by May Dawson
“I’m glad you came back,” he tells me.
“Really?”
A faint smile touches his lips. “Are you fishing for compliments? Don’t you get enough of those from Stelly?”
I pull a face. “I don’t always appreciate Stelly’s compliments.”
He glances toward the door, as if making sure we aren’t about to be interrupted, then turns back to me. Softly, he says, “I meant what I said about her being reckless. Both of them. But it’s not always a bad thing.”
“Oh?”
His hand cups my cheek, and he leans in toward me. My breath hitches in my chest, and my lips part as I stare up at those lush lips in his handsome, square-jawed face.
“They’re just reckless enough to care about people like us,” he says. “With all our scars.”
My hand catches over his. He’s already leaning away as if he’s going to deliver that thought and stride away without giving me a chance to respond. I hold his hand against my cheek.
“People like us?” I repeat.
“We’re two of a kind, Tera.” He’s not smiling anymore. He still looks at me intently, though, with a softness in his eyes even though he’s holding his body carefully apart from mine.
“You don’t seem happy about that.”
“Two of a kind can barely make for friends,” he says. “No one should grow too close to someone just like them.”
His thumb brushes over my cheekbone, the movement full of affection even as he rejects me. Then he pulls his hand away, out of my grip, and turns on his heel.
I should’ve let him drop the one-liner and leave.
Instead, I stand there, shocked, as the door closes behind him.
My fingers press into the scar again. The memories start to rise and my heart speeds as if I’m once running frantically down the street, as if my legs are being knocked out from underneath me and I’m pitching hard into the cement, only to have three bodies pile on top of me. They forced my cheek against the hot, rough pavement, wrenching my arms out to either side, kneeling on my wrists. It had hurt so badly, and that was before the stench of my own burning flesh rose in the air, and I screamed, throwing my head back and forth so desperately that the pavement tore the skin off my cheek.
Tears rise to my eyes. I didn’t cry then, when I was fighting for my life, but I cried after, looking into the mirror at the wound I’d carry forever, the wound I couldn’t explain to anyone Earthside.
“You’re the one who’s broken, you son of a bitch.” But he’s gone, and there’s no one to hear me. Suddenly I’m furious.
I twine my fingers around the fine metal of the necklace, wanting to yank it off, to break it. I pull the chain away, stretched as far as it will go, and it cuts into the back of my neck. It’s a welcome pain, but when I’m on the verge of snapping the necklace off, I think of Mycroft’s eyes on me. The look on his face was so intent, careful, full of hope that his gift would please me. For the man with the stony face, his eyes had given away an awful lot.
“You son of a bitch,” I say again, my tone softer. I release the clasp and lay the necklace on the polished wooden top of my desk instead.
Two of a kind, maybe.
That’s a pity.
I don’t know who’s worse off between us.
5
Since Stelly is still out and I’m in an irritated, flipping-pages-in-my-book-without-absorbing-a-damn-magical-vector kind of mood, I throw my book aside a while after Mycroft leaves. I make it out of my room before I remember I don’t have to dash through the September rain, hugging my arms like I normally would. Instead, I step into my newly magical closet and push aside hangers. My fingertips dance over rich materials: wool and cashmere and silk.
Avalon is overwhelming in both the best and worst of ways.
I slip on a simple slick black jacket, drawing my hair out from the collar. I shake my head back and forth, and the ends of my hair dance across the slippery material.
The jacket—and what it means—lifts my spirits; I can’t throw on any of those clothes without thinking about my friends surrounding me with their warmth and gentle teasing. I head down the hall feeling better, even if Mycroft is impossible.
The campus bookstore is down the hill, almost all the way to the village. It’s perfect planning—who doesn’t want to haul all their textbooks uphill?
The bookstore is nestled in between the student pub and a cute little coffee shop; all their lights are bright tonight against the deep pink dusk that’s fallen over the mountains, and students bustle everywhere.
