Light Up The Night: a Reverse Harem Urban Fantasy Romance (Lick of Fire Book 2)

by Jacqueline Sweet

  It was the wrong thing to say.

  Cash let go of her shoulders and went to pour himself another drink.

  Rye gave her another sad smile and nodded knowingly.

  Gray flounced onto the one unburnt couch. "Great! I meet a beautiful girl that I can finally take home to my mother and she turns out to be a cherry with a penchant for opening gateways to primal destruction."

  Tamsin got to her shaky feet. "Thanks for the healing spell thing, Rye but I need to go find my room and find some people that aren't overly dramatic assclowns who like to ruin people’s first days at school.”

  Her bag was waiting by the door. She braced herself to pick it up and found it light again.

  "I took the liberty of removing that weight hex from your bag," Rye said. "Someone was playing a joke on you."

  "Thank you," Tamsin said without looking at him. He seemed like a nice guy but she was all fire and fury inside.

  "Don't wash the paint off for six hours," Rye said. "For full potency."

  Gray turned to Cash and took the drink out of his hands. "Did you hear her call you an overdramatic assclown?"

  Tamsin left before she said anything else she’d definitely regret.

  12

  Roommates are Friends Forever

  Words made sense again, Tamsin was surprised to see when she left the room. While she was passed out, Gray must have lifted the enchantment. It was a pleasure to read again. The door plaques had numbers and also listed the occupants of each room. Helpful signs pointed to fire exits and extinguishers. A placard across the hall warned No Smoking and under it was a long list of all of the other things one should not do, though each line was written in a smaller font than the last so that by the end of the sign it was entirely unreadable without magnification.

  And next to those signs was a big arrow pointing the elevator.

  Tamsin blinked at the sign. Had Hannah not known there was an elevator? She'd be sure to tell the girl, if she ever saw her again. But just then the elevator door chimed and swung open and Hannah stepped out, flanked by two haughty looking girls styled in the same manner as her.

  "This is the girl I told you about," Hannah said to her two friends. "Look how sweaty she is!" The two other girls tittered. Their eyes reminded Tamsin eerily of vultures. Their skin had a slightly plastic look.

  "I guess you found the elevator," Tamsin said.

  "I hope my little prank wasn't too much trouble," Hannah said. "It's a tradition for the second years to play harmless little tricks on the new students. You forgive me, don't you?" Her voice was placating but her eyes also had that predatory look.

  Tamsin was too tired for another fight.

  "Sure," she said. "You got me good. When do the first years prank the second years?"

  "Never," Hannah said, flashing the world's bitchiest smile. "They never ever do." Then to her friends, "I'll catch up with you later, lovelies. I have to show my new roomie the ropes."

  Tamsin's stomach dropped. "Great. We're roommates."

  Hannah looped her arm through Tamsin's, realized how sweaty the girl was, and then removed her arm with a disgusted expression. "Yes. And we are going to be great friends. I'm sure I'll get along with you much better than with the troll who's there now."

  "Is that a literal troll or are you being mean?"

  "A literal troll?" Hannah laughed. "Oh you normal people are so funny."

  "Okay, then trolls aren't real. Got it. I'll add that to the book of everything I didn't know until now."

  Hannah didn't walk far. In fact Tamsin's room was just next door to the triple where Rye, Gray and Cash lived.

  They were going to be neighbors.

  For an entire year.

  The idea thrilled Tamsin and worried her. Had she already made a terrible impression? What would it be like to bump into the three of them day after day? Through their door she could hear the muffled sounds of Gray's voice as he carried on about something or other.

  Hannah noticed her attention. "Three guys live there. Isn't that fun? Last year I was in an all-girls' house and now I live right next to three sexy men." Hannah leaned in close. "One of them is an honest to god heir to royalty and I'll thank you to keep your thoughts and hands off of him. He's going to be mine."

  "Is that why you're here? To snag a rich husband?"

  Hannah shook her head. "He's not rich. I'm rich. But to snag a title? To have our children be heirs to a throne? You can't buy that."

