“Hey there, cutie.” Gaius came up beside Rachel, who stood panting after losing to Salome’s snarky boyfriend, Ethan Warhol, an embarrassing three times in a row. Her opponent had used a cantrip that increased his speed, so he won each match before she could so much as move. “How’s tricks?”
“Smashing.” Rachel stepped closer to him with a mischievous smile. “And, speaking of tricks I know, they’d be even better, if you taught me the Glepnir cantrip.”
“That’s a difficult cantrip.”
“It seems very effective.” She gestured toward where the braggart Seymour Almeida had caught Bernie Mulford, the son of her parents’ friends, in one of the glowing golden bands. Bernie was struggling, but the Glepnir bond constricted him about his wrists and thighs, clamping his arms to his side, so there was little he could do to fight back. “During our fight in Transylvania, I rather wished I knew how to cast them.”
“Your wish is my command.” Gaius bowed with a flourish. “Come.”
He spent the next fifteen minutes instructing her privately. The cantrip itself was argos. In the Original Tongue, ar meant “belt” or “cloak” and gos meant “to gather”. Rachel and Gaius stood very close together as he showed her the accompanying hand gestures and how to focus the attack so as to make sure that the band would catch your target where you wanted it to. A constricting band around the waist, for instance, was not nearly as useful as one that also captured the arms or encircled the ankles. Rachel practiced diligently, doing everything he said. Her progress was slow, but she refused to give up. By the end of the quarter hour, she had produced her first, faint, pathetic golden circle.
“Excellent!” Gaius declared, giving her a nod of approval that made her tingle all the way to her toes. “I thought there was at least a thirty-seven percent chance you wouldn’t be able to master this. It’s not an easy cantrip. Many students don’t master it until their sophomore year or beyond. I should have rather known better! From here, it’s just a matter of making it your own. I know you’re good at that.” He grinned at her. “I expect to see golden rings all up and down the suit of armor next time I come by our hallway.”
Rachel beamed. She loved it when he called it our hallway.
“Can I see your new wand?” he asked curiously.
“Sure.” She drew the box out of her robe pocket and handed it to him.
Gaius opened the box and withdrew the slender length of silver, running his fingers across it. The embedded mother-of-pearl formed a rose pattern.
Gaius peered closer. “This is a vestal wand!”
“A vestal wand? Is that a proper wand?”
“Oh, definitely. It’s just that most wands are designed for fulgurators—soldiers who shoot deadly lightning in war. This wand was designed for the Vestal Virgins who guard the Eternal Flame—that white and gold fire that harms the guilty but spares the innocent that Vlad likes to throw about.” He looked up from the box. “Dr. Mordeau said your grandmother was a Vestal Virgin, didn’t she?”
Rachel nodded.
“Huh. I wonder how vestal wands differ from regular ones. Would you mind if I did some investigating?”
“Do you need my wand for that?”
Gaius looked down at the delicate silver length. He shook his head, closed the box, and handed it back to her. “Not yet, anyway. I’ll let you know what I find out.”
Rachel stuck it back in her pocket. “How did my friends do?”
“I think they’ve grasped the basics. As much as Mr. Smith will ever grasp anything, that is.” Gaius shook his head ruefully. “He kept trying to direct his trumpet at the floor, on the theory that a sufficiently strong blast of wind would blow him upward, into the air. Unfortunately—or possibly fortunately—magic doesn’t work that way.”
Rachel giggled. “The two of them are very good at magic. They are going to be great duelists.” She sighed.
“Maybe,” shrugged Gaius.
“Hang on. What do you mean?”
“There’s more to dueling that being a strong sorcerer. Oh, it helps! Don’t get me wrong. But it only helps with putting the spells into your wand…or with throwing them naturally, as the princess is doing right now. But a sorcerer with a fulgurator’s wand or a dueling ring will always beat one casting naturally, given enough time. You can fire spells much more quickly from a gem. Also, with thaumaturgy, you can do tricks, such as make it so your conjuration can’t be instantly undone during the first ten minutes of their existence.”
“That’s useful.”
“Yes. It is. But my point is, there’s more to dueling than the spells you have on hand.” Gaius’s eyes lit up, and his face became animated when he spoke about dueling.
“Like what?” Rachel leaned forward slightly, caught up in his enthusiasm. He looked totally adorable.
“Dueling consists of three parts. The first is the spells. But anyone can have good spells if they have someone else to cast them, like you did for me. The next part is speed and reflexes.”
