by Riley London
His handwriting is so bad he should have been a doctor. Unless it’s some sort of magician’s shorthand.
Hmmm.
Part of me is furious for feeling like we’re wasting time. But another part? I am enjoying being close to this man.
There is something alluring about him, even though I wouldn’t exactly call him my type. He’s too polished, too reserved. I’ve always been more interested in the hands-on, action-oriented types. Still, it’s not stopping me from appreciating Dark and Sexy.
We move into the applied testing. There’s a long list of magical abilities that I don’t have.
Great. I could have told him that and saved us both a couple of hours.
Tristan makes no comments if he identifies any that I do possess.
It looks like we’re on the last page of his questionnaire, when his eyes come up to meet mine. “Max, what do you know about the Fae?”
The Fae?
Like fairies and stuff? Not much.
But when I see how serious he is, I hold my tongue.
“Not much beyond the usual fairytales.”
He nods and then asks, “What do you see when you look at me?”
I don’t answer “a hot guy” because the last thing this man needs is someone stroking his ego.
“Listen, Tristan, maybe someone gave you the wrong idea,” I say tightly. “I don’t really have much in the way of extrasensory perception. Sometimes I can see trails from the demons that I’m tracking, but that’s about it. Run of the mill demon hunter stuff.”
Based on what Father Gabriel has said and taught me over the years anyways.
He just waits.
Some concern bubbles up as I look at him again. He’s not a demon? There’s absolutely no trace of anything demonic about this man.
“Have you ever tried to use that sight to see other things?” he asks.
I haven’t.
Occasionally, I’ve seen things. Hard to explain things. Things that Father Gabriel taught me pretty early on were okay to share with him but were far less acceptable to share with others.
“Try it.”
I look at him. Absolutely nothing.
“Actually try.”
I’m too tense. Taking a deep breath, I center myself and close my eyes. When they open, I keep my focus soft and take in the man sitting in front of me.
He looks perfectly normal to me. I start to say so again, when it hits me that it isn’t entirely true.
There something surrounding him.
An aura?
It’s very subtle, and only I notice it because I’m looking for it. Searching for the thing that’s amiss from what I expect. Only because he clued me in that there might be something different.
I’m not sure what I’m looking at, but I’m definitely looking at something. He sees the spark of recognition and rewards me with a grin.
“What you’re perceiving is my Fae aura,” he says warmly. “I am not surprised that you are not familiar with Fae lore. In some cases, those who have been educated by exorcists will have at least a passing familiarity with the subject.”
That has me on alert. Father Gabriel has never done an exorcism on someone possessed by a Fae. He’d definitely have told me that.
Right?
“There are essentially two kinds of Fae,” Tristan is saying. “One is the Seelie, the Fae of the Court of Light. We follow a path that’s not dissimilar to your own, seeking virtue and values and making contributions to things that are larger than ourselves.”
Big assumptions there on the path I follow, but I let it slide for now.
His face darkens. “But there is a faction among us, the Unseelie, that serve the Court of Darkness. There are far fewer that are ever likely to come into contact with the average human. Or even the average half-witch demon hunter.”
I squirm. The whole “half-witch” thing still feels wrong.
“But from time to time we have seen some of the darkest elements of the Unseelie strike alliances with demonic forces when they share a common goal. There are some researchers here at Salem Academy and at our allied research organizations that are concerned that the dark Fae maybe working with the demons. That they might be part of what’s behind the current situation,” he says.
He’s so calm. It’s like he’s not just breaking out world altering truths: the fact that there are Fae in the world, that he’s one of them, and that they’re known to work with demons.
I swallow hard.
“So what’s your deal?”
He smiles at my choice of words. “Max, I hope you can appreciate what I’m about to say. Under normal circumstances, I would not be disclosing this information to a student. Not all at once, and much of it not ever. But since we don’t have the luxury of time, or even really getting to know one another, I trust the judgment of Serena and of Ari. Trusting that you are able to handle the information that you’re being given and treat it with the confidentiality that it requires.”
For the last couple of days, I’ve been looking at everything through the lens of how it relates to Father Gabriel.
But there’s a very real element here that this man is entrusting me with information that is at best sensitive and at worst secret. Frankly, given the fact that he’s disclosing potential alliances with demons, I’d call it dangerous.
In general? Sure.
For him? Definitely.
I won’t promise him that his information is safe until I can determine that he’s trustworthy.
With my next words, I pull no punches.
“Tristan, have you ever had an alliance with a demon?”
His eyes look somewhat sad as he shakes his head. “No, Max, I have not. But I will tell you that not every member of my family has always been as discerning. And we live in a time and a place where beings in the know sometimes have a fundamental distrust of the Fae for that very reason.”
I start to say that sucks, that’s not fair. But he shakes his head.
“Don’t get me wrong, Max. You’re right to be on your alert at all times around Fae, even me.” His voice is so matter-of-fact that I have a hard time processing what he says.
