Secret of the Gods (Magic Blessed Academy 2)

A second later, she got the answer to her questions. Wesley growled and turned his head toward me with a look of rage as he let the wall fall and break into huge shards of stone on the floor. Large pieces of it rolled across the floor and ground to a stop in front of Professor Wist.

She blinked down at the chunks of rock, then looked up with pursed lips. “Wesley, I think you need to try that again. Concentrate harder next time, and if you can’t get the wall where you want it, at least keep it in one piece. Otherwise, it’s a zero.”

Looking vaguely disappointed, she sent out a whirl of magic, putting the wall back together in seconds. But Wesley’s gaze was still glued to mine. I gave him a dark smile and turned back to Eden, ignoring the sounds of his muttered curses.

Yeah, fuck you too, buddy. Sorry I’m better at magic than you are.

I wasn’t as powerful as I’d been in the godly realm, but over the next couple weeks, I reminded myself constantly that effort and focus could make up for a lot of what I was missing in my power. And just because I didn’t have the same magical boost that seemed to infuse the atmosphere of the godly realm, it didn’t mean my power was weak. I was still stronger than a lot of other students in my year, and I was working my ass off to get better and better.

Being a physical person, and an impatient person, I had always gravitated a lot more toward the practical classes—Magical Combat, Power and Precision, things like that—than the theoretical ones. I’d much rather work up a sweat than crack a textbook any day, but I had started to apply myself equally hard in all my classes. My time in the challenge last semester had made me realize how powerful knowledge could be. There were actually times it was better to problem-solve than to fight.

And I wanted to know everything I could find out about the gods and their magic before I returned to their realm.

“Has everyone finished unit three in their textbooks?” The history professor asked on a cold Tuesday in late January as he paced back and forth in front of the class.

His name was Professor Twine, and he was a short stocky man, with a comb-over, and a nervous twitch that forced him to push his glasses up his nose every five seconds or so. I wasn’t actually convinced that his glasses were ever falling down; the gesture seemed more like an ingrained habit at this point. Professor Twine had been my professor the semester before too, and I was pretty sure he was the only history teacher in the school. Students only learned history during their first year before shifting to other things in their second and third years.

The students around me all mumbled their assent, flipping to the appropriate pages in their textbooks.

“All right then, let’s review quickly,” he said, shoving his glasses up his nose. “Last semester, you learned that long ago, the gods blessed humans with magic. Those humans who had been gifted with power then procreated, and so on, and so on. Their ancestors are the magic users of today.”

He had a slight accent, but I couldn’t place it. It definitely wasn’t Bostonian, and it was far too nasally for southern. It made it hard to focus on his words, but I shook my head and leaned my elbows on the desk, concentrating on him as he continued.

“Of course, none of you fit that mold.” His gaze swept the class. “None of you come from a line of magic users. You all developed magic, transforming from an ordinary human to mage as power sparked within you. That’s because every once in a while, the gods will bless new people with magic—usually young adults in their late teens or early twenties. Those who are given the gift of magic come to this academy to learn what their old magic counterparts have been learning since birth. Namely, how to utilize and control their powers. That’s why you are all here.”

I shifted in my seat, glancing back and forth, questions on the tip of my tongue. Everyone else was nodding along dully, and I wondered if none of them were at all curious, or if they were too afraid to ask.

Well, I’m not.

My hand shot up in the air. Professor Twine glanced over his shoulder at me as he wrote on the chalkboard at the front of the class. He nodded. “Yes, Aria?”

“So… why don’t all humans have magic?”

The hand that was raised to write on the board quickly stopped. Slowly, he lowered it to his side and turned to face me again. He clutched his hands nervously in front of him and looked around the room as if the gods themselves were going to barge in and answer the question.

Finally, he looked at me, the look on his face hard to read. “That would be a question for the gods, wouldn’t it? And it is not our place to question them. About anything.”

Before he could turn back

around, I asked another question. Actually, I asked several questions in a row.

“But how did the gods decide who deserves magic and who doesn’t? I mean, do they just choose randomly, or is there some kind of system? Like a lottery?”

The professor’s face changed quickly, and I knew that I had pressed the wrong button. He pulled down on his tight vest, still not managing to get it over the bottom of his belly. “As I said. It is not your place, or my place, or anyone’s place to question the choices of the gods.”

I was a bit taken aback by his reaction. I’d blurted out my questions because I was genuinely curious, and although I had no problem ruffling feathers or pissing people off, I hadn’t actually been intending to do that at the moment. Not only was Twine angry, but the way his hands scraped against each other, the way his knuckles turned white, and the way his gaze shifted wildly around the room made me think he was… afraid.

I opened my mouth for a third time, but he shushed me before I could even speak.

“Let me ask you this, Aria,” he said, pushing his glasses up his nose as he drew himself to his full height. “Would you rather have not been given magic at all?”

He didn’t even wait for me to answer before turning back to the board and continuing to write. The tone of his voice had rubbed me the wrong way—it felt like there was a threat hidden in there somewhere. Did he want an honest answer to that? My answer changed daily, sometimes hourly. While having magic was amazing in some ways, it was terrifying in others. And I missed my old life.

But I’m not sure the question was entirely rhetorical.

That vague threat in his tone had made it sound like my magic could be taken away if I didn’t prove myself properly grateful to have it. Would the gods do that? Could they? Could they strip someone of their magic with a snap of their fingers?

If they could grant it, there was no reason to think they couldn’t take it away just as easily. And despite my misgivings about having been given powers, I didn’t like the idea of losing them.