Pheromonal: One Night With the Alpha-Chapter 132: Supernatural Research Club

Another week, and still no real progress in my magic. The gossip about purple eyes has died down, and all I’ve heard from Logan is a text message five days ago saying he’ll be gone for another week.

No explanation, and Marcus isn’t saying shit, even when Penelope harasses him.

There is one silver lining to my shitshow magic high school life, though. After Logan heard about the weird holographic visitor, he told me to sign up for the Supernatural Research Club.

It sounds lame, but little did I know—this group of nerds is my people.

I hum a half-remembered song from my childhood as I arrange the three smooth wardstones on the table. Their obsidian surfaces catch the dim light of the study area, almost pulsing with potential. My fingers tingle as I place them in a perfect triangle, each exactly six inches from the others.

"Is this really going to work?" Zach leans forward, his rectangular glasses sliding down his nose. His skepticism radiates off him in waves, but his eyes betray his curiosity. He’s been the most vocal doubter in our little group.

Ellie tucks a strand of her platinum blonde hair behind an ear adorned with at least seven tiny silver hoops. Her notebook sits open beside her, pen poised to document every detail. "It’s going to work. She’s a whiz at wards."

"She can’t even use her magic properly," he grumbles, but one sharp scowl from Ellie keeps him quiet.

I can’t help smiling. These three outcasts have become my unlikely... friends. Kind of like younger cousins more than anything.

Dev, who’s been silently watching from my right, slides a simple white candle toward the center of my triangle. "Here. Let’s see what you’ve got, Nicole." His voice is soft but encouraging, dark eyes intense beneath a mop of curly black hair. Of the three, he’s the quietest, but when he does speak, even the most arrogant professor types seem to listen. He’s what people would consider a top student and prodigy.

He’s also started tutoring me, because apparently my progress is "painful" to witness.

I place the candle at the exact center of my wardstone triangle and light it with a match—no need to embarrass myself attempting magical fire ignition when I can’t even manage to levitate a pencil in Lancaster’s class.

"Okay." I focus on my breathing, placing my palms flat on the table, fingers spread wide. Unlike at work, I don’t have to hide my magic here. Free to do as I wish without worrying about being discovered, I visualize thin threads of energy from one wardstone to the next, overlapping them in the finest threads of mana, like casting a net around the candle.

The energy doesn’t come from inside me, but the air in the room, so it’s easy to manipulate. I’m little more than a conduit, giving it a specific road map until it condenses the way I need it to.

Something clicks. It isn’t a sound, or anything visual. It’s just a sixth sense, where I know it’s done.

I open my eyes, watching as the air around the candle shimmers. There’s a faint glow coming from the wardstones, highlighting the glyphs now powered by local mana.

Simple. Security wards, much like we would install at someone’s home—only at a much smaller scale.

The wardstones are prohibitively expensive, but money isn’t a problem for the average student at Thornhaven.

"Holy shit," Zach breathes, pushing his glasses up. "The stones are actually glowing."

"It worked," I point out, unable to keep from rubbing his skeptical nose in it. Of course it worked. Anti-Magic Security has been my profession for years.

These kids might learn how to use their magic, but they don’t know how to work with a wardstone to save their lives. Of course, it makes sense. Wardstone engineering isn’t a very popular field. Not enough pomp or circumstance, and a relatively underrated job.

"Most people would use a recharge crystal in order to power these, but they need to be installed so local magic—mana—can infuse them indefinitely. Otherwise, they will fail. Recharging an empty stone takes a lot more energy than keeping an active one running. Just a trickle will do, in comparison."

"Fascinating," Ellie mumbles, scribbling away.

Dev squints. "What exactly did you do? That’s not standard warding technique."

"The standard hasn’t been standard in years. It’s called sympathetic linking. The stones aren’t just barriers—they’re in conversation with each other." I tap the table between two of the stones, careful not to disrupt the energy. "I’m not strong enough to create a solid ward on my own, but I can make these three weaker points work together. They share the load."

Dev leans in closer, his fingers hovering just above the energy field. "Ingenious. Small nodes in a network rather than a single powerful barrier."

