by Eva Chase
“Okay.” I kept my breaths even as Declan built the illusion on the windows and then on me with softly spoken words and subtle movements of his hands. He sat back and laughed roughly, looking at me with a twitch of his eyes.
“I can hardly focus on you now. At least that means I must have done my job well.”
“You better have,” I said, but my heart wasn’t in the teasing.
It was only another minute’s drive before the stone mansion came into view, looming as large as the Bloodstone fortress behind a gate that must have been twice my height. Declan leaned out his window and identified himself as “Baron Ashgrave” to the security camera. After a moment, the gate creaked open. That sound wasn’t ominous at all.
We didn’t speak as he came up the front drive to the house. The flutter of a curtain on one of the upper front windows made my nerves jitter all over again. I drew the casting I was planning into the back of my mouth with a quiver of the magic behind my collarbone.
Declan parked at the far north side of the circular drive, where I could make almost a straight run for the northern side of the house. I couldn’t see the windows there yet, but I’d rehearsed his instructions in my head dozens of times. Second floor, far corner.
He reached over in a discreet motion to briefly grasp my hand. I took as much comfort from the contact as I could before he got out of the car.
Declan strode up to the mansion’s front door and knocked. An employee opened it a moment later, probably already waiting for him. The entrance was far enough away from our parking spot that I couldn’t make out anything either of them said, but Declan kept up a friendly smile and made a few casual gestures. After a few exchanges, the woman who’d answered the door stepped back, and he went into the front hall.
The door closed behind him. My heart stuttered. That was my cue.
I whispered my casting, peering at each of the windows I could see. None of them offered the tremble of energy that indicated a living presence nearby. Whoever had been peeking out before must have moved on at Declan’s entrance. All right then. I had to trust that he was keeping the closest staff occupied.
I pushed the car door open as gently as I could and eased it shut behind me, not quite closing it to ensure it didn’t make a thud. Then I darted across the lawn around the side of the building.
A narrow bed of flowers lay along the north wall, just starting to wilt with the coming autumn. They gave off a sharp, slightly sour smell. As I headed for the far corner of the mansion, I kept my distance from the flowerbeds for as long as I could, since I didn’t know how well Declan’s reflective illusion would hold up against more complicated visuals.
The window at the end of the second floor was halfway open—enough of a gap that I’d be able to crawl through. That was one small relief. The other bit of luck was the thick stone ledge that protruded a few inches out from the wall. I’d fix my conjured rope to that.
Murmuring the words as quickly as I could while still focusing on the spell, I drew an illusion into place a couple feet in front of the wall. It recreated the wall’s seams and dimples as closely as I could. By the time that was in place, sweat had broken out on my forehead and my pulse was thudding from more than just nerves. I squared my shoulders and summoned even more energy to create my rope.
I extended the narrow cord only to waist height, since my illusion didn’t cover the flowerbed below that. Once my conjuring was complete, I could only allow myself a second to let out my breath before I hurried over and grasped the rope. The sooner I was out of sight behind my illusion, the better.
I’d modeled the rope after the real one I’d used to climb down to Declan’s dorm room. It bit into my palms with its solid texture, but at least the coarseness stopped my hands from slipping. Going up two floors was definitely harder than going down one.
With my feet planted against the wall, I pulled myself upward one hand and step at a time. The muscles in my shoulders and back strained, but I made it up to the window in a matter of minutes. I grasped the inner lip of the ledge and hauled myself over it into the room.
I managed to catch myself before I tumbled all the way to the floor. My feet landed on the smooth hardwood with only a faint tap. Then I was standing in a dim room nearly as large as my dorm’s common room back at Blood U. The only light was what seeped through the window. Despite the dimness, the space smelled fresh enough, with a hint of the aquatic tang I’d caught on Malcolm’s skin before.
In the first second while I took in the space, I thought we’d made the wrong gamble—that he wasn’t here and maybe not in the house at all. Nothing stirred by the big rolltop desk or the circle of armchairs around the fireplace near me, or by the massive four-poster bed at the far end of the room.
Then a voice emerged from what I’d taken for just a heap of covers, a little hoarse but undeniably Malcolm’s demanding tone. “Hello?”
There was definitely a question in that word too. Couldn’t he see it was me?
I wouldn’t have expected to find him in bed this late in the morning. He hadn’t even bothered to sit up.
I hesitated and then walked over, tense and uncertain of my welcome. It didn’t seem entirely implausible that he might snap at me for interrupting his sleep-in.
As I came up on the bed, his form became clearer, his body sprawled rigidly straight on his side in the middle of the mattress. A light blanket covered him up to his shoulders, his head with its topping of short golden-brown curls facing the wall ahead of me. When I passed the bed’s foot, his dark gaze found me. He sucked in a rasp of breath.
“Stop right there.”
The command came out ragged but so firm my legs locked even though there’d been no persuasive magic in the words. I couldn’t read Malcolm’s shadowed expression. He looked almost… horrified?
“I’m sorry for coming in like this without any warning,” I started, keeping my voice low. “We were worried about you—we—”
“Stop.” He dragged in another breath. “When I scared you in the boathouse, what did you threaten to do to me?”
