a serious amount is going on that you should be aware of. Schoolwork is only the beginning of it.”
“I mean about Grey.”
“What about Grey?”
“You and Grey.”
“Oh,” said Never, taking a drink from his bottle of water. “Naw. Grey is lovely and everything, and undeniably cute, but he isn’t interested in me.”
“You want me to talk to him?”
Never looked horrified. “About me? Great googly moogly, no. Why would you even suggest that?”
“I have a few classes with him. We chat occasionally. I could tell him how cool you are.”
“First of all, he knows how cool I am. Everyone knows how cool I am. Look at me. Second, he’s not interested in me because, from what I can tell, he’s not interested in anyone. Being interested in people is just not his thing.”
“Huh,” said Omen. “I wonder what that’s like.”
Never grunted. “I’m sure it has its problems, the same as everything else. Speaking of everything else, any movement in your love life?”
“Not really,” Omen admitted. “I met Aurnia’s boyfriend yesterday.”
“Aurnia …” Never said, squinting. He clicked his fingers. “Mortal girl from Mevolent’s dimension! Got it! Yes, and how was her boyfriend?”
“Large,” said Omen, “and I’m pretty sure he wanted to fight me.”
“Well, he did just meet you, so I can understand the impulse.”
“Oh, cheers for that.”
Never grinned. “Did you puff out your chest and square up to him?”
“No,” Omen said, frowning. “Was I supposed to?”
“Not really. Good boy, Omen. I’m proud of you.”
“I’m not sure what for, but OK.”
A Fifth Year girl whose name Omen didn’t know walked by. She smiled at Never. Never winked back.
Omen frowned. “Is that something I should be aware of?”
“We’re just friends,” Never said casually.
“That was a flirty look she gave you.”
“How would you know?”
“I’ve seen them in movies,” Omen replied, a little defensively.
“You are surprisingly well versed in romantic comedies,” said Never. “But we’re just friends, really. It might lead to something more, or it might not. Whatever.”
Omen sagged. “You’re so lucky.”
“I know,” said Never. “But remind me – how, exactly?”
“You’re bisexual. I wish I was bisexual.”
Never laughed. “Feeling cheated, are we?”
“Well, yeah. I mean, it’s like I’m cutting off half my potential love interests without even thinking about it. If I liked boys as much as I liked girls, I’d at least have the chance to … to … Well, to be turned down by more people. But that’s not the point.”
“I wouldn’t worry about it, Omen. Most sorcerers eventually turn bi because they grow tired of viewing relationships from a traditional, mortal perspective. They gradually allow themselves to be free – the key word being gradually. It just takes a little time.”
“But what if I’m not bi?” Omen asked, keeping his voice low. “What if I’m one of those sorcerers who’s, like, straight or gay their entire lives?”
Never patted his shoulder. “It won’t be so bad. I’ll still invite you to parties.”
“You promise?”
“Omen, I’m going to be having so many parties you won’t know what to do with yourself, and I want you there, standing in the background, maybe handing out canapés. The dream.”
“The dream,” Omen said, and they tapped their bottles together just as the bell rang.
“Aw, crap,” Omen muttered.
“You just remembered what class we have now, didn’t you?”
Omen grumbled in reply, and got up and trudged after Never. They made it to their seats just as Miss Wicked walked in.
Omen liked Miss Wicked. She was scary, but in a good way. Or at least a mostly good way. But this latest module was not proving to be a strong point for him.
The class went quiet before the door had even closed behind her. She went to her desk, turned on her heels and watched them.
Madcap Fenton, a self-proclaimed class clown, stood, a confused expression on his face, and walked to the front of the class and started to write on the board. Omen glanced at Never, then at Auger. They both looked as mystified as Omen felt.
Madcap wrote TELEPATHY and then returned to his seat.
Omen, and everyone else, stared at him. After a moment, Madcap blinked and said, “Whoa.”
Miss Wicked flicked her wrist, and her telescopic pointer shot out to full length. The tip, covered with a tiny rubber ball, quivered mere centimetres from Diana Whist’s eye. Miss Wicked swept her arm back, and tapped the board.
“Telepathy,” she said. “The transmission of information from one person to another via psychic link. This can take the form of images or words or simple feelings – or all three at the same time. Entire conversations can be held and distance is no obstacle. Minds can be read. Secrets can be unlocked. Control can be taken.”
She whipped the pointer away from the board, and levelled it at Madcap. “Why did you write this word?”
“I … I don’t know,” he answered.
“You wrote it because I told you to,” Miss Wicked said. “I entered your mind and I gave you an instruction.”
October Klein’s hand went up, somewhat tentatively. “Excuse me, miss? Isn’t that, like, not allowed?”
Miss Wicked looked at her.
October swallowed, but managed to continue. “Aren’t you supposed to, kind of, ask a student’s permission? Before you enter their mind?”
“You gave me your permission when we began this module,” Miss Wicked said, “or at least your guardians did. Did none of you read the form you took home for them to sign? No one? You disappoint me, class. I thought you were strong, independent individuals. It appears I was mistaken.”
October
