The snow glittered in the bright morning light. Elettra walked gingerly in the snow. Her body ached. Her clothes only made the slightest impression her, but they made her body light up in pain. When Elettra pushed open the library doors, she nearly missed the fierce, hushed whispers coming from cloisters that surrounded the library. Before she was seen, Elettra recognized Sparrow’s voice. Elettra lingered in the library anteroom; she would have been seen if she crossed to the stacks. But she waited and listened.
“How could you?!” Sparrow snapped.
“Why are you so angry?” Locke returned.
“Why is everyone shouting?” Elettra heard Taro as well. He must’ve been hungover.
“You weren’t any help!” Sparrow hissed at Taro.
“What was I supposed to do?”
“Stay sober!”
“What would be the point?!”
“She barely knew anyone there! She needed your support.”
“She knows you!” Taro then whimpered and pressed his fingers to his temples.
“This isn’t getting us anywhere,” Locke huffed.
“You need to apologize, you big lug! You embarrassed her!”
Elettra heard someone shoving someone else.
“Fine!” Locke conceded softly. “You’re right-- I’ll apologize.”
There was a stillness that made Elettra’s heart beat loudly in her chest—were they leaving? Were they coming into the library?
“Hey…”
Elettra jolted and whirled around. Ivo was nearly as surprised as her, and he held his hands up.
“Sorry!” He whispered.
But Elettra said nothing, and Ivo only had to glance at where Elettra was looking: Ivo gently pushed Elettra behind him. He then motioned for her to crouch down near the coats. There were footsteps, and Locke, Taro, and Sparrow had emerged from the cloisters. The darkness of the anteroom was enough to conceal Elettra, or make her seem like a dark shadow in a corner.
“Do you know if she’s arrived?” Sparrow took a step toward Ivo.
“She called in sick,” Ivo ran his hand over the cover of a book he was holding.
Sparrow was clearly displeased, and she shot a dirty look at Locke and Taro, both of whom seemed uneasy under her gaze.
“Will you tell us if you see her?” Locke leaned toward Ivo.
Ivo just nodded, and the three of them disappeared into the library, Taro still rubbing his temples and grimacing at any glimmer of light. When they were at a safe distance, Ivo turned to where Elettra was kneeling.
“Thanks,” she breathed out.
“Go-- you’re sick,” Ivo grabbed her coat and handed it to her.
Elettra hadn’t looked up at him yet, but Ivo could see a small bruise under her eye. But Elettra turned before he could ask.
Elettra only had Professor McClare’s class that day. Otherwise, her whole day was devoted to research and conjuring.
But Elettra holed herself up in the clocktower in the rafters adjacent to the classroom. She passed in and out of sleep—the night before flashed before her.
“You’re nothing!” He squeezed his hand tighter around her wrist before throwing her to the ground. Portia was shrieking and crying and begging him to stop.
Elettra inhaled sharply and sat up. She started to climb down, careful not to let anything brush against her bruises.
Elettra only had to go out into the hallway and turn a corner till she had reached the classroom. And when she pushed open the door, there were the other two witches in her year—stoic and cold as ever. And there seated in the circle, in a fifth chair, was a blonde head wearing his Starling-blue cardigan that fit snugly around his strongly built and self-assured frame. Elettra hesitated in the doorframe. But Professor McClare was just lifting her eyes to her: Elettra had to keep moving, even though she felt the blood drain from her face.
Locke turned to look at her, his expression impassive, but Elettra didn’t try to glean anything from it this time. She didn’t make eye-contact as she was forced to take the chair beside him.
“There you are, Miss Tariel,” Professor McClare’s small, pretty lips arched into a satisfied smile. “I’m hoping that you’ll show Mr. Amory here, the ropes of our little class.”
Professor McClare turned to Locke, “Miss Tariel is our most prized student and an excellent conjurer.”
“You disobeyed your mother by going anywhere without my permission. You think those people can look at you and not see what you really are…”
The words echoed through Elettra’s head.
“You’re nothing! And now you’ve ruined your own name!”
“Elettra?” Professor McClare bent her head to catch her eye.
Elettra shook her head suddenly to wake up –“I’m sorry!”
Locke was looking right at her, his eyes narrowing slightly.
Elettra ran her fingers along her hair to hide the little bruise on her cheek.
“Would you care to demonstrate?” Professor McClare gestured to the middle of the classroom.
“You’re only angry because it looks badly for you—you couldn’t care less—” Then suddenly Onyx struck her across the face.
Elettra flinched.
“Are you cold, Miss Tariel?” Professor McClare wasn’t so much asking as she was expressing her annoyance that Elettra was doing nothing. “Of the sacred mysteries, Elettra, the mystery of destruction.”
It was a command.
Elettra rose and pulled at the cuffs of her sleeves—that was where the bruises were the darkest.
“When will you learn?” The pain was sharp. Elettra couldn’t even cry out.
The magic slipped into her fingers.
She knew the movement that she didn’t have to think. She just needed the strength. The magic pulled everything from within her—to destroy with magic was consuming.
Elettra pulled her hands apart and then slowly brought them together. She concentrated. She concentrated on a distant language that she never learned or knew before, and as she drew her hands together, and as soon as her magic from either hand touched, the words slipped to and from her mouth like velvet. They were bitter and dark tasting and they floated from her mouth, eyes, and from her hands in a dark swirl of electricity and light. All the power and smoke culminated above her in an ever-turning hole in the air that seemed to consume all the power that floated up from Elettra.
“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t just lock you in here tonight?” Onyx’s face was so close to hers she could feel his hot breath.
Elettra’s hands faltered, and something shattered. Her hands suddenly fell to her sides, and the magic fell and dissipated at her feet. And when Elettra looked around, panting hard: the class had at some point leapt to the other side of the classroom, looking at a pile shards and broken pieces of a chair. Even the other two girls who were as inscrutable as stone looked shocked.