Why the hell was he bringing that up at this moment? I stared at him for a second before I found the words. “I said if you touched me again I’d break every bone in your hands. But that’s not—I was upset—What does that have to do with anything right now?”
He shifted just a fraction with a raw laugh. “It is actually you. God, Rory, you do know how to surprise a guy, don’t you?”
His first words took a moment to sink in. “You thought I might just be an illusion or something? Who would…” I trailed off as the obvious answers presented themselves.
“My dad,” Malcolm said, confirming the first possibility that had popped into my head. “To test how I’d react. How loyal I still am. I’m kind of surprised he hasn’t tried that yet, come to think of it.” An edge had crept into his voice. He paused, and when he spoke again, he’d smoothed it out. “What exactly are you doing here, actual Rory?”
I came right up to the side of the bed, still feeling awkward. There was something odd about the way he was lying there so motionless—he’d hardly tipped his head to look at me better. A chill ran down my back.
“I was trying to tell you,” I said. “We were worried. The guys noticed you hadn’t come back to school—you weren’t responding to their texts—and we knew your dad had to be pissed off about you testifying for me at the hearing. It seemed a little much for all four of us to turn up on your doorstep, so it’s just Declan and me. He’s distracting the staff while I check whether you’re okay. Are you okay?” He definitely didn’t look like he was.
“I’m touched by your concern,” Malcolm said in a wry tone, but something in his expression softened as if he did appreciate the gesture even as he mocked it. “Did someone think to give Shadow a run? He’ll need it by now.”
Being apart from his familiar for this long would only add to whatever other discomfort he was feeling. “Connar went to look after him. I’ll let him out today when I get bac
k. What about you?”
Malcolm made a dismissive sound. “I expected this. I’ll be out of here in another day or two. You don’t have to worry about me, Glinda.”
I wasn’t letting his “good witch” nickname distract me from the fact that he hadn’t actually answered the question. “Don’t bullshit me. I’m here now. I can see something’s wrong. It doesn’t make you look stronger to lie about it. What did he do to you?” The thought of all the ways his father could have hurt him brought an ache into my throat.
“Leave it,” Malcolm said. “I’ll be fine.”
I folded my arms over my chest. “I think you should know by now how stubborn I can be. If you’re currently fine, why don’t you sit up so we can have a proper conversation?”
Malcolm was silent for a long moment. He closed his eyes. “Apparently you and my father have similar ideas about physical discipline. Although he didn’t limit himself to my hands. From the way it feels if I try to move, I have the feeling he’s fractured bones in just about every part of my body. So I don’t move, and it’s not so bad.”
The chill turned into an icy flood of horror that filled me from chest to gut. “He did that to you—because of the hearing?” Because of me.
“I stepped out of line in a major way. It’s very important to him to make sure I remember never to do it again.” He managed a faint chuckle and looked at me again. “I pretended I was just doing what I thought was best for the barony. Lord only knows what he’d have put me through if I’d admitted I’d wanted you to get off so you can put him in his place someday.”
For fuck’s sake, was that supposed to make me feel better? What had his father put him through before now that he could laugh this off as if it were a normal punishment?
He’d known. He’d stepped up to the witness seat knowing a backlash like this was going to come… and he’d done it anyway.
I wavered on my feet, my hands opening and closing at my sides, and then sat down on the edge of the bed gingerly, careful not to rock the mattress. “I don’t know much about healing, but—is there anything I can do to help? Or I could tell Declan, and he could figure out something… We can’t just leave you here like this.”
“Of course you can,” Malcolm said matter-of-factly. “You think we all wouldn’t be in even deeper shit if he found out you’d interfered? He’ll bring a fearmancer doctor around in the next couple days to fuse all those fractures, and other than the memory, it’ll be like it never happened. I’ll be back at school by Monday, and you can go back to putting me in my place. I guess it’s good practice.”
Somehow the casual way he spoke about it made the whole situation worse. As if he didn’t think I could really care that much how he was suffering on my behalf. A sudden heat welled behind my eyes, so fast I had to blink hard.
Malcolm’s forehead furrowed. “Are you… crying?”
I swiped at my eyes. “You’re basically being tortured in the most horrible way I can think of because you stuck out your neck for me, and apparently there’s nothing useful I can do to make up for that, so yes, that makes me a little upset.”
“I didn’t think…”
He hesitated as if searching for the right words. The silence stretched before he found them. “You told me a while back that no matter how awful I was to you, you’d still care if I got hurt. I figured that was joymancer-style bullshit. But you really meant it, didn’t you? Even back then, when I was doing everything I could think of to make you miserable.” A note of anguish had crept into his voice, more than he’d shown when talking about his broken body.
“Malcolm…” I didn’t know how to answer that emotion.
He let out a ragged laugh. “I probably should have been the one getting down on my knees begging forgiveness, huh? I was the one too full of my own bullshit to see anything. I’d do it right now if I could get up.”
