Emily focused, trying to sense the flow of magic. How the hell was magic supposed to feel? Every time she had encountered it before, she had felt… something. Like a sixth sense that couldn't be described—not sight, not smell, not sound, but something else.
Charlotte stood across from her, her light blue eyes seeming to glow in the dim classroom.
"Relax," Charlotte whispered.
Feel. Control. Command. Surrender.
Emily focused on her intent, willed the magic to reach out to Charlotte, to weave into her essence. At first, it was just a gentle wave—a soft breath of thought. But then… an explosion of hot, wicked feelings. She slammed into Charlotte as if hitting a wall, and yet Charlotte only smiled, narrowing her eyes, accepting the power, and then… she responded.
Emily gasped. Images surged into her mind—fingers on her skin, hot lips at her neck, a pulsing desire between her legs, Charlotte's hands caressing her gently, then roughly, slaps, Charlotte holding her from behind, completely claiming her, trapping her in burning arms. She tried to suppress it, but the wave crashed over her, stealing her control. She tried to dominate, to crush the magic in her fist, but Charlotte was faster. Now she was the one commanding, making Emily follow, tremble under her magic. It was bold, playful, unbearably enticing.
God, this was too much. She was falling for her too fast. She hadn't even noticed it happening—like magic… Maybe it was magic.
Charlotte suddenly pulled back, as if hearing her thoughts. Abruptly, as though burned. Her breathing was heavy, but in her eyes—fear. Without a word, she grabbed her things and fled the classroom.
Emily stood in the center of the room, her body still trembling from the experience. She took a step forward, but… No. She wouldn't chase after her. She wouldn't let herself be someone's toy.
***
The last lesson of the day was The History of Failure.
Old Professor Aylsworth leaned against his lectern, his eyes gleaming with enthusiasm for the subject. He was tall, with a bony face, a graying beard, and ink-stained hands. His voice was deep, brimming with history.
"Van Gogh," he began, "a genius whose magic was as mad as he was. His works blinded, his canvases pulled viewers into other worlds. But he couldn't control his power. He burned up in it. As did many from this Academy."
Emily tensed.
"You, students, are chosen as well. And if you're here, that means you have abilities that scare people."
He turned to the class.
"A simple exercise. Draw a circle and try to expand it with magic."
The students tried, but the results were weak. Some managed a faint pulse, others achieved nothing at all. When it was Emily's turn, she barely looked at the shape—and a golden pattern rippled before her, growing like a living thing. The lines pulsed, shifted, as if responding to her unconscious desires. The classroom fell silent.
Aylsworth nodded. But she was too preoccupied to savor her little triumph.
***
That evening, after dinner—where Charlotte sat at the far end of the table, eyes glued to her plate—Emily knocked on her door.
It took a while for Charlotte to open it. Her eyes were red, as if she'd been crying.
"Let's talk. Just explain to me what you're doing. I don't understand…" Emily began.
"You don't understand, yes," Charlotte said softly. "I have siren's blood."
Emily froze.
"I don't control my magic," Charlotte continued. "I can't tell what's real and what's just influence."
She turned away, hugging her arms.
"When I was little, I was thirteen…" Her voice wavered. "I kissed a girl for the first time. My nanny. She didn't know why she was so drawn to me. I didn't know how to stop it. I ruined everything, it was a disaster. And it was my fault. Then a few more stories like that, and, well—you get it."
Emily felt anger rising in her.
"So what was today? Were you just playing with me?"
Charlotte sighed.
Emily took a step back.
"If you can't trust yourself, how am I supposed to trust you?"
She turned and left, leaving Charlotte alone.
***
In her room, Emily cried herself to sleep.
This world… it was too much. The talk about picking a familiar (God, that too), magic, new sensations, the Academy… Madness. She missed her life in Sydney. Her friends. Even Grant, a little. And her dad. Did they worry about her? What was happening back home? The thought was terrifying.
And here—the first person she had opened up to, Hunter, had just abandoned her in the middle of Paris. Maybe he had reasons, but who does that? His crazy brother Morte, who hated his twin for reasons unknown. Looked a bit like a guy from the Inquisition.
But the worst part—Charlotte.
Was it siren's blood that had made Emily want her like that? Even after their fight, when she'd gone to take a shower, angry, she couldn't stop picturing Charlotte there with her… With Charlottes fingers exploring her body everywhere in the foam, helping her to wash after the long day, massaging, caressing... It was insane.
Tomorrow, she'd go to the library—Prof. Aylsworth had given them homework, so it wouldn't be suspicious—and try to find a way back home.
And if that didn't work, she'd go to the Deputy Headmstress and tell him where she was from. Why had she even trusted Hunter when he told her to keep it secret for her own safety? Maybe that bastard was just messing with her.
Emily cried from exhaustion and drifted off to sleep.
But she didn't get to rest for long.
Someone was walking through the Academy halls at night.
The footsteps were muffled, but constant. As if somebody was stopping at every student's door, checking if they haven't forgotten to lock it, like Emily did, or were carefree enough. As if sniffling for something.
Emily woke up, frozen still, and lay there for at least an hour, with her heart pounding in her ears. Those steps were not human, she could tell.