Wings and Shadowthief by May Sage
No Fool
Breathe, breathe, breathe.
It would be all right. She’d be all right. She might have inhaled some sort of potion or walked into a hexed trap. Maybe waltzing in the second wing of the dorm uninvited had affected her in some way.
Cat couldn’t be right. Gwen wasn’t awakening. She wasn’t changing into anything, because she was human—as regular as any witch could be.
Reaching the gates of the Institute, Gwen laid back on the cool stone for a moment. She’d walked too fast after stuffing her face with meat pie, and her stomach wasn’t happy about it. Or maybe the fact like she looked like a freaking monster had something to do with her nausea.
It felt good to stop for a moment, but she knew she couldn’t remain here. The huntsmen weren’t training in the courtyard for once—most were in the cafeteria—but there was a class of freshmen undergrads getting whipped into shape by Diana close by. What if she lost it here? What if she hurt them?
Yet she couldn’t bring herself to move another inch, because she knew what she had to do when she got to the dorms.
Pack her shit, call her mother, head back home.
She couldn’t remain here if she was a danger to her friends.
Gwen’s eyes closed, burning with unshed tears.
Going back home was relegating herself to a life of misery, kept locked away for the good of the clan, but what other choice did she have? She’d been allowed to attend the Institute to learn to control herself, first and foremost. In this, she’d failed profoundly. For a year, her magic wouldn’t listen to her call as she tried to define it, and the moment it took shape, it wanted to hurt an ally—an ally who pissed her off, sure, but she still didn’t want Jack dead. Most of the time.
That, she could have handled. The shifting, though? It meant something terrifying.
Her change was only beginning.
“I’d recommend fresh blood.”
Gwen’s eyes flew open, to find a short, thin boy, too pretty for words. If his long silky mane and bright green eyes hadn’t been enough of a clue, she would have recognized the creature hiding in a teenager’s shape because of the deep, smooth voice.
“Professor Varra.” She’d heard that the teacher sometimes liked to change into a younger shell when he walked around campus, but it was her first time coming face-to-face with this version of the fae. “Fresh blood?”
The boy nodded eagerly. “Nothing quite like it when one feels miserable. Bathe in the blood of the sinners. Or the innocent, if you’re into that sort of thing.”
Gwen opened her mouth to ask where, exactly, he stocked up on fresh blood, but decided against it. Unexpectedly, she could feel a smile at the corner of her lips though.
It was a much-needed reminder. She wasn’t the only freak here, not by a long shot. There was a chance that someone could help her—more than her clan could, anyway.
“I’ll pass on the blood. But I need an answer. Sir, do you know what to do when…” Her mouth felt dry. “I don’t know what’s happening to me. I don’t know how to stop it.”
Fin Varra crocked his head to the side. “Why would you wish to?”
Gwen’s frustration felt like a weight crushing her chest. “I could hurt my friends. I could be a danger to people here.”
“Or an asset.” The boy shrugged, unconcerned either way.
An asset?
Gwen had always seen herself as someone who stood between those she cared about and danger, her magic shields at the ready whenever they were needed.
This impulsive, overwhelming, uncontrollable magic didn’t feel like an asset to her, though.
“If you’re looking for an expert on dark witches, there’s one right here, you know.”
Dark witches.
“There’s no such thing as a dark witch,” Gwen replied automatically. “You don’t say anything about them in your lessons, and they aren’t part of your courses. Right?”
Fin’s pouty mouth formed a thin line. Shit, she’d pissed him off. “If I were to teach all things gone and forgotten, I’d need a hundred years per course. I inform you of living matters relevant to this world.”
Her mind was clogged with too many concerns to make any sense of his words. “So, there aren’t any dark witches in this world, then.” Why would she ask about them?
“There weren’t,” the teacher replied, staring pointedly.
Her throat went tight. Shit.
“How could I… My family’s filled with elemental witches. Nothing else.”
“Hm. And you’ve never been different from the rest of them, have you?”
Always.
But not like this.
Spotting her white curls in the corner of her eye, she shook her head. “I don’t want this.”
“Then you’re either a fool or a coward.” Fin Varra turned elegantly to leave. He had no time for those of either ilk.
He’d already crossed half the courtyard when she called him back.
“Who should I speak to?”