Absorb: Book One of the Forgotten Affinities Series

by Analeigh Ford

  “Sorry, I just...I am so tired. We’ve done this over and over already. If I have to grow one more bonsai tree, I am going to personally set it and myself on fire.”

  Kendall kicks Draven’s legs until he is forced to sit up, and rubs at his eyes. His face looks pale too, and although I know it is because of his secret nightly practices, I don’t want to draw unwanted attention to him by pointing it out. He yawns and almost flops face-first into the uneaten slice of pizza on his plate.

  Even Cedric looks tired. His usually perfect posture is slumped, and his blue eyes bloodshot. He forgot to wear cufflinks the last two days in a row.

  Flynn looks between the four of us and sees the same things I do. “Perhaps we are going a little overkill.”

  “You think?” I snap, and then cover my face with my hands. “Sorry. Again.”

  Cedric lays a hand down on the table in that cool, authoritative way he so obviously learned from his father. “I think we can all agree that we are as prepared as we are ever going to be. Octavia is quite powerful in her own right, and there are four of us to help her with the demonstration. There is no way to tell how it is really going to turn out until tomorrow.”

  “But with a little more—”

  “Enough, Flynn.” This time it is Draven. “The only part of the spell we have been unable to practice together is the initial ritual.”

  “That is what I am most worried about.” Flynn sits straighter in his seat and takes a moment to shuffle his many notes. “How can we be sure you are prepared for that?”

  “Because I am.” Draven’s voice comes out almost as a growl.

  “You’re only just healing from a major injury,” Flynn says.

  “Recovered,” Draven says, his voice getting even deeper. “I know what I am doing.”

  “That settles it.” Cedric gets to his feet, and Flynn looks up at him a moment before scooting over in the booth to let him out. “Besides, I think we have overlooked a very important aspect of tomorrow night.”

  Flynn’s head turns sharply in my direction. “What do you mean?”

  “It is, first and foremost, a dance.”

  Cedric offers out a hand to me and I take it.

  “I kind of forgot about that part,” I say. I look down at myself. Honestly, I will be surprised if at least one of them isn’t doubting his decision to be with me right now. This week took more than just a mental toll on me. Now I think about it, I’m pretty sure I wore the same shirt the last three days in a row. It is not a good look for me.

  Shoot. I completely forgot about one of the most important parts. “I don’t have anything to wear.”

  Before my anxiety can take over, telling me that everything will be for nothing if I can’t even go to the dance because I forgot to get a stupid dress, Cedric holds up a hand. “Don’t worry, my tailor can make something for you by tomorrow night.”

  “Your tailor?” Draven says, scooting out after us. Now everyone is standing except for Kendall, who I am pretty sure has fallen asleep with his eyes open.

  Cedric looks puzzled. “Yes, unless someone else has a better idea.”

  Normally, picking out a dress for an event like this would be half the excitement. But right now I don’t think I have the energy to even pick which position I fall asleep in, let alone a whole outfit.

  When no one responds, Cedric pulls out his phone, taps out a few words, and then puts it back in his pocket. “Done. I’ll have it delivered with plenty of time for you to get ready.”

  “Wait, I didn’t tell you what size I am.”

  “I have a very good...eye...for that.” Cedric’s gaze lingers on my body, tracing over every inch of it. I have to look away. Not now, not here with everyone. But he’s not the only one doing it. Normally the kinds of looks they are giving me would give me a different kind of rush, but right now, the only rush I feel is the need to get the hell out of here.

  “Come on,” I say. “There will be plenty of time for ogling tomorrow. Maybe if we are lucky, Cedric’s tailor will also send over a magical cure for all the pizza bloat.”

  Secretly, I’m hoping his tailor is an actual magician. I might be a mage, but I’m starting to look more and more like a witch. It’s going to take some real magic to turn me into something worthy of...well...I look over the four boys. My four boys. I don’t deserve them, really.

  But hopefully after tomorrow, I’ll at least be able to keep them.

  29

  Draven

  I double check to make sure no one is following me before I duck down into another abandoned subway tunnel. Once I am certain I am not being followed, I push back a pile of garbage and reveal a crawlspace leading into a hidden room once used, I’m sure, to smuggle liquor back during prohibition. There are all kinds of rooms like along the old subway lines. When I first found this spot, it was lined with still-full barrels of whiskey. Now it is lined with barrels of something not even remotely similar, except that it is definitely bootleg and highly illegal.

  The smell of maple syrup overwhelms me. My eyes water from the moisture and heat coming off the giant vat in the corner. The middle of the room is a clutter of chalk, animal bones, crystals and whatever else I was able to get a hold of on my limited budget. I’m lucky I haven’t been caught stealing from the Ritual supply closets yet. I’ve always had nimble fingers, but it is tricky when I am stealing such large quantities.

  I’ve been trying to act like I am just tired from the...warning...I was given last week, but I think even Octavia is beginning to catch on that something is not quite right. Sweet girl is so naïve. No one has had the heart to tell her that the reason we haven’t practiced the whole ritual yet is because if we do even one tiny thing wrong, the results could be far worse than just her having to choose one of us. If we...no, if I don’t do this perfectly, there may not be any of us left to choose.