I’ve gotten to know the pub already—thanks to the beautiful miscreant boys I hang around with—but this is my first time in the campus bookstore. I push the door open curiously, letting myself into a room that smells of both books and fresh wood, almost like a workshop. I breathe in the scent of fresh-cut cedar and beneath that, catch a note of warm vanilla. The bookstore itself is softly lit; beside the wooden shelves and tables stacked with books, there’s a display of wands near the door. To one side is a door with a sign above that advertises Custom Wands; there must be a workshop on site where the clean, bright smell of fresh-cut wood comes from.
I wander through the books to the wooden shelves of magazines and newspapers, but there are only a handful of newspapers on the stand and a few glossy magazines. My old face doesn’t smile out from any of the covers.
“Can I help you with something?” A woman with dark gray hair curling around her ears asks me cheerfully from the front of the store.
“I’m looking for a magazine. A tabloid, I guess.” I fumble, feeling suddenly stupid as I can’t remember the name, when I say, “It says Return of the Donovans on the cover.”
The bell jangles as the door opens again, and Grace comes in. Her cheeks and nose are pink, and she looks cute and innocent. It’s a lie. Her lips widen when she sees me, her favorite target, but she heads straight for the glass display of chocolates on the counter.
“Oh, you mean the Avalon Insider,” the woman says. “We don’t carry that one. It’s rather trashy, you know?”
“You had it last month,” Grace says, running her fingers over gold- and silver-wrapped foil bars as if she can’t choose.
“Change of policy,” the woman says.
“Well, luckily,” Grace turns around, crossing her arms over her chest. “I happen to have a copy in my room. Come back with me, Tera. I’ll get it for you.”
“That’s such a generous offer,” Josie says from behind me.
I turn, surprised; I hadn’t even heard her come in. But then, once Grace came in, blood rushed through my ears as my fight-or-flight instinct rose for no good reason.
“But I’m sure Tera’s got better things to do than read that trash.” Josie side-eyes Grace. She picks a package of graph paper off a shelf and carries it to the counter. Grace’s cheeks flush as Josie grabs one of the chocolate bars and tosses it on top of her paper.
“Walk back with me?” Josie asks me as she pockets her change and takes her paper bag in one hand. “I hardly ever see you. Those handsome boys seem to keep you busy.”
I wish they kept me busy in entirely different ways.
Still, I let Josie gently boss me. We head out the door together, back into the cool night air. She’s not subtle at all. I know Grace had poisonous words and fake smiles for me, and that my own curiosity would’ve made me stick around to see what awful thing Grace would say next. Josie is like my better, more logical side come to life, pushing down the cup of self-loathing just as I’m about to take a long sip.
As we head back up the hill toward campus, I ask her, “How do you manage not to care what people think about you?”
“It’s difficult,” she says. “The only thing worse is caring what they do think.”
She snaps the chocolate bar in half and hands one side to me. “Anything that makes Grace happy is bad news. You know that, don’t you?”
“Except for a dark chocolate toffee bar?”
She snorts. “That girl
isn’t even plain milk chocolate. She’s stale gum from the bottom of someone’s purse. Don’t let her get to you.”
“Do you rank people in your life by comparing them to candy?” I crinkle my nose at her, amused.
“How else do you determine who to be friends with?” Josie asks lightly. “You, Tera, are bitter dark chocolate, and that happens to be my favorite kind.”
She levels a long look at me. “Don’t read the magazine. It’s not any of your business what stupid people think about you.”
“Because we don’t read trashy magazines?” I ask lightly.
“Oh, we read all the trashy magazines, except when we need to be superior.”
She makes me laugh. When I get back to my room later, the copy of the magazine with my face on it is propped alongside my door.
I scoop it up, glancing down the hall guiltily. I start to open it, flipping through slick pages as my stomach tightens, and instead, I carry it inside my room and drop it into the trash can.
Ignorance may be dangerous, but sometimes, so is knowing.
6
When Stelly swings the door open on Friday night, Mycroft, Airren and Cax file in. They’re still lost in conversation, and Cax walks in backward, he’s so focused on their discussion.