  She pushed the door open and walked into the room chin high. "Hello, Troll," Hannah said to a girl who was hunched over a book at her desk.

  "Go fuck yourself," the girl snarled. She had curly brown hair that was twisted up on top of her head and held in place with no fewer than ten pencils. She was wearing a sweater that seemed to be made of darkness and nearly hid her from the world. On the desk in front of her was a pile of textbooks and a coffee can stuffed with highlighters. At her feet were mounds of post-it notes ready to be used.

  Tamsin pegged her immediately as a grinder. She'd known a lot of her type in high school. They were students who worked hard day and night, studying and cramming and endlessly preparing. Thomas had always scoffed at them, decrying that you could never make up for a lack of natural talent with hours spent making flash cards. But, Tamsin was realizing, Thomas was an asshole.

  Tamsin introduced herself but the girl didn't look up. "I'm MacKenzie. Don't ever call me Mac."

  "Got it. No Macs."

  "Not Big Mac. Not Mac and Cheese. Not Mac Tonight." Her voice shook as she spoke, like as if she was about to sob or murder someone.

  Tamsin backed away from the girl slowly. If stress had a human avatar that walked the world, MacKenzie was it.

  "I'm sorry," MacKenzie said in that way that suggested she really wasn't sorry at all. "I'm not here to make friends." She bent lower over her textbook and began to aggressively highlight passages.

  "Don't worry, Mac," Hannah cooed. "You won't make any friends." She shot Tamsin a look like she was proud of her burn, but Tamsin didn't acknowledge her.

  Hannah was cruel.

  MacKenzie was cold.

  Was this what college was going to be like?

  Tamsin unpacked her things into her part of the triple. It was shaped just like the boys' room, only one of the bed nooks had a bay window overlooking the street. Of course Hannah claimed that one. In fact, Hannah had claimed most of the room. The girl had brought mounds of her stuff to college and with the exception of Tamsin's bed and MacKenzie's desk, she had forcefully decorated the entire room in her own tastefully bland style. Subtly off-white was the theme, with faint gold highlights and stylized dragons. It was as if Hannah's silk dress also came in posters, throw pillows, duvet covers, area rugs, mugs and towels.

  It was Hannah's room. Tamsin just lived there.

  The room had a modest sink near the door, but a communal bathroom down the hall.

  Tamsin settled in to her bed. It was soft and comforting, unlike anything else in the room. If only she could call her mom or text her brother. They must be worried sick. The room had a phone, but it only called within the school grounds.

  Maybe she would pay a visit to Grace and Breakon and see if they could fix her phone. A favor might not be so bad. Maybe they just meant like, doing their dishes for a week? Though that seemed unlikely.

  There was a welcome packet waiting on her bed for her when she arrived. It had all the things you might expect—a school map, a class schedule, toothbrush and toothpaste. And also a few surprises—an invitation to a formal ball to be held on Lughnasa, the midpoint between the summer solstice and the autumnal equinox. There was a sticker with a fat googly-eyed cartoon wizard reminding her of the three unbreakable rules: The only way to make money is with a job! Leave the dead where they lie; and, If a demon calls, tell him wrong number! It was incredibly corny, but Tamsin loved it. She decided that she would never peel the sticker off and instead this would be her treasured souvenir from her time at Penrose.

&nb
sp; On the way to the bathroom before bed, Tamsin bumped into Cash in the hall. He was wearing a shirt now, unfairly hiding that incredible body he had. She tried to walk around him, but he stepped into her path.

  "Darlin', I wanted to apologize for what happened before. I didn't want you to see me like that."

  "I didn't see anything," she said. "I was too busy tapping into destructive elemental whatevers." It was a lie. She'd seen his eyes glow red. And he'd changed while she watched, steaming and writhing. Was he a demon? Could she be expelled for talking to him?

  Cash searched her eyes for the truth. What he saw there made him relax, for a moment.

  His hands slid onto her hips and her pulled her closer to his body. "Do you know how good you smell?" It was so forward, Tamsin’s breath left her.

