Page 7 of Soul Bound (Cursed Descent (MistHallow Academy) #2)

7

MATILDA

Leaving Chaos to curl up on my bed, I rush through my shower, the scorching water blasting against my skin. My mind is a jumbled mess as I try to make sense of everything that’s happened. The creepy cavern encounter, the disturbing blood ritual, and the army of skeleton warriors, not to mention who sent them after us. But it’s Blackthorn’s bombshell about the unfinished curse that has me on edge.

As I stand under the steaming water, a feeling of unease gnaws at me. It looks like we’ve stumbled into something way more dangerous and complicated than we thought.

I dry off quickly and throw on my last set of clean clothes, and repack my backpack with school supplies, making a mental note to find the laundry room tonight after the meeting with Blackthorn. Heading to the dining hall, my stomach growls, and I pick up my pace.

The guys are already there when I arrive, huddled together at a table in the corner, a plate piled high with sandwiches, crisps and biscuits between them.

“Thank fuck,” I say, sliding into a seat next to Vex, pick up the closest sandwich and take a big bite. It’s roast beef with salt and pepper and tastes like heaven.

I devour the sandwich in record time, barely pausing to breathe as I pick up another. The guys watch me silently demolish a ham and cheese and rip open a packet of salt and vinegar crisps.

“Slow down, you’ll give yourself indigestion,” Vex says.

I nod, already reaching for another sandwich. “Fuck that. I’m starving.”

Luc’s eyes narrow slightly. “How are you feeling otherwise? Any changes?”

I pause mid-bite, catching the worry in his tone. “Changes? Like what?”

He shrugs, trying to appear casual. “I don’t know. Just different in any way?”

I consider for a moment, doing a mental check of my body and emotions. Besides being ravenously hungry and still a bit shaken from our underground adventure, I feel normal. “No, I don’t think so. Why?”

Luc avoids Draven’s intense stare. “No reason. Just checking.”

I’m not convinced, but I’m too hungry to press the issue right now. I polish off another sandwich and handful of crisps before finally slowing down and cracking open a can of pop that Vex hands me.

“So,” I say, wiping my mouth with a napkin. “Are we going to tell Blackthorn about the skelly army and its original master?”

Draven’s expression darkens. “No, not yet. I want to speak to Night about it first.”

“Are we sure that’s a good plan? If we tell Blackthorn, he will believe us and have our back.”

“I hear you, but if we tell Blackthorn, and he does his duty as Headmaster of MistHallow and confronts Night first to protect the students and staff alike, we may not get any answers,” he protests.

“Oh,” I say, getting it. “Yeah, I hear you.”

“Plus, it’s a big accusation to make without proof,” Vex adds, ignoring the death stare Draven sends him. “He might be new here, but he is a powerful warlock and only one of a small handful of Professors who can teach Dark Magick at all levels.”

“So what?” Draven spits out. “We let this lie?”

“No, we go to afternoon classes, speak to Blackthorn at five, and make Night sweat a little, seeing as he must’ve noticed us notice him. Then we go and find out what he knows,” Vex says.

“Sounds solid,” I say, reaching for a chicken mayo sandwich. Before I take a bite, I add, “I have Basic Fire Magick, and I’m actually quite excited about it.”

“Ooo, fire,” Luc says, his heated gaze on me. “You can practise on me anytime.”

I roll my eyes at Luc’s flirtatious comment. “I’ll keep that in mind,” I say dryly.

We finish our lunch, the conversation drifting to lighter topics as we try to shake off the tension from the morning’s events. As we’re about to head to our afternoon classes, Vex pulls me aside.

“Be careful in Fire Magick,” he says in a low voice. “With everything that’s happened, your powers might be a bit unpredictable.”

I nod, appreciating his concern. “I’ll be careful, I promise.”

As I make my way to the Fire Magick classroom, I can’t shake the feeling of unease that’s been lingering since our underground adventure. There are still so many unanswered questions swirling in my mind.

