by Eva Chase
He wasn’t going to need much persuading at all. He just needed to believe in the possibility enough to pursue it.
“Look around,” I whispered, aiming a waft of magic tinged with compulsion toward him. “Look at all that space. There’d be room for a small building right here. The professor would be impressed if you proposed a project that hands-on. A clubhouse for the scholarship students. Why shouldn’t you have your own space, especially if you can build it yourself?”
Benjamin’s head had come up. He gazed around him, and inspiration brightened his face. I had to smile. Beautiful. Of course, he’d be more likely to move forward if he had some concrete support.
“Tell the others about it. They’ll see what an awesome idea it is.”
He turned and started talking to his friends with an animated gesture toward the field. A look of doubt came over one of the girls’ faces, and I aimed another wisp of persuasion her way. “You can make this happen if you campaign for it together. Just stand firm and draw your proposal up well.”
Within a few minutes, the group was chattering away with excitement I could hear from where I was standing even if I couldn’t make out their voices. I leaned back with a wash of relief and satisfaction.
The funny thing was, as large-scale as my plan was, it might be easier to pull off than what many of my peers would be attempting. They all wanted to push the Naries against their natural inclinations, to show how they could mess with them and lead them astray. I was giving them a task that appealed to them. I could nudge them along rather than drag them.
The hard part was going to be keeping them on track once my competitors figured out what path I’d set them on.
Footsteps rasped across the pavement, and I glanced around. Connar stopped a few feet away from me, glancing past me to the cluster of Naries and then meeting my eyes. He offered me a small but warm smile. “Getting a quick start on your summer project?”
My hackles came up instinctively, even though there hadn’t been anything threatening in his tone. I tried to exhale my nerves, but I stayed wary as I answered lightly. “If I was, I wouldn’t be supposed to tell you, would I?”
He chuckled. “No, I guess not. I’ll be interested to see what you do come up with, though.”
I gave him a more intent look with a hitch of my pulse. “What are you planning to do to your Nary?”
“That’s my secret too, isn’t it?” he said, but his smile faded as he took in my expression. “I’m not aiming for anything big. Just enough that I can say I tried. The skills this assignment is going to take aren’t really my forte.” He paused. “And it’s a little cruel, isn’t it—setting out to push them around when they’ve got no way of defending themselves?”
“Yeah.” I relaxed a little at those words and checked the time on my phone. “I’ve got to get to a seminar.”
“I’ll walk with you to the Tower? I have a Desensitization session.” He made a slight grimace. What fears did that chamber throw in the Stormhurst scion’s face?
I couldn’t see how it would hurt to just walk with him. “Okay,” I said. But we’d only taken a few steps across the green when I tensed up all over again—not because of Connar, but because of the lanky figure who’d emerged from Nightwood Tower to stride toward us.
Jude’s gaze took the two of us in with a flick of his dark green eyes. I expected some kind of flirty comment or ribbing remark, but instead his expression soured in a way I’d never seen before. My body instinctively braced even more.
A response which mustn’t have been lost on him. “You don’t need to worry about me,” he said to me in an unusually flat voice as he reached us. “I’m not going to make any demands on your precious time today.”
Where had that bitterness come from all of a sudden? I opened my mouth, searching for an appropriate reply, but Jude’s attention had already shifted to Connar. “Enjoy it while it lasts. It’s not as if it’s likely to for very long.”
He marched on past us with such a grim smolder that I couldn’t help staring over my shoulder at him as he disappeared into the hall behind us.
“What’s going on with him?” I said.
Connar was peering after Jude too, his brow knit. “I don’t know,” he said. “Usually even when he’s pissed off, he manages to sound a lot more energetic while he’s ripping into you. I don’t know if I’ve ever seen him quite that… deflated.” He shook his head. “Whatever bad moods he gets into, he usually snaps out of them pretty fast, though.”
I hoped that was the case with this one, rather than it being some kind of omen of worse to come.
Chapter Nine
Malcolm
My dad had a way of expressing disapproval with nothing more than the way he drew in his breath, like he did right now when the nachos I’d ordered while I was waiting for him arrived at our booth in the back of the bar. The nachos were as posh as the gleaming modern space itself—they had fresh crab meat on them, for fuck’s sake—and they were the best food the place made, but no doubt Dad could only think “feeb food” when he looked at them.
“You’re welcome to some,” I said as I grabbed a cheese-and-crab laden chip. There was no way he’d touch the stuff, but he’d probably be even more irritated if I didn’t offer than he was by my order in the first place.
“I’ve already lunched, thank you,” he said in his usual cool tone, and took a measured sip from his Old Fashioned.
I wasn’t sure what this meeting was about. He’d been working on some sort of business not far from the university and texted me to suggest an early afternoon drink in town. It couldn’t be simply that he wanted to pass on instructions or criticism. The former he’d have handled by phone, and the latter he’d never have done in public.
Whatever was on his mind, it was important enough that he wanted to judge my response in person. That probably didn’t bode well.
