First Infraction Page 7

  I let the tiniest bit of magic seep out from my restraint. I’m not outright Glamouring them to leave us alone—that would be too obvious to Lark. While I consider us friends, I’m not quite ready to trust her with everything yet.

  The small flare of Glamour I do send out will give them a dose of fear and make them think twice about harassing us again. I just hope it’s enough. I’d really hate to lose my temper and snap, letting the whole prison population know my power is fully intact.

  The girls make a few choked noises and spin around, leaving us alone in the bathroom once more. I look at Lark and laughter bursts from her.

  “That. Was. Awesome,” she coughs out when her laughs start to fizzle.

  “I didn’t mean to overstep,” I say. “I’m sure you’re perfectly capable of handling them yourself.”

  “Of course,” she quips.

  “I just needed them to know I’m not interested and that I’ve got your back. Always.”

  She smiles and holds up a fist. I bump mine against it and, without another word, we head back into our respective stalls to finish showering. I grab the soap and sniff it, recoiling from the bitter chemical smell not covered by the lemon scent.

  Nope. I can’t. Making sure the curtain is completely closed with no cracks to peek through, I conjure up another bar of the rose soap, followed by shampoo of the same scent.

  It’s a small thing, and no one will ever know. Not a big deal.

  As I rub the sweet smelling bar over my body, I smile. Yep. Totally worth it.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Lark and I walk into our first class side-by-side, laughing together at some joke she made about my showdown with the queen bees—which will henceforth be known as The Clash of the Fair-Haired Fae, according to Lark. The moniker just barely beat out The Battle of the Bathroom and Showdown in the Showers.

  Apparently, she has a flair for the dramatic.

  My laughter dies in my throat as I lock eyes with Asher. The bright-blue orbs spear me with their intensity, making the blood heat in my veins. I get the sense he’s trying to read my mind, to dissect my thoughts and intentions and find out what makes me tick.

  I close my eyes and shake my head to clear the fuzziness. When I open them, Asher is staring at the paper on his desk. Like the moment never happened.

  Maybe it didn’t. Maybe I imagined it. Maybe Lark isn’t the dramatic one in our duo.

  I slide into my seat next to her just as Mollie glides in, swinging the door shut behind her.

  “Good morning, class. I trust you all slept well?”

  A few grunts of agreement fill the silence, and Mollie smiles. She seems really nice and emanates respectability. I wonder what she did to get put in here…

  “When you’re out in society, trying to live your lives in peace like everyone else, there will be people who mock you—particularly since you’ve been incarcerated here. They will despise you, turn up their superior noses at the sight of you, and even throw insults to belittle you. Even if they have no idea where you come from, just the sight of you will incite negativity. It is simply the way of the world.”

  A frown tugs at my lips as I process her words. While I don’t necessarily disagree, my hackles raise a little bit. That reality is exactly what my parents have been fighting to eradicate for the last twenty years. And while they’ve made great strides, it is still, in fact, a reality.

  “And these people who think they are better than you and are entitled to treat you however they see fit won’t always be alone. The control you learn here can’t just be about one-on-one confrontations. Those are easy. A gang mentality can, and will, spread like wildfire, particularly with the humans. What will you do when you feel attacked—verbally or physically—by a group of people?”

  A sense of dread blooms in my chest. I really don’t like where this is going.

  “So today, instead of one-on-one practice, I will call each of you up to the front of the room. The class will act as a mob of instigators, attempting to make you lose your cool and attack.”

  Oh my God. I take back what I said about Mollie being nice. This is my worst nightmare.

  I look around the room, thinking everyone else would be as horrified as I am by this exercise. But other than Lark, whose face is turned down with resignation, everyone else looks eager. And more than few are staring at me with anticipation lighting their eyes. Particularly the trio from The Clash of the Fair-Haired Fae.

  Great. I don’t think I realized until this moment that they were even in this class.

  “Maisy, you’re first.”