The Fire Magick classroom is a large, square room with stone walls and a high domed ceiling. Braziers line the walls, casting flickering shadows across the room. Professor Ember, a tall woman with flame-red hair, stands at the front of the class.

“Welcome, students,” she says as we file in and take our seats. “Today, we’ll be working on basic flame conjuring and control.”

My excitement builds as she demonstrates the proper hand movements and incantations. When it’s our turn to try, I focus intently, channelling my energy as I’ve been taught. To my delight, a small flame appears in my palm, dancing and flickering.

I beam with pride and for a moment, I’m able to forget about all the chaos and danger we’ve been dealing with.

“Well done, Matilda,” Professor Ember says, nodding approvingly as she passes by. “Now try to make it grow slightly larger.”

I focus, willing the flame to expand. It flares up, doubling in size. But then something shifts. The flame suddenly surges, tripling in size in an instant.

“Whoa!” I yelp, startled by the unexpected growth.

Professor Ember whirls around, her eyes widening. “Matilda, extinguish it now!”

I try to snuff out the flame, but it only grows larger, feeding off my panic. Within seconds, it engulfs my entire arm. The heat is intense, but strangely, it doesn’t burn.

“I can’t put it out!” I cry, shaking my arm frantically.

The rest of the class backs away as Professor Ember rushes over. She mutters an incantation, and the flames flicker and die, leaving my hand completely unscathed.

“Are you okay?” she asks, examining my arm.

I nod, still shaken. “Y-yes. I don’t know what happened.”

Professor Ember frowns. “Your control slipped. It happens sometimes with new students, but that was unusual. The flame shouldn’t have grown so quickly or intensely.” She studies me for a moment. “Perhaps we should stick to observing for the rest of the class.”

I nod, embarrassed and frustrated. As I take my seat, I can feel the curious stares of my classmates. My cheeks burn, and not from the residual heat of the flames.

The rest of the class passes slowly as I watch the other students practice. My mind keeps replaying the incident, trying to figure out what went wrong. Was it just beginner’s bad luck, or something more? Vex’s warning about my powers being unpredictable echoes in my head. I guess the Praxian Druid Whatever magick that has been unleashed wanted more. I take a moment to consider that really, it could’ve been much worse. Ember talked about my control slipping, but I don’t think it’s that. I’ve held onto dear life to this power since I took the pendant off, and so far, it hasn’t been as destructive as I had envisioned.

When class ends, I hurry out, wanting to avoid any questions from my classmates. I’m so distracted that I nearly collide with someone in the hallway.

“Hey, girl,” Sammy says, giving me a bright smile. “Ready for Air Magick class?”

I nod, still contemplative. “Yeah, hopefully it will go better than Fire Magick.”

“Why? What happened?” she asks as we walk towards the Air Magick lecture hall.

“Things went sideways, and I was sidelined,” I grumble.

“Oh,” she says kindly. “It happens. We all lose control sometimes.”

I grimace, wanting to tell her it wasn’t my control but rather the magick inside me wasn’t satisfied with a tiny flame. It wanted a roaring fire. It should scare me, but it doesn’t. I know nothing about this magick, what it does, what my limits are. But it doesn’t feel unfamiliar. If anything, it feels like an old friend I’ve known for years. How is that possible?

We enter Air Magick, and I feel like I can breathe again after the stifling Fire Magick lecture hall.

As we settle into our seats, I try to push the Fire Magick incident out of my mind. Professor Whiston starts the lesson on basic wind manipulation.

“Today, we’ll be practising how to create and direct gentle breezes,” she says, demonstrating with a graceful wave of her hand. A soft current of air swirls around the room, rustling papers and lifting strands of hair.

I take a deep breath, determined to keep better control this time.

When it’s our turn to try, I focus intently, picturing the air molecules moving at my command. To my relief, a slight breeze forms around my fingertips.

