by Sarah Piper
“How the hell did you do that?” she asks now, her eyes wide.
“Earth-blessed. Me and rocks? We go way back.” I laugh, then set her in the big chair by the fireplace. It’s down to embers now, so I throw on a few more logs, get it roaring again. “Just a little teleportation spell I whipped up my first year here. Maybe I’ll show you sometime.”
“I’d love that. I’m still trying to perfect my witchfire.” She holds out her palm, calls up a bright silver flame.
“Looks pretty damn perfect to me.”
Stevie smiles—almost back to her old self.
Once the fire’s good and hot, I find a blanket for her. “Probably best to get out of those wet pants and boots. You can use this.”
She shoots me a glare, her lips pulling into a cute smirk that’s doing nothing for the semi-hard-on I’ve been rocking since she told me about that damn dream.
“Slick, Baz,” she says with a laugh. “If you think it’s going to be that easy to get me out of my pants…”
I cock an eyebrow, returning that flirty little smirk of hers. “I’m just trying to spare you some hypothermia. But clearly your mind is somewhere else. Anything you want to tell me, Little Bird?”
“Oh, there are a few things I’d love to tell you,” she says. “But I think I’ll quit while I’m ahead. Now turn around so I can disrobe in private like the proper, modest lady I am.”
I laugh, then head into the common kitchen to see if I can find her something hot to eat. Pickings are pretty slim—most students eat in the cafés these days—but I manage to find some instant vegetable noodle soup. I boil some water, mix it all up in an oversized mug.
By the time I get back to the fireplace, she’s all wrapped up like a mummy, her face small inside the hood of my sweatshirt, firelight glowing on her cheeks.
“It’s not the best meal I’ve ever cooked,” I tell her, handing over the mug, “but it’s hot.”
She takes a sip, a soft moan escaping her lips.
“Better?” I ask.
“Amazing.” She smiles again, big and bright, and I try not to sigh in relief. She’s still a little on the pale side, but overall, I think she’s okay. Physically, anyway.
I pull up another chair across from her, hold my hands out toward the fire. She’s awful quiet over there, knees pulled up to her chest, her face half-buried in the big soup mug.
“So, you ah… wanna talk about it?” I ask.
No response, and for a minute I worry she’s sinking back into that damn dream again. But then she shifts in her chair and says, “I don’t like rivers. Well, rushing water in general.”
“Yeah, I don’t blame you.”
“No, I mean…” She looks down at her soup, stirring it around in the mug. When she speaks again, her voice is so soft, I have to lean closer to hear it above the crackling flames. “A few years back, my parents drowned in a flash flood.”
“Oh, fuck.” I knew they’d died awhile back—Devane told us as much. But he left out the details, and now I feel completely out of my element. I don’t even know what the fuck to say. “Stevie, that’s shit. I’m sorry. I mean… Fuck, I’m making it worse. It’s shit. That’s all there is to it.”
“Thanks. It is shit.” She offers a sad smile. “We were hiking in the slot canyons and it just… it came out of nowhere. I got caught up in it too, but there was an opening in the canyon wall just above the waterline—looked like a cave. My dad basically shoved me into it. He and my mom tried to climb in after me, and I tried to reach for them, but the current was too strong and it just… it swept them away. It happened so fast, Baz. I kept watching the water, screaming their names, waiting for them to pop up on the other side. They never did.”
The fire snaps, a log tumbling against the grate. I grab the poker and push it back in, trying to figure out what the hell to say.
But I can’t, and eventually, Stevie sighs and says, “The water didn’t stop. It just kept rising, and I had to go deeper into the cave. A day passed. Another. All I had with me was a daypack with a couple of soggy granola bars and two bottled waters, and I knew things were getting dire. The water had reached the cave, and it was getting higher by the hour. I thought I was going to die. I thought I wanted to die.”
She sips her soup, and I’m still holding the fire poker, afraid to move. Finally, I work up the nerve to speak.