His eyes drift to the clock on the wall. “Max, I am afraid that we’re almost out of time for today. And we’re not quite done with the testing. You have shown some fundamental aptitude for Fae magic. While I am unsure about the exact origin of those abilities, it’s good news. It could help explain the extent of your demon hunter sight. It could also point the way forward on which abilities for us to focus on helping you develop to keep you safe in the coming weeks.”
There’s something that seems to happen when you get the full force of his attention. It’s like a subtle mood shift around the edges: feeling lighter, happier, almost inspired.
I don’t like it.
And he’s still talking. There are, he explains, a number of ways that we can test exactly what types of Fae magic I have resonance for. But the fastest is also the simplest.
“A kiss.”
“Are you fucking kidding me, dude?”
But he doesn’t look amused at all.
“Alternately, we can schedule several hours tomorrow to take a closer look at this through another mechanism.”
Annoyance slams through me. I don’t have several hours. I am supposed to be learning skills and gathering information needed to get Father Gabriel back.
Fast.
There’s something else too. An urge, an interest, rising up from deep beneath the surface of my awareness and taking hold even as I fight to suppress it.
Since he said the word kiss, I have been having a hard time taking my eyes off his lips.
Full, masculine lips.
It’s almost like something’s drawing me in, and I don’t fight very hard to resist.
Actually, I hardly resist at all.
“Let’s do it.”
He bends down, pressing his lips to mine and it’s all I can do not to shiver beneath his touch. I’m a woman with healt
hy appetites and it’s been awhile since I’ve been with a man. Never mind one like Dark and Sexy. The expert way he captures my mouth, nudging my lips apart, his tongue probing and teasing. I moan against his lips, something that I will castigate myself for later. But when I pull away, my head is cloudy.
It’s like my thoughts are muddled.
My heart pounds.
His eyes are narrowed, maybe with lust, maybe with concentration. Frankly, it’s hard to tell.
He stands up, walks around the table, and takes a seat across from me. With some distance between us, I find it easier to breathe.
Tristan looks a little shaken himself.
“Fascinating,” he says softly, adjusting his collar. His eyes look darker.
“Listen, I don’t know what the fuck that was,” I start.
He straightens up. “It was as we agreed: a test, a kiss, and nothing more. That was the fastest way to assess your affinity to Fae magic, Max. Don’t take this the wrong way, but you definitely have it.”
Why would I take that the wrong way?
Sitting back in his chair and crossing his hands in front of him, he continues, all business. “Clearly, Max, you come from a rich and diversified lineage. It’s a little hard to untangle, but based on your abilities, your answers to the questions and the other things I was able to discern...” There’s a heavy emphasis on the word discern. “I would say that there are three key areas of magical mastery that we can focus on during your time here at the Academy, especially in the next several days.”
Several days. Now that’s a timeframe I can work with.
Everyone here keeps talking in terms of weeks. Maybe I’m splitting hairs, but I can feel time slipping away and I need to take action to help get Father Gabriel back as soon as possible.
I still my mind.
I can’t go there. Can’t start down the “what happens to an exorcist that’s trapped in Hell?” pathway. It ends badly every time.
“First, I think you have a basic ability to use both offensive and defensive magic. We will need to conduct a little more testing to help refine our understanding there but that’s good news. Second, you have a strong natural affinity for influence classes of magic.”
“Influence classes?”
“Absolutely. That’s probably how you are seeing the demon signatures, since demons reap chaos in the world through their own twisted brand of influence. Ability in this area would enable you to both perceive and to use this type of magic. In fact, one of the areas that we can make excellent progress in a short time is helping you to recognize and resist when someone is using influence over you. But influence magic can be used in different ways: enchantments, seduction magic, influencing people’s actions or intentions.” The words are barely out of his mouth before I jump up to my feet.
“Is that what this was?”
My voice rises, tight and angry.
“That whole kiss thing?”
Did he hit me with seduction magic?
“Do you throw some seduction magic at me to get me to kiss you? God, I’m so stupid.”
I’m furious.
He, for his part, looks thoroughly offended.
“Max, I promise you that for my part, I would never use seduction magic against you or on you without your express consent.”
That brings me up short.
“Why the fuck would you need seduction magic if I gave you consent?”
With that, his eyes darken, a little wicked with a twinkle of amusement. “Oh Max, trust me. Those are the most enticing times of all to use a little seduction magic.”
There’s a beat of awkward silence between us before he continues.
“Remember what I said about Fae that follow light and those that follow darkness. It’s a fine line. And the intentions behind the way that we use our powers are everything. I am strictly following the path of light, Max. Of that you need have no fear.”
I don’t comment on the slightly distant look in his eyes.
