by Monica Sanz
Sera’s heart stuttered, the truth of it all squeezing the air from her lungs. She remembered the day in his office, the thin sheet of sweat over his brow and the way his hands trembled as he graded his papers. His mood swings. He must have been experiencing withdrawals while they worked. And as she learned and grew in magic, he suffered in silence, willing to teach her so she could pass her assessments and protect herself against Noah.
Her soul hurt. He was getting better, moving away from blood magic. But now, because she hadn’t severed the bond in time, he was tangled back in its web, fighting for his life in the arms of his addiction.
In spite of the blame that filled her, Sera set her jaw. “This time he has the both of us, and he won’t fight it alone.” She squeezed Rosie’s hand. “I will do everything in my power to help him.”
A sad smile tipped Rosie’s lips, and she cupped Sera’s cheek. “If you only knew how much you’ve helped him already.”
Warmth bloomed in Sera’s chest, and a twinge of pain answered back. If only she could believe Rosie’s words. If only she could believe she had helped him and not brought him within a breath of death. If only, if only, if only…
Hurting more than she could bear, Sera moved her face away from Rosie’s touch and stood. “It’s probably best I get back to the Academy.” Heaven knew no good came of wondering what was going on behind those doors, whether Professor Barrington was better or not, how none of this would have happened had she broken the bond sooner, regardless of what he’d asked of her.
She moved away from the Barghest so as not to waken it when she transferred back to the school. “Please keep me informed of any changes, or if you need me for anything. Anything at all.”
“Of course.” Rosie unsheathed her wand and aimed it at Sera’s feet. “Good night, dear.”
“Good night, Rosie.”
The world fell black, and a moment later, Sera stumbled and gripped her bedpost for support. Right where she stood, she kicked off her boots and peeled down the stained, damp dress. Bits of mud, dirt, and rubble gathered around her. Muscles sore and aching, she would have relished her bed but she moved to her washstand instead.
Light reflected off the water in the basin. She squeezed the cloth and ran water along her arms and face, biting her teeth into her lower lip at the frigidness that magnified her pain. She rubbed harder at the cuts and bruises, washing away her blood. The Barghest’s blood. Barrington’s blood.
Unable to feel clean, she slipped her nightdress over raw and reddened skin and paced to the window. She paused in the middle of the room and spun around to her surroundings. After their night, the room seemed foreign, everything about the Academy unimportant. The bed, the mirror, the wardrobe, her books were things of little value, and she could not breathe being around them—around the possessions of the girl she once was.
The old Sera—highly emotional, insubordinate, and confrontational—would have gone against Barrington’s direction and done things her way. She would have broken his bond with Sister Egerton even if he’d asked her not to. Would have told him he was an idiot for engaging in necromancy. Would have set the workroom on fire around him to keep him from going. Had it been the old her, she wouldn’t have been swayed by his kindness and company, his apologies and desires—by him. She would be suffering his wrath, not the possibility of his death.
But it was too late. Dazed, she walked to the window and curled up on the seat. She stared into the distance as though able to see the moors there, and in the flashes of lightning, Barrington’s home. When had she become this girl? With this thought in her mind, she stayed awake all night and raked her memories to find the girl she once was.
Come morning, the only thing she’d found was all the regret and pain in the world, and not an ounce of sleep.
25
held
Icy rains pelted the window, an angry pitter-patter and crackle that kept Sera company as she stared out at the moonless night. The door creaked open and stole her attention. Mary paced into the room.
“Again, Sera? You’ve barely slept a wink in a week. And I’ve noticed you’ve been rather pale and lethargic. Are you unwell?”
She blew her own misty cloud against the glass and wiped it away with a finger. “Too much to think about.”
Mary followed her gaze out into the dark woods. “Are you worried about the men from the forest?” Only a select few staff members and Timothy knew about what had happened, but there was no way she could keep it from Mary, not that part at least.
She shook her head. “Not with the Aetherium guards here, no.”
“Timothy, then?” She chuckled lightly. “I should’ve known. You have that lovesick look about you still. But he’s safe. Don’t worry for him, not with his father being who he is. Mr. Delacort will never let anything happen to his son. But if it’ll make you feel better, I can write to him. My mother sent a scathing letter to his father after the dance, said she thought he had better manners than to lead a girl on and then break her heart. His father assured her he would speak to Timothy. It’s the perfect opportunity.”
Sera shrugged and leaned her head against the wall.
Mary’s eyes narrowed, then widened, awareness dawning there. “But it isn’t him you worry about, is it? You love someone else?”
“I don’t love…” Her voice cracked. “I don’t love him.”
Mary leaned forward and clasped Sera’s hands. “But there is another!”
Sera’s fingers stiffened in Mary’s, her heart sore at the memory of Barrington, of his scars, of his screams as Sister Egerton sought to burn him alive. Tears filled her eyes. If only she hadn’t been so stupid.
She sighed, slipped her hands away, and curled her knees to her chest. “He isn’t the type of man you love.”
“But you care for him?”
“He’s hurt in part because of me. Of course I care.”
Mary’s eyes dimmed. “Will you not at least tell me who he is? I’m a healer. Maybe I can help him?”