  A rumble echoes deep inside me. The idea of having to share her kills me. I get why she wants us to give this all a shot, but the idea of her with anyone else...especially one of them...

  I have to clear my head.

  I check the temperature of the vat and sample a single drop. If I am lucky, it will be ready in time. On top of everything, the syndicate chose this week of all weeks to call in a big favor.

  Their last favor, they claim. But I know better than that.

  I refused initially.

  See how well that went.

  Reassured that I will at least survive one more night, I squat down in the middle of the floor. The remains of my last ritual smudge underfoot. Doesn’t matter. Isn’t like I can reuse any of the old parts. I have been practicing this ritual Flynn dug up since that first night I snuck out of the infirmary early. I couldn’t just sit around and let everyone else work on this with Octavia while I lazed around being nursed for something that nothing other than time was going to heal, anyway.

  Speaking of; I double over and take a moment to catch my breath from the stabbing pain in my side. I think a part of the blade may have broken off inside me. After all is said and done it will probably require surgery, but I can’t afford that right now.

  I brush away and clean the center of the room for what feels like the hundredth time this week. Once again, I take a lump of chalk and begin drawing the lines of the summoning circle. Line after line, rune after carefully copied rune so old that no one even knows what they say anymore.

  It is an old-fashioned ritual with roots in ancient Greece. There are a lot of candles and a lot of specifications for exactly what can be used to make them. Certain elements representing different kinds of magic must be placed in the center of the circle. The understanding of magic so long ago was rudimentary at best, but they did seem to understand that there were different kinds.

  We usually focus on more modern rituals in class. In fact, this is one of the few rituals I have ever performed that requires the use of human blood. Fortunately, I have plenty of it.

  I slice open the center of my palm with a ceremonial dagger. Blood spur
ts out and I scatter it as evenly as I can across the whole surface. The scent of it mixing with the Salamander Brandy makes my stomach churn. Bile rises in the back of my throat, but I choke it down. There’s no time to be sick before I try again.

  And try I do.

  Again.

  And again.

  And again.

  I finally collapse in the center of the circle as my phone warns me daybreak is already approaching. Another sleepless night. I lay in the middle of chalk and dust and my own fluids, my chest heaving and whatever is left of my blood pounding in my temples.

  I have followed this ritual to the letter dozens of times now. I am sure I followed every instruction, every guideline, even tried purifying each of the elements one after another to be sure there is nothing interfering.

  Each time it has failed.

  And yet I am still here, so there is only one explanation.

  There is something wrong with the ritual itself, and there is no time left to fix it.

  30

  Octavia

  Classes are canceled for the day in preparation for the dance. Not that I would have gone anyway. I know I could use a little more practice with my ritual casting, but it is nice to roll out of bed at 1pm completely guilt-free. I check my phone and there are messages from all of the boys checking in on me before tonight, except for Flynn. I’m not concerned, though. He is probably off making sure that everything is perfect in advance for tonight’s demonstration. I’m actually surprised he and Draven don’t get along better. Flynn would make an excellent ritual caster if he had the affinity for it.

  I might have slept in longer if it isn’t for the knock on my door. I get up and stretch. Every muscle in my body aches from long nights spent slumped over in that old restaurant booth. I’m surprised to find a tiny little wisp of a man looking up at me when I peer out into the hall. Even without him introducing himself, I know exactly who he is. He is every part the perfect picture of a tailor.

  “I would normally have this sent ahead with the housekeeper, but Cedric insisted I double check that you like it.”

  He lets himself in without being invited and looks me over. “Hmm, I certainly hope you don’t plan on wearing your hair that way. Would be such a waste on masterpiece as this.” He unravels a long garment bag over one arm.

  The moment I step into the dress, I am sure that this man is more than an ordinary tailor. He takes out a set of measuring tapes and makes a few notes in a white chalk pen. He is finished so quickly I don’t feel ready to take it off yet.

  It is too perfect.

  I’m expecting him to leave to make the final adjustments, but instead he pulls out a portable sewing kit and brushes the rest of the contents of my desk onto the floor. He glances at me for the briefest of seconds before going straight to work.

  “I’m sure you have something better to do in preparation for tonight than just stand there and gawk.”

  I do. Normally I would be more than put off by that kind of attitude—he’s in my room after all, uninvited and unexpected. But he is a master, and the very last thing I am going to do is get in his way.

  I don’t bother grabbing any clothes on my way to the showers. Now that I actually got a good night’s rest, I realize it would be nice to go over the opening ritual at least once with Draven. But I know I don’t have the time. I might have been a little harsh to Flynn last night and over exaggerated how prepared I actually feel about the whole thing.

  This time I start the shower before grabbing a towel and throwing my dirty clothes in the laundry shoot. I guess I never really appreciated the laundry service here, but come to think of it, everything I throw in there just shows up in my wardrobe washed, folded, and in the right place. The things I take for granted, right?

