…..CHAPTER 18…..
“In here,” Witch Steven growled. “Honestly. Why the hell do I always get stuck escorting you newbies around?” he demanded without a hint of remorse for his rudeness.
Phoebe gave him a sweet smile. “Maybe it was is something you did?”
He blinked at her, then grinned. “Finally. Someone to banter with. Have a good meeting.”
Phoebe was left standing outside the door. She knocked, anxiety returning as she guessed what she was walking into. She opened the door when bid to enter.
Oliver, Oscar, Randall, Melinda, and a woman she didn’t recognize sat at the conference table in a bland room designed to move attention to the topic at hand rather than itself.
“Phoebe,” Oscar said as the men rose.
Oliver smiled soothingly and motioned her to a seat next to him, across from the woman at the table. She stood in front of the chair that Oliver pulled out for her, motioning to the woman. “Phoebe, meet Ms. Angela Harper, Principal of the Colorado Regional Witch Academy.”
Phoebe swallowed in a dry throat as she accepted the woman’s outstretched hand. She was gorgeous black woman, hair done in waist-length braids, eyes soft like a gentle doe, smile reassuring. But it was easy to see—being a teacher’s assistant—the strength and no-nonsense teacher before her. “I’m pleased to meet you, Phoebe.”
Phoebe made appropriate noises as they all took their seats.
“Director Dale and Oliver have told me that your magic is completely untrained. Is this true?”
She nodded uncomfortably.
Ms. Harper’s face went pensive. “How did you keep your magic contained, without training?”
Phoebe shivered, memory of pain and fear flashing in her mind, staring unseeing at her clenched fists in her lap. “My father would spank my hands and fingers. The pain made it hard to use my hands sometimes, and it reined in any accidental attempt to use it.”
Beside her, Oliver made a soft noise of hurt and she looked up at him, saw a tiny flash of pain in his eyes before it was gone. “I get it, Phoebe.” His voice was soft, aching…
“I’m so sorry you had to endure that, Phoebe,” Ms. Harper said, voice throbbing with true concern.
Phoebe looked at her, met her gaze.
She’d always thought the Academy a place of horror and abuse, or at the very least, a loveless environment full of harsh penalties and lack of empathy.
Staring at this woman now, she knew it wasn’t true. Because Oliver sat beside her; a more decent, moral, humane person she’d never met. No one like Oliver could come out of a place like Phoebe had imagined.
“Thank you. He had his reasons. He wasn’t always…like that.”
“I understand,” she murmured. “Can you tell me about your awakening?”
Phoebe complied, staring at her hands where she’d placed them on the table, fiddling absently with a napkin beside a sweaty glass of ice water. When she was done, there was quiet for a moment.
“Due to the testimony of Oliver, Director Dale, and your own, I can virtually guarantee that you’ll be released to us, rather than put in jail. Because of the extenuating circumstances, the abuse, and the fear for your life, you’ll be exonerated. I’ve seen witches found innocent for worse. I was worried that because of your age, they’d penalize you, but I sincerely doubt that.”
Phoebe swallowed and nodded wordlessly.
“Since I don’t believe we have anything to worry about, law-wise, let’s consider your eventual arrival at the school.”
Oliver stiffened beside her. “I’ve done a baseline evaluation, ma’am.”
“And what did you find, Oliver?” she asked, voice at ease with apparent familiarity. And affection.
Phoebe glanced back and forth between them. They clearly knew each other. Had she taught Oliver? Phoebe glanced at her bare wrist. She wasn’t a witch.
“Phoebe is an Air witch, level undetermined obviously, but with very high potential.”
“How high?”
“Seven right now. I guarantee she’s higher, though, with a fast rise as she gains experience.”
Ms. Harper nodded. “What else?”
It shouldn’t be possible for Oliver to get any stiffer, but he managed. “I suspect she’s quint-skilled.” Thankfully his voice didn’t reflect his concerns, coming out conversational and easy.
Ms. Harper smiled gently at Oliver. “And?”
“And potentially Parallel.”
“What Element?”
“Earth. And possibly Water. It’ll take time to determine them, though. Again, I’m not certain of it.”
Ms. Harper nodded and sat back in her chair with a sigh. “I see. She’s going to need someone quite strong to contain any outburst. I don’t have anyone to do that right now. Our current students are average.”
Oliver relaxed into his own chair. “I was going to ask for your permission to guide her, ma’am. I’ve already begun the process.”
She smiled in approval. “Excellent, Oliver. Very well. Keep her here for early tutelage, guidance, and training. You’re a good instructor, so she couldn’t ask for better. Your strength will be able to rein in her magic, should it get out of hand. How far into learning have you taken her?”
“Anchoring and shielding. She’s also a natural reservoir.”
Phoebe looked at Oliver, puzzled by that designation. “A what?”
“I’ll explain later,” he murmured.
Ms. Harper grinned. “Another one. Good. We’re virtually positive now that any witch over level eight is a reservoir. I’ll input the data.”
“What data?” Phoebe demanded.
Oliver shot her a considering look. “The Academy works hand-in-hand with the Federal Witchcraft Research Center. So does the Bureau.”
Phoebe nodded understanding. “Okay.”
Ms. Harper stood up and stared at Phoebe for a moment. Despite being a teacher herself, she squirmed a bit under this woman’s gaze.
She looked amused, but not unkind. Her words were aimed at Oliver, however. “Teach her well, Oliver. When she’s ready, let me know, and I’ll prepare her place. Take your time, though. Her power will need plenty of attention and practice to make it safe.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Oliver’s voice held a note of respect he usually reserved for Oscar.
Oscar rose and escorted Ms. Harper from the room, followed by Randall and Melinda, leaving her alone with Oliver. She met his green gaze. “She’s nice.”
Oliver’s mouth quirked. “She is. But don’t make the mistake of thinking she’s easy. She’s the hardest task-master in the school, and she doesn’t put up with your shit. I can’t count the number of times I was sent to her office.”
Phoebe blinked in astonishment. “You?”
Oliver grinned. “I had an attitude a mile high, which was appropriate for here in Denver. And like her, I didn’t take anyone’s shit.” That last was spoken with grim satisfaction.
So. The dreamer had claws. Interesting. Not surprising, really, now that she thought about it. There was nothing about this man that spoke to weakness or vulnerability.
Oliver was an interesting contradiction in sweetness and strength. And she was growing to like him more every day they worked together in the gym with her magic.
Those sessions had become the highlight of her days.
But now that highlight had just gotten real.