by Riley London
I’m on my feet before I can stop myself. Before I can get my anger under control. “You have no right to keep this from me.”
I’m approaching fast, too fast. Clearly, I’m not moving at strictly human speeds. I’m angry. My cheeks are bright red, I can tell from the heat radiating there.
He never seems impressed or afraid of me when we’re fighting.
But here, one-on-one, when we’re just talking?
Something in his demeanor shifts, and I can tell that this man – no matter how big, no matter how lethal, no matter how confident on the battlefield – doesn’t feel the same level of control and confidence in his interpersonal interactions.
There’s probably a way I could use that to my advantage. But right now, I’m just furious.
“Do you know how many nights I cried myself to sleep over him? Do you have any idea how long I hoped and prayed that he would find me? And how desolate I felt when I finally accepted that he had to be dead. Because why else would the big brother that I loved, that I looked up to, just abandon me?. Just leave me.”
I practically spitting the words.
He doesn’t back up. He holds his ground. But he looks uncomfortable – and that’s just the gratification that I need to continue.
“I am not asking you to betray him,” I hiss. “I just want you to confirm that my brother’s alive. Or not. Or tell me where to find him, how to get in touch with him. Just let me know if he’s okay.”
The line of his mouth hardens. Still he says nothing.
“God dammit,” I am practically screaming in his face. With a tremendous amount of shame, I realize my eyes are burning.
Again.
I don’t know what it is about this man, about the subject, that seems to bring me to the brink of losing control. Part of it is that I know he could put my mind at ease, at least to some extent, with a single word.
And he just won’t.
That’s infuriating.
But I also know enough about have at this point to suspect there’s something more to it. He doesn’t strike me as a kind of guy that wants to be cruel. And no one else here is exactly opening up to me either.
It’s just maybe that he feels like my best chance of getting the answers I want.
That I need.
Very gently, he puts his hands on my shoulders. “Max, there are things I don’t expect you to understand right now,” he begins.
Fury. Blinding rage. If one more person decides what I can or can’t understand, I’m going to explode.
But he continues. “I swore an oath. I have to keep that. I don’t expect you to understand and I don’t expect you to forgive me. But please know that I will do everything in my power to help you. To help you get Father Gabriel back, to help you reach your potential as a fighter, and if I can, to get the information that you want about your past.”
I hear the words. Some part of me knows that there’s something here to work with.
But I’m just so tired of screaming at brick walls.
“Don’t worry about it. It was my mistake to think that I could trust you.”
I’ve always had a knack for saying the things that hurt the most.
And I see the hurt on his face as I walk away.
I don’t stop until I barge into Serena’s office. She is in a meeting, with a man that I don’t recognize. Her eyes move from me to her guest, then she holds up a finger. “Thank you so much for stopping by Mr. Kittredge. Of course, we will be delighted to have the holiday tour visit the Academy grounds. Once you have a schedule, let’s set up another meeting to speak about the specifics. But if you’ll excuse me, I believe that my colleague has an urgent issue to discuss with me.”
I stare hard at the floor the whole time she’s speaking.
After a long, curious look, the man leaves and after showing him to the door, Serena comes back into her office.
“Sit.”
My butt’s not in the chair before I am explaining what happened to Serena. Her face grows increasingly concerned as I described the note etched on the skin, the battle in Salem, and the strange magical pull I felt from the demon.
“Erik’s guess is accurate,” she confirms. ”However, I would guess that the parchment probably destroyed itself to prevent anyone from performing a detecting spell on it.”
“A detecting spell?” My voice sounds hopeful.
“Under the right circumstances, a detection spell could help determine things like who the skin came from or perhaps even the region of Hell where it was composed. I’m sorry Max, but without the object itself it’s just not possible.”
Disappointment slams into me. I knew what she was going to say but still. Hope is a tricky thing.
A tricky thing I’m running out of.
Serena looks at the expensive, custom red watch that encircles her slim wrist. “Max, I believe you’re scheduled with Ari. I don’t want you to miss a lesson.”
Today Ari has arranged for us to meet in his office. Something about the sterile, masculine lines are strangely comforting. This room is one of the few places in Salem Academy that’s exactly what it looks like. Harsh, efficient, and designed to be a sanctuary for one person. Everyone else’s comfort be damned.
It’s not hiding secrets under a veneer of luxury.
Still, my mind goes back to a call I received this morning. Fred told Brother Dominic about the package. He called and in his typical short, snappy sentences updated me. They’ve uncovered some information, but nothing we could act on now.
His parting words surprised me. “Max, don’t forget that the forces of Heaven and Hell take guises we don’t always understand. I want you to be cautious there. But especially with Ari Angelessi.”
He hung up before I could ask questions and didn’t pick up when I angrily dial him back.
Ari watches me steadily. I am barely settled into the huge leather chair opposite him before he begins to speak.
