by Eva Chase
When I reached the top of the stairs, I set Deborah down so she could scurry to a safe vantage point and headed into the sitting room myself. I still hadn’t figured out how it was any different in purpose from the parlor. Eloise escorted my visitor in a moment later.
The woman who strode into the room was tall, broad-shouldered, and well-muscled but with enough poise to give a svelte impression over her toughness. With her short, silver-flecked tawny hair and wide-set eyes, she made me think of a lioness on the prowl. She wasn’t wearing the usual black outfit of her job but fitted jeans and a modest silk blouse.
“Persephone,” she said in a commanding voice that rolled through the room. “It’s so good to finally see you again.”
Again? “I, er— I’m actually going by Rory,” I said quickly. “It’s the name I grew up with. Whenever anyone mentions ‘Persephone’ I feel like they’re talking about someone else.”
The woman paused and then nodded, studying me with what felt like professional precision. Then she smiled with more warmth than I’d been prepared for. “I’m sorry. I’m sure this has all been overwhelming for you. I’m hoping I can help make the transition easier. Your mother and I were good friends—I did everything I could to locate you so we could bring you back. If I hadn’t been on assignment overseas at the time, I’d have been there to retrieve you.”
I restrained a shudder at the memory of my bloody “retrieval.” So, this wasn’t an official visit after all. I groped for something to say as I sat down on one of the stiff armchairs. Was I supposed to thank her for her contribution to wrenching me from the life I’d loved and the slaughter of my parents?
“Thank you for coming by,” I settled on. I could say that without wincing. “Was there anything specific you wanted to talk about, Ms. Ravenguard?”
She made a dismissive wave as she sat across from me. “Please, you can call me Lillian. I just wanted to see how you’ve been doing. Have you been coping with the changes all right? Is there anything you’re still confused about?”
How so many of you can be such total assholes and not even seem to realize it? I thought, and bit my tongue. Not all of the fearmancers were awful all of the time, and so far this one was being kind.
“Not really,” I said. “I mean, it’s kind of weird… I don’t remember any of this.” I motioned to the house around me. “I still don’t have a very good sense of what my family was like. But I think I’m getting along pretty well with everything at school. That seems to be what’s most important right now.” That, and making sure the other royal families don’t destroy me.
Lillian made a humming sound. “Of course. I think I might have…” Her gaze sharpened. “You must still be shaken by what happened with your mentor at the university. I can assure you that the blacksuits are working hard on that case to determine why his illness caused him to take his life in that way—and to ensure any contagion doesn’t spread.”
I could have told them it wasn’t a contagion but a purposeful spell, if I’d trusted any of them enough to relay what Banefield had told me. I didn’t trust them, though—not even this woman in front of me. I’d known her for all of five minutes, no matter how much presence she claimed to have had in my family’s life before.
“That’s good to hear,” I said. “It was horrible. He was a good mentor—he helped me a lot in adjusting.”
“No matter how long it takes, we always get to the bottom of a situation eventually,” Lillian said.
I found that a little hard to believe given the number of crimes I’d already heard of fearmancers getting away with, but I wasn’t going to argue with her.
She switched topics with a smooth grace, mentioning a few shops, restaurants, and other attractions nearby I might want to visit while I was home, and I replied as well as I could. She must have sensed my uncertainty about the whole conversation, because she didn’t try to sustain it very long.
“The main reason I stopped by was to let you know you can call on me at any time, anything you need,” she said, scooting forward on her chair. She handed me a business card with her name, phone number, and email address in stark print. “If you don’t get me, you’ll get my assistant, Maggie, who can connect you to me right away if necessary. Don’t hesitate to get in touch. I mean it. Your mother was my best friend, and watching over you is the best way I can honor her memory.”
The vehemence in her voice sent a pang through me, a longing to be able to believe and trust in someone who’d say that. My fingers closed around the card. “Thank you. It means a lot.”
“It’s no problem at all. I can already tell you’ve grown up to be an impressive young woman.”
After Eloise had shown Lillian out, I went up to my room to save her number in my phone. It definitely couldn’t hurt to have a blacksuit on call just in case, right? Maybe she’d end up being on my side like Professor Banefield had.
I’d just added her into my contacts when the phone rang in my hand. The number that came up on the screen was Jude Killbrook’s.
My pulse hiccupped. For a second, I sat there frozen.
Jude was one of my fellow scions, heir to the Killbrook barony. He’d also been one of my main tormenters when I’d first arrived at the school, but after I’d proven my magical abilities, he’d appeared to have a change of heart. He’d put a hell of a lot of effort into making amends and winning me over, and I had to admit it’d worked… until I’d gotten a chilling reminder of how strategic his kindness could be.
He’d been sweet to me, sure, but at the same time he’d happily been planning pranks to torment the nonmagical—Nary—students the university took in on scholarship. The most recent of those tricks had ended with my dormmate and friend Shelby fracturing her wrist and losing the spot in the music department that had meant everything to her.
Jude hadn’t even felt bad about destroying her dream. He’d tried to justify it—he’d expected me to be impressed by his stunt.
