weeks. But now that I knew he was hurting, and that he didn’t even want to tell me what was wrong much less let me help him with it, I was left feeling sort of helpless. Not to mention terrified that I might have unconsciously caused whatever it was that had him so upset. It didn’t seem likely, but given his behavior toward me it was the only thing I could figure.
I was relieved when it came time to leave for class the next day, if nothing else for the chance to get out of the building and away from my Alex worries for a while. I donned the official green and white school uniform I’d had to borrow from Chloe, threw my notebook and pen into my bag, slid the St Brigid’s cross that Alex had woven on the rail into my pocket, pulled on my coat, and hurried out into the brisk October morning.
As I strode across campus, I let the crisp tang of the musky, pine-scented Irish air tingle in my nose, and exhilarate my already bubbling excitement. After all, what was cooler and more romantic than learning an ancient language? This would be great! And later I would have my first training session, though the fact that it was Taron definitely put a damper on my mood, but hey, it was better than nothing.
I made it to class just as everyone else was arriving and introduced myself to the professor, who gave me my book and workbook, as well as a folder filled with handouts and study guides that I’d missed so far in the term.
“It is so nice to meet you, Miss Ingle,” Professor Altus said, smiling. “I was delighted when Professor Clavish called to tell me you’d be joining us.”
“I’m sorry, who called you?” I asked, feeling as though I’d missed something.
“Professor Clavish, he’s the one who registered you for the course.”
“Oh, of course.” I smiled. So Jocelyn didn’t bother to take the ten minutes to sign me up himself as he’d implied. That was mildly annoying.
He pointed out one of the empty seats in the back of the room and I sat down, leaving my coat on so that no one would think the hideous hunk of gold on my arm was me trying to make a fashion statement. I opened my notebook, ready to dive into the beauty and elegance of the Gaelic language, until, that is, I looked up at the board and saw a huge chart analyzing the differences and uses of Class I and Class II verbs. And then it all came back to me. The reason I’d transferred out of French in high school. The reason my pitiful attempt to learn Latin on my own to impress colleges had imploded barely before it began.
Learning languages sucks.
It was overrated, complicated, and horribly boring. Sure the idea of being fluent in a foreign tongue was exciting and romantic, but the actual learning of said language was far from dreamy. I knew there were some people who really enjoyed it, and more power to them, but for me it was hell. How I’d managed to forget that on my walk over here was beyond me, but I certainly wouldn’t be forgetting it again. Give me the paintings of cavemen. That I would be happy to learn. You see an etching of a cow – it’s a cow. You don’t have to worry about whether the cow is male or female, or if it comes before or after the verb, or how many cows there are – it’s a cow. Unfortunately, there were no cave paintings or cows for me that day, only endless verb conjugation, and one excruciating hour later I was on my way back to Lorcan, more than happy to never return to Gaelic class ever again.
“Shouldn’t he be here by now?” I grumbled, as Cormac, Min, and I sat in the Inner Chamber waiting on Taron, who apparently had better things to do than be on time.
“I’m sure he’ll be along shortly,” Cormac said calmly.
“He’d better be. I need to go and check the potions on the cooker,” Min said, growing restless.
“Just take the Block off now and go,” I suggested, knowing that was the only reason she was there.
“It will be safer to wait,” Min persisted.
“Come on, I won’t do anything, I promise.”
“It may be beneficial,” Cormac chimed in, “to let her get reacquainted with the sensation of feeling the different abilities before she attempts to use