“You didn’t die,” I say, eloquent as fuck. “How? I mean, how did you finally get out?”
“Search and Rescue found me on day three. They had to send in divers. I’d climbed up higher inside the cave to escape the water, and the rest of it got flooded, basically cutting me off. I had to wear scuba gear to get out.”
Holy shit. I can see why she has a thing about rushing water. In fact, she’s holding it together pretty damn well, considering.
“You know, the last conversation I had with my parents that day was about this place. I’d just graduated high school, and I wanted to come here—more than anything, even though I didn’t know much more about it than the name. Mom and Dad were adamantly against it, and they refused to tell me why—just the same old lines about how it’s a dangerous place, how the administration can’t be trusted, how magick is a curse.”
Stevie looks around the common room, taking in the dark teal walls, the rich wooden beams, the huge windows.
“Anyway, when Blue held me down like that tonight, the water rushing over me, Carly laughing… I don’t know. I guess some part of me knew they were just screwing around—that they weren’t really going to drown me. But all that old shit came back and I just… I snapped. I don’t know what that owl magick is all about, but it seems to happen lately whenever I’m threatened. It’s like a defense mechanism or something. I wish I knew how to control it.”
“I didn’t see the whole thing—got there right at the end. I saw the owl take flight though. That part was actually pretty badass.”
She smiles, shaking her head like she still can’t believe it. “Crazy, right?”
Not as crazy as she thinks, but Devane wants us to keep it all on lockdown for now, so I just shrug and say, “Keep studying, Stevie. The more you learn about your magick, the more you’ll understand it. It’s not going to happen overnight.”
“No, I suppose not.” She drains the last of her soup, and silence drifts between us again. After several uncomfortable minutes, she nudges me with her foot and says, “Hey. Don’t do that.”
“What did I do?” I hate the thought that I somehow made it worse for her. “I’m sorry. Whatever it is, I’m sorry.”
“I just mean… Don’t clam up like that and get all weird on me now. I’m fine—seriously. I didn’t even mean to get into that whole story—it’s all in the past now. I just… Can we talk? About anything? Something random, I mean.”
“Random?”
“No rivers or caves or people dying. Anything else is fair game.”
“Yeah, alright, I can do random. Let’s see… Oh, I know!”
She glances up at me, a mix of fear and humor touching her face.
I lean forward, elbows on my knees, hands rubbing together, and in this moment she looks like a mouse who just wandered into a snare.
“Let’s talk about that insane shit you pulled with Cass today,” I say, “because watching that little movie has given me all sorts of random thoughts.”
She laughs. Thank Goddess and the devil too, the woman laughs.
“Cass?” she asks. “If you’re talking about Dr. Devane, that so-called shit I pulled… Well, it wasn’t what it looked like.”
“Good to know. ‘Cause for a minute there, it looked like you were eye-fucking each other in front of the whole class, which is totally against protocol, and also, totally hot.”
Her eyes flare for a second, then cool, a smirk sliding across her smart mouth. Whatever this girl feels, she isn’t about to let anyone get a solid read on it.
“Eh.” Stevie shrugs. “Angry, tight-ass academics aren’t exactly my type. Especially ones
as ancient as Devane. He’s gotta be, what, pushing fifty?”
I laughed, wishing Cass were here for this. Sonofabitch could stand to be knocked down off his high horse once in a while.
“Don’t let him hear you say that. He’ll fail your ass for sure.”
“Seriously. How old is he, anyway?” she presses.
I narrow my eyes. Does she actually like that motherfucker?
“Seventy-five,” I say quickly. “Actually, closer to eighty, but we all round down to be nice.”
“Come on.”
“He’s got a really intense self-care regiment. Bubble baths, face creams, green smoothies.”
She cracks up, and suddenly I feel powerful and alive, like I just invented fire or something.
“So if angry, tight-ass academics aren’t your type,” I say, “what is?”
“Hmm. Maybe you should ask your girlfriend that question.”
“I don’t have a girlfriend.”