I wasn’t here to watch him beat himself up even more than his father already had. I groped for something to do, something to say, and could only come up with one thing that I thought might convey how much the sacrifice he’d made meant to me.
With as much care as before, I lowered myself farther down on the bed so I could bring my lips to his.
I hardly dared to do more than graze my fingers against his jaw. The last thing I wanted was to cause him even more pain. But Malcolm kissed me back without any indication of being anything but pleased to do so, a soft but eager hum emanating from his throat.
It was the first time we’d kissed that wasn’t part of some sort of competition or to make a point. A flutter tickled through the guilt and horror that was wound around my chest. When we had to come up for air, I stayed there on my side next to him, our faces just inches apart, watching his expression.
“Will he know if I cast magic on you that’ll fade?” I asked.
“Probably not, and I doubt he’d check. I can’t concentrate well enough to cast anything much. Why?”
“I can at least…” I inhaled slowly, thinking back to the few Physicality seminars when we’d covered basic medical spells. I could offer the magical equivalent of a mild painkiller. It’d only reduce whatever pain he was experiencing a little, but that was something.
“Dull,” I murmured. “Numb.” With the words, I sent some of the magic inside me over his body.
I hadn’t realized just how stiffly he’d been holding himself until his stance relaxed, if only slightly. A pang that was a mix of relief along with frustration that I couldn’t do more shot through me. I peered at Malcolm’s face again as if I might find another idea there. He gazed back at me, as divinely handsome as ever. For a moment, it was hard to imagine I’d once thought of him as devilish too.
“You know,” he said quietly, “it seems like an awful shame that the first time I get you in my bed, I’m too fucked up to do much of anything about it.”
Well, there was typical Malcolm. The devil hadn’t disappeared completely. I let out a huff of breath without much real rancor. “If you weren’t ‘fucked up,’ I wouldn’t be in your bed.”
“I know. Thank you—for coming, for wanting to help. For that spell just now. Even if you can’t enchant me all better, it makes a difference.” His dark brown eyes searched mine, turning serious again. “I’m not sure I really deserve you, Rory, but I don’t think I could give you up even if I don’t.”
A lump rose in my throat. “Why don’t you let me worry about that part?” I gave him one last brief peck to his lips, and then eased myself back into a sitting position. “And you’d better believe your dad won’t be getting away with this.”
A flicker of deeper concern crossed his expression. “Hey,” he said. “We’re going to deal with him—we’re going to deal with all of them—when we’re ready to really make the upheaval stick. Promise me you’re not going to try to take him on right away. I stuck my neck out because I wanted to make sure you keep your freedom. Doing that won’t mean much if you get yourself charged with attacking a baron, for real, less than a week later.”
He looked so worried about me that the burn behind my eyes came back. As much as I’d have liked to turn Baron Nightwood’s punishment or something equally torturous back on the man, I knew I didn’t have the skills yet to go up against an experienced mage that powerful. And forget about me—I wasn’t going to do anything that’d make him come down even harder on his son.
“I promise,” I said. “For now.”
In the future, once I had all the power I needed and we had a plan we knew would work? All bets would be off.
Chapter Six
Rory
Lillian had kept her text short and to-the-point. Casting Grounds on campus. 10:30am. Please be prompt.
She’d given me some warning that she and her blacksuit colleagues would be coming by this morning, but the exact time just an hour in advance, while I was in the middle of an early seminar. I only had a little time to hustle back to my dorm after class to drop off the library book I’d been referencing for an oral report and grab a car
digan to guard against the drop in temperature I hadn’t been prepared for. Then I paused to text Declan to give him a heads up about the meeting.
He’d keep an eye out for the blacksuits’ comings and goings, and find an excuse to interrupt if I didn’t contact him again reasonably soon to let him know the ceremony had gone as planned. As near-baron, he’d have the most authority out of the scions to intervene if Lillian had something else up her sleeve after all. I just hoped it didn’t come to that.
When I ducked out of my bedroom, my friend Shelby was just emerging from hers into the common room with a swish of her mouse-brown ponytail. She beamed at the sight of me, keeping her hand on her door.
“Hey! Do you have a few minutes? I’ve been wanting to ask you—my professor asked me to work on a solo composition for part of our next performance, and I’d love to hear what you think of it.”
I’d have loved to hear it, if I hadn’t had Lillian’s orders hanging over me. Shelby was a whiz on the cello, a talent that had gotten her access to one of Blood U’s small non-magical programs. The school admitted a select number of Naries every year to give the fearmancer students practice at being circumspect in their powers—and targets for easily provoking fear to fuel those powers.
Shelby’s lack of magic made most of my classmates look down on her, but it didn’t make any difference to me when it came to our friendship. Unfortunately, it did mean I had to keep certain parts of my life secret—anything to do with my magic. And today’s mission was meant to be secret from everyone.
“Sorry,” I said, with a jab of guilt at the lie I was about to tell. I didn’t think Shelby had ever lied to me, but I’d needed to so many times. “I’ve got to run to keep a meeting with a professor. But I can’t wait to hear it. Maybe later this afternoon?” I hoped I’d be finished with Lillian’s ceremony by then.
