20
quick to anger, slow to speak
The silence in the halls was heavy, many students yet to return from winter holiday. With each step along the fourth-floor corridor, Sera relished this stillness before the unknown that awaited once she rounded the corner. Professor Barrington had dissolved their agreement, and after hours of attempting to transfer to his home, she found the spell no longer worked. No doubt he had relinquished her access, believing she’d never want to see him again.
Passing closed door after closed door, she prayed he was in his office. If not, she would be left waiting until the following week, once classes resumed. Sadly, patience was most definitely not one of her virtues. And from the moment she had read his letter and his wish, it had vanished altogether.
She turned the corner, and her eyes caught on the engraved B at the door. Her hands rattled, doubt finding a home in her heart. What if he didn’t accept her conditions and chose not to work with her again? Yes, the referral was hers, but she needed to help these girls, those already dead and those whose lives hung in the balance.
And Professor Barrington. She wouldn’t accept his charity. She would work for her referral and help him avenge his family. Oath or no oath, it was not only fair. It was right.
Nodding once to herself, she forced one foot before the other and set off down the hall.
She raised a hand to knock just as she heard the thud of tumbling books followed by a slew of curses from inside. Nerves twisted at her core at the sound of the now-familiar voice.
With a sharp exhale, she rapped at the door.
“Come in,” he barked from the other side, curses audible in his next murmurs. Sera pushed the door open and, entering quickly, shut it behind her. He knelt on the floor surrounded by scattered papers and books, his back toward her. “How may I help you?”
She lowered her hood and pressed trembling fingers together at her back. She had thought over every word—rehearsed what she intended to tell him until it was branded in her mind. Now, with him no longer a phantom before her, she couldn’t remember a bit.
He snatched up the papers. “I said, how may I—” He rose and turned. His light eyes fixed on hers, and no more words came. It seemed he failed to breathe, as did she, the only sound the pops of the fire. The only movement the licks of the flames.
His hair was tousled this way and that with the look of one who had raked and tugged it many times. He was pale, worn, and tired, the telltale signs of many sleepless nights. He set down his papers slowly, his gaze never leaving hers. As though if he looked away for just a moment, she would disappear.
“Miss Dovetail…”
“I got your letter,” she said quickly, hoping not to lose her nerve.
He lowered his head. “I see. You didn’t have to come all this way. You merely needed to say the word ‘dissolve,’ and you were free. Forgive me if I didn’t make that clear enough—”
“You did, but please, before you say or explain anything else, allow me to speak.”
He nodded, and coming around the desk, he sat back on the edge, hands clasped in his lap.
“The day in your office, after I heard you speaking to Rowe, I hated you. Every reservation I had in trusting you had somehow manifested, and I couldn’t believe I was standing there, with every fear come true. I wanted to hurt you, to burn everything down around you so that you would know what it felt like to lose your greatest dream. But then some days passed, and I realized, you already do.”
He met her eyes at this, nodded gently, but said nothing.
“What I know of you, of your past…what you’re doing for your father and brother, are the same things I would do to find my family, and as much as it hurt that you would keep the truth from me, I understand why and forgive you—but it still doesn’t excuse you in any way,” she said before he spoke. “When—if we decide to continue on with our partnership—I have a condition.”
She steeled her spine and faced him squarely. “There will be no secrets between us in regards to our work. I am privy to the same information as you, regardless of whether you think it will hurt me to know it, or scare me. You said I had to be a little mad to trust you. Now I ask the same of you. Be a little mad and trust me.”
He straightened and walked back around his desk, stealing away her breath with his retreat. Sera swallowed. Was he searching for the best way to turn her down? To tell her that regardless of her conditions, their agreement could be no more?
Opening a drawer, he slid out a long box and met her by the door. “I wanted to send it with the letter, but whereas the letter would burn if anyone else found it, this wouldn’t have.” He opened the box, parted the silk inside, and held it out to her. “I owned it when I was about your age. I was not in the Academy at the time, but someone I treasure greatly mentored me and helped me hone my abilities. This wand was the perfect medium and my friend through it all. It will allow you a bit more freedom until you learn to control your full powers.”
Breathless, she reached for the wand, a beautiful piece of tan wood threaded tightly together with lighter wood, so tight it resulted in one smooth piece. Highlights upon the wood spoke of its age.
“It’s a mix of birch and oak. The birch allows your magic to conduct faster, and the oak is perfect for control and a consistent outflow of magic. They are also the best types of wood for conducting fire. I think it will suit you well.”
Sera trailed her hand along it, her magic hot pinpricks sparking to life at her fingertips. She reached the casing, and her hands froze. Though the wand was old, a new silver cap rounded out the rod, upon which was the Academy crest, and below it her name engraved.
She needed the wand for the entrance exam, yet she shook her head. “I—I can’t accept this. It’s beautiful, but it’s yours.”
