Page 48 of Academy of the Wicked: Year Three

But it knows I'm wrong.

Shared space where there should be sovereignty. Two where there should be one.

The realm tolerates my existence the way you tolerate a broken bone that healed crooked—functional but never quite right.

Seconds stretch like centuries. In real-time, her body would already be combusting, flesh meeting lava in union that allows no divorce. But time bends to my will—or rather, to my sister's will that I've somehow accessed.

The realization stops me cold.

This is Gwenivere's magic. Time manipulation belongs to her arsenal, not mine. Yet here I stand, holding temporal flow like reins in hands that shouldn't be able to grasp them.

"Annoying," I mutter, the word carrying dismay rather than true irritation.

I don't know how to feel about accessing her abilities. It suggests connection deeper than shared flesh—our powers beginning to blend the way our consciousness sometimes do in dreams. Is this evolution or dissolution?

Are we becoming more ourselves or less?

"Were you going to let it transpire?"

I turn my head slowly, already knowing who I'll find.

The black cat sits precisely where physics suggests nothing should be able to perch—suspended in frozen air as if gravity is a suggestion rather than law. Golden eyes shift to purple and back again, the transition happening between one blink and the next. Watching me with intelligence that has nothing to do with feline nature and everything to do with being something far older wearing fur as disguise.

With a shift that ignores the stopped time around us, Zeke transforms. Not gradually—instantaneously. One moment, cat. Next, man floating cross-legged on nothing, casual as if sitting on furniture I'm too limited to perceive.

"It was tempting to," he admits, voice carrying that musical quality that makes even admissions of potential murder sound like lullabies. "But I wanted to see if time reversal would be needed. Especially when you seem to have no problem using your sister's gifts."

I pout—the expression feels childish on my face whether child or adult, but some reactions transcend age.

"No wonder the vampire prince doesn't like you."

Zeke's smile transforms his face from beautiful to something approaching divine. The kind of beauty that makes you understand why ancient cultures worshipped cats.

"It's not that he dislikes me. He fears replacement by one who can be loyal simply by nature."

He shrugs with feline eloquence, shoulders moving in a way human joints shouldn't allow.

"Now, how long do you plan to hold time? You're stronger magic-wise than your sister only because she's the one holding this barrier afloat unconsciously. You're not on the same level."

I huff, feeling my child-form assert itself despite my desire to maintain adult dignity.

"I don't like being told that."

His smile becomes genuine rather than performative—a rare gift from someone who wears masks like others wear clothes.

"No one likes to acknowledge weaknesses. But I guess that leads to the real question."

He pauses, gaze shifting to Nikki's suspended form. She looks peaceful in frozen time, the fear erased by temporal pause that caught her between one expression and the next.

"Is she going to be a weakness for you?"

The question hangs between us like a sword waiting to drop. Not threatening—simply present, demanding acknowledgment.

I don't answer immediately. Instead, I study her—really study her for the first time as myself rather than through my sister's perceptions.

Golden hair that catches light even in this realm of shadows. Features that carry delicacy the Fae prize but strength they refuse to acknowledge. The tear tracks still visible on cheeks that have known too much salt. Hands that reach even when reaching seems futile.

"My mind is annoyed with her," I finally admit.