"Now for the fun part." I gesture toward the candle flame dancing merrily in the center of my protective triangle. "Try to blow it out."

Zach snorts. "That’s it? After all this buildup?" He leans forward confidently and blows directly at the flame.

The air from his breath hits the invisible barrier and diverts around it. The candle flame flickers but remains steadfast.

His eyebrows twitch.

"No way." Zach tries again, harder this time. Same result.

Ellie claps her hands together. "My turn!" She takes a dramatic breath and blows forcefully. Again, the flame dances but doesn’t extinguish.

"The barrier’s real," Dev murmurs, his expression thoughtful. He doesn’t even try blowing. Instead, he pulls a pencil from his pocket and slowly extends it toward the candle. The pencil stops mid-air as if hitting glass.

My lips twitch. "You’re supposed to use magic."

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Dev raises his hand, palm up. A tiny whirlwind forms above his fingers, swirling with controlled precision. He directs it toward the candle, and I watch with satisfaction as the miniature tornado hits the barrier and dissipates, leaving the flame untouched.

Zach’s eyes narrow with determination. He cracks his knuckles and takes a deep breath, focusing intently on the candle. The air in the room shifts subtly as he summons a more substantial breeze. It rushes toward the protected candle—and splits around the invisible shield. The flame doesn’t even flicker.

"Holy shit," Zach whispers, genuine amazement replacing his usual skepticism. "You can really do this on a larger scale? Like, around an entire house or something?"

I nod. For once, I’m not the remedial student struggling to keep up; I’m in my comfort zone. "This is basically Anti-Magic Security 101. The configuration is simple, but effective."

"But the wardstones," Ellie points out, tapping her pen against her notebook. "They’re too expensive to carry around."

"New ones, yes," I concede. "But if you mix and match different properties, you can create custom security wards tailored to specific needs. You just need the right materials and knowledge of the formulas for spacing, mana condensation, power requirements..." I trace invisible equations in the air, losing myself in the familiar territory of my profession.

"The ratio between wardstone mass and protected area follows a logarithmic scale, not linear, which means you can actually cover exponentially larger spaces with minimal additional investment if you calculate the optimal placement algorithms. And when you factor in resonance harmonics between complementary stone types—"

Zach groans loudly, burying his face in his hands. "Stop, please. You’re making the fascinating boring again."

I pause mid-sentence, suddenly aware I’ve slipped into work-mode. The language of anti-magic security flows naturally from me, but I forget not everyone finds power consumption coefficients as riveting as I do.

"Sorry," I offer with a sheepish smile. "Occupational hazard."

Dev hasn’t taken his eyes off me. Unlike the others, his expression isn’t bored or overwhelmed—it’s calculating. He gestures toward the ward I’ve created, head tilted slightly.

"I don’t understand," he says quietly. "If you can finesse a ward this easily, why can’t you use your own magic?"

I grimace.

Ellie glances between us, clearly worried Dev’s hurting my feelings. He isn’t. "Maybe Nicole’s just specialized. Like how some people can play piano but can’t sing."

"I learned theory in a completely different way than any of you. And until recently, I didn’t have this kind of power to access. Manipulating local mana isn’t the same as accessing our internal magic."

"Bullshit," Dev says, but without malice. "The principles are the same. You just need to approach personal magic the way you approach wardstones."

"I know. I’ve tried, it’s just not working. I’m dreaming about glyphs at this point."

"We all dream about glyphs," Zach grumbles. "I’m so sick of glyphs. I wish we could cast without them."

Glyphs, after all, are essentially magical keys. They’re kind of necessary.

"You’ve tried their way," Dev corrects, gesturing toward the classroom buildings visible through the window. "Lancaster teaches textbook magic—rigid, academic. But you clearly don’t think like that."

I blink, caught off guard by his assessment. "What do you mean?"

"You think in systems and networks. Connections and relationships." He points to my wardstone triangle. "Look what you just did. You didn’t force power through a single channel—you created a balanced circuit, letting the energy flow naturally through established pathways."

"So what are you suggesting?" I ask, curiosity temporarily overriding my defensiveness.

Dev shrugs. "Stop trying to be a battery. Be a conductor instead."