“It’s the least I can do.”
“No, you don’t owe me anything. What happened was not your fault.”
“Not directly,” he said, sitting back onto his desk once more. “But had I told you the truth from the beginning, perhaps none of this would have happened.”
“Yes, but I never gave you the chance to explain.” She marched to his desk and handed the wand back to him. “I was quick to anger—”
“And I was slow to speak.” He eased her hands back, warm fingertips brushing against hers. “It’s yours, and you will need it. You will not be able to take the Aetherium exam without it.” He straightened and walked back around his desk.
The words should have eased her, and yet she trembled. It was over. The wand was for her exam. A parting gift. She pressed it tightly in her hands and turned away so he wouldn’t see her eyes water, her nose redden, or hands shake. “Yes, the exam, of course.”
“And,” he said behind her, “I can’t exactly have a wandless assistant, can I?”
A smile quivered on her lips, and she turned to find him at his desk, wand in hand. Mischief glimmered in his eyes and, for that moment, his sorrow vanished. He held his wand out to her and inclined his head. “Your amendment to our oath?”
She eased toward his desk and raised her new wand to his. “We will keep no secrets in regards to our work, and we have both entered into this oath willingly.”
His gaze locked on hers. “Wholly.”
The strands of birch in her wand lit up first, a gorgeous amber, her magic akin to blood filling its veins. The oak threads followed then, a deeper, hotter red. Coils of magic whirled from his, a slow dance of blue and white. Whereas before their oath was but a simple exchange of magic, their respective twirls of magic now twisted about each other like hundreds of small, individual oaths made in secret. Her magic then faded into his wand, while his twined around hers. It brushed past her fingers like a cool mist, then absorbed into her wand.
A heavy silence stretched between them, their wands still touching. Something about this oath was unlike their other. Personal, thrilling, and frightening all at once. He seemed to sense it, too; his stare caught on hers as he lowered his wand.
Sera swallowed, everything so terribly unfamiliar. Knowing about his life, about his past, about his reasons in choosing her was supposed to have made things easier. It was a start, and all trust needed a real foundation, however small. Yet when he looked at her, it was as if she’d fastened her corset too tight. Though the same man—flesh and blood, sad eyes and stern face—he seemed different. A sense of relief and gladness that had been absent before settled over his frame. In a way, she understood it—understood him and how good it was not to feel so alone.
He sat and, setting aside his wand, cleared his throat. “The night of the attack, you were trying to tell me something.”
Sera sighed, glad to move past their uncertainty. She sat and divulged all that had happened and what the Brother had said. Barrington rubbed his lips, considering each of her words. He stood and paced behind his desk.
“So these seventhborns they use are plucked from the list of applicants for the seventhborn program. It makes sense. A great deal of power is needed to perform necromancy, and the longer a soul is dead, the more power it takes to raise it. Not to mention the longer the secret has been kept, the greater the consequence of breaking it.”
“And they’re breaking a blood oath, which is already a great feat.”
Barrington hummed. “Hence the seventhborns. Not only do you possess the second sight, yes, but you are all also born through death, which makes for a faster connection.” He shook his head to himself. “Morbid and cowardly, but rather brilliant.”
Sera’s hand tightened around her wand. “It reeks of him. He thought he did me a favor in draining my magic, said he was cleansing me somehow.” She scoffed, remembering the Brother’s words. “A great purpose.”
“They will keep going until we find what they’re looking for.”
“Timothy mentioned the Scrolls, and the Brother said that not one person had them. Could that be what they are searching for?”
“Perhaps. It would explain raising body after body, and that’s information worth torturing for. I believe the Scrolls have been split up somehow. These corpses know where the pieces are. If they have yet to find the next piece, then they must be close to it. Mr. Sinclair may be a sadistic, Purist bastard, but I don’t think he would risk his men to get you unless it was extremely necessary. We need to find out what they know.”
“How do you suppose we do that?” she asked. He continued to pace. Sera squeezed her eyes, nearly dizzy at following his path that now extended around the entire room.
“Timothy Delacort said he knocked off one of their masks. He was unable to see the man’s face in the scuffle, and the man managed to escape. Did you see this happen? Did you see his face?”
She nodded.
“Grand. I’ll need you to show me.”
“And how would I do this, exactly?”
“The way you channeled the corpses’ memories. I need you to do this with your own memories. I understand if you’re tired and would like to try later—”
“No, now is fine. The longer we wait, the greater the chance he’ll disappear and we won’t catch him.”
“Very well. I don’t have Rhodonite crystals on hand, but since this memory is yours, it will be easier to conjure and cast it.” He strode to the windows, shut the curtains in one snap, and motioned for her to join him in the space before the window. “First thing?”
“Wand casing.” Sera removed the casing and set it on his desk. She then flipped her wand around, grasping the pointed tip.