  Heat radiated from the man. Standing close to him was like being in front of a fire on a cold day. It made her limbs feel liquid.

  "What are you doing?" Tamsin asked. He was pulling her closer, pressing his hard body against her. It would be so easy to relax into him, to follow his lead.

  Cash tipped her chin up toward him and brushed his lips against hers. Shivers and trembles flowed down her body. "I can smell how lonely you are tonight, darlin'. And you don't have to be. Neither of us has to be lonely tonight."

  The sound of a door opening shook Tamsin out of Cash's embrace. It was Rye emerging from the room and headed, by the looks of things, to the shower. He was wearing flip-flops on his large feet and a pink towel wrapped low around his waist and nothing more. The sight of him made Tamsin squirm. He had a boyish smile, sure, but his body was all muscle and abs and ink. So much ink. His chest bore hundreds of tattoos—all of them magical glyphs like the one he'd painted on her belly just a few hours ago.

  "Hello, new friends," Rye said. If he'd seen the about-to-kiss posture of her and Gray, he showed no signs of it. The big guy just grinned and walked toward her swinging a basket of toiletries on the way. "Where I come from, all baths are communal. Men and women bathe together and it is no big deal." His accent curled in her ear like tongue slowly and hotly licking. She wanted to curl up inside his voice and have him read to her. It didn’t even matter what he read.

  "These baths are communal, but not co-ed," Cash growled. He was furious about being interrupted, but couldn't take it out on the big boy scout.

  "Where are you from?" Tamsin asked.

  Rye drew near her and she found herself face to face with his nipples. He was a very tall man. She had the absurd urge to lean over and bite his nipple, just to see what he'd do. Instead she focused on the symbols painted on his skin. Were they permanent tattoos, or temporary like hers?

  "I'm from a little land nestled between China and Russia. In the north. My people have been there for ten thousand years and they'll be there for ten thousand more."

  "It sounds nice," Cash said. "You should go back there. Maybe now?"

  Rye laughed. It was a big booming sound that came straight from his belly. Tamsin couldn't help but grin and laugh with him.

  "My friend, I wish I could. But there is nothing more for me to learn back home. That is why I am here, at one of the greatest magic schools in the world." Rye brushed a strand of hair off her forehead. More chills shook Tamsin at his touch. "We have a pool in the heart of my village. If you drink from it, it can cause madness or death. But it can also give great power. When I was just a boy, my little sister and I dared each other to drink from the pool but when we tried, we slipped in." His bright eyes watched hers. One of the tattoos on his chest glowed and pulsed. "We were under water for but a moment, but when we emerged ten years had passed. Our parents had grieved. The village had mourned. But when we returned to them, the people of Zacharovnaya held a party like the world had never seen."

  "Keep talking," Tamsin murmured. His voice felt like strong arms holding her, protecting her. She craved more of that feeling. When was the last time she'd truly felt safe? The day before her father's diagnosis?

  "The boy clearly needs to get to the showers," Cash said. "He even has the fancy footwear for it."

  Rye smiled and wiggled his toes in the flip-flops. "I look like a proper American college student, yes?"

  "We're in Canada," Cash growled.

  There wasn't another college student in the history of the world, thought Tamsin, that looked like Rye.

  "That healing rune you drew on me. Can that cure everything?" Like my father, she added silently.

  Rye shook his head. "It is a weak glyph. Suitable for bumps and bruises, minor cuts and exhaustion."

  "Could you make one that cured cancer?"

  Cash was looking at her oddly now.

  Three other students passed by them, excitedly talking to each other. They all lost their train of thought as they passed Rye though. One girl walked right into a wall.

  "I cannot cure cancer. Not with my arts as they are. Infections, viruses, injuries—these I can help. But cancer is different."

  "And genetic disorders?"

  Rye shook his head.

  The temperature of the conversation had changed in a moment. The world had cooled and both of the boys were slow to realize it.

  "The counselor for Bentham," Cash said. "He's a healer. You should talk to him."

  Rye's brows knit together. "Is this you? Do you have cancer?"

