Chapter 97: Properties of Explosive Materials

Chapter 97: Properties of Explosive Materials

Sebastien

Month 1, Day 29, Friday 10:30 a.m.The source of this content nov(el)bi((n))

Sebastien recognized one of the girls gossiping about Newton from Practical Casting. Some time ago, the young woman had tried to flirt with her, hinting that Sebastien should buy her a gift from the offerings in the Great Hall with her contribution points. Sebastien had forgotten her name.

“But Moore always seemed so nice!” one girl exclaimed in a scandalized tone, leaning further into the huddled group. They had either not realized Sebastien was standing nearby or were too oblivious to realize how rude they were being.

Another girl tittered. “Well, obviously he was involved in...questionable activities. The revelation might be sudden, but there’s too much evidence to deny it. I mean, how else do you find yourself entangled in a battle with gang members and the Raven Queen, and then turn into an Aberrant?”

Sebastien’s breath was coming fast. She curled her hands into white-knuckled fists, her short nails digging into her palms with a welcome sting.

“He must have corrupted his Will,” said a third girl. “What kind of magic do you think he was dabbling in? And what about the other student liaison, that Canelo girl? I hear she’s refusing to talk.”

The girl Sebastien recognized from Practical Casting shook her head. “She was cursed to be unable to speak of it, from what I heard. As for Newton Moore, he probably did it because he needed the coin. People will degrade themselves in a lot of ways when they need coin.”

The first woman sneered. “He didn’t fit in here, did he? If he was going to end up so desperate to stay that he let his Will be corrupted, perhaps he shouldn’t have been admitted in the first place.”

Perhaps cued by some change in Sebastien’s bearing or expression, Ana reached out for his arm, but it was too late. Ana’s fingers slipped off as Sebastien strode toward the group. Her breath came hard, her wide-eyed gaze tracking over the women’s amused, scandalized expressions, taking in every nuance as if preparing for battle.

Sebastien’s voice was deep with anger, and she could feel the rumble in her chest, but couldn’t quite hear it past the rush of blood in her ears. “Newton Moore was worth more than the entire lot of you.”

The women spun to face her, their expressions ranging from surprise to dismay. The girl from Practical Casting blushed, then paled.

Sebastien’s slow, bitingly enunciated words came faster as she continued. “It is clear you have no idea what you are talking about, yet find some kind of sick, self-titillating pleasure in spewing vile opinions and allegations about others who aren’t around to defend themselves. It speaks more about you than it does about Newton. I feel like I’m being made dirty just standing in your presence, but putting you in your place is a service to the entire world that everyone else in your lives has obviously neglected.”

There was a short, stunned silence, and conversation began to die out around them as people turned to watch the altercation. “Excuse you? We were just talking!” one girl retorted.

Sebastien let out a sharp laugh. “I am also ‘just talking.’ The difference is that I do not pretend my words are harmless. My words are meant to slap you across the face in lieu of my hand.”

The girl flinched back, looking at the fists balled at Sebastien’s sides.

“I’m sorry, Sebastien, we shouldn’t have...” The girl from Practical Casting trailed off, biting her lip.

“Do not sully my name by letting it pass your lips,” Sebastien hissed. The crowd was growing thick with onlookers.

One of the women looked around as if for help, then burst into tears.

Ana stepped up behind Sebastien, laying a hand on her shoulder and murmuring into her ear. “That’s enough. I understand, but if this goes on, you could be the one getting in trouble.” Louder, she called out, “I’m sorry, he’s been under a lot of stress with everything that happened, and I don’t think anyone would have appreciated hearing people speak ill of their dead friend.” There were sympathetic murmurs among the crowd. “Please let us pass. He needs some space.”

Damien nodded. “It’s true, they say the exhibitions are for the sake of the students, but they seem more like a multi-day magical street fair. I attended every year as a child, and they were the highlight of my spring.”

“It’s not optimal for students who are trying to focus during that critical time,” Ana added, “but the University has some token policies in place that are supposed to be for student benefit and maintain our learning environment. But they’ll never restrict entrance to only potential employers or sponsors. It’s too big a revenue source, as well as a great way to build and spread their reputation.”

“So...I’m supposed to put on a show for who knows how many people, who might not even have any idea about how magic works, as part of a gigantic festival. And get fifty contribution points,” Sebastien said, dragging her hand down her face in the way that she’d seen Oliver do when he was overwhelmed.

“You’re not shy around crowds,” Damien said. “Or around anyone,” he added in a low mutter. “I’m sure you’ll be fine as long as you prepare.”

Ana smiled encouragingly. “I believe in you. But in case you’re interested, there are records, both from the internal University publication and official reports, that detail what kinds of exhibitions received rewards. That should allow you to tailor your efforts to your audience.”

“Thank you.” Sebastien didn’t want to research prior exhibitions, or start planning and developing a magical performance. She was struggling to care. But she recognized that trying to “wing” something at the last minute was a bad idea. If she failed to meet his demands, Professor Lacer might not allow her to remain at the University. Even though she was too tired to feel it at the moment, she knew her lifelong dream of learning magic wasn’t something she could allow to slip through her grasp. When she had recovered from this malaise, whatever it was, she would regret inaction.

Damien seemed to notice a little of what she was feeling on her face. “Are you okay, Sebastien?”

“Tired,” she replied simply.

“Really? I mean, is that it? I know you can’t talk about what happened with us, but maybe you should go to the infirmary? They have mind-healers who’ve taken confidentiality vows. You seem...”

Sebastien rubbed her eyes. “I don’t need a mind-healer, Damien. I just have a few too many things on my plate at once.”

Damien was silent for a moment. He looked to see that Ana was distracted with talking to someone else, and far enough away not to hear, then said quietly, “Maybe I could help take a few ‘things’ off your plate? I can handle more responsibility.”

Sebastien wanted to snap that his nosiness, his inclusion in her secrets, was one of her many problems. Instead, she gritted her teeth and announced abruptly, “Actually, I am going to go to the infirmary. Maybe they have something stronger than coffee to help keep me awake.”

She could practically feel Damien’s solicitous gaze on her back as she strode away.

Instead of the infirmary, though, she veered off and made for Professor Lacer’s office, where he retreated as soon as possible after his classes. She knocked sharply, then opened the door and strode inside, stopping in front of Lacer’s desk.

He looked up slowly from the scattered papers and books. Some held complicated spell arrays and what might even have been a half-finished ward plan for a residence. “How can I help you, Mr. Siverling?”

Sebastien clenched and unclenched her fists, let out a slow breath, and said, “Professor Lacer, I respect and admire you.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“However, I have to insist that you respect my personal boundaries. It is unacceptable for you to cast magic on me against my will, without my consent. Especially magic that will force me to sleep. Or in any way affect my mental state. I would never have consented to it, and will not consent to the like in the future.”

Thaddeus Lacer placed down his pen and leaned back in his seat. He met her gaze for a few long, agonizing seconds. “I understand. I will not do such a thing again, and will try to remember to ask your consent before casting any other magics that affect your person, unless I judge you are in immediate and severe danger without my interference.”

Sebastien’s shoulders loosened, but she lifted her chin, giving him a dignified nod. “Thank you. I’ll leave you to your work.” With a shallow bow, she turned and left the room without another word.