“Perfect. Now, when casting your own memories, you must pick an item to focus on, like you did with the impressions. This time, it will be me. Imagine you’re telling me of the events, but instead of using words, you use magic. Guide it, form it into the images in your mind.”
She blinked. “But what if I hurt you? It’s a new wand and—”
“I trust you, Miss Dovetail. You will do fine.” He took a step back. “And if it makes you feel any better, I’m not only smart and charming but quite strong as well. Now, focus on me,” he said. “Only me.”
She locked her eyes on his and nodded.
Like the previous time, her fingers burned and grew numb, her magic fighting to enter the narrow tip of the wand. It fed out much faster than before, and within seconds, thick vines of smoke whipped out from the blunt end.
“Guide your magic. Close your eyes and tell it what you see.”
Sera closed her eyes. Moving quickly through the events of that night in her mind, she paused on the moment Timothy struggled with the man. “Mr. Delacort’s just knocked off the man’s mask… He has a very pronounced chin and brows, and a large nose. His eyes are deeply set. I think they’re brown.”
“Hold the image,” Barrington said, his tone low so as to not disturb her concentration. “Now open your eyes.”
The moment her lids parted, her breath caught. A cloud of smoke whirled before her and displayed within it was the masked Brother, the scene of Timothy knocking off his mask repeating itself over and over. She lowered her hand slowly and walked around the suspended cloud. The more she learned to control her magic, the more she loved it.
“Brilliant,” Barrington said. “You may call back your magic.”
In doing so, the image before her evaporated, and her wand lost its glow.
Barrington stalked to his desk, fierce and determined. “You’ve given me much to work with.” He gathered up papers in a dash. “I must consult with a friend and will call for you upon my return.”
“Is it Mrs. York?”
He stopped, but then shook his head. “Mrs. York is an old family friend, one of the few who remained after my father…after he was accused of crimes he didn’t commit. She’s our Aetherium source, but it’s Gummy whom I seek.”
“Oh.” A strange nudge twisted Sera’s stomach at the thought of Gummy, but she swallowed it down. Who Barrington chose for company was no concern of hers, regardless of how much the woman’s presence pricked her skin.
“Is there a problem with Miss Mills?”
“Not a problem, no. I was surprised, however, that a woman of Mrs. York’s standing approved of our partnership.”
He grinned and slid on his overcoat. “Not everyone is who they seem, Miss Dovetail. You will see that more and more when dealing with the Aetherium. Mrs. York has always been a grand supporter of all magicians, regardless of birth order. She was the one who asked me to look after you when sightings of Mr. Sinclair surfaced. She feared he might come for you and tasked me to do all I could to keep you within the safety of the Academy—or what we imagined was safe.”
Sera’s brows rose. “Mrs. York asked you to protect me?”
“Indeed. For your well-being to be sure, but also for her husband’s campaign. A kidnapping of a student from the Academy coupled with a series of necromantic murders would be disastrous for him and would empower those who believe he’s unable to rule due to his declining health.”
Sera nodded, understanding the need to keep events at the Academy quiet.
“That is why I asked you to be my assistant, ignorant to the two cases being related.” He slid his wand into the metal holder. “When she learned of the first murders, she summoned me and asked me to discreetly investigate, as well as bound the investigating officers to secrecy of it.”
“Smart woman. And the chancellor?”
“His prognosis is grim, which is why we must hurry. Mrs. York is a talented healer and doing her best to delay his illness, but many in the Aetherium will soon petition that he is no longer fit to rule, namely Mr. Delacort, who no doubt will campaign for the position once the chancellor is removed.”
Sera remembered the events at the infirmary, and the rather odd exchange between Mrs. York and Mr. Delacort took on new meaning.
She replayed Mr. Delacort’s words in her mind. I live to serve the Aetherium, and all I do is with its well-being in mind. She scoffed. The only well-being he had in mind was his own.
“Once he is succeeded, Mrs. York will be unable to secure us what we need for our investigations.” Barrington walked around his desk. “I should go. I will not be gone for long. Will you be all right here at the Academy?”
“I’ll be fine. Mary is on holiday, but she comes to visit every day.”
He nodded. “Nevertheless, stay vigilant.” He slid his papers into his case. “If you run into any trouble or feel endangered in any way, transfer to the house immediately. Rosie may not wear an Invocation ring, but she’s one of the strongest witches I know. I’ll tell her you may come unexpectedly”—he smiled—“though I’m sure she expects that by now.”
Sera mirrored the gesture, her cheeks warm. “I’ll wait for your call.” She flipped her hood over her head and opened the door. “Good night, Professor.”
He lifted his eyes from his things and nodded once. “Good night, Miss Dovetail.”
She closed the door behind her, a smile still on her lips. A good night, indeed.