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VIX WAS the first to enter the classroom the following night. She hadn't been able to sleep thinking about how she was losing the slow stream of friendship she'd finally found. Now, she fought between self-preservation and turning a tide she'd been pushing against her whole life—never admit defeat.
Flipping open her textbook, Vix found the section on Energy Manipulation.
Manipulation, it said, was based not only on a full understanding of the direction energy moved, but also on the intent to shift that direction, and the ability to do so. If one lacked in intent or ability, manipulation could not take place, no matter how much the individual tried.
The last bit, which touched on mantras, caught her eye. Turns out, it didn’t matter what someone said when performing a spell, only that the right intention was behind it. If she was determined enough, she could say ‘turkey shit’ over and over, and still manipulate energy enough to flick a light on or off. Basically, mantras were just about committing your intent externally. Giving voice to your power. All good to know.
Blanchard strolled in and snagged the spot in the very back corner of the room. That greasy jock guy just seemed to hide from everything. After him, another guy and girl Vix didn't know trickled in and gathered around Blanchard in the back.
Like a nerd, Vix kept reading. With regard to intent, not only the reason for the manipulation, but also the purity of desire to alter energy came into play. After that, ability and strength mattered just as much. A weaker person may be able to nudge energy into a new direction, while a stronger person can outright hurl energy away from them with force and speed.
The key to all energy manipulation was, of freaking course, honesty. One couldn’t cheat magic. Couldn’t lie or pretend your way around it. Energy only responded to people’s truth. If somebody lied to a million people about their magic abilities, it didn’t matter, because when actually faced with manipulating energy, all that mattered was the truth.
Sighing didn’t help clear Vix’s mind. All of the dysfunction in her life, all of the work to get her way, was nothing but lies.
Ijemma entered the room and brushed by Vix without a word, still taking her seat, however, only two stools away.
“Hey,” Vix began, “I just want to say . . .”
But she never looked at her, not even a slight head tip her way to show she was even listening.
Honestly, it stung.
No, it didn't sting. It hacked her into pieces, boiled off the skin, and disposed of her bones in a dumpster behind the nearest fast food restaurant, Greasy Chicken Chicken Bites.
When Takon arrived and scooted in beside Ijemma without a word to Vix, a hollow sensation, like gouging out her heart and pitching it into a fire, took over.
She whispered, low, sincere, “I'm sorry, guys.”
Ijemma didn't even turn her way as she replied. “That's the thing, I don't think you are. I think you're a very lonely person who needs this place and us more than you care to believe.” This time she finally looked at her. “I think you've never had a friend long enough to apologize for anything.”
“Well, shit, Ijemma, tell me how you really feel.” Immediately, Vix wanted to walk out and torch the place. Exactly what Ijemma meant. Vix never had to redirect energy; she always dodged it by leaving.
Her friend, possibly soon-to-be former friend, spun toward her, maroon hair swishing over one shoulder. “Admit we need to tell someone about Opera. Now.”
That all too familiar resistant wall rose within her like a drawbridge closing. “Of course we need to tell someone, jackass. I just don't think we should. I'm allowed to have my own opinion.”
“But your opinion seems to be law around here.”
Vix laughed aloud. “Yeah right, and I fart daisies, too.”
Takon finally gave her some attention, but it wasn't exactly optimal. “You still don't get it. Not everything is about you. This is about helping Opera, not about getting you in trouble.”
“I fucking know that,” she replied, but instead of some seething whisper, she mistakenly said it aloud, for everyone in the classroom to hear.
The other students in the room silenced and stared.
Crap-o-la, suck-a-roo.
To her mind, walking out was starting to sound even better. Leave these jokers behind. And there it freaking was again—the rebel without a clue—ready to ditch anyone who had invested any time or energy in her.
Wait.
Energy.
That's what she was feeling: their energy being redirected. Away from her. That's what she hated, that's what she ran from: energy being withdrawn from her. Parents. Friends. She always sensed it leaving.
She nodded slow, processing, trying like hell to take in the information and learn from it like a real live boy.
Just in time for the shit show, Gails joined them and wedged between her and the other two to settle into Opera's seat.
Per. Fect. Timing.
This dude already thought she was selfish. Now he got to watch act two of last night's performance.
“Not going to lie,” he began, as he swirled his hand as if stirring batter, “The energy right here, in this general area, is downright toxic.”
She sighed. “Figure that out all on your own, did you?”
He shot her a ten-thousand dollar smile. “I've been studying.”
“Shut up.”
“Hey, you see this?” He motioned toward himself, brown eyes twinkling at her in a creepy, twinkly way. “This is what mending fences looks like. I get this may be foreign to you, but I promise you're safe.”
She spun away from him even though she knew better. Maybe she was trying to hide her feelings, as confusing and smudged like lipstick as they were, or she didn't have the strength to be the bigger person who gave a little for the betterment of anyone else.
LaRiche stomped into the room, the door slamming shut behind her without being touched. She seemed, troubled. Something about her hardened expression and determined pace.
And all Vix could think about was, what did Pent College already know?