  One of the blondes slips from her seat and marches to the front of the room. She cocks out one hip and wears a mulish expression, like she’s daring someone, anyone, to throw shade her way.

  “You’re not as pretty as Angelina,” Brooke yells out.

  Maisy rolls her eyes, saying, “Neither are you, you dumb slut.”

  Woah. Obviously, those two are frenemies vying for approval from their ringleader. My eyes roll over to Lark, who shakes her head like she’s disappointed in the female gender as a whole.

  “Both of you are ridiculous.”

  My attention perks up at the sound of that voice, deep and slightly growly. The hair on the back of my neck bristles as goosebumps flare up and down my arms. My heart pounds out of rhythm, and I take a deep breath.

  I’ve got to get myself under control.

  I do. Not. Like. Him.

  Maisy rolls her eyes even harder than before. So hard, no trace of their usually blue color is visible. But her stance changes, her spine stiffening the slightest bit.

  “Nobody cares what you think, Asher.”

  Her tone is haughty and full of implications. Like it’s obvious no one cares about his opinions. Like no one should care. Like there’s something wrong with him.

  My nerves bristle and anger heats my face. I know the purpose of this exercise is to insult each other, to attempt to elicit a response so we can each practice our control, but something tells me this isn’t the first time Asher has been insulted…and all because of his mixed heritage.

  A trait we have in common. It’s just not as obvious in me.

  “You’re an intolerant, bigoted airhead whose only goal in life is to be popular like we’re in some high school-themed human movie from the twenty-first century. We’re in prison, Maisy. No one here cares how pretty you are, or how popular. You’re here for committing a crime, just like the rest of us.”

  I can’t help it. The words tumble from my mouth in a haze of righteous indignation, and it’s all I can do to keep my magic veiled inside me.

  Which is bad. I’m not even the one being insulted—yet. I’m going to have to really concentrate when it’s my turn to face the firing squad.

  “Yeah,” Lark calls out. “What are you in for anyway, Maisy? Stealing some makeup to cover those giant craters you call pores on your face?”

  Maisy’s face turns a violent shade of magenta as her eyes try to murder Lark on the spot. A growl vibrates from her chest and her hands fly up, curling like talons as she flicks them in Lark’s direction.

  Of course, nothing happens.

  Mollie shakes her head, saying, “You’ll have to do better than that, Maisy. You can’t let anyone goad you into losing your temper and using your magic, once it’s restored.”

  As she says the words, she motions for Maisy to return to her seat. I don’t miss the change in her inflection with that last bit. She doesn’t believe we’ll get our magic back. Ever.

  “Okay, Rory. Come on up.”

  My blood freezes in my veins as she calls me up, and I have to force my body to move. This is it. Time to prove to myself that I can do this.

  I take a deep, calming breath and walk forward with my head held high. I’ve got this.

  Mollie gives me an encouraging nod as I turn to face the class, stiffening my spine as I wait for them to give me their worst.

  “You’re awesome,” Larks yells out, and some of the tensio
n drains out of me.

  She shoots me an exaggerated thumbs-up with a wink, and Mollie clears her throat. I let my smile drop and brace myself as the instructor nods at the class, giving them permission to verbally abuse me.

  “You’re stupid and ugly,” Angelina calls out.

  Relief floods through me as her words roll right off my back. I don’t really care what she or her two little sycophants think of me, so nothing they say will cause me to lose it and reveal what I’ve being trying so hard to keep hidden. I’ve really got this.

  “You have terrible taste in friends,” Brooke yells, and something inside me tightens.

  Oh, no she didn’t. These petty witches can throw insults at me all day if they want, but it’s not Lark’s turn. They need to leave her out of it.

  I take a few cleansing breaths, forcing my muscles to relax. Lark nods at me, telling me that she’s okay. She doesn’t give a flip what those girls think, either, so there’s no reason for me to get riled up about it.

  Cool. Calm. Composed.

