Page 7 of Spellcaster (Weatherstone College #1)

I ’ d barely been at Weatherstone for two hours and I’d already screwed up the part where I promised Dad I’d stay away from

Logan Kingston. Not that this was my fault; it was the fault of the asshole who’d stopped us in the hall. An asshole I had

no interest in seeing.

Liar.

There were times I wanted to tell my inner voice to fuck off, because I wasn’t about the truth right now. This was about staying

at Weatherstone, and more importantly, staying alive.

The spellcaster’s laughter was a delicious rumble, but there was no amusement. “Hallistars, always so arrogant.” His voice

was as deep as his laughter, with a slight accent that I couldn’t place. Ms. White had said he was transferring in from Italy,

but there was more than one country in that timbre. “Why do you hide your youngest? Where is my best friend, Paisley Hallistar?”

His voice lowered over best friend , leaving trickles of unease to settle in my gut. It took real talent to make pleasant words sound like a threat. It wasn’t

a skill I possessed, and even as he terrified me, I had to admire his work.

Needing to know what I was up against, and about done with my brothers’ posturing, I ducked between them before they could stop me.

With no more barriers between us, my gaze ended up locking onto a set of piercing green eyes.

The color was so light it was almost arctic, teaming perfectly with the chill in his expression as he stared me down.

Swallowing roughly, all my fighting words died on my tongue.

The goddesses had let me down.

Logan Kingston had not developed a beer gut, crooked nose, or acne.

He was glorious. Absolutely glorious, and completely terrifying.

Taller than my brothers, he towered over the five of us with golden skin and artfully tousled hair that was just a shade lighter

than black. A slight smirk played around the edge of lips that were lush but decidedly masculine, and once again there was

no corresponding humor in his flat expression.

Realizing he was examining me as closely as I was him, I forced myself to stop running my gaze over his unfortunate perfection

and focused on the giant behind him.

It spoke a lot of Logan that I hadn’t even noticed his friend until now. A friend who was at least six feet six, with skin

a few shades lighter than his buzzed dark brown hair, and built like a linebacker. He hadn’t said a word, appearing both relaxed

and neutral, but there was a coiled energy about him that told me if needed, he could turn from neutral to deadly in a heartbeat.

These warlocks exuded a darkly menacing aura, hidden under the guise of neutral expressions.

“What do you want, best friend ?” I managed to find my tongue, faking a bright smile. The air was electric between us. I had no idea what the battle was,

or who would draw the first blood, but it was a battle all the same. “We’re just heading for the welcome ceremony.”

He didn’t move closer, but I felt crowded as his gaze narrowed.

“I have everything I want, Paisley Hallistar.” His repeated use of my full name was crashing into my system, sending it fucking haywire.

Bastard was aware of it too, if that knowing smirk was any indication. “Don’t you remember our last days?”

Swallowing hard, it was a real effort to keep my voice neutral. “I don’t remember you,” I said flatly. “I was only four when

we were—”

“Torn apart?” he suggested. I found those words odd, and that heat in my veins surged again; my cheeks had better not look

as flushed as I felt.

His friend placed his giant hand on Logan’s shoulder, and for the mildest of reprieves I wasn’t trapped in that gaze. “It’s

time for assembly,” Giant said, words clipped as if he talked only when necessary.

An unspoken message passed between them, and I could feel how tense my siblings were around me, but no one broke the silence,

until Logan returned his icy, penetrating stare to me. “See you soon, Precious.”

Precious? Did that fuckwit of a spellcaster just call me—?

“What the fuck?” Trevor growled, swiping a hand through his dark hair until it stood up on end. “We should just kill him now

and get it over with.”

Jenna made a noise that sounded like shock but could have been horror. “Trev! What the Hel is wrong with you. You can’t threaten

warlocks like that, you’ll end up in prison.”

At that point, Trevor didn’t really appear to give a shit, but he also didn’t follow Logan and Giant, who were already halfway

down the hall, filling the space between the walls with their broad shoulders.

Meanwhile, I was in the midst of a mini panic attack because it was very clear who had drawn the first blood, and he’d done

so with polite conversation.

Jensen looked almost as pissed as Trevor. “That asshole was waiting for us. How did he know we were coming along at that moment?”

“Spellcaster,” I reminded them, my voice hollow. “They’re in touch with earth magic and can read the energy of others. The

five of us leave a distinct essence behind.”