“Very good, Sammy,” Professor Whiston says to her with an encouraging smile. “Now try to direct it towards that feather on my desk.”

Sammy focuses, and the feather floats off the desk before settling back down.

“Yes!” she says excitedly.

“Matilda?” Professor Whiston turns her attention to me.

I nod, concentrating on guiding the breeze. The feather quivers, then slowly rises into the air. A sense of accomplishment washes over me as I maintain the gentle current.

But then, just as I start to relax, the breeze suddenly intensifies. The feather shoots across the room like it’s been fired from a cannon, narrowly missing another student’s head before embedding its sharp point in the wall.

“Oh crap,” I mutter, dropping my hands as the wind dies down. “I’m so sorry!”

Professor Whiston hurries over. “Matilda. What was that?”

I shake my head, cheeks burning with embarrassment. “I don’t know what happened.”

The professor examines the feather stuck in the wall, then turns back to me with a thoughtful expression. “Your power seems unusually intense. Have you been practising outside of class?”

“No, not really,” I mumble, avoiding her gaze. I can’t exactly tell her about the underground rituals and curse-breaking adventures.

“Hmm,” she muses. “Well, perhaps we should work on some basic control exercises before moving on to active manipulation. Why don’t you stay after class, and we can go over some techniques?”

I nod gratefully, relieved she’s not kicking me out of class entirely. As the lesson continues, I try to focus, but my mind keeps wandering back to the incident. Two classes in a row where my magick has gone haywire. This can’t be a coincidence.

When class ends, I wave goodbye to Sammy and approach Professor Whiston’s desk. She smiles warmly at me.

“Now then, let’s see if we can get to the bottom of this, shall we?” she says, leading me to an open area of the classroom. “Close your eyes and take a deep breath. I want you to visualise your magical energy as a river flowing through you.”

I do as she instructs and close my eyes, taking a deep breath, trying to visualise my magical energy as Professor Whiston instructed. At first, all I see is darkness. But as I focus, I sense something. Not quite a river, but more like a swirling vortex of power within me. It shimmers and shifts, far more volatile than the calm flow I was expecting.

“Now,” Professor Whiston’s voice comes softly, “try to direct just a small trickle of that energy to your fingertips. Imagine it as a tiny stream branching off from the main river.”

I concentrate, attempting to guide a small portion of the energy. But it’s like trying to redirect a tsunami with a teaspoon. The power surges forward, overwhelming my attempts at control. A gust of wind whips around me, scattering papers across the room.

“Matilda!” Professor Whiston calls out sharply. “Pull it back!”

I grit my teeth, struggling to rein in the magick. Slowly, painfully, I manage to stem the flow. The wind dies down, leaving the classroom in disarray. I open my eyes, panting slightly from the effort.

Professor Whiston is staring at me, her expression full of concern but also a hint of fascination. “That was unexpected,” she says carefully. “Your magickal core seems incredibly potent. Far more so than is typical for a student at your level. Perhaps Basic Air Magick isn’t the right class for you.”

“No,” I say, shaking my head. “Please don’t kick me out. I want to learn. This was something I was really excited about.”

“Oh, no, Matilda. I’m not talking about removing you from the programme. But I feel that your powers, while unfocused, are already too powerful. You are working with advanced-level powers but with a lack of training. Unfortunately, that means I have to remove you from this class. It is too dangerous for the students here who are at a basic level of training.”

“So you are kicking me out,” I say, deflated.

“No, I said I wasn’t, didn’t I,” she says with a pointed stare. “But we need to find you a more fulfilling environment. Let me have a word with Professor Blackthorn and Professor Gale. I’m sure we can come up with something. In the meantime, keep attending this class, but just for theory. Okay?”

“So I can’t practise?”

She shakes her head, a sympathetic smile on her face. “Not until we have found you a safe place to practise.”