Rachel’s face fell.
Gaius gave her an encouraging grin. “But even that isn’t enough. A trained monkey with a wand might have quick reflexes and a stack of good spells. But no performing ape, however fast, is going out-duel me.”
“What’s the third part?”
“Ah. This is where people like you and me excel. The last part of dueling is what you know.” He tapped his temple. “The better you understand what each spell does—how to recognize it, and how to counter it—that is what really makes a duelist. Knowing his craft.
“Oh and a good memory helps, too. You need to keep track of how many of each spell you have left in your wand. There are gadgets and gismos to help with that—or you can even just keep a good, old-fashioned list.” He pulled a card out of his pocket with a series of words and hatch marks on it and waved it back and forth. “But only between duels. During the duel, you have to be able to keep track in your head of what you have on hand at any given moment.”
Rachel grinned. That would not be a problem for her. “How did you learn all this?”
“Ah,” Gaius’s eyes twinkled. “I learned from a master. The best duelist at Roanoke.” He flashed her a cocky grin. “At least before I arrived.”
“Vlad?”
“No, though Vlad is very, very good.” He glanced over at where Von Dread had just slammed Seymour Almeida into the padded far wall with a blast of silver sparkles. “This guy was even better. At least back when Vlad was younger. But, he’s not here anymore.” Gaius’s face fell, a sadder expression that could be accounted for by mere graduation.
“Blackie Moth?” Rachel asked.
“He was fantastic, Rach. Quick as lightning and sharp as a laser. Never lost his cool.” Gaius looked crushed. “Blackie used to be so much fun. Cool and dry but with a fond twinkle. Now…nothing. He doesn’t know who I am, and he doesn’t care.”
“I’m sorry,” she said softly, remembering her second cousin and that fond twinkle.
“And you know the worst thing? I think there’s at least a sixty-seven percent chance that I could beat him now. But he’s not here for me to try my skill against…not the Blackie I knew, in any case.” Gaius grinned suddenly and leaned toward her, lowering his voice. “I’ll teach you a secret he taught me. All the best duelists know it, but a lot of people here don’t. Look over there.” He pointed at where red-haired Naomi Coils stood facing Rachel’s second cousin, Blackie’s sister Beryl. Both college girls stood on the balls of their feet, alert. “Watch the tips of the wands when they begin. Now. See anything?”
Rachel watched the glittering gem-tips. There came a glint of light. Or was that her imagination? Carefully, she compared her memory of now with the moment before. No, it definitely glinted. She watched a bit longer.
“The gem shines…a very small spark of light inside…right before it fires.”
“Exactly,” Gaius looked extremely pleased with her. “Many people can’t see that. You’re rather sharp-eyed, Rachel Griffin. You’re going to make a very good duelist. And speaking of duelists, I will not remain the foremost one in my class if I don’t keep my hand in the game. I had better—”
Rachel grabbed his shoulder. “Before you go, can you introduce me to Freka Starkadder?”
“It would be my pleasure.” He offered her his arm.
Freka was practicing with her younger brother Beowulf. When she saw Rachel and Gaius, she held up her hand. Beowulf grunted his assent. Freka turned and smiled at Rachel.
Gaius bowed graciously. “Your highness, may I introduce to you our fellow Knight, Lady Rachel Griffin? Rachel, Princess Freka Starkadder of Transylvania.”
Leaning over, Gaius gave Rachel the lightest of kisses on her cheek. “And now, I’m off to duel. Tally-ho!” He saluted with his wand and strolled away to challenge Topher Evans.
Freka watched all this with amusement. When Gaius departed, she held out her hand to Rachel, who shook it. Across the room, Rachel noticed Prince Romulus frown in annoyance. Apparently, the crown prince of Transylvania did not approve of his sister shaking hands with mere freshmen—or maybe he did not approve of her shaking hands altogether.
Freka Starkadder had an almost feral beauty that recalled to Rachel’s mind the memory of her brother Fenris turning back into a man from being a wolf. She had intense brown eyes and oak-colored straight hair with long bangs that came almost to her eyes.
She gave Rachel an impish smile. “Gaius the Cutie-Pie aside, when I’m at school, I really prefer it if people don’t use my title. Please just call me Freka. Do you mind if I call you Rachel, or should I use Miss Griffin? Lady Rachel?”
“Rachel is fine, thank you.” Rachel curtsied. “Should I wait until your match is over? I don’t wish to intrude.”
