by Sarina Dorie
Plus, the principal was a stickler for rules, and I would probably miss teacher curfew if I wasn’t back soon.
She clucked her tongue at me. “I see, then. You’re both fucktards. You make a good match for each other.”
“Right.”
Vega lifted my fuzzy pink robe from where I had draped it over the dressing screen and tossed it at me. “I’m in your debt for saving my life. Again.” She sighed in disgust. “We might as well get this over with. This is a favor for you, whether you appreciate it or not. . . .”
I caught the robe. “What is a favor?” I asked suspiciously. I knew from experience that Vega’s idea of a good deed was dubious after the ways she had tried to “help” me in the past.
“We’re going to pay a visit to the love of your life in the dungeon. You’re going to barf out your feelings for him so you both can get over your issues.”
“That isn’t the favor I want. My three wishes were for you to keep my relationship secret, to stop trying to ruin my life, and to help me make a fire-retardant spell.”
“What do I look like? A genie? I don’t do wishes.” Vega grabbed me by the arm and hauled me out of the room. “Those were favors. Consider this one a bonus for saving my life.”
I tried to wrench away. “Stop it. I’m going. You don’t need to manhandle me.”
She continued to drag me down the hall. “I don’t need to, but it’s more fun that way, and I intend to keep myself entertained somehow.”
Vega’s long legs set such a quick stride I had to run to keep up. Sconces flared to life as we walked past, casting ominous shadows onto the stone walls as we descended the stairs. I told myself I was perfectly safe. I was with Vega, and between both of our magics, we could handle a Fae or any bogeymen out there who might be lurking in the shadows.
The problem was, Vega was one of the most powerful Witchkin I knew. Yet, she hadn’t been able to protect herself. She hadn’t volunteered what had happened and how she’d been coerced, which meant she wasn’t completely free of whatever bargain or oath she’d made.
The flickering light of the sconces behind us warped our shadows, making our figures stretch unnaturally tall. Vega’s robe draped across her lean limbs, her belly perfectly flat. But in her shadow, a slight bulge protruded from her belly, giving her the appearance of someone pregnant. I thought back to what I had sensed when I’d projected my awareness inside Vega’s body, driving off the Fae who had possessed her and tried to kill her. I had felt two heartbeats, Vega’s soul and something . . . extra. It hadn’t been the malevolent presence of the Princess of Lies and Truth.
There had been something else inside Vega. Was it a baby? I still wasn’t sure. I projected my awareness outside myself and toward her.
Vega punched me in the shoulder. “What are you doing?”
“Nothing,” I said. It was probably for the best I minded my own business.
Vega escorted me all the way down to the dungeon, aiming her wand at locked doors to get to Thatch’s private quarters past his office and classroom. I considered resisting, but besides the fact that Vega knew a million spells to make me do her bidding or punish me with pain, I didn’t want to resist. A small part of me wanted to see Thatch. I just wasn’t sure what I would say to him when I saw him. I attempted to compose what I would say in my mind, but the trek to his room was all too short.
She shoved me at the door and crossed her arms. “Well?” she asked.
I knocked on the wood. Upon the first rap of my knuckles, he opened the door. He was still dressed, but his vest and jacket were thrown onto his bed, and his cravat hung loose and unraveled around his neck.
His gaze shifted from me to Vega. “May I . . . help you?”
I swallowed. “Can we talk?”
He held himself taller. “As you can see, I’m quite busy.”
“Shut up, you moron,” Vega said. “We both know you aren’t busy. You two have issues. Deal with it.”
He glowered at her. A mixture of trepidation and gratitude battled inside me. Thatch stepped back from the door and allowed me to enter. Vega remained outside.
She nodded to me and left. Thatch closed the door, slouching against the wood despondently. The haughty superiority I’d seen earlier was gone.
I stared at my feet, trying to organize the chaos inside me into words. “I need to tell you something.”
The corners of his mouth twitched up into a smile, but his eyes were serious. “I never thought I’d want to hear you say those words.”
I knew I asked a lot of questions. I probably talked too much. For years, he’d grown vexed in our magic lessons that I couldn’t just do what he commanded, and I had to question it. Always he was trying to silence me. Maybe I should have been happy he wanted to hear me speak, but his teasing didn’t help. Today I was the grumpy one raising an eyebrow.
“What?” he asked.
“Stop talking. You aren’t helping.”
His lips pressed into a line. He clasped his hands in front of himself, adopting a persona of patience. For once, I was the one being bossy, and he was the one listening. I liked that. And then I felt guilty for liking it.
The words stoppered up in my throat, and I couldn’t uncork them. My heart thrummed like hummingbird wings. I couldn’t think.
He held out his hand to me.
Reluctantly, I took it. “It’s about the other night when we were together.”
“I suspected as much.” He sandwiched my palms between his. “I promised you I wouldn’t use your affinity against you. If that’s what this is about, and I have unwittingly done something to you that you didn’t like, but you were too enthralled by your own powers to tell me, we need to work on controlling your affinity again.”
It was hard to be mad at him when he was being so sincere and caring. Tears filled my eyes. I shook my head. “That’s not it.” I drew in a deep breath, trying to fortify myself.
