What in the name of the gods...

“Are you all right?”

I looked up at Grace, caught, and nodded. Thankfully, she immediately looked back at her laptop screen.

However, nothing was fine. And it didn’t get any better when I discovered the other publications.

Unraveling the mysteries of lycanthropy

Molecular mechanisms that enable immortality

Unmasking metamorphosis

The influence of the lunar cycle on genes

After half an hour, I slammed the laptop shut. Undecided what to do with the information about my professor. Obviously, this fanatical human was onto something he was never allowed to find out.

I hadn’t found any other personal information on him, as he seemed to keep his private life off the net. But what I knew was enough.

I had to do something. Or at least make sure this man didn’t find out about Blairville’s secrets.

Grace and I had tried to communicate with Bayla again, but she didn’t seem convinced or in the right state of mind for it. Especially after last night’s incident. Something that strange had never happened before, or at least not in my presence. Although, to be fair, I hadn’t been an active Circle member for long and a new member didn’t join every month.

I could still remember my own ritual, which had made me nauseous, but I couldn’t remember my neck cracking so horribly or losing consciousness afterward.

I had even feared that Bayla would die because she had simply slipped off the altar and the activation spell had lost its effect.

Amara must have been right. Bayla Adams was an ungifted.

We would find out in a month, but until then, Bay was under our protection. In Grace’s words: We were babysitters.

Amara had put us in charge. As if we didn’t already have enough on our plates with university and our own elemental lessons.

Goosebumps spread up my arms.

Just don’t think about it, Julie, and nothing will happen.

I breathed in deeply, then out, in and out again.

My body gradually relaxed.

“I’m allowed to sit down, right?”

Two hazel eyes looked at me questioningly.

Embarrassed, I slid closer to Emely, who eyed me suspiciously, to make room for Larissa.

I hadn’t expected to see Larissa in my business English tutorial. Even less had I expected Emely Copeland to remain seated instead of jumping up and leaving as she usually did.

Grace had a theory that one of the Copelands had committed this murder. After all, they had all had to turn last night.

I pushed the thought away, because sitting next to Emely and thinking about ending up as her next meal wasn’t really comforting.

“Have you seen Bay, by any chance?”

Larissa looked at me questioningly.

I noticed Emely starting to play with her pen. She probably didn’t know about the news. I wondered if she had been punished for the incident. However, Vivienna had gotten off lightly.

“She came here with me and Grace.” Larissa looked at me scrutinizingly. “I think she has literary history now,” I added cautiously.

Emely gave me a suspicious sideways glance.

I felt uncomfortable talking a lot, especially in front of strangers. Larissa had been very friendly so far, which made it easier for me to open up to her, even if I needed a little more time to do so.

There were people who were livelier, like Grace, and there were those who were quieter. And usually, the former kind of person had a talent for either annoying the latter relentlessly or dragging them everywhere with them. And from what I’d noticed so far, the latter was the case with Larissa and Bayla.

“Wow, that was quick,” Larissa laughed and unpacked her black backpack, taking off the large camera around her neck to slide it into her bag.

“That’s how fast it happens when people change.”

I looked startled at Emely, who rolled her eyes.

How could she say that so casually? Larissa didn’t know anything, and that’s how it should stay. Wasn’t she the one of the Senseque who had made the contract and their Senseque Code her religion?

I looked at Larissa again and tried to activate my non-existent social strengths.

“She’s kind of trying to adapt here, I guess.”

Larissa looked at me with an unclear expression.

“You should just talk to each other, I think,” I added, but I didn’t know if that was unnecessary. As always, when I talked.

“Yeah, you’re probably right,” she replied, shrugging her shoulders.

She picked up her cell phone, and I reflexively did the same.

Ten unread text messages from Erik immediately jumped out at me.

I swallowed, and immediately a deep sense of guilt spread through me. The longing inside me for our nightly texting, especially after emotionally overwhelming days when he would randomly text me and make me forget this life here for a few minutes, grew and grew.

Why hadn’t I answered him?

After my attack, I hadn’t been able to do anything for a day and hadn’t left my bed. I hadn’t drunk anything, hadn’t eaten anything, had tried to forget, had started hurting myself again, and had racked my brains about this damn magic inside of me.

I was broken. That was the only logical explanation. I was broken, and I must have deserved it somehow. And the worst part was that Erik had to suffer for it. First, Ivy, and now him.