“Nope. We’re done. Go ahead.” Freka mopped her brow with a small towel she wore around her neck.
“I just wanted to meet you,” Rachel explained. “I’m trying to meet everyone. You seemed like a good place to start.”
“That’s very nice. Welcome to the Knights. You’ve acquitted yourself quite well, so far. Makes the rest of us Knights look good.”
“Thank you.” Rachel curtsied a second time. “That’s very kind.”
“Do you have any particular questions?”
“I suppose I am curious how you are planning to run the Knights, if you win the election,” Rachel said casually. “Which you probably will, because my boyfriend hasn’t expressed the slightest interest in actually running. At least, not to me. Will you keep things the same? Or make changes?” Rachel kept her expression calm and attentive, but inside she felt as tightly wound as a watch spring.
“So he…never mind.” Freka shook her head. “I am not plan-ning on changing things at all. Vladimir has done a fine job with the Knights. I hope I can lead as well as he.”
Oh.
So much for clever ideas.
Rachel sighed.
“I think he has, as well,” she agreed. “Especially compared to the YSL, which does nothing at all. Or so I hear.”
“Oh, the Young Sorcerer’s League isn’t so bad.” Freka tossed her head, sending her long brown hair flying about her. “It’s not as intense as the Knights. Maybe because it’s open to anyone. Of course, I only attended a few of their meetings. Years ago, before I joined the Knights. I don’t have time for both, alas. Not if I want to pass my classes. Or even breathe. And breathing is important, or so they tell me. I seldom have time to do it regularly, nowadays.” She paused and pantomimed attempting to take two or three huge breaths. Rachel grinned.
Freka continued, “But if I did have more time—if the magic time fairy came and waved her timey-wimey wand and granted me the power to do to hours what kenomancy does to space—I might join both. I wouldn’t mind a chance to duel some new people. The intimacy of the Knights is great. It leads to strong friendships—the kind that are useful throughout your life. But always winning or losing to the same people gets a bit repetitive.”
“I can see that,” Rachel said thoughtfully, a seed of an idea beginning to sprout in the back of her mind.
“Yeah.” Freka gestured so as to encompass the room. “Beowulf and I used to keep a betting sheet—as a joke—trying to predict who would win against whom. We gave it up because it became utterly predictable. We couldn’t invent odds great enough to get either of us to risk betting on the expected loser.”
“Did Romulus bet, too?” Rachel asked, glancing over at the somber and distant crown prince, where he stood with his cronies, talking quietly.
“Oh, no! Rom would never do something so pedestrian!” Freka laughed gaily. “We let Remus try a few times, but he would bet on the underdog and then play tricks on the favorite to skew the outcome of the match. We asked Fenris, too, but he just sneered at us.” A look of intense sadness crossed her features and then, as quickly as it had come, was gone again. “Luperca’s too cool to belong to a club, even a prestigious one like the Knights, and Wulfgang is too young. Too new. Though,” she frowned very slightly, “not as young as you, I suppose.”
Rachel paused, not certain what to say next. She wanted much to ask for a translation of the plaque beside the mirror with the silvery light that might have been the moon glass. Perhaps, she could pretend she read the phrase in a book. But she did not know if Freka would instantly know that this was a lie. After all, Rachel had read all about Beaumont castle in the past and about Darius Northwest. She had never seen reference to such a plaque. What if it were a family secret? Perhaps she could ask Freka about her home and find a way to work up to it.
“What is your home like? I hear Transylvania’s beautiful?” asked Rachel.
Of course, she knew it was beautiful, but it seemed unwise to admit that she had recently invaded the country.
Freka tilted her head to one side, very wolf-like. “Take mountains, mix in dark forests, sprinkle with vampires, werewolves, giant spiders, and the occasional dragon. Bake for at least a few generations with insane people who kill their siblings so often that it could be declared the national sport, and that will give you a nice recipe for my home country. Oh, but we do have some of the deepest, richest mines in the world.”
“Sounds utterly lovely!” Rachel said, “Except for the killing your family bit, of course. That’s rather sad. Isn’t there some way to encourage everyone to get along?”
Freka’s smile took on a brittle quality. “If you think of one, please let me know.”
“I’ll work on it,” Rachel said thoughtfully. “Though to solve the problem, one might have to study the inheritance rules for your kingdom. You probably know that England put in the rule of primogeniture particularly to stop that very kind of behavior. Not that it works as well as one might have liked.”