A Nightwood never let discomfort show. Or impatience. I took another chip, this one with ample salty avocado, and pretended I wasn’t concerned about anything other than the crunch and the flavors mingling in my mouth.
They always had the air conditioning turned a little too high in this place. I’d worn a thin shirt today in consideration of the summer heat, and now I was fucking cold, but I couldn’t let that show either.
Dad said a word and raised his hand, and I knew he’d cast a shell of privacy around our booth. The staff and other patrons wouldn’t hear our conversation.
“You’ve made far less progress with the Bloodstone scion than you promised us,” he said.
My back tensed automatically. I finished chewing and swallowed, but the mouthful sank like a lump of stone into my stomach.
“I’ve landed plenty of blows,” I said. “She just keeps bouncing back from them. Growing up with joymancers and feebs obviously didn’t dull the Bloodstone spirit all that much. The pressure will still be adding up. She’ll crack eventually.” I paused, glad I could observe his response to this comment face-to-face. “Especially now that her original mentor situation imploded in epic fashion.”
If Dad had anything to do with or knew anything suspicious about Professor Banefield’s violent demise, he didn’t show it. His face stayed in that mildly bored expression that was at least better than his chillingly angry expression or his delightedly vindictive expression. Declan could be wrong about there being anything to the death other than a natural if potent illness.
But, as irritating as this fact could be, if Declan was confident enough in a theory to put it forward, he was generally right. The guy was nothing if not conscientious. And Dad could bluff with the best of them. So I really didn’t know anything more about the professor’s death now than I had before.
I’d have liked to think my parents were above murdering bystanders to get their way, especially when they’d supposedly been allowing me to make a go at their goals. Their methods might have been harsh, but there’d always been a clear if cold logic to the lessons they’d taught me. A Nightwood should have more
honor than to slaughter respected members of the community because a foe proved a little difficult to tackle head-to-head.
Did Mom and Dad uphold those values to the letter, though? I couldn’t say I believed that with total certainty. Rory was a pain in my ass and a threat to the balance of power at school, sure. To Dad, she was the final piece in a full pentacle, the one sticking point before the barons could do… whatever exactly they were so keen to get done. He didn’t discuss policy with me.
He’d let me know when he felt I’d earned that right.
“I think you’ve had plenty of opportunity to make use of your own resources,” he said now. “In some ways, you may have inadvertently encouraged her resilience. From here on, I think it’s better if you don’t associate with her at all, at least until she’s had the necessary attitude adjustment.”
I couldn’t stop myself from staring at him for a second as he took another sip from his glass. “You want me to completely back off? To let her do whatever the hell she wants?”
Dad’s eyes narrowed a smidge. “I trust you can handle the change in a way that doesn’t diminish your standing.”
You’d better handle it that way, his tone said, or there’ll be hell to pay when you’re next home.
“Whatever you’ve got planned, I can at least assist,” I said. “I’m right there on campus—it doesn’t make sense for me to—”
“We’ll decide what’s most sensible. And right now we have our next steps well in hand with no additional involvement necessary. Your observations may still be valuable, but that’s all I want from you. Understood?”
Anger flared in my chest, sharp and searing. I’d been the one dealing with Rory’s stubborn defiance from the moment she stepped onto campus. I’d nearly had her on her knees at least once. He’d talked to her all of once for five minutes and he thought he could judge how to tackle her better than I could? He thought he could accuse me of making things worse? What the hell would he have done differently?
“If that’s what you think is best.” I bit back that frustration and dug into my nachos instead. I’d done every goddamn thing he could have asked of me, and he—
With reflexes honed from two decades of vicious little tests, I registered the weirdly brittle texture between my teeth just as the first faint prick of pain echoed through my tongue. All my attention narrowed down to the sensations inside my mouth. Yep. Right there. Without my even noticing the spell, he’d conjured a sliver of glass into my lunch.
I kept my face impassive as I shifted the food carefully and raised my napkin to my lips. I didn’t even look at the shard as I spat it into the cloth. A metallic hint of blood flavored the rest of my mouthful.
Dad didn’t say anything, so he must have been satisfied with how unfazed I’d appeared. He threw back the last of his drink and stood up. “I know I can count on you. There’ll be plenty more responsibilities ahead if all goes well.”
I allowed myself a brief glower at his retreating back. He counted on me to do shit-all, as far as I could tell.
The plate in front of me no longer looked particularly appealing. That sliver of glass might be a one-off—or he might have laced the whole heap of nachos with them to express his displeasure with my meal choice. I debated for a second and then gestured for the bill.
The walk back to campus didn’t do anything to burn off the prickling energy churning inside me as if I’d swallowed a whole plateful of glass shards. I kept going, past the main buildings to the kennel where my familiar was cooped up during class hours, as usual.
Shadow perked up at my entrance, his feet pattering against the floor as he bounded to the stall door. I stepped inside and sat down with my back against the wall, and he pushed right against me. With a pleased huff of breath, he nuzzled my shoulder.
