Page 17

Chapter 17

More Important than a Sociology Lecture

“ A bsolutely not,” Natalie says firmly, her knuckles tightening over the steering wheel.

“Come on!” I turn in the passenger seat to face her, disappointment cinching my stomach. “This is a perfect opportunity. Libraries are huge, and there are tens of thousands of items that could be carrying the curse. Let me help you narrow it down.”

The morning is chilly and overcast, and we’re headed to UBC, where she’ll come to all three of my lectures in case the Madsens decide to stalk me. That’s what she and Fiona decided—that she’ll guard me while I continue everyday life until they can be sure the Madsens won’t come after me.

“We have an idea of where it is,” Natalie says. “Mostly because the librarian keeps stubbing her toe in one corner.”

“But my help pinpointing it would save you a lot of time. ”

She hesitates—either realizing I’m right or regretting telling me her assignment is in one of the university libraries. She shakes her head. “You’re not coming.”

I scoff and face forward, watching students pass by out the window. I should’ve kept my mouth shut and followed her without asking. Better to ask for forgiveness than permission , or however the saying goes.

Anyway, I’ve got time. I’ll seize my opportunity when it comes.

I direct Natalie to a parking lot, and we walk through a light drizzle to my first class: sociology.

“Did you and Sky grow up in CSAMM, or is there a special school somewhere?” I ask as we enter the warm lecture hall.

I lead us past the scattered students to the empty back corner. Gazes snag on us, a level of attention that makes me fidget. Apparently, whether we’re in a thrift store or a lecture hall, Natalie has a way of turning heads. She’s got her hair in a high bun today, rocking a masc look that weakens my knees.

I bite my lip and dip my chin, fighting a smile. The thrill of her escorting me to class far overpowers the guilt of taking her away from her responsibilities. For the day, she’s mine, and I’ll relish every moment.

“We went to a normal school until Sky was seven and I was ten,” she murmurs, oblivious to the stares. “Then we moved into CSAMM and were homeschooled from there.” She sheds her bomber jacket, her scent beckoning me, and hangs it over the back of the seat. At the sight of the black button-up shirt hugging her waist, heat flares inside me that has nothing to do with the lecture hall’s stuffy air.

I sit beside her in the hard plastic chair. “That must’ve been rough, going to a normal school and keeping a secret at a young age.”

She hesitates. “The hardest part was letting go of the friends I made when I had to start homeschooling. I resisted for the first year. Just wanted to be like them so I could stay.”

I nod, imagining little Natalie having to leave her friends behind. “I guess we’re all desperate to fit in as kids—to be like our friends. Even if it means ignoring part of who we are.”

There’s a flicker of intrigue in her eyes. “You too?”

Forced together by the cramped seats, she’s so close that our arms touch, and her minty breath caresses my cheeks. Her undivided attention is like a flame against my skin.

“Yeah.” My hands are clumsy as I take out my notebook and pen. “I know it’s not the same, but I felt that with my cultural identity. In elementary school, all my friends were white, and the more I noticed our differences, the more I tried to mold myself to be like them. It wasn’t until I met Hazel that I realized I’d been neglecting half of who I was. I was trying to be like my friends, but I lost a part of me in the process.”

She nods, searching my face with a furrowed brow.

The prof arrives and gets settled, plugging in her laptop and opening a slideshow.

“It’s good you recognized that,” Natalie murmurs. “I think some people lose part of who they are and don’t realize it.”

I look at her sharply. “You feel like you are?”

Her brows arch, and she runs a finger over her bottom lip, like she’s debating how to answer. “Being in CSAMM… it’s like our whole identity. I don’t know who I am outside it, and I don’t think anyone else does, either.” She drops her hand. “I’ve never talked about this with anyone but Sky. She feels the same… Like we’re missing part of who we are because our life is just about our duty to the cause.”

This glimpse of vulnerability is intriguing. Natalie’s life and family feel more mysterious than ever—even to her, it seems.

It’s like invisible threads are stitching us together. I want to know her, to understand her .

“Well, it’s important to express every part of yourself,” I say. “The parts that make you similar to your peers… and the parts that make you unique.”

She holds my gaze, a wistful smile on her lips.

The prof starts talking, going through a list of what we’ll cover this term. I look at the slide, but what’s on it doesn’t matter.

Natalie shifts, her chair creaking, her arm brushing distractingly against mine. “Do you feel like you found belonging?”

“I did. But now…” I hesitate. My family’s always been my belonging—being an Alexander. “Moving away from home didn’t help. It’s like starting over.”

“You haven’t found your people at university?”