“I wish. I promise one day I’ll tell you who he is, but for now I can’t. Not until I discuss it with him. He’s older, and his position doesn’t allow for…well, me.”
Mary meditated on this for a moment. “My first guess would be a professor, but we aren’t ever in the company of any—not the amount needed to develop feelings such as yours. It must be someone you met recently, as I would’ve sensed it before.”
She murmured through Sera’s clues. “His position does not allow for you and puts him in danger where he can get hurt…” Her eyes widened. “An inspector!”
Sera started to deny it but stumbled on her words. Barrington was an inspector, though a loose version of the word. And better for Mary to think it an inspector than a professor. “He is, but that’s all I can say on the matter.”
“Of course. It’ll never leave my mouth. If anyone finds out about it, he may be taken off your case. We can’t have that. But whoever he is, I’m sure he doesn’t blame you for whatever it is that happened.” She smoothed down her braid over her shoulder. “I do wonder what he’s like. To have captured the heart of Seraphina Dovetail, he must be quite the catch.”
Sera rolled her eyes. “He hasn’t captured my heart.”
“Fine, fine, but you don’t need to be in love to appreciate beauty. Tell me what he looks like.”
“You won’t leave this alone, will you?”
Mary smiled widely. “Never. Let me live vicariously through you.”
Sera rested her chin on her knees.
“Just one thing,” Mary pleaded through her guilt. “Eye color, hair, height—anything!”
Sera plucked at the frilly hem of her nightdress. Maybe she could tell Mary of his hair. That was neutral enough. Or something ambiguous like his height. Yet gazing out to the cold, dark night, she said, “He has beautiful eyes. Not just the color, but everything that goes on behind them.” As though conspiring against her, images of Barrington flitted through her mind. The way his anger made his
eyes darker, his sadness dulled them, how his teasing grin made them glimmer just before he’d jumped down into that grave. Now they were closed, emotionless. She swallowed tightly. “That’s all. He has beautiful eyes.”
Mary pressed a hand against her heart. “See, this is why we’re the best of friends. I’ve always been a fool for eyes—blue, gray, brown, green, a mix of them all! Oh, but I do love smiles, too. A nice, wicked smile.”
Mary giggled, finally bringing a smile to Sera’s lips—her first in days.
Sera leaned back and listened to her friend talk about all the boys whose eyes she loved, but Barrington’s were the only ones Sera could think of.
…
Later the next evening, a letter swept under Sera’s door, a familiar crest on the seal. Heart racing, she rushed to the door and snatched it open.
A doe-eyed servant girl skittered back, pale. “You’re usually at supper now,” she said, small hands gathered at her chest. “Please don’t tell the professor. I promised I could deliver these unseen. I need this job, miss.”
“I—”
“I support my family with what the professor pays me. He will recommend my sister to the headmistress and…please.” The whites of her brown eyes glinted.
“You have my word; the professor will never find out. But you must tell me, is he back? Did he give this to you to deliver to me?” Her pulse quickened in wait.
The girl shook her head, and Sera deflated.
“It was his coachman, the tall, shaggy-haired boy,” she said. “I’ve met him only on occasion before. He told me I was to deliver it to you as soon as possible.”
“So then it’s been you delivering all of the notes?”
She twined her fingers before her and nodded. “It was the only way the professor knew you were alone when you received them.”
Sera smiled. Of course. He couldn’t have notes materializing out of thin air with the chance of Mary sitting there with her. She pressed the note to her chest. “Thank you. It was nice to meet you—and your secret is safe with me.”
The girl smiled, though her eyes still pooled with worry. But with the note in her hand, Sera cared for none of it. She closed the door and tore open the paper where she stood.
Dearest Miss Dovetail,
His condition has not improved but thankfully has not worsened. He has been murmuring in his sleep, and I thought his words may be of some importance to you. Please come at your earliest convenience.
Yours sincerely,
Rosie
Barely a minute passed, and she stumbled into Barrington’s study, then rushed from the room and upstairs just as Rosie closed the door behind her.
“Miss Dovetail.” Relief washed over her visibly weary frame. Rogue hairs had slipped from her swept-up bun, and dark circles cradled her eyes.
“I got your letter. How is he?”
“Restless. He didn’t stop talking all night, murmurs about things in his past, and things I’ve no idea about. I thought maybe you could make sense of some of it. I’m at a loss.” She sat in the chair just outside the room. “He’s settled down now, but it doesn’t last for very long. I’m able to coax him when he speaks of Filip or his father, but everything else is a mystery to me. Perhaps if you know, you could talk to him and ease his mind.”
“What things did he say?”
“He mentioned ravens and Keepers, and demands someone tell him. If he fights to get the words through, I figure it must be important.”
Ravens, Keepers…tell me. “He’s reliving the scene,” Sera whispered.
“Reliving the what?”
“Nothing, Rosie, forgive me. Why don’t you go on and rest? I’ll watch over him and call if I need you for anything.”
Rosie stared at the door and then back to Sera. “You have lessons in the morning, and I would hate to impose…”
Sera squeezed her hands. “You won’t be able to care for him if you’re exhausted. You said he’s calm now, yes?”