Airren stops dead, staring over Cax’s shoulder at me.
Stelly shakes her head as she taps Cax on the shoulder. She’s wearing her dress—a deep burgundy gown that sets off her light blond hair and pale skin—but they’ve told her a hundred times already she’s not coming. Apparently, I’m as much freshman as they can handle. Also, someone has to babysit my little dragon egg.
“What?” Cax asks, turning around. He reaches to catch her wrist automatically, but then his eyes settle on me, and he stops too.
Mycroft closes the door behind him and leans against it. “Nice dress.” He’s the only one who isn’t tongue-tied
Stelly’s convinced me to leave the twin of the ripped green dress hanging in the closet and go for the red instead. The dress is simple, a red satin sheath dress with a high bodice and a plunging back that exposes the narrow muscles of my back, the faint knobs of my spine. I’m wearing her earrings, intricate golden climbers that twist up my earlobes. Stelly’s worked my hair up into a smooth French knot.
Beneath the dress hangs the small egg tMycroft gave me, warm and solid between the curve of my breasts, but I’m not sure I’ll ever tell him that.
“Thank you.” I run my hands over my hips to smooth the fabric, suddenly self-conscious.
Cax slowly exhales, as if he’s remembered to breathe. When e takes my hand in his, I look at him in surprise. He lifts my hand to his lips and kisses my knuckles. “You look like a princess, just like you should tonight.”
“I have a part to play.” I smile at him, trying to fix that mask of a smile on my face. I need to be charming tonight. It’s my job.
“That’s not about a part.” Cax’s thumb strokes across the inside of my wrist, and my fingers unfold for him; he kisses to my palm, his deep green eyes watching my face. My eyelashes flutter half-closed in response as I lean back, resisting the siren call of his lips. I do have a job to do, after all, and Cax is hopelessly distracting.
His voice comes out low. “You’re a princess to us.”
“Save something for the party,” Airren says.
Cax is still holding my hand, so I step in toward him, resting my palm against his hard, smooth-shaven jaw. My thumb rubs across his cheekbone, which is so sharply angled that I can feel the shape of it beneath his skin. Softly, I ask, “Aren’t people going to wonder why I have the honor of not one, but three, handsome upperclassmen accompanying me to the dance?”
“Everyone knows you need a lot of looking-after,” Airren says bluntly. “After you had to throw yourself out of a window.”
“I didn’t throw myself.” I wink at Mycroft. I’m practicing my charm for the party, even though I feel silly with these men, who know I’m not charming at all. “I jumped into Mycroft’s arms. Two very different things. I knew where I’d land.”
Mycroft’s eyes study me, and then he glances away. He plucks my wand—his wand—off my desk and makes a quick motion. Checking for bugs, once again. “We also hope people will assume you’ve put some kind of spell on us. We want people to think you’re powerful.”
But, of course, I’m not. My magic fled when I was Earthside, and I haven’t gotten it back yet. If I ever will.
“Way to bring a girl down to earth.” Which he has literally done before, that night I had to jump.
Airren holds his hand out to me. “Come on, Tera. The way you look tonight, no one should question why the three of us would be mad for you.”
“You’re good actors.” I pat Cax’s cheek and head for Airren. His strong fingers knit around mine, and our shoulders bump together as he turns.
Airren pauses with his hand on the doorknob. Those deep blue eyes are sharp on mine when he leans in. “We’re not that good.”
My lips part in surprise. He squeezes my hand in his, and then pulls open the door.
When Airren and I walk through the hallway, with Mycroft and Cax a step behind, spreading out to flank us, the freshmen in the halls stop and gawk at us. My fellow freshmen are wearing jeans, because they aren’t invited—except for the ones who are working or have finagled a rare invite to an event the upperclassmen try to keep exclusive—and for a second, I imagine the way we look right now.
