  “This isn’t spelling class, it’s Spanish class.”

  “Spanish is a phonetic language. It’s much easier to learn to spell Spanish words than English ones. The problem is that you’re not applying yourself to your full potential.”

  I wanted to roll my eyes, but I kept them still, looking straight at her. She was right. I wasn’t applying myself fully to my academics, because I was trying to produce my latent magic.

  With a sigh, she continued. “Look. I understand. You’re distracted. Boys are —”

  “Don’t act like you understand me. I’m not distracted by boys,” I argued.

  Her eyes lit with anger. “Maybe you need to take a different language, then.”

  I was getting ready to spit a retort when a blinding white flash filled the room. Heat blasted my back. I turned. A fire raged in the trash can and climbed the wall, setting notices on fire, spreading rapidly toward the ceiling.

  “Extinguish,” yelled Señora. The fire instantly stopped, leaving the wall singed and smelling of blackened paper.

  “That’s it, Miss Verity. I’ve had enough of your bad temper. You can’t set fire to my classroom just because you’re angry,” said Señora scribbling a note on a yellow piece of paper. She signed her name with a flourish, like she relished sending me to my doom.

  “But I didn’t do it.”

  She glared at me as she thrust the yellow slip into my hands. “Are you implying that I set the fire? To my own classroom?” Her eyebrows arched and her lips pursed.

  “No - not at all. I just mean it wasn’t me.” My arms dropped limply to my sides. I couldn’t tell her that I didn’t have any magic so that it couldn’t have been me. I had to take the blame or expose the lie I was living. I was sorely tempted to admit to lying. I was so tired of pretending I had magic, when clearly I was never going to get it.