Trials of Magic by Thomas K. Carpenter

Author:Thomas K. Carpenter [Carpenter, Thomas K.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: contemporary fantasy, magic realism, Action & Adventure
Publisher: Black Moon Books
Published: 2016-05-13T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty-One

Orson Rutherford stood in front of the class naked as an imp. Wisps of white material hung over his muscular body. He was doing his best to cover himself with his hands, but given the circular nature of the classroom, he had to practically cup himself.

Ashley elbowed Pi in the ribs and whispered, "I told you he has a nice body."

"Thank you, Orson," said Professor Augustus, speaking loudly to be heard over the laughter, "for demonstrating what poor finger work does to a simple transfiguration spell. Please have a seat."

Pi grinned at Ashley. "Poor finger work?"

She rolled her eyes in extravagant fashion.

As Orson waddled back to his table, he asked, "Can I go get a new set of clothes?"

The corner of the professor's lips crept up in a mischievous smile. "Feel lucky you only lost your clothes. Had you formed your hook-and-claw gesture with any less rigidity, you'd have turned your silk shirt into a blanket of brown recluse spiders rather than a spider's web."

Orson looked mortified at what his mistake could have caused and took his original spot, pressing himself against the table for covering.

"He does have a nice ass," whispered Pi, noting the way his cheeks dimpled.

Professor Augustus clapped his hands at each syllable of the first word he said: "Specificity. Say it with me class. Specificity. Without proper enunciation, without proper gesturing, without proper faez shaping, you will Fuck. It. Up. You are mages, not short-order cooks throwing together a batch of scrambled eggs for a couple of truckers in bibs. Need I remind you that your classmate Bentley is still at the hospital, breathing through his ribcage with his skin turned to slime? Laugh if you want, but there's a good chance we'll never see him again, and I suspect that even if we do, it won't be in Coterie."

Someone in the back, Pi couldn't tell who, muttered, "It'll be in the sewers."

The professor, without turning around, said, "Rather than make jokes, Brock DuPont, you might consider relying less on your trinkets and learn how to be more exact, or you might be sharing a sewer with Bentley. Because I've learned over the years that those that rely on their magical devices rather than honing their skills are usually the first ones to go."

Pi was sneaking a look at Brock's face when she heard her name: "Pythia! Front and center. You're next."

She strode to the dais. The squeak of her sneakers cut through the silence. She bit her lower lip as she waited for the instruction.

"Miss Pythia," said Augustus. A few whispers of Hick Pi echoed around the room. "I would like you to transfigure the daisies in that vase to a more extravagant flower."

As Pi approached the desk, the door wheezed open. Alton Lockwood marched into the room. His expensive shoes clicked against the hardwood. He adjusted the lapel of his white suit with practiced disdain.

"Sorry I'm late, Professor," he said without a trace of apology in his tone. "I had business with the patron.

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