by Elena Lawson
Yes, that was right.
The hallway was quiet at least. All the teachers either in class or in their quarters by the sound of it. If I got it wrong, I supposed I could just try another.
With strengthened resolve, I inched open the third door on the right side of the room and peeked inside.
No, this didn’t look right.
I had almost closed the door when a flash of colored light bloomed to the left and I craned my neck to find Professor Sterling opening a doorway against a tall patch of bare wall between two bookcases. The wall fell away to reveal the inside of another office.
A much larger—much grander one with a huge mahogany desk, and a bank of fine wood cabinets to the left. In the middle of the room was an intimate sitting area, with plush leather armchairs and a little coffee table squatting in the middle.
In one of the armchairs sat a man. Tall, with dark hair, and in an expensive looking suit. I could only make out the side of his face, but I thought I recognized him.
Yes, I’d seen that face before. Seen it several times—so then why couldn’t I place the name that went with it?
Sterling hurried through the portal. “Sir! I wasn’t expecting—” he exclaimed, the doorway sealing up behind him, leaving me staring at a blank section of wall.
The man had turned—just before the portal shut, and I’d seen more of his face.
I cringed, hoping he hadn’t seen me spying. I hadn’t meant to. I was just… curious. And now I wished I’d been a good little lass like Graystone asked me to be and shut the door the moment I realized it wasn’t the right office.
Because I was pretty sure the man who was waiting in the grand office beyond the walls of the academy was none other than Godric Montgomery, the Magistrate of the Arcane Council.
5
Alistair had retreated further and further into himself all week. I tried to bring him out of his dark shell, but it was no use. He pretended to listen to me when I blathered on to him about what I planned to write for my English lit essay. He pretended to be with our group at lunch when we ate, but he wasn’t there, not really.
He was somewhere else.
Twice more between Monday and Friday I’d caught him scribbling away in his journal, his fingertips stained with ink, and looking more and more calloused by the day. I was starting to doubt he’d come out of it.
Especially since when I asked him about Dolores—a last-ditch effort to get some form of emotion out of him—he’d regarded me as though he had no idea who I was even talking about before he muttered something about how he meant to see her this weekend and don’t talk about her here—it’s not safe.
As though I was putting the mortal in danger. Ha! What a laugh.
“Dear, could you pass the Chronicle?”
“Hmmm?” I replied to my father as I finished slicing my apple into perfect little uniform half-moons.
“The Chronicle Diana, it’s there on the counter.”
It was Saturday and I was sad to find my parents seemed to be staying in this weekend. Even worse since Alistair told me he’d prefer to spend the weekend alone when I asked if he wanted company over at the Abbey. I could go visit Nico in the boathouse, but after I’d snuck him of the house last Saturday, I hadn’t seen him. And things between us felt tense and awkward that morning after we’d slept together.
We’d both been a little drunk, just like the last time it happened. But unlike the last time, this time had seemed… passionate? Was that the right word? No, maybe… romantic?
I shook my head at the confusing thought. Why couldn’t there be manuals for each person and you could just read them and know what they were feeling. What their motives were. Like textbooks. You could study textbooks. And then you’d know the content.
People weren’t like that, though. People were much more complex.
“Right,” I replied, clearing my throat and wiping my hands on the dishtowel folded atop the counter.
I turned to find Ma’s familiar, Tulip the King Cobra slithering up onto the countertop. She lifted her head in that sharp, jerking movement of hers, making me flinch. Ugh, I hated Tulip. She hissed quietly in my direction, baring her pale yellow belly to me, looking for a pet.
She was certainly barking up the wrong tree. “Shoo,” I said, motioning for her to get off the counter. “Go on.”
I snatched up the Arcane Chronicle, and drew the sigil in the air over top of it to open it. “Aperio Incicium,” I breathed, speaking the simple incantation that would reveal its contents. The ink bloomed over the parchment, forming itself into tiny little words and boxed articles all sandwiched together.
Too many witches didn’t have the money to live like we did, in a big house away from mortals. Most lived right under their noses. In their towns. They were neighbors. Couldn’t have the pinnacle of witch news laying around for mortal eyes to snoop through.
“Here,” I said, handing it to him. “Opened it for you.”
“Thanks, dear,” he said, reaching up without bothering to take his gaze from a letter he was reading.
I noticed the headline of the Chronicle read, Thief Still At-Large, and below that, reward offered for information leading to arrest.
“Wait,” I said, when my father moved to take the parchment. How had I not heard about this? I skimmed the first few lines of text below the heading and felt my mouth drop open. “Did someone really try to break into the Department of Arcane Inquiry?”
“Try?” My father barked, righting the glasses on his nose. “Someone did,” he stated matter-of-factly, taking the paper from me to lay it down in front of himself on the round dining room table. “Honestly, Diana, I don’t know how you haven’t heard. It happened days ago!”
I wasn’t all that surprised I hadn’t heard. I mean, I’d been more than a little pre-occupied with Alistair. Someone had to keep an eye on him.
My teeth clenched at the subtle lashing. “What did the person steal?”
