Chapter 38 38- Never Ask Him for Help With Fire Magic
LEXI
When Blake leaves, it’s like the entire room exhales at once. I feel it ripple outward, chairs creaking as people shift, shoulders loosening, a few too-loud laughs breaking the tension like someone testing whether it’s safe to make noise again. The air itself feels different, less dense. Less… Charged. I don’t join them. I actually hold my breath for a moment, waiting. Waiting for someone to say something. Waiting for a comment, a joke, a complaint. Waiting for anything to happen now that the dragon has gone. I can hear whispering, soft, urgent murmurs sliding between desks, but nothing loud enough for me to make out individual words. Just the sound of people processing. And then… Nothing. Professor Matthews clears his throat, loud and deliberate, and the moment passes.
“All right. Let’s begin.” He says briskly, clapping his hands once. No confrontation. No pointed looks. No sudden accusations. Just… Class. How anticlimactic. There’s no practical activity today, which is both disappointing and an enormous relief. My shoulders loosen a fraction as I realise I won’t be touching anything hot, sharp, or unstable for the next hour. Fine. I’ll take the win. Professor Matthews lectures for a while, voice booming, words rolling easily off his tongue, then assigns a reading task and starts pacing the room. Chairs scrape softly as books open. Pages turn. The low hum of quiet concentration settles in. I’m halfway through the first page when I realise he’s stopped moving. He’s standing beside my desk.
“Miss Elle. You’re… Looking better.” He says, voice lowered. His posture is stiff, almost formal, like he’s chosen every word carefully. I glance up and give him a friendly smile, one meant to reassure rather than invite questions.
“Thanks.” I say easily.
“I feel way better. Pretty much one hundred percent. See? No burns or anything.” I tell him as I hold my arm out without thinking, rotating it slightly. The skin is faintly pink in places but smooth, unbroken. No blistering. No angry marks. Professor Matthews nods at first, expression softening with visible relief. Then his smile fades. His brow furrows, not deeply, but enough that I notice, and he leans a fraction closer, eyes scanning my arm with new intensity.
“They really do look better.” He says slowly.
“Did a healer come to visit you in the infirmary?” He asks. I blink, confused.
“No.” I answer honestly.
“It was just me and Annie. She put some kind of salve on to help the burns, but that’s probably it.” I respond. He hums under his breath, still watching my arm like it might change if he looks long enough.
“Maybe.” He murmurs, not quite to me. Something about his tone makes my stomach flutter, not fear, exactly. More like curiosity. Or uncertainty.
“Well…” He says at last, straightening.
“I’m glad you’re okay. Get on with your reading.” He instructs me. I nod and lower my arm, doing as I’m told. That was odd. As for the reading? It’s… Kind of boring. The chapter is all about how temperature affects potion potency. It’s long-winded and overly academic, filled with examples that all circle the same point. Hot potions are stronger than cold ones. Frozen potions are nearly useless. Most potions are best fresh and degrade over time. Some can be frozen and reheated, but the quality drops, like a reheated microwave meal. Edible, technically effective, but lacking whatever makes it good. By the end of the chapter, I’ve distilled it down to three sentences in my notes.
Fresh is best.
Heat increases potency.
Label everything with dates.
I stare at the margin for a moment, pen hovering. This entire chapter could have been one paragraph. Still… I flip the page and keep reading.
