Chapter six... History Lessons

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The sun was beginning to set by the time that whole process of picking people to go to hell was finished. Lots of kids had gone home crying because you know, they're idiots and should be glad they weren't picked. Honestly, I would have traded places with any of them in a heartbeat, but since that wasn't allowed at least I clung to the fact that Callum's dad was just as messed up in his protection ideas as my grandfather. Not to mention his dad had a killer throwing arm, no pun intended.

Grandfather's warnings about the Magisterium had always been annoyingly vague. As I stood there, my neck bleeding through the white bandages that had been given to me, I had nothing better to do than go over my grandfather's warnings. The mages don't care about anyone or anything except advancing their own studies. They are murders, thieves, liars. You can't trust them as far as you can throw them, Clarissa. Never forget that they are the reason she is dead.

I debated on attempting to strike up a conversation with Callum, but judging by how he was playing with the hilt of his dagger while Aaron tried to engage him, he didn't want to talk. He was probably as worried about his father as I was about my grandfather. So far, he was the only person here I could understand. Although, why his father distrusted the Magisterium was beyond me. Perhaps he had lost someone in that war too? I hadn't noticed a mother with his father, perhaps that's what he had lost. Or maybe I was reading it all wrong and his father simply didn't trust the mages because he didn't trust magic, which was also understandable given how unstable it seemed to be at its core.

While I was going over the puzzle that was the Hunt's, the ceremony finally came to an end. I followed after everyone as we were herded like cattle out into the parking lot. I clenched my teeth as parents tearfully hugged and kissed their children goodbye, loading them down with suitcases and duffle bags and care packages. I shifted Sir Galahad and my short sword, all I had since I had not planned at all to be picked.

I glared at the two yellow school buses that were waiting as the mages began to divide us students into groups according to their masters. Each bus carried several groups much to my dismay. I hated the idea of being stuck in such an ugly transport vessel while being forced to sit near people I knew I would never grow to like.

I tapped my foot impatiently as I waited, noting when Jasper walked up to Callum. His bags were as expensive looking as his clothes, with initials –JDW- monogrammed onto the leather. He had a sneer plastered on his face as he looked at Call.

"That spot in Master Rufus's group," Jasper said. "that was my spot. And you took it."

"Look, I didn't do anything to make it happen. I didn't even mean to get picked at all, okay? I don't want to be here." Call replied tiredly.

I smirked as I noticed that Jasper was shaking with rage. Up close, I noticed with further bemusement that his bag, though fancy, had holes in the leather that had been carefully and obviously repeatedly patched. Which meant that although he looked like he came from money, it obviously wasn't money his family still had. What a pity to have hand me down clothes and probably a hand me down name.

"You're a liar," Jasper said sounding desperate. " You did something. Nobody winds up getting picked by the most prestigious Master at the Magisterium by accident, so you can forget trying to fool me. When we get to school, I'm going to make it my mission to get that spot back. You're going to be begging to go home."

"Wait. If you beg, they let you go home?"

I almost snorted a laugh as Jasper stared at Call as if he's just spoken in Greek.

"You have no idea how important this is," he said, gripping the handle of his bag so tightly that his knuckles turned white. "No idea. I can't even stand to be on the same bus as you." I tilted my head as Jasper spun away with enough dramatics to make it onto young and the restless before storming off toward the Masters.

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