  I recite the words over and over in my head until I’m completely relaxed, ignoring the trio’s giggles and shouted words of agreement. Then I focus my gaze on each of them in turn, my smile as patronizing as I can manage to make it as I shake my head, belittling their efforts.

  “A spoiled princess like you will never survive here. You’re too weak.”

  My calm mood is shattered as Asher York speaks those words, his tone dripping with revulsion. I focus on the wall behind the students, refusing to meet his eyes. I can’t.

  He thinks I’m weak repeats over and over in my head, and I want nothing more than to show him just how not weak I am. I could knock him on his butt with barely a pinky finger. I could pin him to the ceiling with but a thought.

  My anger rises with each breath I take, my chest heaving and my lips pressed tightly together. I repeat the three C’s again, but even my internal voice is agitated and growly.

  Apparently, despite desperately not wanting it to be so, I do care what Asher thinks. And the fact that he thinks I’m weak is sending me to the brink of losing all control.

  “You can’t even look at me. You’re so pathetic.”

  I take the bait like a mindless fish, my eyes snapping to meet his. The look of satisfaction on his face threatens to send me right over the edge. He is taking great pleasure in the fact that he can rile me up when no one else can.

  I might hate him, a little bit.

  “I am not weak,” I grit out, and his smile grows.

  I mentally curse myself for falling into his trap. Now, I’m on the defensive…right where he wants me. I need to calm myself and put on some mental armor to protect myself.

  “If you’re so strong, prove it,” he says.

  Some emotion flares across his face, but he quickly smothers it. My eyes narrow as I study him, not sure if I imagined the anticipation I saw in his blue eyes for that split-second. He looked eager, but not in the awful way the blondie triplets look when they’re throwing insults.

  But the look vanished so quickly, I’m almost sure I imagined it. Or maybe I just misinterpreted it. Either way, he looks downright arrogant now. And I refuse to give him the satisfaction of a response.

  “Okay, good job Rory,” Mollie says, and I practically sprint back to my desk.

  If every class is a test of our control, I might be in trouble. Big trouble.

  Chapter Fifteen

  “You must always nod in respect to your betters, showing them that you realize and accept their superiority.”

  As Miss Avery drones on, it’s obvious she considers herself in that higher echelon, and expects her fellow inmates and students to show her that respect. It’s all I can do to keep my eyes from rolling.

  My parents are Fae royalty, and they have never expected their subjects to bow in reverence or act subservient in any way. Respect is earned, not entitled. I’ve heard my dad say that more than once.

  “Okay, new girl, come up here.”

  I flinch, all of my muscles going rigid as I force myself to stand. What is with today? I wish I was invisible.

  I close my eyes and scrunch my nose, mentally reining myself back in. I can’t wish for things when I’m stressed, or my Glamour might take it as an order and comply. Nothing would be worse than turning invisible right now.

  When I get to the front of the room, I make a point of keeping as much distance as I can between me and Miss Avery. If she notices the resemblance between me and my mom, this whole charade is over. I’ll never know who sent that note and I’ll throw a huge wrench in all the progress my parents have made integrating the three races over the last two decades.

  “Pretend we’re meeting for the first time,” she says. “Show me the respect I’m due.”

  My jaw clenches as a retort tickles my tongue. I could throw out any number reasons I don’t owe her anything, the least of which is the fact that she’s a prisoner here just like the rest of us. She’s not some educated and decorated professor. She’s not qualified at all. Her only advantage is that she’s older than us.

  Instead, I nod my head as cordially as I can manage, and say “I am so very honored to meet you.”

  Her smile grows as her eyes shine with satisfaction. She really believes I meant the words. This woman is delusional.

  “Very good,” she replies, waving me back to my seat.

  “Suck up,” Lark mouths as I meet her eyes, which are dancing with mirth.

  “Shut up,” I mouth back, swinging into my chair.

  “Lark Sparrow, your turn,” Miss Avery says.