The professor turned her back on the class and faced the chalkboard, but she didn't move after that. She just kind of . . . stood there. The straight line of her shoulders emphasized with legit shoulder pads inside her black suit jacket.
Vix glanced at Gails to double check she wasn’t the only one uncertain about what was going on.
Leaning on the lab bench, she eyed Ijemma and Takon.
Do you think she knows? Vix thought, straining, aiming her intention at Ijemma.
The woman tilted her head, then dug a knuckle at her ear like she had Gracie's mites.
Vix tried harder. Come on, girl, are we busted or what?
Ijemma stared at her, luscious fake lashes casting a shadow over her eyes. She offered the tiniest shrug.
LaRiche returned her attention to the class and as she spun around, a massive blue orb the size of a bowling ball pulsed between her palms. In a very, very off-putting way, the thing reminded her of Dorfman's fist.
LaRiche lifted the orb above her head. “This is pure energy. Today you'll be learning how to create a compacted mass like this one.”
Oh shit. School just got more interesting. Vix grinned like the idiot she was.
“Everyone, bring your hands together in front of you. Palms together.” She dropped the blue orb which dissolved before it hit the ground. “We often say, you hold your hands like this because you're praying the spell will work.” A light chortle from the professor. She was in her element. A performer. An enchantress.
She paced the room, observing everyone's hand placement as she continued. “Now, feel the heat between your palms. That is your energy. It belongs to you. It comes from you. Close your eyes. Feel it?”
Reluctantly, Vix shut her eyes and reached for her own energy.
“Talk to it,” LaRiche continued. “Say, ‘I see you’.”
Around the room, like whispering mice, the eight of them each began saying, “I see you,” over and over, even though their eyes were shut.
“You’re doing good. Now, keeping your fingers and base of your palms together, give the energy some room without letting it go. When you give it space, it should expand to fill that space. It’s in energy’s nature to grow, but don’t let it. You contain it. You choose when it gets bigger. Understood?”
A pressure pushed against Vix's fingers as she opened her hands up a bit.
“I see you. I see you,” she chanted lightly.
Heat wove around her fingers, slipping in and out of the spaces between them like Gracie around her legs.
“I see you. I see you.”
She opened her eyes just enough to witness the fuchsia light which bloomed between her palms.
God, Vix couldn't wait to show this to Opera.
“Nice work, everyone. Look at your energy. You drew that together. You saw it.”
LaRiche wove between each lab bench nodding at their creations. “Next ease up, little by little until your hands aren't touching anymore, but your energy is still between them. If you feel like you're going to lose it, focus harder. Say ‘I see you,’ louder if need be. Use those overworked powers of manipulation for an actual purpose for once.”
“Teach!” Blanchard shouted from the back of the class, excited as he stood, an orange glow in his grasp the size of a golf ball. “Rocked it!”
A smile formed on LaRiche's normally statuesque and perfect pout. “Well done, Jackson.”
Vix checked Gails hands, then Takon and Ijemma’s. They were doing it. All of them.
Gails met her eyes and he grinned.
And for some damn reason, she blushed. Gawd! They're not all meat in a supermarket, Victoria.
The professor returned to the front of the room. “With practice, as you widen your grip and focus, the energy should build bigger and bigger. Work on these sizes. See how large you can grow your energy by next class. For a new student, see if you can work your way up to the size of a grapefruit. Soon, however, you'll be doing bigger work.”
LaRiche stepped backward to give herself room and swooped her arms wide above her head like a ballerina as a massive ball of energy the size of a recliner formed in her grasp.
“What?” Blanchard jolted back out of his chair. “What!”
She swung her arms closed and the energy dispersed. Without stopping, she immediately regrouped a tight little gumball of blue and threw it like a baseball pitcher to the back of the room. It slammed Blanchard's chest, knocking him back a foot, and then broke apart across his body like flames until there was nothing left. Freaking beaming, the dude fist pumped, and shouted, “Rocked it!”
Honestly, LaRiche looked pretty pleased with herself. Hell, it probably took this many sessions for all the attitudes to wear off and the students to get their act together enough to do the work.
Joke was on her; a select group of students had royally screwed the pooch on her watch already.
“Alright, everyone practice for the remainder of class and I'll be here if you need help.”
Not counting the obvious attempts to harness energy, the room practically vibrated with excitement. Finally, they were getting out from under textbook reading and being confused about the definition of empathy. This was magic.
And Vix realized, watching around the room, she didn't want to lose this. Didn't want to compromise her chance to mean something. To herself or anyone else.
Looking down the row, Vix watched her friends toy with their own energies, giggling, engaged. Happy. She couldn't lose this.
She wouldn't lose this.
Vix would rather go against her better judgment to tell Dean Wallstone what happened to Opera and face the consequences, than sneak around fearful that Pent College and these people would be removed from her life at any moment. A community lost. Purpose lost. Belonging ripped away like so many times before.
“You guys,” she whispered as she tried to sound convincing. “We should talk to the dean in the morning.”
Ijemma stared at her as if her hair was on fire. Takon's eyes widened.
“Seriously?” Gails.
She nodded. Her chest ached to defy herself and the foreign, acidic words which came from her mouth. “It's the right thing to do.”