Airren is broad-shouldered and tall in his tuxedo, with his short dark hair spiky above his handsome face, and those piecing blue eyes sparkling over high-boned, ruddy cheeks. He holds my hand so confidently. My red gown swirls out behind me. My red lips feel like some kind of war paint. Stelly painted on that red, biting her lower lip in concentration, and so close to me that I kept breaking into a self-conscious smile.
Mycroft and Cax flank us; Mycroft cleans up terribly well, broad-shouldered and polished in a tux; Cax looks handsome and young and sweet all at the same time in his three-piece suit with one of his signature vests under a white jacket.
We look like a team, and hopefully the True don’t think the same thing. It would make more sense if these guys would back off and leave me alone and let the True approach me without me being protected. It would make more sense, but I’d be terrified.
Maybe that’s the reason they’re protective of me; I have to be confident for the mission to succeed. I’m supposed to look like I belong with the True.
If the True find out I’ve got no magic to my name, then I’m useless in every way there is. To the True. To the Crown. And if I’m not useful, my time in Avalon is a ticking clock.
Airren’s thumb strokes over the base of my thumb, and I realize I’ve tightened my fingers around his in a death grip. He leans close to me, his lips brushing against my ear. “You’re all right. We’ve got you.”
When I smile up at him, he looks at me like he’s studying me, trying to figure out what’s on my mind. I’m not afraid of tonight. I’m afraid of fucking up and finding myself on a one-way trip back Earthside.
Only this time, it’s not just my home I’d miss. It might destroy me to be wrenched away from these men. The ache twines around my heart already. The thought makes me want to kick off my high heels and run barefoot from them, back to the nearest portal. If I’m going to get my heart torn out, I might as well start now. I don’t need to fall even further.
“Do you think there’s going to be champagne at this party?” I ask as we walk the stairs hand-in-hand. I’m so glad the drinking age in Avalon is eighteen.
“Not for you.” His cheekbones swell slightly when he teases me, even though a smile doesn’t touch his lips yet.
“Believe me, I’m better equipped to navigate any social situation slightly inebriated. It really can’t get any worse than it is when I’m sober.”
“I find you very charming,” Airren says.
A step behind me and to my left, Mycroft snorts.
“You’re not helpful,”
Cax tells him.
“Mycroft’s definitely an expert on charm,” Airren says drily, glancing over his shoulder at his old friend. “You should really give lessons.”
“I’m happy to give you a lesson anytime you want,” Mycroft promises him.
The four of us walk through the double doors into the evening air. We’re walking to the Legacy House, the big building where students put on shows and where the orchestra plays and special guests speak. I wonder if these monthly balls are really that different from a frat party Earthside. I guess with thousands of young wizards in one place, there has to be a way to break the tension without putting spells on each other.
I’m focused on navigating the stone steps in my heels, my skirt drawn up in one hand, and then I step onto the solid stone at the bottom and look up.
The path that leads away from Rawl House is lit with twinkling lights that hover at ankle-height, illuminating the stone trail. More lights twinkle dimly through the leaves in the trees, wrapped around the branches; in the gaps where the leaves have fallen, those lights bloom into bright white stars.
Airren tucks my hand into the crook of his arm, pulling me closer, and I realize I’ve stopped to gawk at the beauty. As I walk forward with him, I breath in his aftershave. He smells spicy and warm; the scent makes me imagine lying by a fire with him, listening to him read as he holds a novel tented over us both. I’d feel the warm, low grumble of his voice through his chest with my head resting on his shoulder.
“Me put a spell on you?” I say softly, thinking of what he’d said earlier about hoping the True would think I’m so powerful, I’ve brought these Crown loyalists under my spell. “You should tell me what’s in your cologne, Airren Penn.”
His eyebrows rise. “I bought it off the shelf in Wick’s. I think clove? Orange? Sandalwood? I don’t know anything about cologne.”
I should have some kind of quick quip back about his cologne, but all I can think is that I wish I were just a girl in love with this boy who liked me back.
He stops abruptly, turning to me. Couples in gowns and tuxes, and a few threesomes and foursomes, stream past us.
