DUEL

Long after Reginald Smoot slinks away to lick his wounds and salvage what remains of his fragile pride, my fellow mages in Athame Arts are eyeing me with a new level of respect. Or fear. Either way, they’re keeping a healthy distance. 

Which is fine by me because I can still feel it beneath my skin. My tainted blood, slithering through my veins like a beast on the prowl. 

I shudder. I hate it. But some unshakable part of me lusts for it too.

Professor Burke pairs us up to practice close combat athame strikes. Without wands. Just another reason I loathe combat. It takes such a painfully long time for my body to calm after—

“Do you really think you should be—?” a male voice questions as they reach toward me in my peripheral.

“Don’t fucking touch me!” I snap with a snarling hiss, lashing out to strike them with the pummel of my athame. I don’t even realize it’s my dormmate Haruki Keen until the words are well out of my mouth.

Fuck! I yank my hand to a halt, a mere half inch from striking him. 

And then we just stare at each other for a moment, neither of us saying a word.

I swallow. Why does he always leave me so unsettled?

“Sorry, my blood’s still up from the bout with Smoot,” I apologize, my gaze dropping as I lower the athame to my side.

“Clearly,” Keen agrees, not seeming upset, merely annoyed…? “Hey…uh… What’s that on your hand?”

“A cut obviously.” And now I’m annoyed.

“Not that,” he huffs with a roll of his amber eyes. “The mark on the back of it. The one that’s pulsing in color.”

I flinch. How could I be so careless?

I shift my weight, tucking my left hand behind my back. I don’t want to talk about it, but I have a feeling he’ll just keep asking until he gets a real answer. And as my dormmate it’s not like I can truly escape him. 

I sigh in resignation. “It’s a Snuff.”

“A what?”

My brow furrows. How can he not know what that is? “It dampens your magik.”

“Why in the Dark Abyss would you ever want that?” Keen questions bluntly. 

I square my shoulders, my eyes narrowing at him. “Because some of us have too much magik for the fragile bodies we were born into, Keen. And Astaroths do not admit weakness. Ever.”

We stare each other down in silence. 

“Are we doing this or not?” I inquire with an obvious edge of provocation to my words. 

And I was just beginning to calm down too. 

Keen’s fingers tighten on his athame. “Yeah…I guess we are.”

I twirl my athame with practiced ease. “Don’t you dare go easy on me.”

My words spark something in his amber eyes, and his whole demeanor changes. Keen shifts his shoulder back, readying himself for a fight. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

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“Duel” ExSpelled © 2025 by Kat Vancil

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