“Pretty sure Carly would put your balls in a jar if she heard that.”
“Shh!” I press a finger to my lips, trying to hold back the laugh. “Don’t say that. She’s a Claire—she’ll know we’re talking about her.”
“I’m not the one with balls in danger of removal.”
“Nah. Carly and I grew up together, that’s all. And for the record? I’m supremely pissed at her about the shit she pulled with you tonight. Soon as I see her again, we’re gonna have a nice long chat.”
“Um, Baz? Hate to break it to you, but the woman is totally in love with you.”
I wave away her words. “Irrelevant.”
“For you, maybe.”
“Look. Carly and I go round and round about this every year. Yeah, she’s in love with me. She knows I don’t feel the same way. The only reason we even hang out at all is that her family…” I run a hand through my hair, shake my head. “You know what? Forget it. Seriously, Stevie. I’m sitting by a roaring fire with a hot, pants-less woman, and you want to bring Carly into it?”
She smiles at me, her lips soft and seductive, damp hair curling around her face, the fire crackling beside us, and for a single red-hot heartbeat, it looks like my night’s about to head in a very good direction. But just before I get too far into the fantasy of tasting those sweet lips, some dick-for-brains barges into the common room, scaring the shit out of us both.
“Stevie, I’ve been looking everywhere for you!” Ani rushes over, bringing the cold with him. He drops to his knees in front of her chair. “I just heard what happened. Are you alright?”
“They nearly drowned her, Ani,” I say. “The fuck you think?”
How the hell did he lose sight of her in the first place?
He shrinks under my glare, knowing he’s in deep shit later. Not as deep as Carly, but still.
“Fuck,” he says. “I’m so sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.” His eyes are rimmed in red, his hands trembling. I don’t think I’ve ever seen the guy so bent out of shape. “I went to get the beers, and the line was crazy long, and then I heard a commotion but just thought it was some drunk people… Stevie, shit. I can’t believe… I’m so sorry.”
“Ani, chill.” I put a hand on his shoulder, my anger fading. Seeing him wound up like this isn’t good for anyone, least of all Ani himself. “It’s alright now. She’s safe.”
“It’s not your fault, Ani,” Stevie says. “Carly and Blue and I just… Well, we’re not exactly a love match.”
“So you’re okay?” he asks.
“Thanks to Baz.”
“Can you forgive me for losing you?”
“Already forgiven.” Stevie laughs. “But I swear I’m never, ever going to another party with you again.”
Ani smiles, blowing out a relieved breath. “I won’t ask. I promise. Next time we’re staying in and reading horrible books and drinking sex tea. Deal?”
“It’s a date.”
“Um, what?” I glare at them both. “What the fuck is sex tea, and why wasn’t I told about this?”
No response.
“You guys are seriously not going to share?”
“Nope,” they say in unison, then Ani goes, “Sorry, Baz. You had to be there.”
“Alright, you two troublemakers. That’s enough excitement for one night.” Stevie disentangles herself from the blanket and stands up, her bare legs peeking out beneath the hem of my sweatshirt.
Fuck, she looks good in that thing.
Now I’m imagining her in my room, climbing out of my bed in the morning with sheet marks on her face and crazy sex-hair, pulling my hoodie over her bare curves…
“Night, guys,” she says, picking up her wet clothes and boots. She touches Ani’s shoulder, then leans down and presses a kiss to my cheek, less than a hair’s breadth from my mouth.
“Thanks for fishing me out back there,” she says. Then, with a devious smile that makes me instantly hard, she whispers, “But next time you put your lips on me, let’s make sure I’m conscious for it.”
Thirty-One
STEVIE
The sky is a deep shade of violet when I’m called urgently from a restless sleep.
I wander into the living room, not entirely sure if I’m dreaming or awake, and stand before the big windows.
It’s still hours before the sunrise, and the entire dorm is silent, save for the figures moving through the Forest of Iron and Bone. They’re dressed in black, but their bodies are limned in a faint light. I press my face to the window, but they’re too far away. I can’t make out their faces from here.