Alice nodded, looking pale as she swallowed roughly. “She’s right.” Her focus turned to me, blocking out the others. “Are

you okay, sis? That felt a little confrontational.” Her empathy was second to none as she picked through the vibes of the

meeting.

Confrontational and deeply unnerving. “It felt like a threat,” I murmured, wondering if I was losing my mind. “Why is he focused

on me? This is a family vendetta, and yet... that felt...”

“Personal,” Trevor snarled, flames dancing in his eyes. “Which is exactly why we should kill him.”

Jenna shot a worried gaze around, but no one paid us any attention. “He was solely focused on you,” she said, the blue of her eyes darkening. We all had Hallistar blue eyes, in varying shades. I wondered if mine were as dark as my siblings’ right now.

“Too focused.” Trevor was getting more and more worked up. “Of course the bastard would be six feet five and built like a

brick shithouse.”

“With an even bigger friend,” Jensen reminded him.

Trevor breathed deeply through his nose. “I can still take him, don’t fucking worry about it.”

Before I could advise him to absolutely leave that terrifying warlock alone, Jensen slapped him on the shoulder. “You’ve got

me, bro. We’ll deal with him together.”

I was surrounded by idiots.

“No!” Jenna snapped. “Absolutely no one is dealing with him. We will ignore the Kingston in the school. We will not provoke

a spellcaster. Are you two insane?”

With that, she got us moving again, because we were really going to be late for the assembly. My watch told me it was nearing 5:00 p.m.

“Why did he move back now?” I asked, my brain stuck in a loop of Logan. Now that I had his grown-up face to go with the name,

I was finding it harder to block him from my thoughts. “Dad thinks it might be because we’re all in school here. Logan and

his father can deal with us in one place.”

No one had an answer, but their worried expressions remained as we entered the Zoo and joined the fray of students heading

to Writworth. We turned left into a hall and took a set of stairs two floors up to classrooms, their doors open to give me

a glimpse of desks and paraphernalia for spellwork. The scent of yarrow and thyme hit us as we passed a room with longer desks

and candles set up in pentacles. An apothecary classroom.

The assembly hall was at the end of this row, and when we entered the vast room, noise surrounded us. I couldn’t see Logan

and his friend anywhere. In fact, there was no one in this room I knew outside of my family. None of my classmates from secondary

had made it into Weatherstone, either due to a lack of power bloom or because they’d tested into another college. My best

friends, Trina Creston and Olivia Turn, were going to Wicca State, in California.

We’d promised to keep in touch, but the odds were that after a few months the calls would become fewer and further between.

College was where lifelong bonds were created in the magical world, because this was where we found our covens. Most of the

Weatherstone students would end up in the top covens as well.

As damn depressing as it was, the hierarchy existed for a reason, and it was all about power. Power and connections.

Jenna led us to the front, scowling at Trevor when the first few rows were already filled. We ended up in the fourth back, and my brothers, still riled up, looked like they’d kill the next witch or warlock to look sideways at us.

“Calm,” Alice whispered, placing her hand on their arms—she’d sat between them to settle their ire. “We’re all upset, but

we need to get it together. Trev, you’re two seconds from starting a fire with Jensen fanning the flames.”

Trevor turned to glower at her, but Alice was just too sweet. “Okay, fine,” he groaned. “You’re right. I just... I don’t

like that guy. He’s not to be trusted.”

As he said that, his flinty eyes met mine. “Zero percent trust here,” I said, holding my hands up to profess my innocence.

“Actually, is there a less than zero figure I can use? Because that’s where I’m at. He’s clearly an asshole, and I prefer to spend my time around people with

souls.”

A devastatingly gorgeous, broken asshole.

Trevor held my gaze for a few seconds, before he finally relaxed. “We’ll see,” I heard him mutter, as he turned to face the

front.

As the hall grew crowded with witches and warlocks, the college faculty filed onto the stage to sit in a long row off to the

side. There were thirty at least, but no sign of Dad, who must not have returned from Mom yet, allowing me the illusion of

being a college student a little longer.

The noise of the room died off when Headmaster Gregor stepped up to the small podium on the stage. I’d seen photos of him

in the Weatherstone brochure, and he looked exactly as I’d expected: a small, wiry man in his sixties with dark skin and a

full head of graying hair. He pushed his thin-framed glasses up on his long nose and swept his gaze across the hundreds of

students in the hall.