  I can practically taste the satisfaction wafting from the instructor as Lark slowly makes her way toward the front. Tiana Avery hates Zephyrs. That much is obvious. And Lark is the perfect target for that hatred.

  “Let’s see what you’ve learned,” the blonde says.

  “Oh, holy and righteous Sylphid, thank you so much for honoring me with the mere sight of you,” Lark says, her bow as flamboyant as her tone. “I am truly humbled and grateful to bask in the glory of your presence.”

  Miss Avery snarls and points toward the door, ordering Lark to leave her classroom. Keeping her shoulders square and her head held high, she struts toward the exit, pausing only to give me wink just before she walks out.

  I shake my head with a silent chuckle. That girl is something else. Absolutely fearless.

  I glance to my left and see Asher staring at the now-empty doorway, one corner of his mouth curling up and a twinkle of admiration in his eye. He must feel me staring, because his eyes catch mine and the pleasant expression drops, his face returning to its normal, grumpy state.

  Huh. I wonder if he likes Lark.

  I close my eyes and fight the surge of disappointment that wells up within me at the thought. This isn’t the academy, it’s prison. I cannot afford to get distracted.

  I am not here to meet a boy.

  Though I don’t really hear a word she says, I keep my eyes glued to Miss Avery for the remainder of class and pretend to absorb every asinine word that passes her lips. I refuse to look at Asher again, and luckily, the hour passes and class is over before he gets called to the front where I’d have to look at him.

  I grab my things and Lark’s bag before dashing though the door. Lark is waiting, one shoulder propped against the wall, and I shove her bag toward her while simultaneously linking my arm through hers and dragging her away.

  “What’s got you in such a dither?” she asks, keeping up with my quick pace.

  “Dither? Who says dither?”

  “My grandmother. And you’re deflecting. What happened after I left?”

  “Nothing,” I say, but the word is quick and sharp. And completely false.

  Lark pulls me to the side of the hall and pins me against the wall with a perfectly arched, black brow. I squirm for a minute, then let out a sigh.

  “When you made that glorious exit, Asher was staring at you,” I mutter.

  “Was he, now?” she asks in an of
fhand tone that holds no real inquisitiveness.

  “Yeah, and I felt something I don’t even want to acknowledge.”

  I let my gaze drop to the floor as embarrassment heats my face. I don’t even want to admit this to myself, much less to my new friend who’s warned me off that boy more than once.

  “Was it jealousy, Rory?” she asks, her voice filled with humor.

  “Shut up,” I say, unable to contain a smile as I meet her stare once more.

  “There’s something I haven’t told you,” she says, all traces of humor vanishing.

  I stare at her with wide eyes as a pit of dread forms in my stomach. I don’t know if I want to know.

  “What is it?” I find myself asking before I can stop the words from pouring out.

  “Asher and I agreed not to tell anyone this, but I think I can trust you,” she says.

  The feeling of dread grows, and is joined by a healthy dose of guilt. She trusts me enough to share her secret when I haven’t told her mine. I just…can’t. Can I? No. At least, not yet.

  “We’re cousins,” she whispers, the two words halting my internal debate.

  “What?” I shout, then flinch. Lowering my volume, I repeat “What?”

  She nods, saying, “His mom and my mom are sisters. We grew up together. That’s all I can tell you right now. We need to jet or we’ll be late to class. I just wanted you to know that any affection you may sense between us is most definitely not romantic.”

  With that, she starts off down the hall, and I have to rush to catch up. After walking in silence for several moments, I tug her sleeve.

  “Thanks for telling me,” I say. “I mean, thanks for trusting me.”

  “Yep,” she says, giving me a knowing look.

  I’m not fooling her. She can obviously see my relief in the fact that she’s not interested in dating Asher. Or more specifically, that he’s not interested in her.

  “Are you going tell him that I know?”

  She stops in the middle of the corridor and tilts her head.