A strand came loose from her bun while we were outside, and I grip my pen harder to stop myself from reaching up and tucking it back. “Not really. I’ve found people who I might call friends, but no sense of home yet.”

“I think that’s normal for someone who’s a little bit introverted.”

I nudge her, a pleasant jolt shooting up my arm. “Who says I’m introverted?”

“Just a hunch I had when we packed up your cat, plants, and impressive array of loungewear. Not to mention all the pillows, essential oils, and novels we had to leave behind.”

I stifle a laugh, heat blooming in my cheeks as she recounts the details of my personal space. My heart flutters uncontrollably at her cute half-smile, her closeness and warmth, her searching gaze.

My phone lights up with a text.

Clayton

Hey, we’re studying at the cafe over lunch if you want to join.

His blunt, exclamation-mark free message hints that he’s still feeling awkward about his advances on New Year’s Eve.

Katie

Thanks, I won’t be able to make it today though.

In my periphery, Natalie looks sideways at my phone.

“Classmate,” I explain.

She says nothing.

“Are you jealous?” I tease, shamelessly hoping for a specific answer.

“Do you want me to be jealous?” she asks.

I narrow my eyes.

“You should be taking notes,” she adds.

“Yeah, yeah.” I grab my pen again and try to pay attention—but the invisible threads between us continue to pull tight, more questions fighting their way forward. “How did you and Sky get into your lines of work? Is it because you can do earth magic?”

The corner of her mouth quirks, pulling my attention to her lips. They’re the perfect shape, so smooth and full.

She glances at the prof, like she’s considering telling me we can talk about this later—but to my delight, she leans in, dipping her head closer to mine. “All witches can do the same magic. Our roles are more like career paths, and we’re sorted into them as teenagers based on our personalities and strengths. For Shadows, they have to be physically fit, fearless, and have strong morals. Like, you can’t hesitate to take someone down when the time comes, but you need to keep a level head.”

Makes sense, from what I saw of Sky. “And your job?”

“Guardians have to be ready to do whatever it takes to track down a curse. You can’t be afraid to come face-to-face with a dangerous one. You’ve also got to be a little outgoing because it can be a social career.”

I hum. I could summon bravery, but the ‘outgoing and social’ part would be my downfall.

“The goal is to nab items before they fall into the wrong hands,” she says, “which is why I’m on call as a vet. My first job was at a recycling depot. Found a couple of cursed electronics in my time there. ”

I try to picture a teenage Natalie. Was she lanky and pimply like I was? At what age did she grow into this absolute goddess?

“I guess odd jobs like piano tuning and working at a thrift shop would also be appropriate?” I venture.

Her eyebrows shoot up.

I smile. “I may have done a bit of research after we met.”

She studies me, a glint of amusement in her eyes. She hasn’t leaned away, and the closeness makes my insides simmer.

“Were you happy when they made you a Guardian, or would you have wanted to be something else?” I ask.

She frowns. The prof’s words drift somewhere in the distance, an incomprehensible murmur. Finally, she says, “Nobody’s asked me that before.”

Her arms are pinned to her sides, like she would be more comfortable if she could spread them out—maybe sling one over the back of my chair.

The silence stretches on, and when it’s clear she’s not going to answer my question, I ask, “What other careers are there?”

“Well, the original two guilds were Shadows and Alchemists, hence CSAMM’s name. But since its inception, more specialties have been added.” Her shoulders relax, and she seems grateful for the change of topic. “Alchemists do a few different things, like create the compounds that neutralize curses. They’re the brainiest, the meticulous ones who don’t mess up numbers or instructions. They spend a lot of time thinking, exploring, and creating.”

Sounds like a career for Hazel.

I open my mouth to ask what else Alchemists do—the mysterious work that falls under ‘a few different things’—but she continues before I can speak.

“We’ve also got Trackers, who search for curses in less obvious places. They’re like… archaeologists, kind of. They have to be okay with leaving for months at a time, sometimes venturing alone, other times in groups. My dad is one. He doesn’t care where he’s going, as long as it’s somewhere new.”

“Which is why he’s in Turkey right now?”

She fidgets with a bent corner of my notebook, trying to smooth it. “Yep.”

Finally, information about her family. But it’s all still hazy, everything about her life and the world of witches a big mystery.

“Are you close with him?” I ask.

“We text a lot. Updates on work, mostly. But I hear from him almost every day.” She reaches toward her pocket as if to hold onto the device that keeps them in touch, then crosses her arms. “Anyway, then there’s our government, which is made up of Directors like Fiona and Agnes—”

“Agnes is in government ?” I blurt, then duck down a little as a guy a few rows down glances back at us.