The Department had to be near impossible to break into. There were wards and Arcane Officers everywhere in that building. You’d have to be a genius or incredibly stupid to even try.
I’d be the first to admit the thought of the ancient scrolls in the archives made me want to sneak in more than once when I went to see Pops at work in my younger years—the knowledge they must hold! But it was nothing more than a fun daydream.
Those scrolls held the collected knowledge of our people. Our history. And with the Alchemical Codex lost to the sea, it was truly all we had left of our magical heritage.
“They didn’t.”
I must’ve looked confused because my father grunted, giving me a pointed look. “They didn’t steal anything,” he clarified, as though speaking to an infant instead of his twenty-year-old daughter. “They only tried to. It happened shortly after I left work on Thursday. Someone got into the archives, but nothing has been logged as missing.”
I cocked my head at him, trying to read more of the story over his shoulder. There was one bit of information there that didn’t seem to make any sense.
One bit I saw on the Chronicle read, the suspect was spotted lurking around the Department, going into rooms to which he hadn’t the clearance to enter. The staff raised the alarm at approximately eight o’clock Thursday evening, alerting the Arcane Officers to the burglary. Unfortunately, the Arcane Officers on duty weren’t able to apprehend the young gentleman. They say he was six-foot-two, with dark hair, and a trim build.
So, a man was poking around in areas he wasn’t supposed to be, but that was hardly a reason to splatter the front page of the Chronicle with the story… It didn’t add up. Why were they exhausting resources and calling on the entire witching community to help find this man unless he’d taken something they wanted recovered.
“Odd, isn’t it?”
Exasperated, my father turned to face me, though only just slightly—a bored look in his dull blue eyes.
“If the Department insists nothing was stolen, why are they calling it a bur
glary?”
“Speaking of people being places they don’t belong,” my father said, pointedly changing the subject as he straightened out the Chronicle in front of him, blocking my view of him with the thin sheet of paper. “Nico came by this morning—said he needed to speak to you. It was a happy coincidence since I found his briefs tucked into the couch earlier and was able to return them to him.”
Ignoring the dig, and the way he was clearly trying to embarrass me, I grabbed my plate of apples from Tulip’s tight coil around the bowl and called back over my shoulder. “Well, that worked out.”
I had the satisfaction of hearing his sharp intake of breath before I hurtled up the stairs.
6
That’s it.
I’d tried sending notes three times, but he wasn’t responding.
With nothing at home to distract myself other than going over the English Lit essay I’d already completed Friday after classes, I had all the time in the world to sit and stew and worry. Even Nico, who was usually at home in the boathouse on the weekends wasn’t around.
He’d have had his final exam on Friday, I realized. If he passed—and with the study tactics I’d taught him, I knew he would—he’d be an Arcane Officer now. And I hadn’t even gone to congratulate him. Some friend I was. Alas, the engraved flask I got him yesterday as a last minute hooray, you passed! gift would have to wait until he returned.
It was nearing six o’clock, and my parents and I had just finished a boring dinner of dry roast and boiled potatoes, my Ma’s favorite. I roast, no matter how expensive it was.
“Do you know where Nico is?” I asked no one in particular, thinking either of them could have seen him coming or going.
My mother shrugged as she filled the sink with warm water. I couldn’t understand why she insisted on washing the dishes by hand when a simple cleaning sigil would do just as well, if not better.
“Dad?” I prompted, turning to where he was settling in with a freshly poured bourbon. I made a mental note to refill his stock the next time I was at The Cellar. He hated it when I ran him out of booze.
“I think he’s getting ready for his move, probably securing himself a place. I spoke to him Friday after his exams. Told him he had until Monday to pack up and go about finding himself a new arrangement.”
Not even an hour out of the Officers Academy and my father had already kicked him out. I shook my head, an undignified sound coming unbidden to my lips.
“Problem?” he challenged me, halting his glass a mere inch from his thin lips.
I forced a smile. “Not at all. Just thought you’d give him a bit more time is all, you know, considering all he’s helped with over the years.”
And it was true. Nico did most of the yard work. The gardening. He kept the boathouse in good condition. Repairing things after storms. Polishing the boat. Anything he could do to make himself less burdensome to my parents.
I didn’t know exactly what kind of burden he thought he was—occupying a boathouse my father only used to store his pride in the form of a marine vessel he never used.
“He’s been here long enough,” was my father’s only reply.
So have I, I thought, walking away quickly before I said something I couldn’t take back.
I’d work it out with Nico later. Maybe I could even convince my father to give him some leeway. Right now, I had more important things on my mind—like why in the world Alistair wasn’t answering me.
I hoped he wasn’t hurt, but if he wasn’t, then what excuse did he have? He always answered me, or at least sent a note back or popped in if he missed hearing from me.
I’d just have to go and find out for myself what was going on.
Thirty minutes later, dressed in my favorite bustled skirt and tightest bodice, I set to opening up the portal to Alistair’s house. His parents never allowed anyone to portal directly in, so neither did Al. Instead, they kept a ward around the area directly inside the front gate.