“Does this have something to do with Vega? I was never interested in pursuing a relationship with her. I made that very clear, and she was fine with it because she wasn’t interested in a relationship with me either. With you, I do want a relationship.” He circled an arm around my waist and drew me closer. His lips were inches from mine. “Let me show you how much I want you.” He could have easily closed the distance between our lips, but he waited for me.
The warmth of his body pressed against me, distracting me. I was aware of the hiccup in my affinity, the magnetism of our magic. It was easy to get lost in the pleasure of this closeness.
I drew back, forcing myself not to become enthralled by magic. That was less distracting. I could focus on his words again. “You said my mother’s name while we were having sex.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“Yes, you did. It was afterward.”
He drummed his fingers against the dresser. “I believe you misheard me.” His brow crinkled. “Do you know what I said? I was quoting Shakespeare. ‘Thus with this kiss I die, Juliet.’”
I shook my head in disbelief. “That is not what you said.”
“It was.” The gray storm clouds of his eyes stared into mine, too intense to look into.
I took in the sight of the burgundy curtains tied back to the wooden posts of his bed, the trunk of paints and canvases stored in the corner, and the pocket watch I’d given him that had been my father’s now resting on his dresser. I searched his room as if I might find the truth there. “That isn’t even how that line in Romeo and Juliet goes.”
“Perhaps your ears deceived you because that’s one of your secret fears. That I loved her more than I love you.”
“Oh.” Mortification ran through me as tangible as a mineral deposit in the mountain of emotions I’d buried it in. I had always feared that I would turn into her if I wasn’t careful. And now I feared I wasn’t enough of her to satisfy him.
He grinned. “This is actually rather funny.”
“No, it isn’t. Vega thinks�
��”
He pressed a finger to my lips. “I don’t want to know what Vega thinks. What do you think?”
I didn’t know if I believed him. So many times he had deceived me in the past. He could be covering with a lie. Or I actually might have misheard him. How could I have a relationship with this man I would always be suspicious of? I had broken up with Elric because I had hated the way he lied to me. I feared I would always distrust Felix Thatch just as deeply.
I swallowed. “I think you prefer her over me.”
He cupped my face in his hand. “And that’s why you wouldn’t talk to me? That’s why you threw my flowers away? I will have you know, that was brilliantly cruel. Did Vega teach you that one?”
“No, you did. Remember the portrait I made that you said looked like your soul? You told me you didn’t want anyone to see it, so you burned it?” It had been my best piece of art ever, and it had horrified me that he would destroy it. Only later did I realize he hadn’t. “Or do you remember the cookies I made you that you told me looked like unicorn manure so you wouldn’t eat them?”
He crossed over to his dresser and opened a drawer. “I lied. I ate them.”
“I know. Your breath smelled like chocolate and peanut butter.” I smiled at my cleverness for figuring out the truth.
He withdrew a sheet of watercolor paper and held it up for me to see. “I didn’t throw your art away. I couldn’t.”
The portrait had been my greatest masterpiece, layers of red and black washes speaking of pain and his inner demons. His hair flowed into the shadows and his face reflected the gloomy side of him. He was striking, but simultaneously haunting. I could see how he wouldn’t have wanted me to display that rawness of soul in an art gallery.
I had found the watercolor in his desk during the summer break when I’d been looking for paper to leave him a note, though I had never told him I’d found it. I’d seen it again when Khaba had confiscated it to show me what a dark self-portrait he had made of himself. Apparently, Thatch had gotten it back after I’d confessed I had made the painting.
It meant a lot to me that Thatch was willing to share this with me now.
Bittersweet melancholy played a note in my chest. I wanted things to be right between us again. “Just so you know, I picked the flowers out of the garbage after you were gone.”
He smiled. “I know. The students told me.” He set the painting on top of his dresser and took my hands in his. “I’m going to say something you aren’t going to hear often, so you’d best savor these words. Three words.”
I waited expectantly.
“I’m—” He cleared his throat. “I am sorry.” His expression was grim. “I don’t believe I said Alouette’s name, but if I did, I can see how it would trouble you. Undoubtably, you would have felt more comfortable confiding this to me if I was a smidge less . . . scathing at times.”
I laughed. It was hard to remember why I hadn’t just told him earlier. “I’m sorry too. I shouldn’t have snapped at you. It shouldn’t have taken Vega dragging me down here to make us talk.”
He arched an eyebrow at me. “It took Vega dragging you. I must appear absolutely beastly to you, then.” He folded his arms around me. “Do you believe me when I tell you I love you more than Alouette Loraline?”
I hesitated. “Yes.” Mostly. Doubt still wormed its way into my heart, and our miscommunication had only amplified those fears.
“How will I ever convince you I love you more?”
“I don’t know.”
He buried his face in my hair. “I’m willing to pay penance for my conduct. You can shackle me in the dungeon and lash at me with a whip.”
“You wish.” I laughed. That was more like a reward.
“Tell me what you want, Clarissa.”
The way he said my name sent a shiver of delight through me.
His breath, warm and sensual against my neck, brushed goosebumps across my flesh. “Tell me your deepest desires.”
