Thornhill Academy. Chapter 40

For a while, it was almost a game. Me ignoring him. Him seething beside me, radiating frustration like heat off a forge. His chair creaked as he shifted again and again, restless, until finally, he snapped. My book slammed open, his hand pinning the page flat. His finger jabbed down hard enough to wrinkle the paper.

“Okay,” he bit out, his voice a growl. “Hate me, whatever, like I could really care. But if I don’t do what Scorched told me to, then I risk being expelled. And if I get sent home, as a fucking failure to my father—” He cut himself off, teeth clicking shut. The words hung there, half-born, sharp as broken glass.

And the memory of what I’d glimpsed in his mind, the cruelty, the bruises, the constant shadow of a father who broke more than he built, tightened something in my chest. Against my will, against my better judgment, sympathy flickered. It pissed me off that it did. I rolled my eyes, plucked the book from under his hand, and started reading. Still not talking to him and not giving him the satisfaction.

But I took notes. Sloppy ones at first, then cleaner as the words stuck. Every so often, he leaned over, tapping the page with his quill, correcting my mess. He didn’t gloat when I got it wrong, didn’t snicker or sneer. Just… pointed it out. And I let him—silent cooperation, brittle as glass but holding. By the time Hill dismissed us, my hand ached from scribbling. I snapped the book shut, ready to bolt.

“After classes,” Cage said, his voice low but firm, like it was already decided. “We’ll catch up on everything else you suck at.”

I slung my bag over my shoulder with a groan. “Great,” I muttered under my breath, though not loud enough for him to hear.

By the time I escaped the classroom, my head was pounding. I spotted Tessa waiting for me just outside, bouncing on her heels like she hadn’t just been through an entire lecture.

“Hey!” she chirped, looping her arm through mine. “What’s next? Please tell me it’s not another one of Hill’s classes, because you look like you’re about to murder someone.”

“Not yet,” I muttered, rubbing my temple. “We’ve got Enchantments.”

Her eyes lit up like I’d just handed her a crown. “Yes! Finally, something fun. Come on, I heard this professor actually lets us try stuff.”

She tugged me down the hall, ignoring my slower pace until I gave up and let her drag me. The Enchantments room was brighter than most classrooms, glass orbs hanging from the ceiling like suspended stars. Each desk had its own little workbench with tools neatly arranged—tiny hammers, chisels, quills etched with runes, even jars of glowing ink. The air buzzed with magic, faint sparks dancing between the orbs as if the room itself couldn’t sit still.

Tessa all but collapsed into a seat, grinning at me. “Okay, this is already my favourite.”

I slid in beside her, scanning the room warily. Too much light. Too many eyes. At least no Cage, no Kael, no Evander. Just me, Tess, and a room full of people who didn’t even know my name yet.

“Today,” the professor said as he strode to the front, robes dusted with what looked suspiciously like silver shavings, “you’ll be crafting your first basic charm.” He clapped his hands, and the orbs above brightened. “Nothing too explosive, I promise.”

The professor was a tall, wiry man with hair so white it glowed faintly under the orbs. His eyes were sharp, the kind that had probably seen a hundred years of trouble and were still amused by it.

“I am Professor Fenwick,” he said, voice carrying with a soft warlock lilt. “I will be your guide into the art of Enchantments. Some of you will find this easy, some will find it maddening. Either way, you’ll learn.”

He waved a hand, and the jars of ink on every desk stirred, glowing brighter. “Today we begin with something simple: a charm for vanity. Pick an everyday object, etch your rune, feed it a flicker of intent, and see what happens.”

Tessa’s hand shot up before he even finished. “Anything?”

“As long as it is not alive,” Veyra said dryly, and the class chuckled.

Tessa immediately grabbed the plain wooden hairbrush from her desk kit. “This one’s perfect.” She shoved it toward me with a grin. “C’mon, Ally, let’s make our lives easier.”

I raised a brow. “You really need magic to brush your hair?”

“Yes. Obviously. Do you know how much time it takes to tame this?” She shook her auburn curls for emphasis.

I couldn’t help it, I smirked and picked up the brush. The rune quill felt oddly heavy in my hand, the ink shimmering like liquid moonlight. Tessa leaned close, whispering directions like she already knew what she was doing.

“Curve it there… loop it here… no, not like that, you’ll make it explode—”

“Explode?” I hissed.

“Kidding. Mostly.” She grinned and dipped her own quill.

We carved the runes together, side by side, her strokes neat and confident, mine a little shakier. Then Fenwick strolled past, his sharp eyes flicking to my brush. He said nothing, just hummed low in his throat as if curious.

“Alright,” Tessa said, dramatic as always. “Moment of truth.” She lifted the brush and dragged it through her hair.

Instantly, the strands smoothed and curled, falling into glossy waves like she’d just stepped out of a salon. She gasped. “It worked!”

Before I could say anything, she thrust it at me. “Your turn.”

I hesitated, then tugged it through my own tangled mess of hair. The brush warmed in my palm, and the knots melted like butter, my hair falling soft, shiny, and perfectly styled in seconds.

My jaw went slack. “Okay… that’s actually kind of amazing.”

Tessa preened in the orb light, tossing her curls like a goddess. “We are never brushing our hair the old way again.”

Across the room, Professor Fenwick watched me a little too closely, his mouth quirking like he’d just seen something interesting. What that was, I have no bloody clue.