So, that was where I portaled to, like I always did. I rushed through the portal into the overcast Irish countryside where his family home, Rosewood Abbey, loomed down the gravel driveway. It was more a castle than a house, just without the spires and turrets. Made of strong stone brick and a slate gray roof, I always thought it looked kind of imposing.
Ominous.
Cold.
I shuddered against a sudden chill and made my way up the long drive under the faint light of the moon through thin cloud. The windows were aglow in shades of yellow and orange. I hoped a fire burned somewhere inside. I’d only been to Al’s place a handful of times, and never for very long. He always preferred we hang out elsewhere—The Cellar, his parent’s vacation home in Spain, or my place. But rarely ever here.
Looking up at the dark stone as I stepped up to the huge front door, I was grateful. This place gave me the creeps.
I had been about to knock, but the door was already open, and faintly, I could hear whispering from somewhere inside.
Surely Al’s butler had already gone home for the evening. It had to have been close to eleven at night by now here, if not later.
If he’d been home all this time, I was going to kill him.
“Al,” I called tentatively, pushing the door open wider so I could step inside.
No response. I followed the whispering sounds to the left past the wide staircase leading up to the bedrooms and turned down the narrow corridor that lead to his father’s old study—now his since his parents died.
There were two voices, I realized as I drew nearer. And once I was just outside the door, I realized exactly who it was.
Alistair and Dolores.
A hot flush raced up my back and blossomed in my cheeks. I gulped, feeling suddenly as though I was listening in on something very private. Perhaps something intimate that I shouldn’t be hearing.
I turned to go back the way I came when I heard her say it. Her voice broken, but loud enough for me to catch every word. “You can’t do this to me. You can’t make me leave.”
More than a little intrigued, I stopped, biting my bottom lip to keep from making a sound. I turned back and leaned in closer to the door.
“It isn’t safe for you here anymore, Dolores,” Alistair said. “I’m so, so sorry. I didn’t mean for this to happen, you have to believe me.”
“I don’t care if it isn’t safe!” she shot back, clearly distraught.
“I can’t have you getting hurt. You must go. Please, you must,” he interrupted.
My stomach turned at their words. The realization that he truly did love her hit me like a fist to my gut. I doubled over, unable to catch my breath.
I’d been wrong… and it hurt.
“I won’t ever forgive you for this, Al,” she retorted after a moment spent silent. “I’ll go if you really believe I have to, but if you’re wrong, I won’t ever come back, you hear me? If you make me leave, I’m gone forever. Are you ok with that?”
For such a small little thing, she certainly had a strong will. Not even I had ever spoken to Alistair like that, unless you counted shouting at him for dating her.
But I guess now, with whatever Alistair thought he might’ve found about the curse—which I was certain was a dead end and therefore posed no threat—she wouldn’t be a problem anymore.
He was sending her away, and she’d said it herself, she wouldn’t be back.
This was a win, right?
The thought made me feel dirty. Guilty for even thinking something like that when I could hear the obvious pain in Alistair’s voice, too.
There was love there. Even I couldn’t deny it.
But love, like everything else in this cruel world, faded. Before Alistair knew it, he would forget about her. He would heal.
Everything would go back to normal.
“Begging your pardon, Miss, but it’s quite rude to eavesdrop.”
I whirled around with a high-pitched squeal to find Alistair’s butler standing there in the hallway with his hands clasped behind his
back. The older gentleman wore an expression that spoke of dismay, though I could tell he was trying hard to maintain professionalism and indifference. The monocle in his right eye caught the light from one of the wall sconces, and his mustache twitched when I failed to respond, still too stunned to speak.
“I-I’m sorry,” I stuttered. “I didn’t mean to—”
“Diana?” I heard the accusatory tone from inside the study and flinched. Of course, they’d have heard the commotion.
I shot a cutting glare at Alistair’s butler, wondering what in the world he was even doing here at this hour, but the short, elder man only gave me a small shrug and a devious smirk before he tottled off back the way he’d come.
Steeling myself, I peered into the study to find Alistair and Dolores standing arms-width apart in the center of the massive room.
There were tears in Dolores’ eyes, and Alistair looked murderous the way he was standing, hunched over, seething. Breaths sawing in and out between his teeth.
“Get out,” he growled at me, and my breath caught. A yawning pit formed in my stomach and my aching heart plummeted. What?
“Goodbye Alistair.” It was Dolores who spoke. She placed a delicate hand gently against his chest for a brief second before she tore her gaze away from him and stalked past me.
Neither Alistair nor I spoke until he heard the resounding slam of his front door as she walked out it for the last time.
It seemed so rushed. He hadn’t even said goodbye to her. Was she truly to be gone just like that? Walked away mid-conversation never to return. Perhaps she didn’t care for him as much as I thought she had.
“Al—” I started, my voice wobbling. “I’m so sorry. The door was open and I was worried and—”
He clenched his fists tightly at his sides and bowed his head. I thought he might cry and just seeing him this upset made tears spring to my own eyes. I wanted to go to him. To comfort him. But he’d asked me to leave, and I didn’t know what to do.