into my mouth with all the thorough, deliberate care he takes with everything. I feel myself melting all over again as they teasingly take turns, kissing me, kissing my neck, Cam biting a little, hands starting to wander again…
“The fact that she’s still in the Trials at all is unacceptable.”
All three of us jump.
There are voices just outside the room, growing louder—I think headed for this very classroom.
Shit!
We scramble to get ourselves in order, and then Cam grabs both Asher and me, dragging us into a dark corner and shoving us behind a desk.
Fuck, it’s not nearly big enough to cover all three of us, even with Asher and Cam plastering themselves to me like they might have to shield me from attack.
Hinges squeak, and I peek over the lip of the desk in time to see two people illuminated in the light from the hallway before the heavy door swings shut again.
Holy shit.
I recognize the two people who just stepped into the room. They’re mages from two of the visiting academies: Syren and Houdini. Syren is the college for enchanters, and Houdini is the name of the college for illusionists. The fact that Harry Houdini didn’t believe in real magic and was annoyed at people like Sir Arthur Conan Doyle who thought Houdini was actually using real magic is the whole reason the school was named that—it’s a massive in-joke that I honestly don’t really get.
Anyway, I recognize these guys. They’re both upper level administrators. Not the deans, but pretty high up on the food chain—I think one of them is in charge of student life. I remember thinking when I first saw him that he had the kind of face a hawk might have if it were turned into a human, and now he looks even more like a bird of prey, his sharp features almost menacing in the dim light. The other, from Syren, is a short, squat kind of guy and looks almost jovial, relaxed. Not the type you’d expect to be making dark plans in a quiet classroom with an accomplice.
“She failed the previous Trial, Adelson,” the hawkish one from Houdini informs his companion. “She’ll fail the next one too.”
“But she shouldn’t even be in the next one!” the shorter one from Syren complains. Adelson, I guess.
“Perhaps, but consider this: the longer she remains in the competition, the more opportunities there are for her to be humiliated in front of everyone. Isn’t that what we want? If she just loses, that’s one thing—but we need her to fail in front of everyone, to show the world that Unpredictables don’t belong in the same league as the rest of us.”
My blood runs cold, and Cam’s grip on me tightens so much it’s almost painful. As if I didn’t already suspect they were talking about me, that just about seals it. Fuck. The other schools want me to fail—or at least these two do. I should’ve known. Anger and shame and frustration chase each other in circles inside my chest, making it hard to breathe.
Would it really be so bad if an Unpredictable did well in the competition? Not even winning it, but just doing well? Would that be too damn much to ask?
I guess so, according to these two assholes.
“That’s too risky, Merrimer.” Adelson shakes his head adamantly. “She embarrassed herself by not using any magic in the last challenge. What if she tries to compensate in the next one? Her magic could do serious damage. She’s too powerful, uncontrollable—”
“You could say that about a lot of Unpredictables. It’s why this is so important. If we can make sure she goes down spectacularly, we can discredit the whole school. They’ll never compete in the Trials again. Maybe they’ll even get shut down.”
Holy shit. I glance over at Asher and Cam. Cam’s mouth has dropped open, and Asher’s is set in a grim line. I wish I could take his cuff off so he could read their minds and figure out more, listen in on what they’re not saying aloud.
“The loss is more important,” Adelson insists. He seems genuinely afraid as they discuss me in hushed tones, and that actually makes me hate him more. “We can’t risk her causing harm. We need to remove her from the competition as soon as possible. Every day this farce continues is a disgrace to the magical community.”
“No argument there,” Merrimer says grimly, swiping a hand down his hawkish face. He looks more disgusted than scared.
“Besides,” the shorter man continues,