“Okay,” I say quietly, feeling really miserable now. But I suppose it’s for the best. The power inside me is advanced. It’s just me, the dud witch who can’t cast a spell to save her life. With a sigh, I give her a sad smile and leave the lecture hall, wishing it were five o’clock already, and I didn’t have to attend any more classes. Not even the prospect of Basic Defensive Incantations cheers me up.

Although, as soon as I step into the room not that far from Air Magick, that changes. There is a buzz in the air, and it brings home the fact that this is probably the most beneficial class I can take right now. Especially if, for some horrible reason, we have to go back underground.

As I settle into my seat for Basic Defensive Incantations, I try to shake off the disappointment from my earlier classes. The room is bustling with energy, students chattering excitedly as they take their places. Professor Waldron, a tall, imposing woman with sharp features and piercing green eyes, strides to the front of the class.

“Settle down, everyone,” she says, her voice cutting through the noise. “Today, we’ll be learning about shield charms, one of the most fundamental defensive spells in any witch or warlock’s arsenal.”

My interest piques immediately. This is exactly the kind of practical magick I need right now.

“A properly cast shield charm can deflect most minor to moderate hexes and curses,” Professor Waldron continues. “It’s not foolproof against the darkest of magick, but it can buy you precious seconds in a dangerous situation.”

She demonstrates the hand movement: a quick, circular motion followed by a sharp jab forward as she mutters, “Shield.” She pauses to let that sink in. “The key is to visualise an impenetrable barrier forming around you as you cast.”

We practise the hand movement for a few minutes before Professor Waldron has us pair up to test our shields against minor stinging hexes, handing out sheets with the hex on which we need to read from to cast.

I partner with a nervous-looking boy named Ethan. “You can go first,” I offer, hoping to avoid another magickal mishap.

Ethan nods gratefully and raises his hand. “Shield!”

A faint shimmer appears in front of Ethan, wavering slightly. I cast a mild stinging hex as instructed on the sheet, and to my relief, it dissipates harmlessly against his shield.

“Well done!” I say encouragingly. Ethan beams, looking proud of himself.

Now it’s my turn. I take a deep breath. Remembering Professor Waldron’s instructions, I visualise an impenetrable barrier surrounding me as I make the circular motion with my hand.

“Shield!” I call out firmly.

To my surprise and delight, a solid-looking silvery dome materialises around me.

Ethan’s eyes widen. “Whoa, that looks really strong!”

He casts the stinging hex, which rebounds off my shield with a satisfying ‘ping.’ But then something unexpected happens. The hex ricochets back towards Ethan at twice the speed. He yelps and ducks just in time to avoid being hit.

“Sorry!” I exclaim, dropping the shield immediately. “Are you okay?”

Professor Waldron hurries over. “What happened here?”

“It’s my fault,” I say quickly. “My shield was too strong, I think. It reflected the hex back really forcefully.”

The professor eyes me curiously. “May I see your shield charm again, Matilda?”

Nervously, I nod and recast the shield spell. The silvery dome materialises around me once again, even stronger than before. Professor Waldron’s eyebrows shoot up.

“Remarkable,” she murmurs. “This is far beyond basic level shielding. The strength and clarity of your shield is more akin to what we’d expect from an advanced student.”

I gulp back my unease, but it has become plain now. I need to talk to Blackthorn about this. I can’t keep putting these young students in danger.

“Perhaps you have been assigned to the wrong class, dear?”

“Perhaps,” I mutter. “I’ll have a word with Professor Blackthorn.”

“Do that,” she says with a small sniff and crosses over to another couple of students.

“Sorry,” I mutter to Ethan.

He shrugs, but I can tell he is not happy with me. I don’t blame him. I could’ve hurt him. Chewing my lip, I back away and pick up my backpack, then I duck out of class. Professor Waldron doesn’t even try to stop me.

Sighing, I lean against the wall of the hallway and close my eyes. I’m tired of being the odd one out. First, I can’t do magick without it backfiring, and now I’m too volatile for the classes I’ve been placed in. There has to be a middle ground. Somewhere. Right?