Cruel Magic (Royals of Villain Academy #1)(23)

Malcolm was the only person I knew who’d always treated me like he did, as he’d put it, respect the hell out of me, without concern or questions about what I or my family might have done. As if he simply assumed, because he knew me, that no matter how horrible the stories might be, there must have been good reason.

I wasn’t a horrible person. And I knew that mostly because I’d have this guy’s back or die at his side, no matter what came at us.

Despite his joking, Malcolm also gave me more credit for brains than even I generally did. He tipped his head to me. “If you notice a window of opportunity and think of a good ploy, feel free to jump right in there too. Gotta keep her on her toes until she gets the picture.”

“I’ll be watching,” I said. It seemed unlikely, given that so far I hadn’t crossed paths with Rory except briefly, but I’d do what I could for the cause.

“Excellent. A bunch of us are heading into town for drinks later. You in?”

“Absolutely.”

He sauntered away, and I loped to rejoin the players on the field. The first rule everyone learned at Blood U was you didn’t mess with Malcolm Nightwood. One way or another, Rory Bloodstone was going to figure that out too.





Chapter Ten





Rory





I knew something was wrong before I opened my bedroom door. A hint of scent burned my nose. I braced myself and shoved.

The door swung open into the dark room, and a wave of the smell, thick and choking now, gushed over me. It was the putrid sour stench of rotting food, like a restaurant garbage bin left out in the sun for a week.

Bile surged up my throat. I clamped my hand over my nose and mouth.

Deborah’s voice reached my mind thinly across the distance between us. Believe me, I have never wished more that I could still work my magic. Not that I can see there’s much joy to be had here.

Even with my stomach still roiling, the corners of my lips twitched upward at her disgruntled tone. Okay, it smelled awful. How did it look? I’d better find out what the full damage was.

I edged into the room, breathing through the sleeve of my blouse, which only filtered out a tiny bit of the stench. My pulse lurched when I flicked on the light, half expecting to see my bed drenched in butchered meat, but it looked… exactly the same as it had when I’d left it: the comforter rumpled, the curtain pulled back from a window that was now shadowy with dusk, and the wardrobe shut tight. I’d have sworn even the glass of water I’d left out for Deborah’s use hadn’t moved an inch.

I tugged open the wardrobe just in case, but my clothes hung untouched in their neat row. The only problem was the stench, then. Conjured, or maybe an illusion that only affected me. Would my familiar tap into any illusions that targeted my mind?

I heard them talking about the spell before they cast it, Deborah said, still hiding in the sock drawer—I couldn’t really blame her. The girl who was upset about you taking her room and a couple of her friends. If I could have stopped them… A sound like a little growl carried into my head.

“It’s not your fault,” I said. So, it’d been Victory, presumably along with Cressida and the girl with the black bob whose name I’d determined was Sinclair. I couldn’t say I was shocked.

The stink congealed deeper into my lungs, and nausea clutched my stomach. It didn’t really matter that the room didn’t contain any real source of the smell. I wasn’t sure I could sleep in that space. I wasn’t sure I could stand here five more minutes without vomiting. The hasty dinner I’d eaten before holing up in the library was churning around way too fast for my liking.

I closed my eyes for a second, fighting to get my bearings. My knees stung from falling on the paved path after someone’s raccoon familiar had darted between my feet—on purpose or just a coincidence? The owner had smiled as they’d called the animal back.

At least a few times every day now, an eerie whispering would flit around my ears, murmuring words like “Pathetic” and “Keep on failing!” I couldn’t count how many times I’d felt a finger prod my back or my ribs in class or walking across campus, but when I’d spin around I’d find there was no one close enough to have touched me—with their hands, anyway.

I couldn’t defend myself. Six days after arriving here, I still hadn’t managed to work any magic since my first encounter with Malcolm.

Had he sicced the entire student body on me, or had the others just observed him and followed his lead after the hot seat in our Persuasion seminar? Victory had her own separate beef with me, obviously. I wasn’t sure it mattered with everyone else. This was what he’d wanted: for me to be badgered and berated into regretting that I’d snubbed his offer of “friendship.”

I’d have asked Deborah if she had any idea how I could fix this, except I know I didn’t have the magic to combat this spell either. Should I risk sleeping in the common room on one of the couches? Should I go to Professor Banefield?

God, I didn’t want to run off to the teachers like some kind of kindergarten tattle-tale. That’d make me look even more pathetic. Anyway, from what I’d seen of things here so far, he was more likely to tell me to suck it up and give credit to the appropriate league than to come to my aid.

I had to fight my own battles. I just… didn’t have any idea how.