“I assure you that this test is a standard practice among those who may have some kind of Fae ancestry or connection. If you have questions, I encourage you to bring them to Serena or even to Ari,” he says, standing up. “Thank you for your time today Max. It has been a pleasure to get to know you and I think that I can help you develop your capacity to both sense and resist influence magic.”
He makes his way to the door.
He pauses briefly before heading out. “Oh, and the third type of magic that I think you have a unique ability to wield? Fae sex magic.”
He doesn’t wait to see if I have any questions.
I sit there in the quiet, empty room for a few minutes just staring at the spines of ancient volumes. Not reading, not comprehending. I pull out the crumpled schedule and the final stop on my day is a check-in with Serena.
A few minutes later, I stand outside her door. Today, she looks less formal than she did last night. But she’s still dressed in red, this time a casual summer dress and dark red sweater. She seems to sense me lingering outside her office and looks up to greet me with a smile.
“Max,” she says brightly. “Come on in. Tell me, how was your first day at Salem Academy?”
We make small talk for a bit. I ask her two questions that are on my mind.
“Serena, did you know that Erik was friends with my brother? With Micah?”
She nods. “They served in the Special Forces together.”
Past tense.
For Micah?
She seems to intuit my thoughts. “Erik was injured, and the limited extent of his recovery made it safer for him to focus on teaching and on a few rare dedicated missions.”
He doesn’t appear injured, I want to say. But I don’t.
“I think Tristan used a spell to get me to kiss him,” I say, instantly hating myself for how silly that sounds.
She holds my gaze.
“Max, I give you my word that Salem Academy would never employ a man that would do that. I have known Tristan Seelie for a very long time. I have no doubt that he may have employed the far older but far faster and more effective way of quickly assessing your abilities of a kiss, rather than hours of exhaustive testing. Given who Tristan is – and his own unique set of strengths, we’ll say – a kiss can actually help him discern very quickly your strengths, your weaknesses and opportunities that he has to help you,” she says.
There it is again, that word: discern.
“But consent is the essence of who Tristan is as a Seelie. I trust him with my life. I trust him with your life.” She sounds very confident.
I am surprised when she adds a little more darkly, “However, I take everything you say very seriously Max. Did something happen beyond what I outlined above? Because if it ever did, now or in the future, it would be imperative that you let me know immediately. Do you understand?”
I understand.
But no. As weird as it was, as annoying as my body’s response was to the sensation of his lips on mine, the kiss test was in fact the perfect explanation for what had transpired between Tristan and me.
Heading upstairs, I grab a book off a shelf. Not some rich magical tome, not some priceless history book. Just a cheesy romance novel with an overblown cover that someone carelessly tossed aside.
It sounds like the perfect way to escape, until I can finally close my eyes for some much-needed sleep.
7
Morning comes too early with the buzzing of my phone. I’m having some kind of a dream about Tristan, but I can’t catch the specifics.
It burns away as my eyes struggle to adjust to the bright morning light streaming through my windows.
Somethings aren’t meant for the sunlight, I guess.
I snatch it up, look at the screen. Click on.
“Max, it’s Fred,” she says, talking fast and not stopping for breath. “Can we meet?”
I sit up straight. “When? Now?”
On the other end of the line, I hear the familiar sound of keys tapping.
&n
bsp; “How about today at the end of the day? We have several meetings about…about helping Father Gabriel first,” her voice sounds like it’s on the edge of breaking, bringing me down from the brief relief sleep offered. “I can come to you so you don’t have to interrupt your training.”
There’s another schedule slid under the door. I pad over and pick it up. “Looks like I can get out of here by four this afternoon.”
Fred proposes meeting at a little café in old Salem called The Witch’s Tip. I don’t have to write down the name.
A few minutes later, I’m showered, dressed, and ready to go.
First up, a class with Ari.
He’s not in his office but in a space called the Solarium. It’s on the fourth floor of one of the towers toward the back of the Academy.
How big is this place? I need a map.
The room itself is almost round, with eight interior walls arching up to a vaulted ceiling. There’s an exquisite paining that looks like it belongs in a museum. Angelic beings – I’m guessing they’re angels, by the wings – seem to be lounging in an endless paradise. The center of the ceiling is a rounded skylight.
Sunlight pours down, abnormally bright for autumn in New England.
Ari stands right in the middle on the beam, looking upward. I can’t tell if he’s meditating, admiring the art, or something else entirely.
“Good morning, Max,” he says brightly, turning that startlingly perfect face my way.
“Does it ever get old? Being so perfect?”
My face is hot before the words even leave my lips. What the hell am I thinking?
Ari barks a surprised laugh, before sobering quickly.
“A lot of things get old, Max,” he says regretfully. “Not least the illusion of perfection.”
I don’t push, just hoping that the words and my mortification evaporates like the dust motes sparkling in the intense, streaming light.
“That’s the perfect place to being today’s lesson though,” he says. And this time he smiles in a way that has a slightly predatory edge.
Great.
