After the way students went after me in Combat class, Tamlin confirming my innocence privately in her little makeshift back office isn’t enough—the whole school needs to know that their mass hysteria was wrong, and that I’m not the person responsible for these attacks.
Hardwick calls an assembly to talk about it. He wants me to sit on the stage beside him while he speaks, but I put my damn foot down on that. I just had everyone glaring at me and whispering about me nonstop for days. I’m not going to go up onstage and be gawked at like I’m a circus sideshow freak.
Instead, I sit in the audience. Cam’s on my left, Asher on my right, and Dmitri on Asher’s other side. Cam has his arm around my shoulders and Asher’s holding my hand. They’re both physically affectionate people, and that’s only increased as things have gotten more serious between us. But this feels different than their usual casual touches. I told them what happened, how Tamlin’s weird magic-reading machine cleared me, but I think they’re still worried the other students won’t believe it or that something will go wrong.
“Students.” Hardwick’s tone is measured and gentle—fatherly, almost. I don’t think I’ve ever heard him get really angry. According to Cam, he went on a rampage after the Trials, but I was asleep for that. “We have looked into the accusations against Elliot Sinclair, and I would like to publicly announce that her innocence has been proven.”
A noise like wind through trees or rushing water fills the auditorium as people whisper to their neighbors in a soft voice. But Hardwick raises a hand, and silence falls again.
“In the interest of honesty, I’ll explain to you in brief that Miss Sinclair’s new ability is to mirror magic. What that means is that she can, with concentration, mimic the magical abilities of those around her for a short period of time, so long as the person she’s mirroring remains in her proximity. That person still retains their magic, and will experience no negative effects from having their power mimicked. Unless you count your pride being wounded if she uses your magic better than you.”
There are some muffled chuckles around the room.
“I am, of course, glad to announce that someone who has represented our school so well in the magical community is not the culprit behind these attacks,” the dean goes on. “But that does bring with it bad news. It means that we still don’t know who is actually behind the magic thefts. It saddens me to admit that magic of this nature cannot be done remotely, and so it has to be someone on this campus.”
Everyone starts whispering immediately, probably debating theories about who it could be. I can practically hear the war drums, and I wonder who everyone will decide it is next, or if the student body will be splitting into paranoid factions.
“We’re not closing the school down just yet,” Hardwick says, a heavy sigh falling from his lips before he gathers himself and straightens. “But that is a possibility if this continues. We urge anyone who sees anything suspicious to report that activity, no matter how small or insignificant it might seem.”
He pauses, casting his gaze over the entire auditorium, meeting students’ eyes.
“Please be mindful that this is not an excuse for a witch hunt—pun not intended. If you go out of your way to accuse someone who stole your boyfriend or copied your essay, you’ll only be causing more headaches for us to sort out, and possibly setting other students up to have their magic stolen because we’ll be investigating the wrong people. But if you do see something that strikes you as odd, no matter how paranoid you might feel for saying something… it’s better for us to be safe than sorry, at this juncture. Thank you all.”
Everyone starts talking again after Hardwick finishes, but quietly, like they’re scared of making too much noise. Raul’s attacks during my first semester hit people hard, but he only took out three students—although one of them died. Whoever’s stealing magic has taken out five, and there’s no end in sight.
Alyssa, of course, can’t let it go. As we all start to leave, she stands up, apparently having activated some kind of charm that makes her voice louder, like she’s using a microphone.
“It has to be Elliot!” she yells, her voice a little shrill but echoing through the room. “Anyone who knows her knows she hates this place.