by May Dawson
“What if he knows there’s a spell on his wand?” I ask softly.
He shakes his head. “I’m not Intel for nothing, princess.”
“Cocky,” I accuse him. In response, he wraps his hand around mine.
“Yes,” he admits, squeezing my fingers in his.
Cocky enough to hold my hand and know I’m not going to pull away. “Be careful. Someone might see you with me and think you’re an unsavory character.”
His lips quirk up. “War hero or not, I am definitely an unsavory character. You’re the sweet, innocent one. No matter what people might think when they see us.”
“I am not innocent,” I say. “And I’m not sweet.”
He comes to an abrupt stop. I take another step past him before the tug of us moving in different directions runs up my arm to my shoulder. I turn back, only to have him wrap his arm firmly around my waist and pull me against his body. When he presses his lips to mine, he tastes like dark coffee, bitter and warm.
“What was that for?” I catch myself with my hands on his shoulders. My knees feel suddenly wobbly.
He looks thoughtful, as if he’s musing over the kiss was. “Definitely sweet.”
“What about innocent?”
“That’s overrated in a girl.” When he smiles, faint dimples appear in his cheeks, and I want to run my fingertips over the curve of his cheekbones.
I resist the impulse, even though it makes me ache. My thumb rubs instead across the rough callouses that have formed across his knuckles. I was right to think that he was dangerous that first day I met him. He’s a hazard for the swagger in his walk and his capacity for violence and most of all, for his charm.
“We have a murderer to catch before I find myself in prison. Let’s flirt later.”
“Yes, ma’am.” His voice carries rich amusement.
The two of us walk on through campus, under the ever-changing shadows of the swaying branches between us and the moon. A white ghost swoops down out of the night, low above our heads. My heart races but it’s just an owl, intent on its prey. Airren squeezes my hand, as if he’s noticed the sudden wild flutter of my heart.
“He’s stopped.” Airren tucks the wand into his pocket as his pace quickens toward the east side of campus. “Come on.”
My heart pounds in my chest. Airren’s palm against mind is cool and hard. I’d like to draw some of that cool confidence for myself. Is there an enchantment for making yourself unflappable? If there is, this guy has it. And I want to use it too.
He nods at the broad, flat roof of a towering building in front of us. Running behind it, the white gravel trail that loops around the perimeter of the campus shimmers under the moonlight. We’re past all the other buildings, in an isolated spot surrounded by forest.
Cold shivers up my spine. This feels like a place to die.
“They put this building at the end of campus because it’s a technological ruckus,” Airren tells me softly. “Lots of electronics here since the Engineering department is always trying to figure out how to translate tech from Earth to Avalon. Every bit of tech should be encased properly to not interfere with the function of magic, of course, but you know how people are.”
People in Avalon are a wee bit suspicious of technology. Although these days, people bite back their fears and superstitions about technology. Say the wrong thing, and people will think you’re sympathetic to the True.
Together, we slip around the edge of the engineering building.
“He’s inside,” Airren says quietly, glancing down at his wand, which seems to vibrate in his hand. He still holds my hand confidently in his. “Ready?”
“I’ll try to be,” I say.
As cool as those blue eyes of his are, they seem warm and bright when they meet mine. He gives me a nod and pushes the door open into a long hall.
We walk through empty, brightly lit hallways until the vibrations of the wand narrow down where Erik has gone. His route pulls us up to the top floor of the building.
“Stay here,” Airren whispers. He walks on impossibly light feet to the manufacturing lab.
I crouch down with my back against the wall. The lights in the hall seem so bright and cheerful; I wish I were innocent of dark magic and murderers and lost boys left broken on sundials.
My heart pounds in my chest, worried about Airren as he creeps down the hall to the lab. My instincts are on high alert, and I’ve learned to trust them.
Maybe Luca and Erik were both into dark magic.
Or maybe it was just Erik.
The thought that maybe the True could have killed Luca as a message or a sacrifice jars me. I turn my head, listening intently, but I hear nothing. What if Erik hurts Airren? The nervousness curdling in my stomach flares into anger at the thought.
The possibility that Luca was innocent, that he’s both dead and blameless, nags at me. His bright eyes shine in my mind, then shift to the clouded, unseeing eyes of the corpse. He was so nice¸ offering me chocolate and small talk as we waited in line. The world can’t afford to lose any more nice.
When Airren’s broad shoulder brushes against mine, I breathe a sigh of relief.
He hesitates, like he’s holding something back, and my fear spikes again. I bump his shoulder gently with mine. “What is it?”
“He’s pulling files,” he whispers. “I’d like to know what they are. Can you distract him while I copy the files?”
“He’s going to realize I’m up to something sketchy.” I crinkle my nose at him, although I’m certainly not saying no.
“Everyone already thinks you’re up to something sketchy.” He tweaks my nose. “How are you at improvising?”
“We’ll find out.” I flash him a smile over my shoulder as I head down the hall. I’m definitely not as quiet as he is. But then, I don’t have to be. I hate that I draw so much attention, but right now, it might be a gift.
