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And next to her . . . well, I pointedly avoid noticing anything about Drake, even as half the girls in class shamelessly check him out, like they’ve never seen a hot guy before.

“This moment will change everything for you at Diremount,” Silverstone begins. “You’ve all been allowed to practice and learn with friends, but that won’t be enough, not against the demons. They won’t pull punches. They won’t soften their magic. They will be vicious, merciless, and cruel. The only way to prepare for that is to practice relentlessly.”

She flicks her wrists, and a line splits the display screen in half. There’s a section for the day of the week our class falls on, and names suddenly appear in rapid succession. I quickly try to find my name, but Silverstone clears her throat and draws my focus from the board back to her.

“To pass this class and move on to your second year, you must survive the first-year casting fights. The fights will be held in groupings—think of it like a weight class. You’ll be paired up with those with comparable abilities. If your offensive abilities are strong enough, if you work to turn your affinities into a weapon, most of you will be fine.” She glances through the crowd. “Understood?”

“Yes, ma’am,” a chorus of voices answers her.

“Good. Then let’s begin at the bottom. Drake?”

The mage barks out names, and six pairs of students rise and head to their assigned sections, which are marked off by circles that are defined and illuminated by magic layered on top of the wooden floor.

The first fights begin, and while some watch as they struggle, a lot focus on the ranking board, myself included. I continue checking for my name. I’m not sure if I’ll be fighting today, but I need to be prepared for whoever I’m paired with in this class.

A pained cry echoes through the gym.

Finally, I find my name.

Raina Stone vs. Bart Howard.

Fuck. My new lovely neighbor. I scan the rows of students and find Bart staring right back at me. His grin is confident and a little vicious. He gives me a one-finger salute as another scream rents through the air.

I can’t bring myself to look away from my soon-to-be opponent. Of course I don’t have to worry about him and his friends messing with my dorm room when we’ll be paired together. He can just kick my ass in Practical Casting.

This year is already rough, and this only made it worse. Surely nothing else can go wrong.

The doors of the facilities building squeak as I push them open. Warm air from the driers and the fresh scent of clean laundry rushes to greet me. Oliver pokes his head out of his office when he hears me approaching.

There are dark circles under his eyes and his long beard is a little more unkempt than usual. His eyebrows lift. “You look like death warmed over.”

“You’re such a charmer,” I mutter, shaking my head. “You look rough, too, you know. Not sleeping?”

“How was the bash?”

“Your subject changes are as subtle as your beard.”

He chuckles. “I’ve heard that before. How was it?” he asks again.

“It was fine. The proper amount of dancing was had. People had fun. No one died? So it was probably successful.”

“You didn’t stay, did you?”

I put my hand on my hip. “Why does everyone assume I don’t like parties?”

“’Cause you’re as prickly as a porcupine?”

“Some people are prickly for a reason, you know.” I grab the dark green smock with the Diremount crest embroidered on the chest.

“What happened?”

I glance up from tying the smock, see the concern on his face, and immediately change topics. “Did I tell you about my tutoring with Carver? He’s a complete ass, if you haven’t heard, and I’m doing terribly.”

Oliver dips his head. “Carver is a good man. Great warrior.”

My mind instantly recalls the way he made me crawl to him. Well, I don’t know about him being a good man, but he’s clearly a good fighter. That’s all that matters to me.

“How was the Goddess Trial? Can you tell me about it?” Any distraction to keep him from wondering about me.