Awakened (Unbound, Book 3)

Chapter Forty-Nine

Mrs. Hendrey regarded me with what seemed to be pity, and when I looked around, I realized that many of the students were mimicking her for reasons that eluded me. Pushing thoughts of her aside, I imagined the reconstructed shield I had erected dismantling. Knowing that we were butting heads, I didn't want the self-imposed restriction to bottle up my emotions, making them worse and threatening whatever control I had over my abilities. Immediately, I felt the world press upon me like a switch that brought everything around me back to life. It wasn't all-consuming, but freeing.

"I know that all this talk about the Craft can be somewhat overwhelming for someone who doesn't understand it, but—"

As her emotions filled with confusion contradicted what she was saying, I started laughing at her. Deep belly laughing that I couldn't seem to stop. "I—I'm sorry? What? I've always known about the Craft."

"Then take your seat," she demanded, no longer sympathetic in any way.

"No," I retorted. "I don't belong in this class."

"You most certainly do." She scowled. "Your father's heritage has made it your birthright to be here, to learn the Craft. You need to learn its history, its purpose, and most importantly, you need to learn to use and control whatever abilities you may have inherited."

"And what makes you so sure that I even have abilities?" I questioned haughtily. "Maible Baun doesn't have any."

The students in the classroom sat watching us argue, eyes darting from teacher to student in anticipation. I could feel that they wanted it to continue, to explode. Their curiosity kept them in a silent vigil, and even Calin remained quiet at this point, watching me with a slight smirk yet worry in his gaze. I was pretty sure he was anxious that I would do something I would later regret. I could see phones as students prepared to text their friends, maybe even videotape whatever came next.

"With or without abilities, you must learn the Craft," she emphasized. "Maible Baun knows that. She's one of the best students to have studied at Grimas."

"There is absolutely nothing that you can teach me about the Craft," I advised her matter-of-factly.

There was a collective intake of breath as the class waited for Mrs. Hendrey to react. The students, from what I could see without looking away, had wide eyes and mouths that hung open in shock. They obviously weren't accustomed to seeing a student challenge a teacher, but I was getting good at spitting in the face of authority. I enjoyed proving myself right, though I wasn't trying to be obstinate. I wasn't being some snot-nosed kid that was snubbing her nose in the face of authority. The plain hard truth was simple: Mrs. Hendrey could not teach me anything about the Craft that I had not already learned. At least, not in a beginner's class.

To everyone's surprise—and my own—Mrs. Hendrey laughed heartily almost to the point of tears. It was an act, I knew. Nobody who truly found something that funny could cut it off and recompose themselves in a matter of seconds to speak with the steel tone she began using. "Don't let the fact that you are Mr. Dwyer's daughter inflate your self-worth."

"Excuse me?"

"Everyone, no matter their innate abilities, must be taught at one time or another in order to use and understand the Craft."

"And? Are you dense?" I asked. "Or were you not in the office when we discussed this?"

"There is no community in Briarville that would have been able to teach you the Craft," she deadpanned. "There used to be a High Priestess, but she died. It's who we are attempting to honor, if you remember. Even if she was alive, she'd never have taught such an obviously difficult student such as yourself."