Adapt by Analeigh Ford

Author:Analeigh Ford [Ford, Analeigh]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2018-11-15T16:00:00+00:00

19

Octavia

“That was over a decade ago. I think even for you, for this vision, that’s a stretch.”

“You say that like I’ve made up visions like this before,” I snap, then remember to lower my voice a bit as we come up out of the basement. It’s well after dark already, especially since Ritual class not only ran late but Draven and I took longer than everyone else to finish.

Since it’s going to be a week before I’m back in class, the teacher made us stay after to finish preparations for the ritual next week. My back aches from standing on my feet all day, and a Tylenol-resistant headache has formed behind the back of my eyes from the thoughts left unchecked and churning in my mind.

“But look, even if it does have something to do with her, it isn’t like I can just come out and ask Cedric.” I say. “He flew off the handle when I just looked at the image he conjured of her. Can you imagine how he would react if he knew what I was thinking now?”

“Which is...?”

Before I get the chance to tell him exactly what it is I’ve been thinking, Kendall appears at the doorway to the dorms and waves at us excitedly from across the street.

At first, I think there must be something wrong. I hurriedly hoist up the strap of my backpack and run over.

“What happened? What is it?”

“Oh no, nothing crazy…just, come on.” He nods towards the doors and leads the two of us inside. I want to ask him what is going on, but as soon as the elevator doors open into the second-floor common room, I see exactly what he means.

Wednesday sits in the corner, her face buried into a notebook. But that isn’t what is unusual. It is who is sitting beside her.

Mathilda, the girl Wednesday is paired to but has outright refused to acknowledge this whole time, is scribbling in a notebook beside her. I catch Wednesday briefly look up at her for a second, before she catches me staring in the reflection in the window.

She slams the cover of her notebook shut so hard, the coffee she had been drinking tips over and spills. But before the liquid can bubble over the edge of the table and into Mathilda’s shocked lap, Wednesday plunges her hands into it. Even from here I can see as the liquid suddenly stops, the edges of it churning and curling until, after a long second, it starts to slowly draw back—flowing backwards and back into the cup it just spilled out of.

No explosions, no backfiring magic.

“See…” I say, sidling up and plopping into the chair closest to her. “There are benefits to admitting—”

“Nothing. Mathilda just offered to study with me since you were taking so long.”

Mathilda doesn’t take kindly to Wednesday’s sudden change of tone. It is her turn to slam the cover of her book shut and get to her feet.

She glares down at Wednesday and stalks off with a flippant, “Whatever.

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