Page 10
My eyebrows lift in question.
He thrusts his finger at the Threshold, which is duller than it once was. What was a thick and vibrant swirl of power is now faint, almost transparent, as it clings to the ceiling. “What did you cast?”
A line cuts across my forehead. “Nothing. I can’t—”
“Don’t lie to me!” he roars, and a thread of his magic nooses around my throat. The softest clearing of a throat comes from beside him. “What?” he snarls.
“Perhaps we should release the other students for the dorm assignments and deal with this matter privately?” Secretary Ashteon squeaks like a mouse afraid of the housecat.
Tweed searches me, eyes narrowing with suspicion, but when he notices the students watching us, he releases me. They’re staring, and something about that has his expression clearing of anger as quickly as a flipped switch.
He straightens, regains control, and smooths his tie. “Every so often, the university comes across an anomaly,” he begins, tone soothing and controlled. “The Threshold can—”
“What order does she belong to?” someone shouts.
Tweed scowls in the direction of the voice, but more questions like that follow, everyone demanding to know what happened. Where I belong. The questions threaten to spiral out of control, and Tweed seizes order, holding up his palm to quiet the voices.
Once a hush falls over the room, he eyes me. Calculations I don’t understand flit across his face. I take a step back on instinct, uncertain what’s wrong, only sure that I won’t like whatever he says next.
“She’ll go to Vanguard.” The decision booms through the auditorium, silence chasing it. Collectively, the room takes a breath, and then chaos erupts.
Across the room, students are standing beneath one of the four crests for the orders, and my eyes instantly find the Vanguard crest. Paranorms from Vanguard and Bastion go on to join the Paranormal Guard. Without access to my affinities, I’ll only be a liability. If anything, it would make more sense for me to be in the Archive order. I can read books without magic.
Fighting demons without it? Not so much.
“The goddess didn’t place her in Vanguard! She doesn’t belong with us!” a burly guy with shifter-gold eyes shouts. Several people voice their agreements. Most of the students—except Ever and a few others—that were assigned to Vanguard glare at me.
Rejection lashes me, even though I should be used to it. I didn’t exactly have a lot of friends after going to live with Mr. Peters. It’s safer that way. Less risk of getting hurt.
“Silence!” Tweed flicks his wrist, and magic clamps the students’ mouths shut. The professors are talking amongst themselves, and one of them breaks away from the rest.
“Assigning her to an order without the Goddess’s blessing is playing with fire. Following the Goddess’s will is what’s kept our world safe.”
“I don’t like this,” another says. “It feels chaotic. Vaeloria demands balance.” The professor makes the sign of the Goddess over his heart.
Unease trickles through the auditorium, students shifting from side to side nervously, several also making the same sign. The loss of balance is a dangerous thing. It’s what caused the Divine Breaking, where the one divine being split into two: Vaeloria, the Goddess of Creation, and Vaedor, the God of Destruction.
Once the God of Destruction was his own entity, there was nothing to keep him in check, no balance. Driven by his inherent nature, Vaedor created demons that flooded earth, seeking to destroy that which Vaeloria created—the humans. To protect her creations, Vaeloria constructed the veil—a magical barrier between this world and Vaedor’s—and paranormals with powers strong enough to keep the veil intact.
Without order, without paranorms in firm control of their affinities, everything that’s kept the scales balanced is threatened. My existence, whatever happened with the Threshold? It’s not normal. More than missing my affinities, that isn’t a good thing. It seems the rest of Diremount’s administration agrees. They descend upon us like a murder of crows come to feast.
My shoulders tighten, and I automatically calculate the odds of fighting my way out. I’m outnumbered and out magicked, but it won’t stop me from trying.
“Sorting her without the input of the ruling council is unwise,” a professor says. Her navy suit complements her dark, umber complexion. Keen brown eyes take my measure, and I stand a little straighter under her attention. Even though she smells of Foundation blood, she’s the type of professor you want to impress.
“I am the chancellor, Professor Silverstone.” Tweed glances at the other professors and instructors surrounding us. “Does anyone else have a better idea?”
The majority press their lips together, but an older man with stringy, oily hair and fair skin splotched with red shakes his head. “She should be given to the Paranormal Guard. It’s clear the Goddess doesn’t know what to do with her either. She obviously doesn’t fit within the orders. Let them deal with her.”
Sure, sure. Give me to the Paranormal Guard, who would likely end up sacrificing me to strengthen the veil. That’s a great idea. Not. I scowl at him, but no one pays me any attention. No one ever does.
“But the Threshold didn’t kill her,” Professor Silverstone counters, frowning at him. “The Goddess power would have taken care of her if she wasn’t meant to be here. We can’t dismiss her without insulting Vaeloria.”
He sneers at her but doesn’t argue.
Secretary Ashteon clears her throat, shooting a wary look at Chancellor Tweed. “Perhaps we send her to Vanguard as the chancellor said.” She glances around her group of superiors, looking for their approval. It’s found lacking. Panic flares her eyes wide, and she quickly adds, “And as head of Vanguard, Carver can tutor her himself.”
“I don’t offer private tutoring,” he half says, half growls. An aura of barely contained power surrounds him. This is a man you don’t want to cross. Tattoos crawl up both arms, various runes for protection, power, strength scrawled over his corded forearms. There are more complex images I don’t have time to make out before he crosses his arms over his muscled chest.