Remembering the last real conversation we’d had, which had ended with me forcing him out of my car and leaving him on the side of the road, sent a twist of nausea through my gut. That’d been a couple weeks ago though, and I hadn’t really talked to him since. I should probably at least find out what he wanted.
I raised the phone to my ear. “Hello?” I said warily.
“Hello, Ice Queen,” Jude said in his usual languidly wry tone. “You’re having quite the busy social life at the family home, aren’t you?”
“What are you talking about?”
“I was just coming up on the place, and there’s someone leaving. Who’ve you been entertaining already?”
“I don’t think that’s any of your business,” I said automatically, and then the rest of what he’d said caught up. “You were just coming up on what place?”
Jude chuckled. “The Bloodstone mansion, Rory. I’m right outside the gate. Will you let me in so we can talk? I promise not to bite unless you ask nicely.”
I rolled my eyes, but at the same time I was springing to my feet. I hurried across the hall to one of the rooms with a view of the front yard.
Indeed, a red Mercedes was parked beyond the wrought-iron bars. As I watched, Jude’s lanky figure emerged from the driver’s side. He shut the door and propped himself against it, looking toward the house, the sunlight gleaming off his dark copper hair. I was standing far enough back that I doubted he could see me, but he must have suspected I’d come take a look, because he aimed a cheeky wave toward the house.
Did he figure if he ignored our argument for long enough, the conflict would disappear?
“What, you just happened to be in the neighborhood?” I said. Was the Killbrook home in Maine too?
He shrugged. “You could say that, only I took about a four-hour detour to get into the neighborhood. It was a very scenic drive. Although the only thing I’m really interested in seeing is you.”
He did know how to lay on the charm. And, fuck, he’d driven four hours just to pay me this visit without any idea
of how I’d respond?
“You really should have called before you headed over.”
“Ah, but it’s much harder to turn me away when I’m already here, isn’t it?” He grinned wide enough that I could see the flash of his teeth. “Come on, Rory. I’m not asking for much. Just to talk for a bit face to face.”
“I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” I said. Especially since his cajoling was already working its way under my skin.
The times I’d spent with Jude before we’d fallen out had been among the few bright spots in my new life. He’d made me laugh. His kiss, his touch, had lit me up from the inside out. He’d expressed such unwavering devotion—and proven it in front of the other students—that I couldn’t believe it’d been a sham or that he’d had any part in his father’s plans as baron. He’d had way too many chances where he could have hurt me but hadn’t.
Maybe now that he’d had some time to think over what I’d said…
“You know I can make it good,” he teased, and then his voice turned more serious. “I’m sorry about what happened, all right? I didn’t set out to hurt anyone, and if I’d known that Nary was your friend, I’d have been a lot more careful of her—I swear it.”
The hope that had been rising inside me snapped away in an instant. I swallowed thickly. With those few words, he’d put the problem on full display.
“You still don’t get it,” I said. “That’s not the point. It shouldn’t matter whether any of them are my friends or not. If I hadn’t known who she was, it’d still be a horrible thing to leave her injured and cost her the spot at school over some stupid prank.”
“It’s not as if I did that on purpose. We can’t tiptoe around them all the time.”
“There’s a big difference between tiptoeing around them and just avoiding pointless pranks that’ll totally freak them out,” I said before he could keep going. My stomach was full-out churning now. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore. We obviously think about it too differently.”
“Rory, please…”
I closed my eyes and gathered my resolve. “Look, I’m not furious with you like I was before. I understand that you didn’t think you were doing anything wrong. But I can’t trust someone who has such a different perspective on… well, everything. When we’re back at school, we can be classmates and colleagues, but that’s it. That’s as far as it can go. All right?”
He was silent for a moment. “You’re really not letting me in.”
“No. I’m sorry about the drive.”
“Well, that was my own damn fault, wasn’t it?” He laughed, a little tightly. Then his tone relaxed again. “It’s fine. I’ll try again another day, another way.”
I trusted he meant that, regardless of my other doubts. A question tumbled out. “Why does being with me matter so much to you? You know we can never have anything serious.”
I was the last living Bloodstone. Any guy I married, on the off-chance I stuck around here long enough for that to happen, would automatically become a Bloodstone too. Jude and I couldn’t have a real future together, even if his attitudes had lined up with mine, unless he gave up the barony. I wasn't sure he even could—if there was anyone to inherit it in his place. He didn’t have any siblings.
“Don’t you worry about that,” Jude said without missing a beat. “I will find a way to convince you to give me another chance, I promise you. Just wait and see.”
Chapter Three
Declan
Malcolm leaned back in the lounge chair, rotating his beer bottle lazily between his fingers. “You know,” he said, “this isn’t bad at all.”
The July sun beamed over the back deck with just enough heat to be pleasant but not searing, and the breeze rustled through the trees that framed the lawn beyond. It was a perfect summer day, really.
