Page 79 of Destined Dawn

I toss another ball of magic across the room and fling back my head.

Upside down, I see the professor walk across the ceiling towards the windows. It’s dark. He hasn’t seen me.

He’s wearing tight boxers. The prof’s cock is as big as the rest of him. Not surprising. I’ve heard the way he makes her scream. Bet she loves the feel of that cock.

“Hey,” I say. “Your cock’s bigger than I remember it.”

The prof jumps. Yeah, even after all that’s past, I can still scare the shit out of him if I want to.

Good to know.

“What the hell,” he mutters. “What are you doing sitting in the dark like that?”

“Couldn’t sleep,” I say, tossing more magic up into the air and then catching it in my palms.

“Yeah,” he says, rubbing his hands through his beard. His eyes slide to me and then he walks over and slumps down into one of the other chairs. He rests each hand on the armrests and taps his fingers against the leather. “Why can’t you sleep?”

I flip upright, so I’m looking at him straight on, and tap the side of my head.

“Too many voices.”

He looks straight into my eyes. “There are drugs for that, you know.”

I snort. Yeah, I know about those. My mom spent a lot of her time trying to shove various drugs and potions and other shit down my throat.

“You ever taken those drugs?” I ask him.

“No.”

Didn’t think so. Anyone who had wouldn’t be recommending them.

“They make your mind fucking sloppy. I’d rather stick with the voices.”

“What are the voices saying?”

I sigh, and lean forward, resting my forearms on my knees, legs still jiggling.

“Shit, well, there’s this little old lady,” the corners of my mouth tug, “she’s my favorite. She’s always rattling on about the weather and her cakes and whether her dog’s got diarrhea or not.”

“Right.” The prof’s brow creases.

“Least favorite’s this dude. He’s a real fucking asshole. Likes to remind me about all my fuck ups. Constantly encourages me to, you know …” I mime wrapping the rope around my neck and tugging.

“Fucking hell.”

“Yeah, he’s a cunt. There’s a couple of voices that sound like my mom used to. One that sounds just like Lowsky’s pa. Then there’s this one,” I shuffle forward on the chair, “that’s talking in this language I don’t understand. Never even heard it before. He’s always fucking insistent but I don’t know what the fuck he’s saying.”

“That sounds … rough.”

I slump back in my chair. “You get used to it.” My eyes slide towards the bedroom door. “And she, she silences them.” He nods. “So, how about you, prof? What keeps you awake?”

The speed at which he’s tapping those armrests increases.

“I have a bad feeling about this place.”

“A feeling? I thought you were academic or something. I thought you only dealt in facts and proof and shit?”

“That’s the problem. I don’t have any proof or shit right now. Only a feeling.” His hands freeze and he leans in. “These people are hiding something. They’re excited about something. I can read it in their minds. I just can’t understand the words.”