I followed her back toward the car, and she didn't answer right away. When she did, her voice was uncharacteristically grim. "It means that she's much closer than I would like. It also means, whether you want to or not, you're going to have to work on improving your magical skills very, very quickly."
I came to a halt. Suddenly, I felt angry. Enough was enough. I was exhausted and ached all over. She'd dragged me out here in the middle of the night and now had the presumption to make a statement like that when she knew how I felt about magic? Worse, her words frightened me. What did I have to do with this? This was her spell, her cause. Yet, she'd given the directive with such force, such certainty, that it almost seemed as though I was the reason we'd come out here to this wasteland.
"Ma'am - " I began.
Ms. Terwilliger spun around and leaned toward me so that there were only a few inches between us. I gulped, swallowing whatever outraged words I'd been about to utter. I'd never seen her look like this. She wasn't scary, not exactly, but there was an intensity I'd never seen before, far different from the usual scattered teacher I knew. She also looked . . . frightened. Life or death.
"Sydney," she said, in a rare use of my first name. "Let me assure you that this is not some trick on my part. You will improve upon your skills, whether you like it or not. And it's not because I'm cruel, not because I'm trying to fulfill some selfish desire. It's not even because I hate seeing you waste your ability."
"Then why?" I asked in a small voice. "Why do I need to learn more?"
The wind whispered around us, blowing some of the dried leaves and flowers from my hair. The shadows we cast took on an ominous feel, and the moonlight and starlight that had seemed so divine earlier now felt cold and harsh.
"Because," Ms. Terwilliger said. "It's for your own protection."
Chapter Two
MS. TERWILLIGER REFUSED to say much more after that. She drove us back to Amberwood and hardly seemed to know I was there. She just kept muttering things to herself like, "Not enough time" and "Need more proof." When she finally dropped me off, I tried pressing her for more information.
"What was all that about protecting myself?" I asked. "Protection from what?"
We were parked in the fire lane again, and she still wore that distracted look. "I'll explain later, in our session tomorrow."
"I can't," I reminded her. "I'm leaving right after my regular classes. Remember? I have a flight to catch. I told you about it last week. And yesterday. And earlier today."
That brought her back to attention. "Did you? Well, then. I suppose we'll make do with what we must. I'll see what I can have for you in the morning."
I left her for my bed after that, not that I could get much sleep. And when I showed up to her history class the next morning, she was true to her word. Before the bell rang, she walked up to my desk and handed me an old book with a cracked red leather cover. The title was in Latin and translated to Elements of Battle, which sent a chill down my spine. Spells to create light and invisibility were one thing. There was a practicality to them that I could almost rationalize. But battle spells? Something told me I might have a little trouble with those.
"Reading material for the plane," she said. She spoke in her usual, addled scholar voice, but I could see a glint of that anxiety from last night in her eyes. "Focus only on the first section. I trust you'll do your usual thorough job - and then some."
None of the other arriving students paid any attention to us. My last class of the day was an independent study session on late-antique history, which she served as my mentor for. More often than not, she used the session as a passive-aggressive way to teach me magic. So, her giving me books like this was nothing out of the ordinary.
"And," she added, "if you could find out where that neighborhood is, it would be extremely useful."
I was speechless for a few moments. Locate one neighborhood in the greater Los Angeles metropolitan area? "That's . . . a very large area to cover," I said at last, choosing my words carefully with witnesses around.
She nodded and pushed her glasses up her nose. "I know. Most people probably couldn't do it." And on that semi-complimentary note, she returned to her desk at the front of the classroom.
"What neighborhood?" asked a new voice.