Page 29 of Reckless Witch

Early afternoon, I pass a group of three girls on the walkway, then scrutinize the trees on the southeast corner of the campus where I last saw Stony. Maybe I should skip the sparring class and search for her. I really had expected her to find my dorm room last night. I think of Grams’ house, my house, my and Stony’s chance at something solid. She never complains—not about where we live or not having much money or hiding from the Watchmen—but she wants a home as much as I do. Stony knows we’re here to claim what’s mine. I hesitate. Skipping first-day classes won’t endear me to The Academy.

So, you don’t really care what happened to Grams, then? my inner voice asks.

“Hush,” I mutter, and refocus on the building that marks my next class. I have to clear Grams’ name in order to get the Illumina to release the house. Finding out what really happened is part of the deal.

Five minutes later, I reach the field on the north side of The Academy compound. The sun is shining and there’s a crisp bite in the air that will keep me from working up a sweat. Still, I could use another cup of coffee.

I join the students who mill about until a thirty-year-old man announces, “Today, there’s no magic on the field. Hand to hand combat only. Line up and stretch first.”

I follow orders. At least, I’ll be able to keep in shape while I’m here, and a good sparring match will help me work off the residual sexual tension remaining after my encounter with Ethan the day before yesterday and all the subsequent classmate snubs. In bed alone last night, I’d taken matters into my own hands—it was that or insomnia—but my hands aren’t as warm and strong as his. I shiver at a flash memory of his green eyes locked with mine and I wonder for the hundredth time what his mouth would feel like on mine.

As I stretch my arms over my head, my attention snags on three unfamiliar men strolling near a distant building. If their black body armor didn’t give them away, their walk would. Watchmen.

“Good morning, class,” the teacher says. I tear my attention from the Watchmen as the teacher halts near the students opposite me and says, “Pair up with the closest person to you.”

The closest person to me, the girl who’d openly stared at me the other day, meets my gaze, then whirls. Too late. The other two students nearest her have already paired up. The look the two girls send her way carries open spite. So, no one wants to pair up with me, and they think it’s funny she’s stuck with me. I don’t have to ask how I’ve garnered their disdain. This is just a continuation of breakfast in the dining hall. Though I do wonder what she’s done to garner their disfavor.

“Chelsea, you’re with Leilah,” the instructor announces, then begins walking the line. “No magic, this time, Ariel. I won’t warn you again.”

Chelsea faces me and my body hums with anticipation. She circles me like an animal. In the fifteen years I lived with Grams, I learned more about magic than most people might in a lifetime. Add my street survival to that knowledge and skill and I’m a formidable opponent, with or without magic.

I dodge Chelsea’s sluggish punch, then whirl and lightly kick her in the ass. She spins to face me, eyes blazing.

“You should spar with someone more on your level,” I say.

Her eyes darken. “I don’t need to change partners, witch.”

I startle at her venom. Her hatred feels way more personal than the like grandmother like granddaughter attitude I’ve received.

“Do I know you?” I ask.

Chelsea lunges, legs kicking in an awkward semblance of martial arts moves I’ve never seen. I block with my arms and retreat. She puts her weight behind her kicks and my arms take a beating.

“Do you really want to do this?” I demand when she lands, breathing hard. “You’re going to force me to hurt you.”

She surges toward me, fists up, legs kicking. I seize her right ankle and she teeters, barely managing to stay on her feet.

“All I have to do is yank and you’ll go down on your ass,” I warn.

Chelsea yanks her foot free and starts kicking, again. She adds a punch, which I block, then I grab her left leg and yank. She drops onto her butt like lead. To her credit, she rolls away from me and shoves to her feet.

I grin. “That’s not bad.”

She backs up several paces, but before I can advance, a tall, dark-haired man I can only describe as a Greek god steps between us. He’s dressed in a tank top that showcases sculptured muscles hard as marble, and tight sparring pants that leave nothing to the imagination.

Vampire.

He’s an instructor of some sort, or I’m Bugs Bunny. God have mercy. Are all the instructors at The Academy gods?

I register the tension in his body and turn sideways an instant before he leaps. He’s all grace and power. I swing my leg up in a roundhouse kick, but my foot slices through air. I start at the sting of a slap to my arm and swing around to find the vampire standing three feet away. Of course, he’s not even breathing hard.

“If you can use your powers, I can use mine,” I snap.

“Powers won’t always help you,” he retorts.

With this damn sigil on me, I can’t prove him wrong. An idea strikes. The sigil is dragon magic. Fire and I are very good friends. Maybe I can teach Mr. Greek God Asshole a small—very small—lesson.

I snap the energy inside me into a dense ball of energy, thrust out the hand with the sigil and mentally shout Fire! Heat races down my arm, hits the sigil like a brick wall and a fire hot as a branding iron mashes against my flesh. The pain intensifies the force of my will and a small ball of fire appears in front of my palm.