As she spoke, another thought came to her. Nastasia had touched Freka’s younger brother Wulfgang and had seen a vision of a frozen landscape—so they were definitely originally Metaplutonians. If Nastasia touched one of the other Star-kadders, was there a chance that she might have a vision that would reveal some clue about their family curse?
“I…don’t think my father would approve of that. He likes to hold the throne up as a prize to encourage us to compete. He says it brings out the best in us.” Freka scowled. “Which is ridiculous, because we all know it’s going to be Romulus.” Then, she sighed. “Please, let’s discuss things that do not have to do with my family.”
“Certainly,” Rachel said quickly. “I didn’t mean to upset you. What do princesses do when they graduate? I’ve asked Nastasia, but she just says, ‘go wherever I’m needed’, which isn’t much of a basis for a study plan.”
“Nastasia is correct,” Freka sighed again. “We go where our father tells us. I haven’t been given an assignment yet. My father or whomever has the Kadder Star.” She gestured in the direction of her eldest brother and the purple stone he wore in a ring. “Traditionally, in Transylvania, my uncles would also hold positions of power, but all of my father’s siblings are dead. Our line bottlenecked with him. That’s why he’s had so many children. You probably know we have two siblings who are not at school yet, right? Wulfgar and Ulrika. Wulfgar’s very goofy and sweet. Ulrika’s a bit of a tomboy. I worry about them left at home, though maybe not so much now…”
“Yes, I know. I look forward to meeting them. I’m sure if they’re your brother and sister, they’ll be delightful,” Rachel said politely. She felt rather charmed by the older girl’s spunk and cheer.
Tears began streaming down Freka’s cheeks. She blinked and wiped at them in an impatient manner that reminded Rachel very much of what her own reaction would have been under the circumstance.
“Excuse me. I…need to take a break. It was nice speaking to you, Rachel. I hope you’re not planning to poison me, so Gaius can win. If the election’s that important, please tell me and I’ll withdraw instead, okay?” Freka gave Rachel one last smile and rushed out of the room.
“No. It isn’t that important,” murmured Rachel. She watched sadly as the other girl departed. Her own eyes felt a little teary.
So much for asking for a translation of the plaque.
What had she said?
What was going on? Was Freka really so upset? Or was it some kind of trick? A stratagem by a Machiavellian princess? And where was she going?
Rachel ran across the room and grabbed Sigfried by the arm, dragging him away from where he was about to duel upper school sophomore Carl Iscariot. “Sorry! Emergency. I’ll bring him back!”
“What’s up? Do you need somebody eviscerated? Burnt? Skunked?”
“Actually, I do need somebody skunked, but not right now. Right now, I need somebody spied on.”
“Ah, I can do that, too,” replied Sigfried, but he looked less enthused. “Who.”
“Freka Starkadder.”
“Who?”
“That girl who just went into the hallway.”
“Can’t see her. My amulet can’t see through the walls of the magic rooms in the gym.”
“Oh…well…” She grabbed him and dragged him into the hall. “Can you see her now?”
He was quiet a moment. “Straight hair? Smart-looking and pretty?”
“Yes. That’s her.”
“Yeah, she’s…oh no!” Sigfried threw up his hands, as if to block his view of something. Then he grabbed his head and staggered in a circle, shouting, “Kryptonite! She went into the PLACE THAT IS NOT!!!”
Rachel gawked at him. “Crypto night? What place is not?”
“The place I can’t look! Oh, my eyes!”
“Oh. Good gracious, Sigfried! Can’t you just say, ‘She went to the loo?’”
“I could, but I won’t. What is the point of life without drama? What fun would that be?”
“Yeah,” Lucky swooped through the air, circling his master. “Don’t cramp the boss’s style.”
“Er…sorry.” Rachel blinked. “Could you make an exception this once? Not if she’s in a stall, of course, but if she’s just standing at the sink, or talking on a calling card or something?”
“How do I make sure she’s not…doing something unmentionable? If I saw so much as a glimpse of her underwear, even by mistake, I would be a cad, a caitiff, for as long as I lived! And no caitiff ever sat at the Table Round!”
“Just look by the sink. Please! Double please?”
“Look, Racks—may I call you Racks?—”
“Racks?” Rachel interrupted. She resisted the temptation to look down at her lack of anything impressive—or existent—in the way of a chest.
“As in short for Rachel.”