Erik freezes when I walk into the room. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m following you.” I flash a smile at him, then brace my hands on the edge of a table so I can pull myself up on it. I cross one leg over the other, trying to look casual. “You really didn’t notice me? People usually notice me.”
“What do you want?” he demands, his voice harsh.
“I want to know what you’re up to.”
“It’s called homework,” he says. “I’ve got a design lab this semester.”
“Oh, I can’t wait until I know what I’m going to major in,” I say. “And also until I know that I’m going to make it through my freshman year. So what projects are you working on?”
“I’m reproducing a small outboard engine to make it run on magic instead of diesel,” he says. “It’s pretty boring.”
“You have to work on it at two am?” I ask.
“Engineering professors are assholes,” he says. “I need to pass this class. Can you go, so I can get back to work?”
“Let me see what you’re working on?” I ask.
He slides the file back into the drawer and slams it shut. I have the funny feeling he was going to smuggle that file out and burn it.
“Did you and Luca work on anything together?” I ask.
“Nope.”
Behind him, Airren’s wand floats through the air. It smacks into the side of the filing cabinet—Airren wasn’t wrong, he really is all thumbs sometimes—and Erik’s eyes flicker toward the noise.
“I think you killed Luca,” I say, which is a desperate bid to distract him.
But there’s a flash of an expression on his face that doesn’t make sense—relief, almost—before he turns angry.
I’m right. Holy hell. I’m in a room with a murderer.
The wand works its tip into the drawer pull, and the drawer slowly eases open. The wand slides down into the filing cabinet. I remember how Cutter’s wand slid across the chalkboard, recording all those names, and I hope Airren’s getting exactly what we need.
“Why do you say that?” he asks, his voice heavy.
> “This whole story that the True killed Luca. You’ve been pushing it, in your own way. But there’s no motive.” I shake my head. “The True always have a motive. They’re evil and despicable, but they aren’t random.”
“I’m sure there was a motive,” he says. “Luca crossed them or was going to reveal their identity or something…”
I cock my head at him. “Luca realized you were using black magic, didn’t he? He put together that you’re True.”
“No,” he says.
“It’s all right.” I say. “I’m True, too. I won’t hold it against you.”
He mutters a word in Latin as he looks to the door. I don’t have to try the knob to know he’s sealed it shut. It’s just him and me now. There are long windows, almost floor-to-ceiling, on my left, but it’s a long drop down.
“No, you aren’t,” he says.
“How do you know?”
A faint smile comes to his lips. “You don’t have the power.”
“You don’t really need to insult me. I’m the Dark Lord’s daughter. Your lord’s daughter.”
“But you aren’t him, are you?” He takes a step toward me. His demeanor has changed now. He thinks he’s in control.
“I guess not.” Man, I thought that would be nicer to hear. Someone finally realizes I’m not my father’s daughter, and it’s because they think I’m weak and helpless.
I might feel that way sometimes, but I’m neither weak nor helpless. Earth made me cagy, and I ease myself down off the side of the desk, ready to move. Ready to fight.
“I know you’re lying because they want to recruit you,” he says.
“Who?”
“You’ll never meet them.” He rolls his sleeve up, taking another step toward me. There’s a brand across his inner forearm, fresh and red against his swollen pink skin.
And it’s ticking down.
“You want to know what this is?” His voice is high, slightly panicked, even though he’s trying to play this nightmare off like he’s the one in control. I’m pretty sure it’s a nightmare for both of us.
“Desperately.”
“I did kill Luca,” he admits. “I joined the True last year. There’s no other future for people like us in Avalon, Tera. Well.” He pulls a face. “There’s no future for the two of us, any way you work it.”
“Luca found out. I killed him—here, actually—just like I’m going to kill you. He confronted me and I didn’t mean to kill him…” He seems to be flickering between sadness and rage, between trying to seem like he intended to be this grand criminal mastermind and admitting that everything spiraled. “I had to do something. So I set it up to look like a ritual murder. It was all I could think of at the time.”
“Confessing didn’t pop up on the list?”
“I’m too cute for a public execution,” he says. “But the True doesn’t appreciate what I did. Drawing attention to them. To you.”
There’s a chilling thought. I have friends out there that I don’t want.
“I’m supposed to kill myself, once I’ve destroyed the evidence that I dabbled in dark magic. I’m supposed to confess that we had a fight over something stupid, not the True, and that I killed him in a fit of rage. And then I’m supposed to die.” He holds up the clock branded across his forearm; the hands are moving fast.
We’ve only got a minute or two left. I glance back toward the window, then at the door, trying to figure out my best way out. Whichever route I commit to, I’ll only have time for one attempt.
“But we’re going to show them, Tera,” he says. “You’re going to die too. That’s going to be very disappointing for the True.”
“Great,” I say. “I always kind of thought I’d die alone and no one would give a damn. But now I get traitors mourning me and your fine company at the end. Jesus.”
“Just a minute now.”
Dying alone never looked so good.
Airren’s wand smashes through the window. There’s a cracking of glass as it slams through, and I duck involuntarily at the noise.
“Tera, run for the broken window!” Mycroft shouts; his voice seems distant, since we’re five floors up.
