5
the prettiest eyes in the world
Two days.
Sera leaned her head back against the rough bark of a tree, smothered her face with her hands, and groaned.
Two bloody days and nothing.
The smoky images of dead and gnarled bodies danced in the dark behind her closed lids, the same way they haunted her dreams each night. Her eyes now open, she sighed and shut her Divination book with a loud thump, stuffing the edges of the impressions inside.
Professor Barrington had said no spell would help her uncover what was in the photos, and, damn it all, he was right. There was nothing in any of her books about impressions or what she should look for. Worse, there was no spell that would uncover hidden objects or meanings in the photographs. Besides, how could she know what to research if she didn’t know what to look for? He hadn’t even given her a hint.
“Useless book,” she muttered, and tossed it onto the dew-damp grass.
“Are you sure? I sometimes like to use them as paperweights,” a voice spoke from behind.
Breath caught, Sera jumped to her feet and spun to find Timothy Delacort just beyond the brush, his dark coat and black curly hair camouflaging him in the shadows. He gave a small, hesitant wave and smiled…a very nice smile that made his eyes a little brighter, bluer, prettier. Still, Sera stifled the thoughts, took a step back, and then another. Pretty eyes or not, the last thing she needed was trouble with Timothy Delacort, of all people.
He moved out of the bushes and into the soft morning light that flashed through nearly barren branches. “It was a joke. I meant that you could perhaps find another use for the book.”
“I know what you meant,” she clipped and shifted back more.
His brows dipped, and he halted his approach. “I’ve frightened you. Forgive me, that wasn’t my intent. I was reading down by the lake,” he said, holding up a book, “and was heading back before everyone woke when I saw you here.”
“Then why did you stop?”
He opened his mouth to speak but stumbled on fragmented words.
“Forget it. It doesn’t matter.” She picked up her book. “I have to get to class.”
“On a Sunday?”
She paused. “I meant to say I have—I should…” A burn crept up her cheeks, and it was she who now muttered unintelligible nothings. “Never mind. I have to go. Good day, Mr. Delacort.”
“Call me Timothy, please. And don’t go. I didn’t mean to disturb you. I, too, like to get out a little earlier. Can’t really think with everyone around, and the forest is always so quiet at this time. But I much prefer reading by the lake, by the waterfall there.” He pointed to the south with his book, his gaze sweeping in the same direction. “It’s a bit cold, and the spray always dampens the pages, but it’s quiet.” A sense of peace overcame his features, and she could see he found calm and freedom there, the same she sought when she snuck out into the forest that dawn.
Silence trailed his words, one where even the song of the birds died away, as though the forest watched this secret meeting.
“Miss Dovetail,” he said then, his knuckles white on the book, “I confess my reasons for stopping were not entirely of curiosity. Yes, I wondered how you were—are, but I also wanted to…to stop and talk to—with you, talk with you about, well, about things that I’ve been thinking of for some time. I was going to ask Mary but didn’t know how to phrase it without sounding like a fool.”
Sera took in his strange nervousness, the way he paled and grasped his book as if the words about to be spoken would gut him alive. “You want to talk about Mary and the dance. Well, she will say yes if you ask her. Very happy, indeed. Good morning.”
She spun and walked in the opposite direction.
“Oh, I’m flattered,” he spoke from behind, “but that wasn’t what I meant. I did not mean to speak of Mary.”
“Then we have nothing to discuss,” she said over her shoulder.
“Will you at least allow me to escort you? It would be terribly ungentlemanly of me to let you walk back on your own.” His footsteps neared her from behind.
Heartbeat in her ears, she unsheathed her wand and spun to him. Her eyes darted all around, to the spaces between the trees and the shadows beyond them. Critters skittered and rustled the thickets and dead leaves surrounding them, their bright golds and ambers overcome by the brown of death. “Where are your friends?”
Timothy’s brow dipped. “Friends? I don’t understand—”
She aimed her wand at him, halting his words and approach. “I may be a seventhborn, Mr. Delacort, but I am no fool. I know who you are, and you would not risk your reputation on the basis of talking to, no less walking with me. So I’ll ask you again…” Her grip tightened on her wand. “Where are your friends? Do you plan on an ambush? Fancy tying me to a tree for target practice? Sorry to disappoint you, but it’s already been done.”
He held his hands at surrender. “I’m not here with anyone. I swear upon my wand.”
She scoffed. “Don’t insult me. You can just get another.”
“You’re right, but this one is irreplaceable. I inherited it from my grandfather this summer. It’s not helping me too much in Aether-levels, but…” He shrugged a shoulder. “I would not risk it damaged for fear of my life.” He lowered one hand slowly. “I’m going to toss it over to you as a show of goodwill.”
