Black Mist: Budding [on hiatus]

9. Um We Have Sort of a Problem Here

Alastair looked around the familiar classroom once held by the much-loved Jackson. It was still so hard to believe that he had betrayed them all and joined the dark practitioners. And to make matters worse, it was Alastair who had blown the whistle on him, realizing he had cast the black cloud that resulted in Bennett's death. Cain and Bennett had been good buddies. Strike that. Cain and Bennett and Jackson had been good buddies.

"Mr. Cain, why didn't you give that ID badge to the police? Or at least to Olivier?" When the cloud of choking mist had cleared, Bennett held the wallet of one of the intruders clutched in his dead hand. A wallet that was now in Alastair's possession. Somewhere.

Cain widened his eyes for the briefest moment, then cleared his throat. "Alastair, it's complicated," he whispered fiercely. "James Bennett was my best friend. Someone else in that room may have played a role in his death. I don't know who or even if anyone did, but I know I don't trust anyone anymore."

"I know what you mean," Alastair muttered.

"Please just tell me about Jackson's lessons," Cain sighed.

Alastair looked at Cain, one of the best teachers at Whitman. He had aged a lot this past year. His usual smile was tight-lipped and forced. His hazel eyes were ringed with dark bags. His dark hair was grayed at the temples and tiny pompadour. Understandable, Alastair supposed, given that he had lost both of his closest friends.

Alastair shrugged. "He rarely followed the textbook. We did units, like every quarter had a theme. I have all my notebooks. I'll give them to you."

After an awkward silence that stretched taut and long between them, Cain expressed his gratitude.

<<•>>

Rose settled on to her usual couch in the library, her feet tucked under her and her new potions notebook in her lap. After she had been reading for almost an hour, Tommy Roarke came around the corner.

Her eyes jumped from his face down to her notebook and remained glued there, but Rose could not take in the words. She watched his feet as he loped closer, and it took great control to keep her face emotionless. He crouched in front of her, reaching a hand out toward her face. Rose turned away, fixing her gaze on a sign about cell phone use. She felt his thumb trace the line of the faint scar that remained on her left cheek.

Dammit, she thought. At least his touch was tender, now, instead of sensual.

"Where'd you run off to, Cali?" he murmured, barely above a whisper.

Unable to answer, Rose just shook her head. She focused her eyes back on her hands, clenched together in her lap. He expected an answer, she knew. She had spoken to him just a few weeks earlier. That night. She swallowed back the emotion threatening to emerge. He had helped her this summer by recognizing the Binding potion that had sapped her power. Jesus. If he hadn't known why her magic disappeared, if he hadn't helped her, would all of this have happened sooner? And if she hadn't recognized the sensation of her magic returning, who knows how that December night would have turned out. He had probably saved her life.

And then there was the flirting. He had made his interest in her obvious for months, and the last time she saw him, they had gone out. Most people would call it a date. The way he held her close afterward...the kiss. Yeah, it was a date. And then she had just disappeared. The gentle brush of his fingers along the fat scars on her left hand brought her back to the present.

"I was worried about you, Cali. I thought--"

Rose stood abruptly, stuffing the folder in her bag as she walked away. She just couldn't.