Cruel Magic (Royals of Villain Academy #1)(51)

She sat up with a fluff of her black bob and reached for her panties. “You could have told me before.”

“But then we might not have had this excellent quickie. It’s not as if I didn’t make sure you got yours.” I grinned at her.

She made a face in response, but she couldn’t stop her gaze from sliding down to take another admiring look at my naked body.

Sinclair knew what she was getting into. We ended up in my bed together once every month or two, and other than that we barely spoke. She hooked up with other guys. I enjoyed various other girls as the mood struck me. We weren’t even friends, just two people who found each other attractive enough to make our initial banging after one of last year’s parties an occasional repeated occurrence.

No drama, no responsibilities. The perfect sort of intimacy.

She squeaked on her way to the door, and I caught a little spark of fear. “Your stupid familiar nipped my heel,” Sinclair grumbled.

I laughed. “She’s just helping you get going. Good work, Mischief.”

My ferret chortled from where she’d darted under my desk. Sinclair glowered at me as she slipped out of my bedroom, and I got up to shower and pick out my clothes for the appointment. Better look snappy for the old man, or he’d have one more excuse not to look at me at all.

I swiped a bit of gel through my hair to keep it out of my eyes, tugged the sleeves of my gray button-down halfway up my forearms, and set off for the hall that bore my family’s name.

It seemed a little ridiculous that we continued to have parent conferences once we were seniors. I was just a few months shy of twenty—men had waged actual wars at my age without having to check in with Ma and Pa first.

But that was the way things were done at Blood U, since we weren’t considered fully qualified mages until they sent us off into the wider world sometime during our twenty-first year. Every year before that, on the anniversary of our arrival at the university, every student’s parents dropped in for a chat with Ms. Grimsworth about our progress.

I found mine waiting in the front foyer right on time. My mother’s face lit up when she saw me, and she held out her arms for a hug. My father’s gaze followed me as I ambled over to her with the sort of expression a person might direct at a cockroach they’d have stepped on if only they hadn’t been in bare feet. Then it flicked away. I gave Mom a quick squeeze and Dad an even quicker smile as if I hadn’t noticed.

Every time he saw me these days, he looked as though he were finding it increasingly hard to swallow. Not that he’d ever been a cuddler either. The closest thing to a hug I remembered getting from him was a fleeting moment when he’d patted my head after I’d pulled off some reckless childhood stunt to impress him—absently, his hand snapping away when he’d realized what he was doing.

Most of the time I got nothing from him at all. I might as well not even exist. It was fitting, in a way he didn’t know I could understand.

“Shall we head up?” I said brightly. “Wouldn’t want to keep the old bird waiting.”

I caught a slight wince at the flippant way I’d referenced the headmistress, but otherwise Dad didn’t react, let alone speak.

As we climbed the stairs to the teachers’ residences and offices, Mom peppered me with questions about my latest pursuits, and Dad remained stolidly silent. Over the years I’d come to the conclusion that she filled the space around me with twice as much chatter and energy to try to make up for his void.

Ms. Grimsworth’s secretary was waiting by the door to see us in. The headmistress stood up behind her desk with a respectful bob of her head, presumably a little lower than she’d have offered a parent who wasn’t a baron. My father smiled thinly at her.

“Well, Baron and Mrs. Killbrook,” she said as we all sat down, “I’m sure you realize this is mainly a formality at this point. Jude continues to perform at expected levels in all his classes, in line with his excellent initial assessment. He has earned many credits throughout the year for his chosen league, and he commands deference among the student body with ease. The only small matter that was brought to my attention…”

She shuffled through the reports on her desk, and apprehension pinched my gut. I had a feeling I knew what she was going to say.

So what? Let it come out. Let’s see what Dad made of it. How good a poker face could he keep? Would he dare to berate me for this supposed failing?

“Ah, here we are.” Ms. Grimsworth peered at the paper. “Professor Viceport has noted that Jude is not progressing at the pace she’d expect in some of the more advanced areas of Physicality. Durability appears to be a particular concern.” She looked up at me. “Do you have any thoughts on what might be holding you back in that area, Mr. Killbrook?”

I spread my hands with a shrug. “The knowledge that it would be unfair if I topped everyone at everything?”

Or, more accurately, the fact that durability was the one aspect of shifting and conjuring it was particularly hard to fake with an illusion. I could make something look and feel real in the moment, but anything meant to last after I left the room… If I stretched myself too far and the spell fell apart in a revealing way, Professor Viceport would realize I’d been faking all over the place.

Dad could probably guess that. I glanced over at him, debating how pointed to make my look. I wasn’t really sure what I’d want him to do or say, but I couldn’t get sicker of the way things were.