Cruel Magic (Royals of Villain Academy #1)(21)

Professor Banefield had told me that most of the classes included students with a mix of experience levels so that those farther in their studies could develop a more thorough understanding of the subject by teaching the newer students. How many of these seminars was I going to end up sharing with Malcolm Nightwood—or the other scions, for that matter?

The teacher, whom my schedule told me was Professor Crowford, ambled in and stopped behind the larger desk at the front. He was obviously getting on in the years, only a few black streaks standing out against his silver hair and fine wrinkles creasing the corners of his eyes, but still attractive enough with his Roman nose and heavy-lidded eyes that you could tell he must have been a heartbreaker in his younger years.

His gaze came to rest on me, and he dipped his head in acknowledgment. “Miss Bloodstone, it’s a pleasure to have you joining us. I’ll do my best to make up for the delay in your studies.”

“Thank you,” I said, trying to shake the impression that an enormous spotlight had just been trained on me. Maybe I should have sat at the back after all.

A few more students filed in, only one of whom I recognized: the tawny-haired girl from my dorm. She had her shoulder-length waves pulled back with another silver clip today, this one a leaping fish.

Everyone gave me a curious look as they took their seats around me. I curled my fingers into my palms so I wouldn’t fidget.

Word must have spread around campus by now. They’d be able to guess who the new girl was. Did they also know I’d flunked my first assessment?

Persuasion, I thought to steady myself, remembering what Professor Banefield had told me about this specialty. Any magic that directly influences what another being thinks, says, or does. Wonderful. I didn’t think I wanted to do any of that unless it was to convince someone here to stick me on a jet back to California.

“For this morning’s seminar, I’d like us to go back to basics,” Professor Crowford said, and I felt several gazes turn my way again. “It’s always useful to remind ourselves of the foundations of our magical practice. The core of persuasion is will—imposing our own will on another. Which is why…”

As he went on with his explanation, the surface beneath my butt started to prickle. A thin heat seeped through the fabric of my pants. What, was this place so fancy the chairs came with seat-warmers? I hadn’t been particularly cold before. An off switch would be nice.

I shifted my weight, and the heat intensified. It crept up my back, sharp enough that a trickle of sweat rolled down my neck.

Crowford was gesturing to his temple. “…when choosing the angle of this sort of spell, it’s important to consider the perspective of the target. How does the world look through their eyes? What’s likely to be going on inside their mind? Naturally, insight can be a useful co-component, but even if you’re weak in that area, you can still…”

My ass started to sting. I braced my feet against the floor as more sweat beaded on my forehead. This had to be a trick, a spell to unsettle me. Whoever was doing it—Malcolm? Cressida? Some other enemy I didn’t even know I’d made?—they wouldn’t actually injure me in front of one of the professors, right? They were just trying to shake me up.

It was working. Professor Crowford was still talking, but I was only catching bits and pieces of his lecture. Too much of my attention was focused on tuning out the growing pain spreading along the bottoms of my thighs.

It couldn’t get much worse than this. They’d have to stop soon. They couldn’t—

The heat flared with a knife-like searing that cut me to the bone. I flinched and stumbled out of my chair with a choked yelp. Crowford’s mouth snapped shut. Just like that, he and every student in the room was staring at me.

“The newbie seems like she doesn’t really want to be here, Professor,” Malcolm remarked. “She’s very distractible.”

Well, that answered the question of who. I swiped at the sweat on my forehead, restraining myself from glaring at him.

Crowford ignored Malcolm’s comment. “Is something the matter, Miss Bloodstone?” he said.

No, I just liked to fling myself out of my seat at random moments for fun.

“My chair,” I said, the ache still running through my backside. “It burned me.”

The professor’s mouth twisted in a way that could have been bemused or irritated—it was hard to tell. He stepped around his desk and walked up to mine, bending to touch the seat I’d vacated.

“It doesn’t feel unusually warm at the moment,” he said. “Are you sure?”

Of course I was sure that my ass had just about been scorched off my body. I opened my mouth to say so and hesitated.

The pain had faded away. When I adjusted my weight, letting my thighs brush together, the movement didn’t provoke the slightest sting.

Oh, fuck, had that all been in my head?

I sat back down gingerly. No raw skin. No prickling blisters. No injury, like I’d assumed from the start.

A different sort of heat flooded my face. “I guess it wasn’t real,” I said. I wasn’t going to pretend it hadn’t happened.

Professor Crowford scanned the room. He definitely looked bemused now. “I suppose one of your classmates decided to fully initiate you into Bloodstone University, by an interesting choice of methods given the class. Credit to Illusion.”