I inhale probably half of it before I sigh in content. Sliding down the wall I’m still leaning against and popping a perfectly buttery, salty piece of cauliflower into my mouth.
Heaven.
This is blissful heaven.
Opening my eyes I come face to face with gold. Callahan had leaned closer. Resting his forearms on his knees as he peers at me with curious eyes.
I slide down an inch more and pull my vegetables closer to my chest. Finishing chewing, I swallow my bite and contemplate what I should do next. Him watching me so closely like this makes me feel self-conscious. Not even Caleb ever observed me so closely.
Gold fractures and dark blond brows lower.
“Who’s Caleb?”
I shrink another inch and a little squeak escapes my throat. I recheck all my mental shields before narrowing my eyes at him. I can’t really be mad at him because those with mind magic who can hear other people’s thoughts tend to keep that part of their mind open. Always listening, so I have to make sure to keep a tighter hold on my shields.
“No one,” I murmur. Looking down at my vegetables and scooping up a piece of carrot to shove in my mouth. “A friend from home.”
He hums and when I glance up at him the white threads in his eyes are glowing. Mild curiosity and a look that says ‘want to try answering that again’ appear on his face. I narrow my eyes and snap my eyes back to my food. I do not owe him any explanation.
He hums again but doesn’t push anything. He doesn’t say anything as I finish with my steamed vegetables. And this time he does leave, giving me privacy as I get up to change and get ready.
Willow of Lore. . . black lightning. . .
It’s starting to sound like these five years are not just going to go by quietly.
Whoever’s betting against my life. . . they better be making enough bank to be worth it. This is going to be exhausting.
Twenty-Three
Callahan – Septmust 1
Most, if not everyone, in the school comes to watch the Willow of Lore ceremony. It’s a tradition every year, and rumored to be bad luck if you miss it. Though, normally it happens on the winter solstice, not the autumn equinox.
Mavyn had known that. My firecracker knew about it even though the teachers aren’t allowed to explicitly teach it. Varian said there are a lot of gaps in the history books. Knowledge the Mage Board doesn’t want us learning.
But she knows about it. My firecracker – who’s currently twirling the end of a piece of hair around her finger. This strand mostly blue, with the rest of it hanging in loose curls down her back. It had been curled like that when she came back from her nightmare realm instead of in the bun she had put it in before.
I haven’t asked more about it because I haven’t wanted to overstep. Already I’ve gone too far, pushing too many of her boundaries. I don’t need her to shut me out more than she already does.
There’s also another long legged spider on top of her head. This one with a larger body and bright orange. Its legs scrawny but covered in orange and white striped fur. I’m pretty sure it’s a pumpkin cat, which are pest eaters and good for the environment but they’re also very venomous.
I wonder where she found it since they prefer deep, dark corners and don’t like people.
We walk side by side down one of the last corridors that lead into the first level of the building. The Willow of Lore sits in the very middle of the school. The reason most classrooms and lecture halls are upstairs is because the majority of the first level is taken up by the grounds.
People are already gathered as we turn down the last hall. Hundreds of students and staff stand around as tiny blue lights zip to and from.
Holding out my hand, I wait for Mavyn to take it. She doesn’t hesitate and I pull her through the crowd so we can get a better look. Even from here you can see the slightly glowing purple flowers of the tree.
It looks almost exactly like a wisteria tree, though the flowers hang like a weeping willow. And the bark is white, with a deep purple rune right in the middle of it. The symbol of the Willow of Lore.
There’s another symbol someone is able to make with their hands. No one does it though because to do it without properknowledge and intent is to scorn the spirits. And doing that is a death sentence.
There are balconies surrounding above several levels too for the rest of the students. The presidents of the societies and their councils get first pick of wherever they want to stand first, then everyone else files in. Usually they take their seats on one of their benches.
Five benches, each for one of the houses, surround the tree. Long ago it had been for the five sub-races of the witches the houses are named after.
Thorne sits on Stone House’s bench in his perfectly tailored uniform. A foot resting over his knee and a stony expression.