Going Down in Flames (Going Down in Flames #1)(36)

“Can I help you?”

She pointed to the board. “I’m not on the seating chart.”

“I’m aware of the location of my seating chart. You’re not on the board yet because I seated people by their element, and I was unsure where you belonged.”

Should she admit to both breath weapons? Maybe he could advise her. In a quiet voice, she said, “I have two.”

He blinked. “Excuse me?”

“I can shoot fire and ice.”

He stared for a moment as if he didn’t believe her, and then he stood and straightened his tie. “Come with me.”

Bryn followed him to a door on the sidewall of the classroom. He opened it to reveal an adjoining classroom given over to storage. Shelves were lined with neatly labeled boxes. It smelled of dust and old books. Once she was inside, he closed the door.

“Show me.”

Nothing like being put on the spot. Bryn thought of Jaxon. Acid surged in her stomach. She opened her mouth and huffed out a small fireball. It hung in the air a moment before it burned out.

Next, she thought of snow. A quick inhalation and exhalation produced fat snowflakes, which floated down and around an astonished Mr. Stanton.

A smile lit his face. “That’s extraordinary.”

Nice to be appreciated for once. “Should I let the others know? I was advised not to draw attention to myself.”

“You managed to draw attention to yourself this morning in the dining hall.” He raised a brow. “Who started the argument?”

“He did.”

Raised voices came from the classroom. “We best get back before someone burns the room down. Pick one element to start with, and sit in the appropriate section.”

No contest. Fire came easier. Plus, she could sit with the Red dragons rather than Jaxon.

Mr. Stanton stood behind his desk and cleared his throat to gain everyone’s attention. “I’m pleased you were able to find your assigned seats. Every day when you come into class, you’ll need to check the board because we move for different activities. I expect you to keep your breath weapon in control at all times.” He raised one eyebrow. “Of course, I may goad you to see if you’re capable.”

Several students laughed.

“Every dragon is born with the power to control an element. Your job is to refine the ability to use it. A small amount of wind, ice, fire, lightning, or sonic wave can be enhanced and used as a tool.

“Your element can be fused with other objects once you tap into Quintessence. Quintessence is the essence of all things. It’s the very stuff life is made of. Learn to manipulate it, and you will be able to do simple spells. Learn to control it, and you could do anything.”

He pointed at a fern on his desk. Palm out, he created a small twister of air. The twister advanced on the plant and sucked all color from the fern, leaving it a dry, brown husk.

“I have transferred the life force of the fern to my emissary. Now, direct your attention to the parakeet by the window.”

The small twister moved toward the cage.

The bird squawked as the wind rattled his enclosure. His feathers changed from yellow to lime green. Inhalations were heard around the room.

Was this how she changed her hair color? Maybe she could speak to Mr. Stanton after class.

“Today you’ll concentrate on producing and sustaining an emissary. For beginners, it’s easier to expel the element from your mouth to your hand. Later, you’ll be able to channel the element to your hand with thought alone.”

Bryn huffed a small fireball into her hand. The other Reds did the same with more or less success. Unlike Mr. Stanton’s emissary, their fireballs winked out of existence after a few seconds.

A young man next to her said, “You must take after your father.”

“I do.” She gave him a tentative smile and then concentrated on the emissary in her hand, imagining the fire emerging from her fingertips. This time, the fireball held its shape for fifteen seconds before it died.

“How’d you do that?” the boy asked.

“I imagined the flame coming from my fingertips. It helped.”

By the end of class, she was able to hold her emissary for thirty seconds. About half the students experienced the same success.

…

The sun shone bright as Bryn, Clint, and Ivy walked across campus to the history building. The smell of fresh-cut grass drifted on the breeze.

“It’d be a perfect day to cut classes,” Clint said in a wistful tone.

Ivy whacked him on the shoulder. “It’s the first day.”

“Could we fly to the history building?” Bryn had the odd desire to feel the sun on her wings.

“We could,” Clint said, “but then I wouldn’t want to shift back to human form for class.”

They trudged to their destination. When they reached the appropriate room, the History texts were laid out on desks. Unlike Mr. Stanton’s class, there wasn’t a seating chart, so they sat toward the back.

The teacher stood and cleared her throat. “Good morning, children. My name is Mrs. Hanfelder.”

Was the woman used to teaching younger students? She spoke in a singsong voice. Something about her appearance was off. Her wispy, brown hair sat in a messy bun on top of her head, and her glasses perched a bit crooked on her nose. There was an odd gleam in her eyes.