Some of the prominent fearmancers looked a little horrified when they first saw the large modern sunroom and wooden deck Dad had arranged to be built off the back of the old Ashgrave mansion. If I looked at it with an outsider’s eye, I could admit the addition did clash with the stone walls and gothic styling of the rest of the place. But it was around back where only family and guests saw it, and I’d take the enjoyment of it over maintaining appearances any day.
I downed a gulp from my beer. “I’m glad you could come over. It seems like a shame to have this spot and no one to hang out with back here.”
The deck had gone in last summer, and all four of us scions had gotten together a couple times back then to relax and shoot the breeze. Considering how tense things had become between Malcolm and the other two, I’d figured a group hang-out wasn’t the best move right now.
Besides, I’d wanted the chance to talk to each of them one-on-one. There were some subjects sensitive enough that it was hard enough feeling my way to a real answer without an audience.
I’d talked to Connar and Jude earlier this week. It’d been obvious pretty quickly that neither of them had any information about what the barons were up to beyond what I knew. But then, Jude had always seemed antagonistic toward his dad, and Connar avoided talking about his mother as much as possible, so I didn’t think much political gossip got passed around in their homes.
Malcolm, on the other hand, had been doing his best to follow his father’s footsteps and become part of the most senior baron’s plans for as long as I’d known him.
“You’re going back for the summer project?” I said, to shoot the breeze a little more before I got to the subject that really mattered to me.
Malcolm snorted, because it was a rather stupid question. “We’ve got a reputation to maintain, don’t we? Can’t look like we’re shirking the chance for extra practice.” He cracked his knuckles. “I wonder which of the profs got to pick the assignment this time. Hopefully it’ll be better than Sinleigh’s lame project last year.”
I let that jab slide past me. I’d won last year’s summer competition, partly because Professor Sinleigh had naturally picked a task that revolved around Insight. Which was also Malcolm’s weakest area of magic. Malcolm’s comment had been said casually enough, though—only a bit of mild posturing to remind me that he considered himself king of the scions even if I was nearly full baron now. I was used to that.
“I can’t compete since I’m an aide now, so you’ll have it a little easier,” I said, giving him a light kick to the ankle.
He laughed and shook his head, relaxing into his chair. Malcolm held onto his authority rigidly with most fearmancers, but he liked it when the three of us pushed back. He’d never said it in so many words, but I got the impression it made him feel better to think he’d be ruling alongside friends he could also consider equals.
Of course, even scions could push back too much. I didn’t even know exactly what line Jude or Connar had crossed, but they’d clearly pissed him off somehow or other. One of the—increasingly many—downsides of the teacher’s aide gig was how much less time I’d been able to spend with the other guys at school.
“I suppose there’s Rory to contend with this year, though,” I added.
Malcolm’s shoulders tensed just slightly, but he kept the same nonchalant tone. “I’d imagine five years of practice with three strengths will still beat out three months of practice with four.”
It wasn’t all about magical power, though. Even when there were scions attending the university like now, the records I’d seen indicated that regular students still won at least half of the time. Any good project included a bunch of plain old strategizing.
“She might have some trouble focusing anyway,” I said. “The professor who died—did you know he was her mentor?”
Malcolm’s head jerked around at that. He could keep a good poker face, but I didn’t think he was a good enough actor to fake that startled response. “Seriously?”
I nodded. “I’ve been wondering if that fact isn’t at least part of the reason he’s dead now.”
“Everyone’s saying he had some awful illness.”
“Well, i
t’s not as if magic can’t make someone sick. How many illnesses do you know that’d make someone stab himself?”
“So you think… someone might have killed him. Because it’d hurt her. Who—” Malcolm stiffened much more obviously than before, straightening up in his chair. His eyes darkened. “If you’re trying to hint that I would have resorted to—to murdering a fucking professor just to make a point, then—”
“Hey!” I raised my hands, cutting him off before he could go any further. I couldn’t blame Malcolm for getting upset about the possible insinuation, but an angry Malcolm Nightwood was pretty unnerving to be around. “That’s not what I was implying, not at all. I know you’re not a psychopath.”
His dad I was less sure of. The barons hadn’t mentioned Professor Banefield’s death at our most recent meeting, but there was plenty they didn’t bother to loop me in on. They hadn’t made any secret of the fact that they wanted Rory as helpless as they could get her so they could mold her to their whims—for some higher purpose they also hadn’t shared with me. A bad sign, since it meant that purpose was probably something I’d disagree with.
Malcolm’s shoulders came down, but his expression stayed stormy. “Then you think someone else had a big enough beef with Glinda the Good Witch to start offing her support system? It’s one thing to duel it out with someone you have an issue with directly. Going around killing random bystanders… that’s just wanton brutality. Why the hell would anyone come down on her that hard?”
“I’m not sure,” I said carefully. I wasn’t supposed to reveal anything that was discussed in the baron meetings with anyone outside that pentacle, and I didn’t really want to place the burden of all the things I’d learned about the other scions’ parents on their shoulders yet. I’d had to grow up way too fast out of necessity. No need to drag them along with me before they were ready. “That’s what I’m trying to figure out. You’ve been pretty… focused on her since she turned up. Have you seen anything odd?”