I wish I’d picked up some binoculars.
The instant the thought enters my mind, an explosion of white feathers streaks across my window, and suddenly I’m outside the glass, soaring high into the sky, wind rushing through my feathers, my keen eyes easily tracking the figures through the shadows below.
I’m flying. I’m fucking flying! The entire campus sprawls out below—buildings no bigger than models at this height. Soaring over the petrified forest, I can see the towers reaching up toward the moon, the thin red ribbon of the river, the swoop of the Cauldron of Flame and Fury, shadows crawling across the bowl. I can even make out the white cloud of mist near the Void.
I fly higher, so close to the stars I swear I can pluck them from the sky and drop them into the Cauldron below.
Somehow, I’ve become the owl. Or he’s become me. I still don’t know if this is a dream, but I spread my wings and ride the night air, swooping and swirling, never losing sight of the glowing orbs below. They twist through dark paths in the barren, rocky forest, one right after the other, and I track every turn, flying high enough to ensure they don’t see me.
Eventually they vanish, entering a deep cave along the northern edge of the forest.
I perch on the top of a jagged rock and peer into a crack in the cave roof, just wide enough to see the space below. It’s a small cave with some sort of stone altar at the center, a pentacle carved into the top. Torches along the walls cast an inviting orange glow, but everything else about the moment feels dark and sinister.
The men gather around the altar, their faces finally illuminated.
Kirin, Baz, Ani, and Dr. Devane.
They tug their black hoods low, throwing their faces in shadow once again.
I watch as they slice their palms with ritual blades, then squeeze blood onto their altar. The pentacle on the surface glows bright red, then dims.
“Who gathers here as bonded brothers?” Dr. Devane calls out. It’s his voice, but different somehow—deeper and more commanding. Older, if that’s possible.
“We,” the others respond together. “The Keepers of the Grave.”
Keepers of the Grave? What kind of fucked-up secret society game are they playing here?
“Who spills his blood as a symbol of our commitment to one another and in the service and protection of the first?” Devane asks in that same authoritative voice.
“We, the Keepers of the Grave,” they say.
“Who vows, by his
life or his death, by his silence or his words, in this and all incarnations henceforth, to protect the one true source?”
“We, the Keepers of the Grave.”
“We, the Keepers of the Grave,” Dr. Devane repeats on his own.
With all that done, he presses his palm to the wall, and a soft red light glows beneath the spot he touched. It’s some sort of secret alcove—there’s a book inside, which he now retrieves. It’s old, with a cracked leather cover and pages as thin as onion skin.
The moment he opens it on the altar, my stomach clenches, a wave of nausea rolling through my gut. My mouth fills with the taste of blood, my ears ringing painfully. The book smells like fire and ash, and when I look at it for too long, I feel it sucking at me like a deep, black hole.
It’s evil. Pure, unadulterated evil.
“She asked about the book,” Kirin says, as he and the others sign it in blood with the tips of their athames. “Claims her mother mentioned it in a dream.”
Holy shit. He’s talking about the Book of Shadow and Mists. That must be it.
That fucking liar.
What does that evil thing have to do with my mother’s prophecies? Was she warning me against it? Telling me to find and destroy it?
“If Melissa knew about the book,” Ani says, “there may be something about it in the prophecies.”
“Then we must do everything in our power to find out, and to keep that knowledge from Stevie,” Dr. Devane says, placing a Tarot card on top of one of the pages. I can’t tell which card, but immediately, he begins another chant.
Let our thoughts be true, our messages clear
Both words and intent are recorded here
Leave nothing unwritten, no secrets to bear
Among brothers in blood, all things are shared.
“The book is the least of our worries right now,” Baz says. He pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs into his hand. “When I pulled her out of the river, she wasn’t breathing. I had to give her mouth-to-mouth. When our lips touched, I saw… Guys, this whole thing is fucking bizarre as hell.”