I melted into him. “I want movies, dinner, and dancing.”
He pulled away enough that I could see his confused expression. “I had something in mind a little more . . . intimate.”
I laughed. “You asked what I wanted, not what you wanted.”
“Indeed. But I didn’t expect you to name something I hated so thoroughly. You know dancing is torture for me.”
“I know.” It wasn’t like I had actually expected he would take me on a date in public or would allow me to tell my friends about us. I waved him off and started to pull away. “It’s fine. Never mind.”
He hugged me closer. His sigh was that of a dramatic thespian. “This is my punishment? Very well. I shall endeavor to woo you to gain your good favor. I will do research and get back to you on the details of this torture session. Is that all I have to do to get back in your good graces?”
“No.”
His eyes danced with mischief. “Of course not. What else? Flowers? Chocolate?”
“No. You are going to stop being such an Eeyore. You’re going to enjoy this date or pretend to. And another thing—”
“You are pushing your luck.”
“The next time I have sex with you, I want to sleep with you. I want you to cuddle with me all night.”
The teasing left his tone. “No. Not if we’re at school. It would be better if you slept in your own bed.”
“For a couple of hours?”
“I will consider cuddling with you elsewhere, but not here.”
“Deal.”
“But not the next time,” he corrected. “After I take you out on a date, we’ll do this, not on a school night. In the meantime. . . .” He cleared his throat. “Have you ever heard of make-up sex?”
I laughed. “Yeah, I’ve heard of it.”
He planted his hands on my hips, pressing my pelvis against his. “I’ve never made up with anyone, nor had the inclination to do so. Would you humor me? I need this like an art teacher needs to wear stripes and polka dots together.”
I kissed him by way of answer.
He broke away. “Oh, and for the record, I would much rather have you than your mother, just in case I wasn’t clear on that earlier.”
This time, I actually believed him.
CHAPTER TWO
Dating the Devil
Thatch never did anything a little bit. The next day I found a sealed envelope in my staff mailbox with my name on it. Inside was a three-page intake form. It wasn’t labeled “a date” intake form, but that was the gist of it. Leave it to Professor Felix Thatch to take the joy out of dating.
Determined not to let his manner of methodology get to me, I filled it out during my prep, checking off boxes asking about my varying levels of interest and preference. I tried not to giggle and draw attention to myself in case the new principal walked in.
What kind of food do you like to eat?
Chinese
Japanese
Korean
Vietnamese
Italian
French
Mexican
American
I checked off boxes indicating whether I liked these foods a little, moderately, or quite a bit. When I checked off “I don’t know” for Korean food, Thatch’s handwriting appeared in the margin.
Have you truly never had kimchi? What were your parents thinking, raising you without experiencing fermented cabbage that would set your mouth on fire?
I laughed out loud. It must have taken him hours to prepare this document. I didn’t know when that man slept.
The moment I checked off that I liked American food, the paper elongated, making room for further questions about more specific divisions in that category: pizza, hamburger, home cooking, etc. The magic he had put into this was impressive. Finding this an interactive document made it more fun.
He asked about my preferences of movies, my experience with dancing, and if I liked theater, concerts, opera, or ballet. I enjoyed his snarky comm
entary in the margin as I responded. When he asked me to rate my proficiency in various styles of dancing, I laughed again at his response.
You said you wanted me to take you dancing, but you lack experience in tango, waltz, rumba, line dancing, and polka. Your salsa and swing are remedial at best. You said you have no interest in going to clubs or loud concerts. What kind of dancing are you capable of doing?
I picked up a pen and wrote: I can’t actually dance, but I like the idea of dancing. It would be romantic to learn to dance together.
Before I had even finished my response, Thatch’s elegant handwriting appeared under my lines. You would say something completely impractical like that.
I crossed off his word “impractical” and wrote:
Romantic.
In front of the word he wrote:
Hopeless.
I wrote:
I can do enough salsa to enjoy myself. Also, I’ve done Irish céilí dancing in Lachlan Falls. They called out the moves, and it was a lot of fun. I think we might enjoy dancing together.
He responded:
I will put it on the list of possibilities.
I didn’t know if this was the equivalent of text messaging, an artificial intelligence based on his personality, or he’d truly thought of a response for any possible answer I’d created.
As I skimmed the questions, I realized we didn’t know that much about each other, besides our reading preferences and our magical abilities. I had admired his paintings and could guess he enjoyed classical art from his skill and realistic style, but I didn’t know which artists he liked most. I had never asked him whether he preferred to go to museums or galleries. I didn’t know whether he liked crunchy or smooth peanut butter.
I wanted to know everything about him. Unfortunately, I needed to prepare for my classes and didn’t want to get in trouble for writing notes during work time. I placed the form inside my desk under a stack of folders, so that a grumpy principal wouldn’t find it if he came snooping in my desk. I waited until after school to finish the form so I could focus on making photocopies of rubrics with the school’s steam-powered copy machine and chopping papers with Vega’s guillotine for the next class. After school, I finished the form during Study Club. I had to shove it under papers each time a student came to my desk to ask me for assistance with Latin or the medicinal uses of herbs.