She nodded.
“Then I will watch over him, and the next time he begins to get agitated, I promise to call for you.” She released Rosie’s hand, and her lips pulled to a strained smile. “Everything will be fine.”
Reaching into her apron pockets, Rosie handed Sera five vials of dark red liquid. “Miss Mills said I am to give him this when he’s in pain, but don’t use it unless it’s absolutely necessary.”
She opened the door, and Sera’s heart stilled. Professor Barrington lay on a large four-poster bed, a shadow of the man he once was. His head was cocked to the side, his eyes closed. A burgundy blanket was pulled up to his chest, but if his face was any indication of the state of the rest of his body… Sera let out a shaky breath.
She entered the room that was like him in every way, from the black curtains at the windows, to the dark furnishings, to the books and files scattered on any space that could support them. Just like in his study and his office, he surrounded himself with work. Work while at the Academy and work while at home, and even when with Gummy—it was work that appeared to link them together. That, she deduced, was his anchor. Moving from one case to another to another without a chance to breathe in between. Remembering his sadness when he looked at Filip’s portrait, she accepted it was a good thing he worked so hard. It was a vast and deep sorrow, and if he drifted out into those waters, Sera was unsure he’d ever find his way back.
Rosie walked over to the professor and wiped a cloth across his forehead. Sera approached from the other side and pulled up a chair beside the bed. She laid a gentle hand on Rosie’s and eased the cloth from her fingers with a smile. Rosie blew out a breath and, with no further argument, walked from the room.
Sera turned back to the professor, hands frozen in her lap. If being his assistant was considered improper, this would have labeled her a loose woman. She pulled the chair close to the edge of his bed and lifted the cloth to his forehead. Her seventhborn tattoo blemished her reputation more than any scandal ever could.
She brushed damp black strands from his forehead, a half smile tugging at the side of her lips. “If Mary only knew,” she whispered. What Mary wouldn’t give for a chance to watch over the stern professor. To nurse him back to health.
She considered him with each stroke along his pale face. He was handsome, there was no denying that. Not like Timothy, where it was in the open for everyone to see. Barrington’s beauty was as sharp as his features, buried deep behind his scowl. Anyone who dared look beyond his glower would see it, but she wondered if he’d ever want it to be found. His frown and attitude said otherwise. It was as if he wore it to intentionally keep everyone away…as though he didn’t deserve them, as if he felt he didn’t deserve to be cared for.
“Why did you have to be so damned stubborn?” She blotted the cloth over his cheeks and under his eyes. “I should’ve convinced you not to raise that body.”
His chest lowered with a long exhale. “Body,” he murmured. “Tell me.”
“What would you like me to tell you?” She set aside the cloth and eased closer. “What would you like to know, Professor?”
He turned his head away, wincing. “Tell me.”
Sera blinked. If he was reliving the scene in his mind, maybe she could use the Rhodonite crystals and cast out his memories the way Mrs. Aguirre had taught them in Mysteries of the Mind.
If they are merely unconscious, you can appeal to them, as their spirits can still hear you and allow you entry into their minds…
Sera slipped off her shoes, then rushed downstairs and into the pantry. There was a chance this wouldn’t work, but it was worth the risk. With the Rhodonite crystals secured, she ran back to his room and bolted the door.
“If you can hear me somewhere in there, tell me what happened. We vowed there would be no secrets between us.” She scattered some Rhodonite dust on his pillow and forehead. “I call upon that oath now. I need you to remember that night. Remember all that happened, right until the very end. Can you do that for me?”
; “Keeper,” he whispered. “Tell me.”
“Yes, tell me.” Unsheathing her wand, she removed the casing and held on to the narrow end like he’d taught her. She let out a steady stream of magic. The dust at his forehead illuminated, shading his face in a pinkish hue. He inhaled deeply and dragged in the smoky currents of her magic.
He exhaled, and Sera froze. His breath was now a white cloud, and in its midst were images. Each of his breaths joined a collective of clouds gathered over his body, his memories displayed within it for her to see.
The first scene she remembered, though it was from another angle. He gazed at her where she arched a brow at him. “How chivalrous of you,” she had said, to which he replied, “I try.”
The image of her smile faded and gave way to the corpse refusing him.
“No, no, no, no,” it clattered.
Barrington began to tremble in his bed. Sera forced her wand steady, moved beside him, and knelt on the edge of the mattress. “I’m here,” she whispered. “Concentrate on your memories. She can’t hurt you anymore.”
He turned to her, his body tense with pain. In his memories, the skeleton came closer, opened its mouth, and uttered one name.
“Timothy Delacort.”
Sera gasped. Her heart pounded. It couldn’t be. Timothy Delacort…a Keeper?
“Broken oath. Broken life.”
Barrington buried his face against her waist, digging his fingers into her side. She hissed in pain but forced herself to remain still as he unleashed a muffled roar against her. “Burn,” Barrington groaned, writhing beneath the now-damp sheets.
“Shh,” she coaxed and dragged back her magic. “You’re all right now.” She brushed the Rhodonite crystals from his face and pillows, her movements stiff, as he had yet to release her. “I’ve sent them away.”