“She’s junior, but yeah,” Natalie says with a sigh. “She wasn’t always this intense. I think the power got to her head.”

I wrinkle my nose. “Their meetings must be a blast.”

Natalie chuckles. “So, those are the coven’s five guilds—Shadows, Alchemists, Guardians, Trackers, and Directors. There are other professions in the building, of course, like cleaners, cooks…”

“Would I be a Tracker?” I ask. “Because I can sense curses? I think that’d be useful.”

Her expression clouds over. “No. You’d be none of them. And that’s the beautiful thing.”

Disappointment flickers inside me.

The energy between us thickens. Her shoulders are tense, her brow pinched. She’s back to the protective mode I saw when she stormed after Freddie in that alley—dead serious about not wanting me to be a part of any of this .

It hurts as much as it warms me. I should be grateful that she’s concerned about my safety, but gratitude is tough when it means she has to keep me at arm’s length.

“You really should be paying attention,” she murmurs, her breath tickling my lips.

I swallow hard and look ahead. She’s right, but how can I pay attention to a sociology lecture when the alternative is talking about magic with Natalie?

I manage to take three lines of notes before the lecture ends.

When we leave, we walk a little closer together this time. Though I hope it’s because she’s feeling more comfortable, it could also just be a protective thing.

My second class is English Literature. It’s in a classroom setting instead of a hall, with enough desks and seats for about thirty students.

Natalie pauses at the door. “Think the prof will notice I’m not registered?”

I grimace, recalling a small class I took last term where the prof took attendance. “It’s possible.”

“I can wait for you here.”

I picture her standing outside the door like a bouncer while I sit inside the classroom for the next hour. “Or you can go grab a coffee or something instead of lurking like a weirdo.”

She shoves me playfully, sending a pleasant tingle through my midsection.

I grin. “Natalie, I don’t think a Madsen is going to barge into this room and abduct me in front of all these people. Go get a Starbucks. My treat.”

“I’m fine, thanks.” She shifts on her feet. “Listen, the curse I need to neutralize is in Woodward Library. If I go take care of that quickly, you promise you’ll wait for me when class is done?”

“Yeah, for sure,” I say casually, averting my gaze so she won’t see the flash of victory in my eyes. Woodward Library.

She squints suspiciously. “You’d better.”

I cock an eyebrow. “Or what?”

She steps in, her body heat radiating. “Or you’ll be in big trouble.”

I open my mouth, but no sound comes out. Is it inappropriate to tell her that’s more of an invitation than a threat?

She backs up, the hint of playfulness vanishing. “Seriously. See you soon.”

As she leaves me melting into a puddle, I drag my feet into the classroom and settle into a plastic seat.

My knee bounces. My window of opportunity is here.

At the front of the room, the prof settles in and checks his watch.

I need to follow Natalie. As pissed off as she’ll be when I show up in the library, how else am I supposed to prove I can be helpful? She’s being stubborn, and I have to take this into my own hands.

Before I lose my nerve—and before the prof can start talking—I grab my bag and bolt. A few people curiously watch me leave.

My heart slams into my ribs as I walk down the hallway. Natalie is going to be furious. But I tried to ask for a fair trial, and she wouldn’t listen. A single test in a lab with a bunch of people watching wasn’t good enough.

I push through the doors, the chilly January air biting my cheeks… and my steps falter. Guilt crushes me, slowing my feet until I come to a stop beneath an overhang.

This is shitty of me. Natalie clearly wants to keep me safe.

“Dammit,” I whisper. A ball of frustration forms as I stand on the paved walkway. What am I supposed to do? Yes, Natalie is being overprotective by refusing to let me help, but she’s going out of her way for me, and I don’t want to be ungrateful.

Do fighting for myself and betraying Natalie really have to be the same thing? Isn’t there another way ?

I bite my lip. My inner moral compass spins around and around before stopping, pointing firmly back inside.

Ugh. My annoying guilty conscience.

I growl and spin—and smack into someone in a leather jacket.

“Oops!” She puts her hands on my shoulders before either of us can fall over. “Watch out, sweetheart.”

Heat rushes up my neck. “I’m so sorry.”

I look up into the face of a girl my age with snow-white skin and black hair worn in a short shag. Between her muscular build, black lipstick and eyeshadow, septum piercing, and the razor lines notched into her eyebrows, there’s an intensity about her that dares anyone to mess with her.

I make a sound like an awkward laugh and step back.

It’s then that I realize her hands haven’t left my shoulders.

Her grip tightens as she sets her dark lips into a knowing smile. “Nice to finally meet you. I’m Oaklyn Madsen.”