Page 28 of Academy of the Wicked: Year Three

"I don't like you."

My smile widens.

"I guess that's good. It means you see I'm not making tales to appease you."

Something shifts in his expression—surprise, perhaps, or reluctant respect.He huffs again, then snaps his fingers with casual authority.

The effect is immediate and profound.

A bubble of different energy surges outward from his small form, pushing back the oppressive darkness like oil repelling water. The boundary is visible to my enhanced sight—a sphere of lesser shadow that allows something closer to normal existence within its borders.

The moment it encompasses my companions, they react.

Gasps and groans fill the air as they can finally breathe without the crushing weight of absolute darkness trying to fill their lungs. It's like watching people surface from too long underwater, desperate and grateful for something as simple as breathable atmosphere.

"My sister is with the annoying boyfriend," Gabriel announces, his tone suggesting this is both information and complaint.

I process this, mind automatically categorizing our group to determine who he means.

Cassius, obviously.

He's the only one not present, the only one who?—

"Hold on a damn minute."

Atticus is the first to wake fully, pushing himself up on one elbow before pausing to cough. Even that simple action seems to exhaust him, but vampire pride won't let him stay down.

"I'm totally her boyfriend."

The protest is so perfectly Atticus—indignant, possessive, and slightly petulant—that I have to suppress a laugh. Evennear death, he can't stand the thought of someone else claiming Gwenivere.

Gabriel looks at him with an expression of profound disappointment, as if Atticus's very existence is a personal failing of the universe.

"A being of darkness who can barely stay awake is more of a slave than one worthy to love my sister."

The dismissal is so complete, so casually devastating, that Atticus actually sputters. I've seen him face down ancient vampires and emerge victorious, but apparently, a judgmental six-year-old is his weakness.

"You better be the younger brother," Atticus manages, struggling to his feet with determination that would be admirable if it wasn't so clearly taxing him, "so I can beat you up!"

Child Gabriel's smirk is pure predatory amusement. He doesn't need to say anything—the expression alone conveys how utterly unconcerned he is by the threat.

Movement to my left draws my attention as Mortimer and Nikki begin stirring. The dragon shifter is first to achieve something like alertness, sitting up with careful movements that suggest everything hurts.

"I feel like shit," Nikki announces, her voice rough but wonderfully alive.

Mortimer sits back, cracking his neck with a sound that makes me wince. His golden eyes scan our surroundings with scholarly assessment, cataloging details even while clearly suffering.

"The plague of darkness," he says, and there's something like awe in his tone. "It hasn't been used in decades. Most thought the technique lost."

He turns his attention to Gabriel, academic curiosity overriding caution.

"What are you protecting us from?"

"Protection?" Nikki's voice carries understandable confusion. "We almost died."

I feel compelled to interject, understanding clicking into place as I process what we're experiencing versus what we could be experiencing.

"Mortimer is right," I say, drawing their attention. "Without this barrier—" I gesture to the bubble of lesser darkness surrounding us, "—we would have been swallowed whole. Consumed. We'd be one with the darkness itself by now."