“Ooooo.”
“What did you think it meant? Anyway, I am willing to help out the Inner Circle of Way Cool Demon Prattkickers and Flaming Skunklaunchers, as I like to call our little group, but it has to be something related to a threat. Or Metaplutonians. What crimes do you think Freka’s committed? Is she planning on poisoning someone? Is she withholding information about the greater world beyond our solar system?”
“This isn’t about threats, Siggy, though she did ask if I planned to poison her…”
“Do you?”
“No!”
“Look, Grif—may I call you Grif?—I am not going to use my vast yet privacy-invading powers for politics or soap opera. If you like, I will give you a supply of chameleon potion, and you can follow your victims around unseen and eavesdrop on them, but I cannot help you look into the girls’ loo. If you want me to look through the teacher’s desks to find the answers for test and such, so we can cheat, that I can do. Especially for true-hissy-fit class. But anything else? No way.”
“Please, Sigfried? I can’t figure out what just happened. I want to know if she’s serious? Angry? Playing me? What is she doing?”
“I’ll make you an offer,” Sigfried said. “I will help you out—if you say the word Sheepsmoocher!”
“That’s ramsmoocher,” Rachel shot back. She sighed. “Isn’t there something I could do for you to make it worth your while?”
“Yeah, write my True-Hisss-story essay. Try to impersonate my handwriting.”
She hesitated for only a moment. “Okay. Done.” She paused and then added fiercely, “But don’t you tell anybody that I’m doing this for you! Ever!”
“Great.” He held his hand out to Lucky, who did a fly-by high-five. “Look at your calling card, Griffin-Rack.”
Rachel pulled out her card. In it, she could see an unoccupied area of floor with a counter, three sinks, and a mirror. After a moment, a stall door opened in the reflection, and then Freka walked up to the sink and washed her hands. She wiped the tears from her eyes and stuck out her tongue at her reflection. She said out loud to her reflection, “‘The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune’ are not worth your tears. Remember, Romulus says, they aren’t worth it! Keep your chin up!”
Tears threatened to well up in Freka’s eyes again. She wet a paper towel and pressed the cool damp surface against her face. Then, she shook her arms, checked her hair, and put on a small amount of lip gloss. Returning to the meeting, she passed Siggy and Rachel, who were facing the other way, their shoulders hunched over their mirrors. Rachel kept her expression calm, but inside, there was a sharp pain brought on by the thought that she had accidentally said something that hurt this spunky girl, so much so that the young woman had felt it necessary to declare Rachel not “worth it.”
As soon as Freka passed, Rachel and Sigfried surreptitiously moved back into the Knight’s room, still watching the mirror, as Siggy’s amulet viewpoint followed the Transylvanian princess. In the image on the calling card, Freka crossed the room and asked her brother Beowulf if he’d like to continue their duel.
Beowulf was taciturn and sardonic. Rachel might have thought of him as dark and broody, if she did not have his younger brother Wulfgang in her core group. Wulfgang took the gold in dark and brooding, leaving his older brother a distant bronze.
“What was that all about?” grunted Beowulf.
“Gaius’s, um, girlfriend…was scoping me out about what I wanted to do with the Knights, if I beat Valiant for the assistant position. She seems nice.”
“If you truly want to win, get the cat familiars to spy on their masters for you.”
A mischievous pixy-grin danced across Freka’s features. She scolded, “You know I hate doing that.”
“You going to make a show of it, or not? You know Romulus thinks all this participation in the democratic process is beneath you.”
“I’ll talk to people.” Freka shrugged her shoulders prettily. “I dunno, if it were someone I didn’t like so much, I’d be much more interested in winning. But it’s cutie-pie Valiant. He might be a better choice. Some people seem intimidated when they talk to me. Don’t know if it is the title thing or the wolf thing. Everyone gets along with him. The girls adore him—or they did, before he started dating a kindergartener—and the guys respect him for his dueling skills. I’m just one princess among many, and I’m not all Goth like Luperca, or super-beautiful like that little Romanov girl.”
Beowulf actually smiled. Rachel had never seen him do that before. “You’re the best of them. I know that, even if no one else does.”
His sister smiled, mollified.
He leaned forward, his voice gruff. “Think Rom’s having the nightmares, too.”
The smile fled from her face. She glanced over at her oldest brother, her lips bloodless.
“I just wish Father hadn’t made us come home to watch,” she whispered.
