Page 46 of An Arcane Education
“A word of warning, Miss Harver. Be careful about who you speak to when looking for information. Not everything is as simple as it seems here at Arcadia Academy.”
The warning is like a chill settling into my bones. “What do you mean?”
He tosses a wary glance over his shoulder, then holds my eyes with an intensity that raises goosebumps on my arms.
“It would do you well to keep a low profile and not mention this to anyone else. I know you’re curious about your father, but there are people here who weren’t on such good terms with him. Sometimes the past is meant to stay in the past, and resurrecting it can only bring more pain.”
The words hang heavy between us, and I want to press him further, to demand what trouble he means and whymy father’s name should carry such caution decades after his death.
But it’s clear from his expression that he won’t explain further.
“I understand,” I say, though I don’t. I’m only more confused. It’s like every time I manage to get a step further, another door is slammed in my face.
I leave the room, thanking Dr. Lowry again for his time. The weight of his gaze follows me until I leave his sight.
I can’t help but wonder, though, why he’d warn me off asking anyone else about my father. Sure, there are probably some people here who didn’t like him, but what can they really do? Punish me for being the daughter of a man they disliked? From everything I’ve been told about him so far, he was a bit of a class clown but not cruel by any means.
With a list of four other faculty members who reside here on campus in my backpack, I now have another decision to make. Do I trust the man who I’ve already written off as an elitist asshole who just happened to show me a bit of kindness in this moment, or do I continue to pursue my quest of finding information about my father?
CHAPTER 19
Istroll along the path that cuts through the center of campus toward the greenhouse, and the lanterns mounted at intervals along the walkway cast watery gold light across the flagstones. The air is cool now that the rain has ceased, and every exposed surface is glazed with a sheen of water from today’s storm.
When the greenhouse comes into sight, I notice the door is ajar and the soft light of lanterns illuminates the glass from inside, and I smile to myself as I imagine Alaric waiting for me.
I shouldn’t be so elated at the thought of spending more time with him, but I can’t help it. There’s something about him that draws me in. He’s intellectual without being condescending, skilled with his work, and enigmatic in a way that leaves me wanting to know more after every single interaction. His ethereal good looks only enhance the effect.
I slip through the door and close it behind me, immediately relaxing with the familiar earthy scent of thegreenhouse. It’s becoming a sanctuary at this point, a place where I can feel at home. The forest might feel the same if not for the eerie watchfulness that consumes me every time I go too deep into the trees.
Alaric is waiting for me at a far workbench, the sleeves of his charcoal-colored button-down rolled to the elbows. He’s examining something under a microscope, making occasional notations in his notebook.
“Hi,” I call out, giving him plenty of notice of my presence so I don’t startle him this time.
“Miss Harver,” he greets me with that same professional tone he always does. “Ready to get started?”
“I am.”
He closes his notebook and slips it into his bag before pushing the microscope aside and beckoning me over, gesturing to the empty stool beside him.
I pull the seat backward so as not to impose upon Alaric’s personal space before taking a seat. The flames of the lantern flicker in the dusky light, casting shadows over the dark foliage surrounding us. Alaric pulls a tray of six seedlings from the shelf beneath the bench and sets them before me.
“We’re going to work on identification today. Each of these is a different plant. I want you to focus in on the properties of each plant and identify what it is.”
I do as he says, more easily able to channel my Affinity each time I practice it. The exercise only takes me twenty minutes, and I correctly name each plant.
“You’re showing considerable improvement in your magic,” he says. “As long as you keep up in class and continue to practice on your own time, you should be atthe level of your peers before the end of the semester. How is your progress in the foundational work going?”
“Not nearly as well,” I admit. Outside of classes, I’ve spent hours attempting to practice minor spells and enchantments to no avail, and the ease with which the other students are able to perform them only makes me feel worse. This type of simple magic has been a part of their lives for so long that it’s a simple, rudimentary skill while still feeling like an impossibility in mine.
“And how has your emotional state been since our last discussion?”
“Well, I did go walking once, though I should probably work on making it a consistent effort. But even without the walking, I’ve been paying more attention to my emotions and my impulses rather than pushing them away.”
“That’s good to hear. I know it’s only been a week, but do you feel as if it’s been working?”
I sigh. “It’s, uh, hard to say. There’s a lot going on right now, and I’m having trouble keeping a clear mind.”
He raises an eyebrow in silent question.
