Cruel Magic (Royals of Villain Academy #1)(55)

That was one tiny scrap of security in the middle of a heap of shit. I didn’t want his fucking benevolence sparring me. I wanted to stop him.

“Good girl,” Malcolm said as I reached his desk, in the same tone he’d used with his wolf. “Just keep on going.”

“Out,” I murmured as quietly as I could. Find the persuading spell inside my head and then tear it out of me.

My own magic prickled through my mind, but Malcolm’s must have been woven in too deep, too tightly. I took another step. My blouse quivered with a waft of the breeze. I could see across the field all the way to the forest and the spire of the town church in the distance beyond it.

Sweat trickled down the back of my neck. If I couldn’t break his spell, what else could I do to control myself?

It was hard to unravel someone else’s magic-work. Easier to cast your own to oppose it. That was one of the first principles Professor Banefield had told me.

“Wall,” I whispered with a rasp of magic over my tongue. The breeze snapped away, the air stilled, and my knee smacked into an invisible barrier not around me but in front of me, blocking my body from continuing across the last short span to the window.

Even so, my legs kept trying to walk. My foot and then my other knee banged against the wall I’d conjured.

I must have looked ridiculous, but I didn’t care. All I cared about was the narrowing of Malcolm’s eyes.

He muttered something, and the wall shuddered. I spat out the word again, focusing all my attention on holding the barrier in place.

Magic coursed up my throat. An ache spread through my chest at the speed with which I was throwing it forward, but I could feel the pieces of my security net crumbling as quickly as I was rebuilding them.

This was the best I could do. I could catch myself on the verge of catastrophe for however long I could sustain my magic. I couldn’t snap out of Malcolm’s hold. I couldn’t walk away. And as soon as my limited reserves wore out, he’d have complete control again.

I might have helped him make his point even more thoroughly than if I’d just gone along with his stunt.

A sense of hopelessness quivered into my voice. Malcolm leaned forward, clenching his hand with a tight utterance, and my wall smashed. My foot swung forward. I gasped the word, heaving the barrier back into place, but the effort wrenched the remaining hum of energy up from my chest. This was my last defense. When he shattered that too—

“That’s enough,” Professor Crowford said evenly. He waved his hand, and just like that, both my wall and the compulsion to walk through it disintegrated. “A very fine demonstration of persuasive ability warping natural instincts, and a decent effort at creative countering. Credit to Persuasion and Physicality. Let’s give the other students a chance to do some work now, shall we?”

I stumbled backward and then whipped around to find my seat. My legs were trembling.

Did Crowford know how close I’d been to losing the battle? If I’d somehow moved one of the professors of Villain Academy to pity, I was worse off than I’d been afraid of.

Malcolm shot a smirk my way as I sank into my chair, not looking all that disturbed by the interruption. He knew he’d landed his blow. And I knew it too.

Nausea crept through my stomach as I sat back to take in my next lesson, however much I’d get to use it.





Chapter Twenty-Two





Rory





You’d think a library twice the size of the public one near my house back home would have something useful in it. I scowled at the pungent leather-bound volume I’d just flipped through and slid it back onto the shelf carefully so the cover didn’t crumble any more than it already had.

This whole section of the library on the second floor was devoted to magical texts, bespelled to ward off the Nary students. Apparently most writings on magic had been compiled centuries ago, from the look—and smell—of the books around me. Some of them were written in languages I couldn’t read or lettering I didn’t even recognize. Maybe there was a spell to conjure a translation? Simply pointing at the table of contents and saying, “English!” hadn’t gotten me anywhere so far.

The ones I could read prattled on about energy transfers and conduction of intent with a complexity of terminology that left me feeling like a sixth grader trying to decipher a graduate-level engineering textbook. Fearmancers sure did like to talk a lot in very flowery language about how amazing their abilities were.

What I could really use was an introductory treatise or two—magic for kindergarteners. I’d sat through a lot of seminars in the last few weeks, but for the majority of my life I’d done most of my learning on my own with books or on the internet. Homeschooling might not have given me the greatest social skills, but the various assignments Dad had set up for me had left me an expert at independent study.

I just had to find a book that started with the basics.

I wandered farther, my gaze skimming the titles, and swift footsteps scraped against the hardwood floor. Declan ducked into my aisle, his black hair falling forward by his temples, his hazel eyes oddly frantic. He grabbed me by the elbow.

“Come on,” he said under his breath. “We’ve got to get you out of sight.”

“What?” I protested, but his urgency made me lower my voice too. I hurried with him down the aisle.