Beowulf squeezed her arm gently. “The nightmares’ll pass…eventually. Or…we’ll learn to live with them.”
She nodded grimly. Without a word, they started practicing again.
“Aw!” murmured Rachel, over by the doorway of the Knight’s chamber. She now felt very fond of Freka, ever since she had heard the older girl say “she seems nice.” It made her feel slightly less bad about having been so upsetting as to be not “worth it.” Laying her hand on Sigfried’s arm, she said, “I know enough. You can go now.”
“I wonder what their nightmares are like?” Siggy’s eyes glinted with maniacal interest.
Rachel frowned at him. “We know exactly what their nightmares are like. We were standing in them.”
“Wha…oooh! You mean the guys who were swinging by their neck!”
“Their father must have made them watch a hanging.” Rachel shuddered.
“I’d have nightmares, too,” Siggy nodded stoutly. “I’ve had nightmares just from seeing their nightmares.”
Rachel nodded and patted his arm. “Thanks again. You can go back to dueling now.”
“Woohoo!” Sigfried ran off whooping. “Get ready, Lucky, we’re gonna fry us some sophomores!”
Rachel stood a moment watching the duelists and their glinting gems. Then she went off into an empty corner and recalled her duels with the sneering, sarcastic Ethan Warhol. She played the events of the duels over and over, noting each glint of his wand. Each time, at the split second that she recalled the spark of light, she performed the Word of Ending. This was extremely difficult, because the moment his cantrip triggered, young Mr. Warhol moved so quickly, she could hardly see him.
Rachel slowed down her memory, calling it back to her millisecond by millisecond. When she saw the flash of the gem, she performed the cantrip. She did this ten times. Then, she increased the memory’s speed. She continued for over an hour, until she could do it in real time.
Then, she went looking for the scornful Mr. Warhol.
Ethan leaned casually against one of the separating posts, leering down at his curvaceous girlfriend who was giving him smoldering looks through her overly-long lashes. The son of a flamboyant American Senator, Ethan was an indecently-handsome bad boy with sandy blond hair. Unlike most of the young men here, who were in robes, he wore perfectly-tailored subfusc—black slacks, white shirt, black jacket, white bowtie, black thigh-length half-cape.
When Rachel walked up to him, he flashed her a crooked smile, giving her a look that made her feel uncomfortable, as if she were too skimpily attired—this despite that she was garbed in full-academic robes.
“Come back for more punishment, Shrimp?” Ethan smirked.
Rachel bowed, as duelists were supposed to do before a match.
“Okay. If you’re a glutton for punishment, no skin off my knee.” He tossed his half-cape over the post and came out onto the dueling strip in his shirt sleeves. “It’s your life.”
Rachel and Ethan squared off. Salome cheered them both on with the same enthusiasm that she did everything that did not bore her to tears. This drew the attention of some others. Next thing Rachel knew, they had an audience—including Sigfried, Nastasia, Gaius, and Vladimir Von Dread, who observed them with his arms crossed and his expression inscrutable.
“Speedy Gonzales coming at ya! Prepare to be boarded,” leered the arrogant sophomore.
Rachel turned sideways like a fencer, as Gaius had taught her, and held her right hand out, ready to perform the cantrip.
“Go!” shouted Salome, clapping her hands with their overly-long strawberry nails.
Ethan bounced on the balls of his feet. Rachel kept her eyes trained on the tip of his wand. It was an emerald, apparently Mr. Warhol favored cantrips.
Nothing happened, and then…
“Obé!” Rachel shouted, moving the index finger of her right hand horizontally.
The blur that was Ethan Warhol lost its supernatural speed. With a loud cry, he windmilled his arms before tripping and falling face first on the mat.
Rachel shrieked with joy and jumped up and down. She was still jumping when a stream of blue sparks came from Ethan’s wand and struck her, paralyzing her limbs. She, too, would have fallen on her face, if Gaius had not called the match in Ethan’s favor and freed her before she hit the mat.
“Never rest on your laurels,” Gaius told her seriously. “The match isn’t over until one person cannot continue to cast.”
Rachel acknowledged the wisdom of his words and filed them away for later reference. But her loss of the match did not dim her enthusiasm. She had stopped the arrogant git, and he would not be able to baffle her with his extra speed again. And he knew it.
As she turned away, she noticed Vladimir Von Dread watching her, a hint of approval in his gaze. Rachel risked shooting him a shy smile.
This time, he definitely winked at her.