Casters Book Two: Shadow Caster

Chapter Three

Instead of meeting Cyrene for our usual lunch meetings, I grab a bucket and some soap and chemicals, plus a scrubber from a janitor I hunted down in the academic building. Then I go over to the tapped-off building and start scrubbing.

People eye me as they walk past to classes or lunch, but no one stops to help. It's freezing outside, it's supposed to snow this week. If I was smart, I would have grabbed some gloves too. If I was smart. Instead, my hand feels like a wet block of ice. My teeth are chartering after the first ten minutes.

"There you are, what are you doing?" Cyrene marches over to me.

"W-what's it l-look like." I chatter.

"You're freezing your butt off," she says in a smart alec tone.

"I'm helping Asherah, by cleaning this mess. She's very stressed out right now and overworked, but you would know that if you stopped being an idiot and just talked to her." I keep scrubbing.

"You went to see her!" she hisses.

"She came to get me out of class, to find out what happened because apparently, no one told her but some security guard."

She huffs, her breath fogging the air.

"Do you have gloves, my hands are numb." I pout.

"Move," she says.

I step aside as she cast a spell and shoots a laser out of her hands. The laser burns off the paint from the building, cleaning it in seconds flat.

"Okay, you have to show me that one," I say.

"Come on," she grabs my freezing hand and drags me away.

"She is my headmaster you know, I will have to talk to her. It's inevitable."

She huffs again.

"You don't have to make it a war. I like you both." I say.

"You're my student, not hers." She snaps at me.

I frown at her.

She drags me to her office and sits me down.

I sigh.

She sits in front of me and crosses her arms in defiance.

"How long are you going to throw a fit?" I ask.

"I'm not!"

I raise an eyebrow.

She sighs and sits right.

"Look, I didn't tell her anything about what we are working on or any of that stuff. Trust me, she has enough on her plate without me. She's going through a lot right now, and I know you don't want to, but I think it would mean a lot to her if you stopped being a big baby and just talked to her."

"Why am I always the one who has to say sorry first! She called me a puppet! Me! She always thinks she's right and it's just so infuriating. For once, once, I wish she would just act her age. She doesn't have to be so grown up and mature all the time. She used to be fun, and happy, she used to be... my friend." She says sadly.

"You two just need to talk it out," I suggest.

"No. No more talking it out. It's always like this between us. Every time I do something, it's always the wrong thing to do. Nothing I do is ever good enough for her. I'm always the stupid one, the wrong one, the bad guy. I worked so hard for her, so, so hard and she just threw it all away. Like it didn't even matter. Like it was nothing. But it was something, to me it was." She says as her eyes water.