  As soon as I step into the shower and the hot water envelops me, I hear the door open and two sets of footsteps enter. I try to ignore them and focus instead on the hot water splashing onto the top of my head and running down my face and body. But after a few seconds I swear I hear my name. I turn down the water as much as I dare without letting them know I’m listening.

  “...going to try to keep all four of them.”

  I step forward towards the front of my stall in order to hear them better. One of them turns on a shower and squeals from the icy blast that comes out. I recognize that voice. It’s Whitney, of course. The shower seems to be her favorite place to gossip.

  Why not pick the place where she is most likely to get overheard, right?

  I catch more snippets of the conversation as other girls come into the shower after them.

  “Then why haven’t you tried to stop them?”

  Whitney’s laugh comes out like a hyena’s cackle. “Because it will be so much more spectacular to watch them fail.”

  I am so over this Whitney thing, but I can’t let it get to me. I don’t care if she knows. Let her. Let her see how Cedric would rather have to share me than get to have her all to himself. I stick my head under the water again and continue lathering up. The only thing that really bothers me is how she found out.

  I just need to get to that dance and perform what we have been practicing all week. No one will be able to deny my control over my power then, and with the proof that Flynn found, no one will be able to deny my right to it either.

  My thoughts are interrupted by a second voice I recognize. And it irks me more than it should. It is Wednesday.

  She is chatting to none other than Camilla in the stalls across from me. I guess it is the afternoon before a big dance, so everyone is probably spending the time getting ready with their close friends. A slight pit forms in my stomach.

  I should be getting ready with Wednesday, but she has avoided me all week. I could feel the silent treatment emanating off of her stronger than any words.

  That is when it dawns on me. Wednesday is the only other person who knew what I had planned. She must have been the one to tell Whitney...but why? I switch off the shower and stand there for a moment, letting the water run off me in little streams and pool on the floor.

  I can’t believe she would turn on me like that. Now all our carefully made plans have to rely on Whitney of all people choosing not to tell the principal.

  I am not going to sit around and let Wednesday spoil this for me.

  She is just coming out of one of the stalls when I corner her, a stupid grin on her face as she chats with Camilla about something that is probably ruining someone else’s life.

  I’m too angry to give her the decency of fetching a towel. She barely has time to grab the shower curtain to cover herself up before I shove a finger in the center of her chest, hard.

  “How could you? Telling Whitney of all people.”

  She blinks rapidly at me several times before taking a half step back. “I—I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Of course you do,” I say, my words coming out like daggers. “Ever since I got paired up and you didn’t, you have been consumed with jealousy. Well you know what? No one would want you anyway.”

  She shrinks back as I step forward. I know I am crossing the line here, but it is my turn to have it out with her. I spent my teenage years tiptoeing around her to avoid her famous temper. Now it’s my turn to speak my mind.

  “So just leave me and my secrets alone. Go find somebody else’s life to destroy.”

  I storm out of the shower, barely noticing the faces turned, jaws dropped as I go. My rage fades almost immediately as the door slams shut behind me and I am left standing dripping, wrapped in nothing but a towel, in the empty hallway.

  I may have been too harsh, but who is Wednesday to go telling my secrets. We may be fighting, but I thought she was still my best friend. I guess not. If word has gotten around to Cedric’s father and the school board already, they may not let us go through with our demonstration.

  My phone is buzzing on the floor when I get back. I have to duck under the tailor, who is still working on the final details of my dress, in order to answer it. He glanc
es my way as if I am the intruder here, but I ignore him and sit on the very far end of the bed to answer it. It is Draven.

  “I want to give you something before tonight,” he says. “Meet me in the lobby?”

  I glance over at the tailor in the corner. He doesn’t even look at me as he says, “Oh, don’t worry. I’ve seen more naked people than you can count.”

  “Is there a man in your room?”

  I grab an oversized t-shirt and jersey shorts and start pulling them on one-handed. “It’s the tailor. But isn’t there some rule about not seeing the girl before the dance?”

  “This isn’t a wedding,” he says. “Just come down.”

  He is standing right outside the elevator when I arrive.

  “Look,” he says. “I don’t have a rare magic book of rituals, and I can’t afford a gift like the one Cedric gave you. Heck, I can’t even grow corsages like Kendall.”

  “Kendall is growing the corsages?”

  “Oh, right. Damn.” Draven rubs the back of his neck with one hand. “That was supposed to be a surprise. But here, I want you to have something from me too.”

  He motions for me to come sit on a bench with him. When I do, he takes out a white handkerchief from his pocket and unravels it. In the middle is a needle, a lighter, and a ballpoint pen.

  “What’s all this?”

  “Give me your hand.”

  I do, but when he reaches for the needle, I have to stop him.

  “Hold on a second,” I say. “Are you trying to give me a tattoo?”

  “It’s very basic, for good luck.”

  I wrestle my hand back from him and fold it in my lap. “I think this is something we’re going to have to discuss before you just go cutting into me,” I say.

  “You’re a Ritual Mage,” he says, “It’s part of the practice.”

  He sees me eyeing the needle again, and I can tell he’s getting flustered. “Octavia, you promised me you’d give this a real chance. You can’t half-ass being a Ritual Mage. You have to be sure this is what you want.”