Sera braced, her breath suspended as he reached for his wand. If he dare try anything…
He drew his wand and tossed it a good distance before him. Eyes fixed on his, Sera tucked her book under her arm and retrieved it.
The wand was beautifully fashioned out of branches twisted into a braid-like form. Much magic had flowed through it for many years, told by the highlights upon it. He would be a fool to bring damage to such a fine piece.
“Do you believe me now?” He shrugged. “You have my wand. If I had any friends here—which I don’t—I wouldn’t risk my wand any harm.”
She eased away, the hairs on the back of her neck still on end. “Regardless, I will hold it. You walk ahead, and when we reach the edge of the forest, I’ll return it to you.”
“Please, Miss Dovetail. This is wholly unnecessary. I would never hurt you.”
She bristled at these familiar words once spoken by a monster in her past who sought to make her magic his own. The myriad scars along her body tingled to life as if her horrible memories sought to bleed out through them. Though she doubted Timothy—and even Whittaker—had the cruelty, much less the knowledge to drain her of magic, she wouldn’t give them the chance to prove themselves.
“Walk.” She flicked the wand and motioned for him to move. He deflated with a resigned sigh and turned, leading the way into the forest. Sera lowered her wand, lest anyone see them and think she meant to hurt him somehow, and followed some yards behind.
In the distance, early morning light swathed the two towers jutting up from the Academy that stretched across the countryside. Between the spires, a string of gargoyles dotted a stone archway. Though the sight once terrified her, Sera fixed her eyes on the monstrous stone creatures and found some comfort. They were not monsters but sentinels, the runes etched on their bellies protecting the grounds.
“I take it I’m not allowed to talk, either?” he spoke into the open before him.
She shrugged. “As long as you walk, you can say what you want. It’s your forest.”
“Ah, so it’s a coincidence that it’s named after your family, as is the rectory and the girls’ dormitory?”
Book in one hand and his other hand at his side, he strolled before her, a cool ease in his demeanor. She frowned. It was as if he enjoyed their walk.
“My family has close ties with the school. That I won’t deny. I’ll be a sixth-generation graduate.”
He smiled over his shoulder. “You may be pretty, but you’re not a very good liar.”
She rolled her eyes. “Flattery will not get you your wand back.”
“I merely speak the truth in hopes of overcoming this…impediment we find ourselves in. An obstacle I have found us in for quite some time. When I said I wished to ask Mary something, it wasn’t about the dance but about this barrier between us.”
“I wasn’t aware we had an impediment,” she said, focused on the Academy entrance coming into view through the trees.
“You acknowledged it yourself. You said you knew nothing about me and therefore could not trust me. But we could change that. Quite easily, too. I tell you about my life, you tell me about yours, and then we can’t claim not to know each other, thus banishing this impediment. And perhaps then, we wouldn’t be so lonely.”
Sera chuckled bitterly at this. “What do you know of loneliness? You aren’t alone, ever. And you not knowing me and my being alone is not an impediment, it’s a conscious choice I make every day, the same way I make it now.” She tossed the wand beside him, keeping hers close at her side. “As promised, we’ve reached the edge of the forest. Take your wand and go before anyone sees us here.”
He bent, and in retrieving his wand, he smiled, though this time the gleam didn’t reach his eyes. “You can be surrounded by hundreds of people and still be very much alone.” He sheathed his wand and shrugged. “Still, I’d hoped that perhaps for one night, for one dance, we could set aside our differences and not be so alone…together.”
Cold rushed down her spine and fixed her to the damp ground.
“But a man should know when to count his losses, and I’ve accepted mine.” He inclined his head. “Thank you for the walk and for my wand, and forgive me for disturbing you. It will not happen again. Good morning, Miss Dovetail.” With no more words, he turned, walked away, and never looked back.
Sera watched him grow smaller with distance, though his words echoed in her mind as though he stood beside her, whispering them into her ear: Perhaps for one night, we could set aside our differences and not be so alone…together.
Together.
Did Timothy Delacort mean to say he wanted to go to the dance with her? She shook her head and watched him disappear into the school. It had to be a ruse. Timothy Delacort would never go to the dance with her. He would have probably laughed if she’d agreed, and then he would have told all of his friends. Mary would be sure to find out a short time later. She could clearly see the heartbreak in Mary’s eyes, hear her sobs mixed with the echo of laughter that would follow her down the halls.
No, it made no sense to pay mind to his words, however genuine he seemed to be. Honest or not, she could never go to the dance with him. Nothing changed who she was. Not magic, not common loneliness, and not a boy with the prettiest eyes in the world.