Embyr (BWWM)

II. The Friend

Corrective classes were held, as always, in the lower reaches of Mistmoon's labyrinthine basements. Supposedly, the chambers I passed had once been dungeons for interrogating enemy prisoners, a rumor that seemed probable until you remembered that the academy had been founded on a peace treaty.

Not that these rooms didn't look the part, I thought as I passed a sealed one. People assumed my powers meant I was never afraid, as if I was somehow immune to normal thoughts and feelings. But when you're trekking down endless dark corridors echoing with the sound of ancient stone settling around you, fire powers suddenly seem like a paltry defense against the phantoms in your mind.

Still, things had improved since my first terrified trip down here. I'd learned to control my flames enough to make a crown of floating ghost lights, which bobbed in time with my hair as they bathed the rough stonework red. Part of me enjoyed these quiet moments deep underground. I could use my powers as much as I wanted without hearing whispers or worrying they'd set anything alight.

Indeed, I was almost disappointed when the familiar double doors emerged from the gloom. Almost, because they happened to herald a certain someone I needed to see more than ever. I took a deep breath, double-checking my appearance as I pondered how best to present myself to him. Or would it matter, considering the day he'd had?

I sighed and turned the handle, willing myself not to beam as I slipped inside. But my renegade smile slipped as I entered. Up and down the rows of dusty desks I looked, but Johan was nowhere to be seen.

"Fire, Ms. Embyrwilde? Not allowed! That's another month for you!"

I quickly snuffed out my flame crown as Mrs. Critchet's wheezy voice sounded from a corner. Forget dark basements, everybody was afraid to get on her bad side. I spun around to explain I needed it to find my way, only to deflate with a scowl.

"Oh, real mature, Johan. They send us here to feel sorry for what we do, not to crack jokes. If Critchet finds out you were imitating her she'll skin you alive."

Johan grinned from beneath the old cloth he was stooped under. Despite being three times larger than the old crone, his rickety parody of her hunchback walk was spot on. I crossed my arms as he hobbled up to me on his makeshift table leg cane, which he thrust at me in a scarily accurate mockery of Critchet.

"Playing dumb won't get you anywhere, missy! I have half a mind to-!"

I nudged the "cane" from Johan's hand with my foot, and he watched it clatter to the floor with brown eyes. He looked back at me, then we both burst out laughing.

"You look ridiculous!" I said after catching half a breath. "Take that stupid thing off!"

I tugged the piano cloth off, and Johan slowly uncurled to tower over me. I made a show of folding the cloth up again, half to control my laughter and half to avoid staring.

If Merylda had a saving grace, it was her taste in men. Of course she'd be interested in Johan, half the girls in school wanted to ask him out. Not only was he a head taller than the other boys, he was built like warrior. There wasn't a muscle on him that didn't threaten to rip his hand-me-down hoodie, and I'd personally witnessed the glory that was watching him strength training.

But as amazing as Johan's body was, it was his face that truly captivated. His pale skin struck an incredible contrast to his wavy black hair, which he wore short in the back and sides and long on the top and bangs. A short but full beard collared his deep jaw and pouting lips, a wild compliment to his strong nose and brows. One might think him a bit of a brute if not for his kind brown eyes and heavy glasses.