Supernatural Academy: Year One (Supernatural Academy #1)(73)

“How did you do?” I asked as he paused.

Damon shrugged. “It was easy. It’s really just an evaluation of progress. End of year is the hectic exam.”

I knew that, but I was still determined to do well.

“See you on the other side,” I told him, hurrying down the short path and into the Sword and Sorcery room. It looked huge and intimidating; I was used to being in here with dozens of other students. The long wall of weapons gleamed in the low light, and Striker, our teacher, was waiting for me. I picked up the pace, stopping right before him.

“Maddison,” he said abruptly, still a man of very few words. “Pick your weapon and prepare.”

Nerves returned full force, and I tried to focus. I knew the words I would need, it just depended on what obstacles appeared. Lifting the bow from the wall, I held it parallel to the ground and nocked the arrow into it. This single arrow would be what I directed through a series of obstacles using magic words.

“Prepare yourself,” Striker said, and then the lights dimmed.

I took some deep breaths and lifted the bow. A familiar thrum of energy unfurled in my center, dull because of the block, but it was there. It liked the bow. It wasn’t the same intense connection that other students had with their weapons, but it was the closest I could find. Whatever weapon was my “one,” it wasn’t here.

Red and white targets popped up across the huge room in different sizes and heights. They were randomly scattered, with no direct path, and I almost freaked out again.

Fuck it, I decided.

I’d worked too damned hard to give up now.

“Begin,” Striker said from wherever he was; I could no longer see him.

I eyed the closest target and mapped a path. “Work with me, arendo,” I whispered, using the closest faerie word equivalent for arrow. It was a loose interpretation, but I felt like the arrow related to it. Lifting the bow to the right position, my arendo rested beside my cheek. I took a deep breath, relaxed, and then let it go. The string made a distinct twang that I was actually growing to enjoy, because the louder that sound, the better my arrow flew.

Today, it was loud.

The arrow flew straight and true toward the first target; a fire sprung up before the thin paper circle, and I whispered “Loest,” Faerie for “cool.” Ice licked across the arrow, allowing it to pass through the fire unharmed.

The next target I directed it to was nearby, and it was a gateway to three others. “Sunde,” I said, sending the arrow left, and then “disense,” to lower it slightly. I released the power when it was low enough, and the second target was destroyed. This continued on and on. Over and over, new obstacles sprang up. One target was iced over, and I needed to send flames along the arrow to burn through the icy shell.

When there were two targets left, I whispered, “Sunde,” to send it left, but I was tired by now, and I overestimated how much energy I needed to release. The shield over my power wavered, sending forth a huge surge. The arrow completely missed the target, shooting off to the side and smashing into a pillar.

“Fuck,” I breathed, pissed off that I’d been so close to hitting every target.

The lights flickered before flaring to life, and Striker stepped forward from wherever he’d been standing. “Sorry,” I started, but he held a hand out to stop me.

“You did an excellent job,” he told me. “Especially with your power suppressed.”

I blinked. “Oh, thank you. I’ve been working hard on my use of power and the pronunciation of the fey language.”

I loved that so many of my classes tied in with each other to strengthen me as a magic user. Some days it even felt like it was working.

“You should be proud,” Striker said, surprising me with the somewhat personal touch.

I basically floated out of the room.





29





The rest of my exam week passed in a similar manner. I studied hard, Axl quizzed me even when I was half asleep, and I surprised myself with how far I’d come over my four months at the school. For the first time in my life I was pretty sure I was acing my classes.

“How did you do?” Larissa asked when I stepped out of the written portion of the Herbalism exam.

“I think I got them all right. Chesna and cholia trip me up every time, because they look and sound the friggin' same.”

Larissa laughed. “Oh gods, I know. Trolls probably love that, because one kills them, while the other just cures their allergies. Anything to make it harder to find the one plant that can take them down.”

Cholia killed a troll. The tiniest drop on their skin would petrify their wood-like exterior. I really hoped I got that one right.

We celebrated the end of exams by ordering three meals for dinner and five desserts and sharing them between us. “I wish Ilia was here,” I said sadly, scooping more of the beef stroganoff into my mouth and moaning at the creamy sauce that dripped from the succulent meat. “I miss her.”

“Me too,” Larissa said, dropping her eyes to the table. “But at least she texted to say she arrived safely and would be chasing her supe for a few weeks.”

I nodded, making a mental note to try to find the phone again. I hadn’t seen the box in months, but I must have shoved it somewhere. Thankfully Larissa had one that got Ilia updates.