  Tamsin smiled at him brightly. She hated telling other people about the family illness, hated having to soak up their sympathy and questions. "Never mind, Rye. Thank you for telling me about your village. And Gray," she struggled for words. "Maybe we can continue our conversation another time?"

  13

  The Nature of the Beast

  On her first proper day as a student at the Penrose University of Magic, Tamsin only had one class. Her schedule, such as it was, was heavily weighted to Mondays , Wednesdays, and Fridays. Her classes on those days started absurdly early. Shouldn’t wizards be able to figure out how not to have classes at seven in the morning?

  She successfully navigated the cafeteria and the elevator, mostly by following the second year students from her hall and doing what they did.

  It wasn’t hard.

  Her one class that day was a seminar called, “The Nature of the Beast.” The class served as an introduction to Penrose, an orientation to university life, and an examination of the role demons had in shaping human history. The professor was a squat bulldog of a man, with a beard that nearly reached his eyes and a voice that pure old school New York. He sounded like a movie tough guy, even while name dropping French philosophers.

  It was a bit disappointing that he didn’t dress like a wizard but instead wore a three piece gray suit and had well-worn patches on his elbows. He also served as counselor for the students in the class.

  “How many of you have read Harry Potter?” he asked.

  Every hand went up. Even Tamsin’s.

  Professor Schoenherr nodded. “Great books. Marvelous books. But I don’t want you to mention them, okay? No muggles or cutesy spell names. Real magic is complex and every culture channels it in their own way. You need to free yourself from the expectations of your popular culture.” He paused and chewed his beard. “Which is not to say that there isn’t some truth in those books. The magic community works hard to hide who we are and what we are, and sometimes that involves counter-programming.”

  A hand shot up. It was attached, so far, to a boy who still wearing his pajamas. “Wait a minute, professor. Are you saying wizards wrote Harry Potter?”

  “No, of course not,” Professor Schoenherr grumbled. “They just edited it. But thank you for making my point for me—” He looked at a list of names on his desk. “Suresh? That’s you?”

  The boy nodded. The professor’s demeanor was aggressive and even though every word he had said had been kind, there was a tension in him that suggested that at any moment he could lose his cool.

  “I have an open discussion policy in this classroom.” He withdrew half-moon spectacles from his pocket and gently put t
hem on. “Which means you can interrupt. You can sidetrack us. We will follow the threads of your inquiry and see where they lead. But you should know—the more you talk, the less I get to teach you about demons. And you do want to know about demons.”

  The students glanced at each other. The message was clear, ask questions but don’t waste anyone’s time. Tamsin relaxed into her seat. She had a good feeling about Schoenherr. She’d sat in the center of the class, but it was small. There were just ten students in the seminar. They sat in a broad half-circle and looked at each other more than at the teacher.

  He passed out papers from the school detailing a dozen different—sometimes conflicting—policies, handed out packets of resources for new students, and answered genial questions from the other students before he started in on a brief lecture.

  “Why are demons interested in the gifted?” he asked, peering over his glasses. “And by gifted I mean magically inclined individuals such as yourselves. The University has decided that a neutral word, like gifted, is more culturally respectful than calling everyone a witch or a warlock or whatever. Where I come from, they called us cunning men. Even the women. How stupid is that?” The professor ventured a smile, but it looked awkward and ill suited his face. He returned to his gentle frown.

  No one raised their hands.

  The professor nodded and decided to launch off on a new tack.

  The professor knocked on Tamsin’s desk. “You, what’s your name?”

  “Tamsin Lee?”

  “Wrong!” the professor bellowed, causing all the students to lurch back in their chairs. “If I was a demon, you would have just given me your true name. Do you think it’s wise to tell a demon your true name, Tamsin Lee?”

  She shook her head.

  “Do you know why demons hunt mages like us, Tamsin Lee?” The professor braced his hands on her desk and leaned towards her. His beard, up close, smelled of eggs.

  Tamsin shook her head. The door inside of her rattled. She recognized the feeling now and knew it as a precursor to losing control. She tried to hold it shut, to grab the handle. But how do you grab an imaginary door?