Going Down in Flames (Going Down in Flames #1)(31)

“I know.” Face red, Bryn headed for the dorm and stalked up the stairs. With every step she climbed, her thighs complained. “This school needs elevators.”

When they reached her door, what she saw made her growl in outrage. A length of chain wrapped around her door handle and was anchored to the doorknob across the hall.

Garret ran his fingers along the metal links. “It was charmed, but the spell has worn off. I can feel the residual magic. And look there.” He pointed at a space where it looked like half a link was missing.

Bryn touched it. The entire link was there; part of it was invisible. “What the hell?”

A concealment spell would be my guess.” Garret rubbed his chin. “That’s high-level magic. There aren’t many students who could manage it.”

“You think an adult locked me in my room?” That made it even creepier.

“Maybe.” Garret exhaled onto his palm, and a small, twisting ball of matter appeared. He set the twister on the chain, and it slid between the links. He exhaled again and sent another gust toward the chain. The small tornado grew and ripped the metal link in half.

“How’d you do that?” Bryn asked.

“You’ll learn to use your breath weapon in Elemental Science.” He unwound the chain, and it dropped to the floor with a metallic clunk. “Let’s make sure your personal belongings are in order.”

Bryn entered and surveyed the room. Nothing seemed out of place. “Everything is the same. I was just in here.”

“Good.” Garret cleared his throat. “I hate that someone locked your door. If they’d broken into your room, it would’ve meant serious trouble.”

She remembered the drawing of the skewered dragon taped to her door. “Do you think I’m safe? It’s not like I have a roommate to help fight off attackers.” She was only partly joking.

“There are many positives to not having a roommate.” Garret gave a tight smile. “I’ve fantasized death for my roommate on several occasions. He can’t grasp the simple concept that wet towels should be hung on a rack rather than tossed on the floor. But if you like, I could speak to Mr. Stanton about a ward for your door.”

“Sounds good.”

Garret checked the time on his watch. “Don’t forget the dinner tonight.”

“I know I’ll regret saying this, but what dinner?”

“Didn’t you read the welcome packet?” Garret asked, like she’d committed some breach of conduct.

“I read the damn packet.”

He backed up a step. “Perhaps you were missing a page. The dinner tonight is in honor of the families who’ve donated money to the Institute.”

“I have to pretend to be grateful to Ferrin? No thanks.”

“Why don’t you speak with Zavien before you decide to attend?” Ivy said. “Maybe he’ll tell you to play hooky.”

Good idea. There was one problem. “I don’t know how to contact him. He normally finds me.”

“He helps organize the stagecraft department at the beginning of school each year, so he’s probably with Nola. The number for the theater is in the phonebook in your desk,” Garret said.

“Thank you.”

He nodded and walked out.

“We better go change for dinner.” Clint grabbed Ivy’s hand and walked to the terrace, where they shifted and took flight.

A sense of unease washed over Bryn. She’d rather skip the dinner altogether. Was she required to attend? After locating the appropriate number, she dialed and waited for Zavien to answer.

“Theater department, this is Nola. Can I help you?”

“It’s Bryn. I need to speak to Zavien.”

“He’s on the catwalk.” Nola sounded annoyed. “What do you want?”

How much should she share? “I need to ask him a question.”

A male voice called Nola’s name. Then the phone smacked onto a hard surface, hurting Bryn’s ear. Zavien came on the line.

“What the hell were you thinking?”

“Excuse me?”

“I saw you outfly that Blue. What did I tell you about showing off?”

Her temper spiked. “I didn’t plan it. He challenged me. What was I supposed to do?”

“Ignore him. I warned you about dragon pride. Now the Blues are in an uproar.”

“That’s too damn bad.” She cut him off before he could continue his tirade. “I called to ask if I’m required to attend dinner tonight.”

“Don’t attend the dinner. You’ll only call more attention to yourself, attention you were supposed to avoid. Throwing it in the Blues’ faces—the Directorate members’ sons’ faces—that you’re faster than them was sheer stupidity.”

“Bite me.” She slammed the phone back in its cradle. He was only concerned about stupid politics. He didn’t care about her.

She’d rather eat dirt than attend this dinner, but Zavien needed to learn he couldn’t push her around. So she was going. Like it or not. With an emphasis on the not.

What should she wear? No matter what she wore, she wouldn’t blend. Maybe she’d make a statement about her “mongrel” heritage. After considering her options, she paired a navy skirt with a red and navy pinstriped blouse and red heels. She focused on her hair. The strawberry blond wasn’t going to cut it. She closed her eyes and imagined distinct, cherry-red stripes. She opened her eyes and checked her reflection. The cherry red stood out in greater contrast to the blond and black stripes. People would definitely notice her hair now. And it would piss Zavien off, which was a bonus.