“You did the right thing, little Max,” he says. “You were wise not to follow that escort, and if you are approached with a similar offer again in the future – and you may be – I would strongly encourage you to decline.”
I start to ask who told him. Serena? But she would have barely had time.
Noah? That seems unlikely, and he didn’t know the specifics. Erik? Again, that doesn’t seem to fit.
Those arctic eyes rest on my face, move up to the ceiling, and then back to meet my own.
“I already know because I see flashes of the future.”
A wave of fear and anger starts to build. “You knew that I was in danger when I went into Salem?”
He grants me a tight smile. “I am afraid that my visions are rarely that precise. Sometimes, they are specific and immutable, but most times they can be influenced and changed. It was clear to me that you could be in danger if you went into Salem, and if I knew you intended to head there on your own, we would have had a conversation. In fact, I intended to speak to you today.”
Again, good intentions and all that.
Some of the fight goes out of me.
I can’t always hold everyone around me responsible for my safety , especially if I am not telling them my plans.
And it’s not as though I’m unable to take care of myself. I walked into Salem Academy strong and I’m getting stronger every day.
His revelation surprises me in its impact. I find myself feeling a sense of sympathy. It must be difficult to be in a leadership position and have visions of the future, that may or may not be true, that may or may not be actionable.
“A seer without an exact timetable sounds a little bit like a demon hunter without a pathway into Hell,” I say with a smile.
Whatever he predicted I’d say, it wasn’t that.
He rewards me with a laugh. Not the stiff, professional laugh that I’ve often heard him make at exactly the right times that seems oddly devoid of emotion. But an actual sound that mixes surprise and a touch of delight.
He stands and crosses over to t
he window. There’s a long silence, and I assume that our lessons are about to begin. Rising to my feet, I walk over to stand next to him.
It sunset and a golden orange hue lights up the trees. The grounds of Salem Academy really are beautiful, and in another time and place I would be enjoying them. It occurs to me how ancient the trees look.
Turning to Ari, I start to ask a question that dies on my lips.
There is something like vulnerability on his face and it stops me short. “I am confident that we will retrieve Father Gabriel without needing to hand you over as a sacrifice, Max. I really do believe that.”
He reaches up a fingertip and traces the side of my cheek. There’s something tender there, but beyond that it’s actually hard to define. My mouth has gone dry and my thoughts are getting buzzy with some kind of interference.
Ari drops his hand and steps back, saying softly, “I’m sorry. That’s actually not intentional. Sometimes it’s hard to control the effects I have on certain people.”
He steps back further and I watch as the cool professional mask slides back into place.
Whatever I was picking up fades, and Ari is soon consumed with lessons.
I absorb everything he tells me and continue practicing my defensive magic. I’m getting better.
Then later that night, lying in bed, I wonder if I have the ability to defend myself against Ari if I ever need it..
And more to the point, if I’d have the will to do so.
10
I start the day in a good mood.
My alarm goes off at 3:30 in the morning and Erik took me demon hunting in the streets of Salem.
It’s the third time we’ve gone.
They say New York is the city that never sleeps.
Salem has some pretty hard-core partiers.
Getting to try out my new moves on familiar targets is building my confidence.
Getting out, getting exercise, and getting regular fight practice is helping me get my frustrations under control.
Getting to spend more time with Erik is raising some interesting, if complicated, feelings.
Good thing I don’t have time for feelings.
When Erik mentions that Tristan would be meeting us in town, curiosity and annoyance war. We meet at a diner for breakfast. It is a greasy spoon. The server is a middle-age woman who knows Erik and is friendly and efficient.
The only things out of the ordinary are the staggering amount of eggs and bacon that the warrior puts down, and the fact that Tristan barely touches the egg white veggie omelet he ordered.
I dig into a double order of French toast unselfconsciously.
It’s the most normal I’ve felt in weeks.
When the check comes, Erik pays it and then heads back to the Academy, leaving me with Tristan. Dark and Sexy looks good today, dressed down and it seems as though he is somehow trying to dull the edges of that bright aura.
“In a place like Salem, there are more magically adept people in larger concentrations than you would normally encounter,” Tristan says, doing that frustrating thing where he seems to read my mind.
“Think of it like dimming the lights a little to attract less attention.”
We have been working hard to help refine my ability to perceive magical patterns, resist various forms of influence, and even wield spells myself.
I’m getting better, but I’m a little bit of a loose cannon.
No surprise there.
“You’re doing great,” says Tristan, flashing one of those totally conspicuous Hollywood smiles. A table of girls nearby began to giggle. “But there’s a big difference between exercising those skills in a sterile, controlled training environment and being able to use them when you’re distracted.”
He lays out the plan.
Our itinerary will take us through some of the packed tourist attractions of Salem. He will also use the opportunity to make sure that I have a basic understanding of how the town is laid out. As he notes, being able to identify the major landmarks could be strategically important.