It was Locke’s chair, and he looked from the chair to Elettra.
She breathed. All she could do was look back at him holding his gaze only for a moment.
“Not exactly what I had expected, Miss Tariel,” Professor McClare sighed, clasping her hands.
“Theory is nothing without praxis,” Elettra muttered pulling at her sleeves.
“I’m sorry?” Professor McClare was on the brink of setting her on fire.
Elettra caught sight of Locke: he had heard her, and his gaze flickered toward her as he pressed his lips together trying not to smile. Elettra would have been heartened, but instead she felt colder toward Locke.
“I lost my grip—”
“—you lost focus.” Professor McClare interjected severely. “Concentration is everything when summoning and conjuring.”
Elettra just nodded obediently.
“You’re nothing but obedient now, do you understand?” Onyx hissed.
“Mr. Amory,” Professor McClare gestured to him to step in the center.
Elettra was about to return to her chair when Professor McClare began loudly and slowly, “You stay, Miss Tariel.”
Elettra stiffened, and Locke stepped up beside her. He smelled of lemon soap and bergamot. Even his cardigan smelled fresh from the wash. Elettra clenched her teeth to keep from leaning toward him to smell him more.
“Your reputation precedes you, Mr. Amory,” Professor McClare rocked on her heels. “The sacred mystery of summons.”
Elettra felt her neck turn red.
The mystery of summons was perhaps the most mysterious, the most arduous, but also the mystery of calling mysteries, of communication—of desire. It was also the most controversial of mysteries. To what extent could anyone summon? And when you summon, what is it you want to summon? It was the most limitless of mysteries, the most reckless. And what students could achieve was to summon a blueprint of another warlock’s power and legacy. Locke would see all Elettra’s family, all the Tariel’s family line, and the Sages’ green current. It would be another exposure. Not that it was much to lose at this point. With how her luck was going, this was just the inevitable.
Locke knew how this went: Elettra watched as he stood in front of her—they didn’t need much space. They only needed a meter. Locke lifted his hands first summoning his power—a bright, yellow flame between his hands. Elettra followed this same action, bringing her hands together, her currently flowing into the center. She concentrated. She felt a pull inside her. Her magic pulled toward his, and the words came to their lips simultaneously—sweet and hot like sugar melting in their mouths, and suddenly, Elettra and Locke found themselves surrounded by bright, white light with patterns and words and faces, family lines linking from one face to another, but it was a kind of map that Elettra knew she couldn’t stare to long: the pictures would distort and she would have to look away. Her magic would have to guide her as she pulled pieces of Locke’s family toward her. But all the while she saw his legacy, he could see hers. And for a moment, Locke’s eyes fell from where he was looking and onto Elettra.
Her heart thrilled. What was he doing? Why wasn’t he concentrating?
But his eyes fell further—to her wrist. Her sleeve had slipped with her upraised hands. And there was a dark, purple bruise around her forearm.
Locke’s lips parted.
Elettra watched as the light, his focus, and magic vanished. The bright light that encompassed them vanished, and Locke took a step toward her.
“What’s going on?” Professor McClare barked, stepping forward.
Elettra dropped her arms as Locke towered over her. Her breath caught.
“I think Miss Tariel is unwell,” Locke was swift, and he stepped between Elettra and Professor McClare, “I wish to take her to the infirmary.”
Professor McClare’s dark eyes were on fire, “Mr. Amory, this is most unusual.”
“I don’t need to go to the infirmary,” Elettra voice trembled, trying to move away from the claustrophobia of the two of them.
And when Elettra had finally burst from the classroom, she completely forgot her coat, her books, and everything. But she wasn’t going back for those now: she heard footfall behind her.
“Do you run away from everything?” Locke was catching up but sounded exasperated.
“Do you have nothing better to do than chase after me?!” Elettra nearly stopped to turn around.
“I believe this is the first time,” Locke almost sounded like he was smiling.
“I’m sure Cecily Veremond would rather you chase after her.”
And Elettra knew that was a mistake.
She could feel Locke grinning.
“Who gave you those bruises?” Locke finally jogged up beside her, but Elettra was silent.
He was reaching out to her but hesitated. And the fact that he faltered surprised Elettra. She slowed her pace and glanced up at him.
“No one.” Elettra said, her voice calmer than before.
“They weren’t there last night.” Locke asserted firmly. He wouldn’t look away.
Elettra felt a blush creep up her cheeks: he noticed. He noticed her skin beneath the thick, intricate lace.
“What did he do to you?” It came out as a whisper. He knew exactly who it was.
“You will be nothing but obedient,” he gripped her hair tightly.
“You already seem to know!” She burst angrily, dangerously close to tears.
When Elettra pushed open the door to the clocktower, Sparrow, Ivo, and Taro were standing just outside. They also seemed caught off-guard by Elettra’s sudden appearance.
The cold air stung her eyes, and tears slipped down her checks. Taro’s eyes immediately went wide with alarm and he moved toward her—“What did you say to her?”
Sparrow started scolding Locke, who tried to get a word in edgewise, while Taro gripped Elettra’s arms. Elettra couldn’t keep the tears back, and she tried to angle her head away from Taro. It didn’t take long for Locke to gesture to Elettra.
“Her wrists!” she heard.
Taro glanced at Locke and then Elettra, and lifted her sleeve before she could pull her arms away.
Taro’s face dropped, and his lively, playful eyes grew severe and angry.
“Elettra…” Taro’s jaw twitched, “Don’t tell me that bastard…”
And Elettra twisted away from him.
“You’re nothing.”
“Just leave me alone.” And Elettra staggered away in the snow.