I finish the reading and glance up at the clock. Still ten minutes left. Great. I sit there for a moment, pen hovering uselessly over the page, trying to look busy even though there’s absolutely nothing left to do. I could reread the chapter again, but the idea makes my eyes glaze over. I could stare out the window, but that feels too obvious. I could check my phone. I hesitate. I don’t actually know what the rules are here. There are a lot of rules, implied ones at least, and I’ve only been here a few days. Still, the worst thing that could happen is that I get told to put it away. I doubt I’ll be hauled off to detention or sacrificed in some ancient magical ritual over it. Probably. I slide my phone out anyway. I catch Professor Matthews glancing my way, and then, very deliberately, looking away. Ah. That tells me two things. One, it’s probably not allowed. Two, he has absolutely no intention of stopping me. I feel a small twinge of guilt, but Blake’s words from earlier echo in my head. It won’t hurt anyone. And he’s right. I’m not disrupting the class. I’m not distracting anyone. If there was actual work to do, that would be different, but there isn’t. Which makes this one of those rules that exists just to exist. I unlock my phone. Almost against my will, my thumb opens SCRI. I grimace instantly. The very first thing on my feed is another video of the potion being dumped on me, slowed down this time, as if that somehow makes it entertaining, followed by a string of stupid comments about ‘getting burned’ and ‘instant karma.’ My jaw tightens. I scroll. A few posts down, I see a picture of Blake and me walking together this morning. It’s taken from behind, slightly blurry, like whoever snapped it didn’t want to be noticed. We’re close, my arm looped through his, his head tilted toward me like he’s listening. The comments make my stomach sink. ‘Messed up.’ ‘She knows exactly what she’s doing.’ ‘Guess diamonds really do buy loyalty.’ Messed up… HOW? We were WALKING. Literally just walking. Talking about the dance tomorrow night. No touching beyond what anyone would see between friends. No secret glances. No drama. It’s about as innocent as it gets. I let out a slow breath and lock my phone, sliding it back into my bag like it’s burned me. People are awful. The clock ticks forward, mercifully close to the end of class now. Blake will be here any minute to meet me for Basic Spellcasting. The thought steadies me. And, once again, the question surfaces. Should I tell him? He said he doesn’t care about SCRI. He said he doesn’t want to read what people are saying. And maybe that’s true, maybe he really doesn’t want to give them that power. But I don’t think he realises how bad it is. Or how much of it is aimed at me. Maybe he would want to know. Maybe he’d want to do something about it. Protect me. Shut it down the same way he shut everything else down. The idea sends a small, uneasy twist through my chest. I don’t want to be the one who sets that off. Maybe that makes me cowardly. Or maybe it just means I’m trying, clumsily, to protect him the way he keeps protecting me. I honestly don’t know. The class finishes and people start to move, snapping me out of my thoughts, and I tuck my phone away for good as chairs scrape and people start to stand.
As I predicted, Blake is walking up just as I exit the room. I don’t hesitate. I hurry over and grab his arm.
“Let’s go.” I say cheerfully, tugging him along. He glances down at me, already scanning my face like he’s checking for damage.
“Was your class okay? Any trouble?” He asks.
“No trouble. Kind of boring, honestly.” I admit. He gives a small shrug, completely unbothered.
“Better boring than dangerous.” He says firmly. The words hit me just right, and before I can stop myself, I burst out laughing. Blake stops walking. He turns to me, brow furrowed, clearly trying to work out what part of that sentence was funny.
“What?” He asks. It takes me a moment to get my laughter under control. I wipe at my eyes, still grinning.
“Nothing really. It’s just… Everyone keeps saying, Including you, that you’re the most dangerous thing here. So by that logic, if boring is better than dangerous, I should probably be avoiding you entirely.” I point out, still snickering. He frowns immediately, like the suggestion offends him on a fundamental level.
“I’m not dangerous to you.” He says. Not louder. Not angry. Certain. The laughter fades as the words settle in. I pause for half a second, caught off guard by how absolute he sounds. Not defensive. Not reassuring. Just… Stating a fact. And I believe him. We start walking again, and I realise my shoulders have dropped without me noticing. Of course it’s true. Blake cares about me. When I’m with him, I feel protected in a way I’ve never really felt before, like whatever dangers exist here simply don’t apply to me when he’s near. We make it to Basic Spellcasting, and to my surprise, it’s actually pretty interesting. Today we’re learning about the basic rules of spellcasting, and the main focus is energy. Magical energy. Apparently, every spell is limited by how much energy you have available, which varies wildly depending on your species. Most witches, we’re told, are essentially human but with abnormally high magical reserves. Shifters, on the other hand, all have some magic, at the very least, enough to fuel their shift. But some shifters have more than just the bare minimum. Like dragons. Magical creatures. The professor explains that wolf shifters and shifters who live in packs technically also have extra energy, but it works differently. Individually, they don’t have much more than average, but as a pack they’re incredibly strong. Something about shared magic, shared intent. It’s very… Teamwork oriented. Which is fine I suppose. But not really my thing. Still, I consider what we’re learning and I try to apply all of this to myself but I come up empty. It doesn’t really narrow anything down. We already KNOW I’m a shifter, but not all shifters are here. Which means I must have some extra capacity beyond the basics. Right? Not the bottom of the scale, at least. That’s… Something. The class passes surprisingly quickly, my thoughts looping between energy levels, spell limits, and unanswered questions about myself. And then… Shifter Basics. I suppress a sigh as we head toward the classroom. Ugh.