Selfishly, curiosity about the town where my family has apparently dwelled for generations is strong.
Our first stop is an out-of-the-way magical shop. It’s small, dusty and stuffed to the gills with things I can’t begin to identify.
Its vibe is more cozy than hoarder.
I like it.
I’m standing there rifling through a bowl of odd trinkets when I feel Tristan come up next to me. He’s standing close, too close and it doesn’t take long for me to realize that he has turned the wattage up on his aura to maximum attraction.
Swallowing hard, my hand slows but continues to trace sparkly beards.
Wrestling with a defensive shield, it’s a struggle to get one in place.
I do, but even as I construct it, I can feel Tristan’s will pushing and probing until it finds a crack.
Just as he does at the beginning of every lesson, Tristan asked my permission to use influence magic on me in the course of my training.
He even roughly explained what we’d be working on. Yet for some reason, resisting his pull is still hard.
People around us are buzzing, making purchases and chattering. Focusing while doing even this rudimentary magical work in a distracting environment is a challenge.
It’s frustrating.
I’ve been working hard.
But then I see Tristan looking at me and I realize I’m focused on the wrong things. It’s not about how far I have to go. It’s about how far I’ve come.
What concrete steps I can take in this moment to improve things.
It’s that weird effect he has.
It’s not just something that’s seductive in a sexual sense, although the building heat in my core is clear evidence that I’m not as resistant to that as I’d like to think.
Something about him inspires.
Challenges.
Drives you toward excellence, while making you believe it’s possible.
Someone once told me there’s nothing sexier than someone showing you they want you.
But I’d argue that it’s freaking intoxicating when someone looks at you and sees more possibility than you’ve ever seen yourself.
Serena told me casually that this is one of the inadvertent powers that Seelie Fae often have. Part of me thinks it would be convenient, less uncomfortable, to explain away the effect that he has on me with that.
But some of that would be a lie.
And I’m trying to follow Ari’s advice.
Be more honest.
Pragmatic.
Not waste energy making the narrative convenient to what feels good.
It’s hard, but it’s oddly liberating too.
Tristan’s optimism, his intelligence and his ability to see the positive potential in other people is all his own.
I try again, forcing up a shield as he gently wraps his fingers around my hand. Dark chocolate eyes peer into mine and there’s an easy kind of joy there. It’s so different than the hard intensity that I feel with Erik.
That perfect but slightly tortured allure of a man like Ari.
Even the fiery forbidden appeal of an attractive jerk like Noah.
Tristan just creates a happy space and invites you to step into it.
In this moment, there is nothing that I want more than to step in.
I feel the defensive shield slide into place. Mentally, I tested strength and edges and I have the sensation of Tristan pushing back on the other side.
His eyes widen, almost imperceptibly, and he gives me a nod of approval.
“Excellent work Max.”
The words surprise me.
If I’m doing excellent work, then why am I still so attracted to him? Why haven’t I pulled my hand away? Why am I still thinking about bitter chocolate eyes? Why am I enjoying the heat rolling off his body as we stand close to each other?
I have to get out of the store. Abruptly, I pulled my hand from Tristan’s and shoulder my way through the happy crowd
.
I’m probably a little too rougher than I need to be.
But once I am out in the street, with the cooler air and a second to clear my head, I feel calmer. Under Tristan’s guidance, I am becoming more adept at identifying and resisting influence magic. I can raise the defensive shield.
It’s different than what I work on with Ari.
Ari is teaching me a kind of magic that I can use to deflect actual physical attacks.
In a way, what Tristan teaches is much more sophisticated, subtle and craftsman like. It’s not about meeting brute force with brute force – which is the language that I actually understand.
Instead, it’s about constant vigilance about what thoughts, feelings and intentions are yours – and which ones are not. And the use of different types of shields to keep those things at bay.
A living, breathing, evolving thing that’s always changing.
Always morphing.
Depending on whose company you’re in.
Tristan joins me in the street, looking slightly concerned. But I flash him a bright smile and assure him that I am fine. However, I do have a question. “Tristan, is there any way that we could go for a walk or maybe a run somewhere away from people?”
Even on a weekday morning, the weeks leading up to Halloween celebrations in Salem are packed with people. Eager tourists with fanny packs and wide-eyed children mill around, next to a whole different kind of tourist dressed in black and hoping for a darker adventure.
He leads me on a winding path through Salem, and then we emerge in a small parking lot. It’s a trailhead.
“I don’t know about running, but this is a great path to take a walk. It’s beautiful this time of year with the foliage. And eventually it leads straight to the Academy grounds, so it’s heavily warded and very safe.”
There’s a long stretch of silence, and I find myself relaxing as we walk. Gold, red, orange, and maroon leaves come alive, interspersed with evergreens that still hold our rich emerald green color. A bed of leaves and sticks, slightly dry from the fall air, crunch underfoot. It’s cold and it’s quiet in the fresh air.