Erik eyes me, and then suddenly lunges for me. I juke to one side, almost evading him, but his shoulder clips my arm. The two of us stumble back. His arm closes around my waist as we run into a desk; its legs scrape across the hardwood floor. He struggles to pin me against the wall as I try to evade him. I slide my calf against his, trying to throw his weight, but he throws himself forward. I’m pinned between him and the wall. He steps on my foot as he tries to get his balance.
His teeth flash as he gets one of my wrists in his hand, up against the wall. “You don’t have magic, do you?”
He starts to speak in Latin. I recognize some of the same words that Cax used to bind that man to the sidewalk. He’s distracted by his own magic, by the desire to show off in his last minutes.
Evil is usually accompanied with a fair amount of stupidity. That’s something I saw firsthand growing up.
“I make my own magic, motherfucker,” I promise him, right before I slam my forehead forward into his face. His nose crunches, the sound wet and bloody. My skin ruptures along my hairline, a cold wet pain to go with the sudden deep ache in my head, but I don’t lose one second of momentum. I throw myself forward.
I slip his arms as he stumbles back, still trying to catch himself, and I run full-force for the broken window.
I’m going to die. Unless they’ve made the window into a portal. Maybe I’ll land on my ass in some other building.
I run as fast as I can, evading Erik as he reaches after me. My arms pump frantically. I jump for the window. The last of the glass fractures against my boots, and I explode into a clear night sky.
Everything slows.
Far beneath me, Mycroft and Cax stand, looking up. There’s a silver moon that seems so close to me right now, illuminating the still, peaceful campus.
There’s no portal.
I plummet towards the brick walkway far beneath my feet.
And then I pause, hanging in mid-air. I draw a frantic, ragged breath, confused about being caught three stories up from the brick. Mycroft makes a small movement of his hand again, and I start to drop, only to be caught again with a jerk. And then again, and again, my stomach lurching painfully with the motion each time.
Mycroft reaches out and plucks me out of the air, and I fall into his arms.
“Sorry,” he says. “The spell is smoother with my wand.”
“What the hell is wrong with you?” I smack his broad chest. “I thought there was going to be a portal.”
“Why’d you think that?” Mycroft asks me, raising an eyebrow.
“That would’ve been a good idea,” Cax muses. “I’ll keep that one in my back pocket.”
“I am hoping to God I’ll never jump out of a window again!” I smack Mycroft’s chest once more.
He raises his eyebrow even higher.
“I’d put me down if I were you,” I tell him. “I’m just trying to vent some of my adrenaline, but I’m probably going to keep hitting you.”
“That’s not how you vent adrenaline,” he tells me.
The top floor of the engineering building explodes.
“Where’s Airren?” I demand, my heart clutching in my chest.
“He’s fine,” Cax assures me. “He was more worried about making sure you got out than anything, but he ran for the stairs when you jumped. He’ll be…”
“Right here.” Airren says, looping his arm around me and around Mycroft’s shoulders. He presses his forehead to mine.
The contact makes my forehead throb even more, but I catch his face in my hands anyway, welcoming the pain. “I’m so glad you’re alive.”
“I’ve got to keep you out of trouble,” he says. “I’m not done yet.”
32
That night, when we’ve given our statements to Cutter, the four of us walk back through campus together. Cax slips his jacket off, as ca
sually as he did the night we got into that fight, and drapes it over my shoulders. It smells like him, in the best way, like aftershave and leather and licorice. The weight of it on my shoulders is cozy, and so is Cax’s hand lingering on my back.
“So, we all know I’m not a murderer now,” I say brightly.
“I always knew you weren’t a murderer,” Cax says confidently.
“I was fifty-fifty,” Mycroft deadpans.
I glance over at him, but he stares straight ahead. It’s still hard for me to read his handsome, impassive face.
Stelly is right. Mycroft likes being a mystery. But I’ve unraveled one mystery tonight, and I’m confident I can unravel another.
Airren bumps my shoulder with his. His hands are tucked into his pockets, making his broad shoulders hunch in a way that is ridiculously sexy. “You were a good partner tonight.”
Partner, huh? There’s a lift of joy in my chest, but all I say back is, “You weren’t so bad yourself.”
I’m glad to glimpse Rawl House through the trees. The windows in the stone still look like a hundred eyes in a monster’s craggy face, but now I see the light shining out of them too. I’m coming home.
“I might survive my freshman year,” I muse out loud.
“Of course you will,” Cax says. “You have us.”
I purse my lips at him. “I’m pretty sure you’ll be the ones to get me in trouble.”
“And we’ll be the ones to get you out,” he promises.
Everything with Airren and Cax feels flirty, but Mycroft is as stony as our House. I chalk it up to one of his moods, but then as we head up the stairs, he turns to Airren and says, “You two should get Tera some food. She’s been through a lot.”
His tone is flat, matter-of-fact, but for some reason I could swear he just told the other two guys, “Mine.”
At least for a little while.
Maybe Airren hears it the same way, because he stares back at Mycroft, his jaw stiffening. Then he shrugs.
“Sure, I hate it when you’re hangry,” Airren says. “Look after her. Cax and I will be right back.”