I scratched his favorite spot behind his ears and breathed in his warm wolfy smell. It wasn’t quite as comforting as it’d been when I was only twelve and I’d had a whole lot less weighing on my shoulders, but it still took the edge off.
I knew who I was. I knew what I was capable of, even if Dad didn’t. Fuck him and the rest of the barons.
Not that even Shadow completely had my back when it came to Rory. He’d turned traitor thanks to her softening-up routine too. If she’d outright attacked me, he’d have defended me, but a wolf didn’t understand the more subtle ways a person could pick away at your defenses.
I’d told her to stay the hell away from him, but she obviously hadn’t listened. A ball lay in the corner that I hadn’t brought for Shadow to play with. I glared at it, trying to summon more fury, but it was hard to be really angry about that with my familiar fawning over me showing just how hungry for attention he got in here. Maybe she was only visiting him to mess with me, but he did get something good out of it.
That was becoming a common theme. As Shadow flopped down on the floor next to me, his head resting on my knee at the perfect angle for more ear scratches, my mind skipped back to that moment in the hall a few days ago. To the perfect sweet press of Rory’s lips against mine. My heart thumped faster just remembering it.
I didn’t think she’d been trying to soften me up with that. No, she’d been using it as one more ploy in our escalating feud. But damn, it had been good. To feel all the fierceness in her body radiating into me, to absorb some of that fire…
She’d made a show of dismissing the kiss, but I’d been with enough girls to get a read on when someone was into the moment and when it was time to ease back. For just a second before Rory had yanked herself away, she’d leaned into me. It’d been good for her too, even if she didn’t like that she’d liked it.
I wet my lips, and a slow smile crept across my face. Dad didn’t know what the fuck he was getting into, trying to break Rory down. I could step back from my other tactics, but she’d just opened up a whole new avenue of competition. There were so many ways I could throw her off without doing anything you could call harm, and I’d enjoy it a hell of a lot more than any skirmish we’d gotten into before.
I still ruled here at Blood U, and no one—not my dad, not Rory, not my traitor friends—was going to stop me from living that role to the fullest.
Chapter Ten
Rory
In some ways, the reduced student population during the summer was nice. There were fewer random seniors around to either try to take a jab at me or try to hit on me, both attempts to boost their own standing. More chance I’d get a little welcome solitude in my dorm room. Only half as many witnesses to any noise I made in the grips of the nightmares that still haunted me—not magically induced now, but still painful, with Professor Banefield’s death taking a spot amid the reruns of my parents’ murders.
On the other hand, fewer students meant I saw more of the same people in our sporadic classes. My current Physicality workshop included not just Connar but Victory and Cressida as well.
I’d chosen a spot in the front corner, and now I was regretting that. My two dormmates’ murmurs and giggles from a couple rows behind me made my nerves jitter on high alert, but I couldn’t see what they might be up to. With Professor Viceport gliding back and forth at the front of the room, eyeing my work with particular critical attention, I couldn’t afford to let myself be distracted anyway.
All our classes during the summer session revolved around our project, and today Viceport had us focusing on conjuring scents. “Smell is a powerful but often overlooked sense,” she’d said at the start of class. “It can provoke powerful emotions in an instant, draw a person in or repel them away. When you’re directing your target, you may find it an incredibly useful tool.”
We were actually working two different skills, though. So that we—and she—could evaluate our own conjured scents accurately, we’d first needed to construct a bubble of magic around us that would hold our work in and prevent mingling. Thankfully I had plenty of experience generating walls and other barriers at this point. Not that I’d ever thank Malcolm for that.
At the moment, we were suppo
sed to be pulling together a scent that we felt would calm our target and make them more open to suggestion. The idea turned my stomach, but as long as no one was going to force me to use this skill on my Nary, I could go along with the assignment here.
I’d tried merging lavender, which was supposed to be relaxing, with a sort of fresh-baked cookies smell that brought an ache into my chest remembering that scent in my parents’ kitchen. When I’d been a kid, I’d have found it comforting.
Viceport was making her way toward me now, stopping at the desk two over from mine to lean into that student’s bubble. I drew in a breath and urged a little more buttery doughy scent into the mix.
A tingling sensation shot past my ear, and all at once the smell I’d conjured turned sour and rancid, as if the cookies had gone moldy. My stomach lurched, and I diffused the odor as well as I could. I didn’t want to send it flying out into the rest of the air for the professor to notice. Not that I had much time to come up with something different to offer her now. She was just moving to my neighbor’s desk.
A faint snicker behind me told me exactly who I could thank for the disruption, if I couldn’t have already guessed. I gritted my teeth as I worked more of the stench out of the air.
I’d had enough of taking the high road. I wasn’t going to stoop to Victory’s level and launch unprovoked attacks, but she could damn well find out that if she took a shot at me, it’d rebound right back at her.
I condensed what remained of the smell into a compact spear of air. With a quick glance over my shoulder, I confirmed exactly where Victory was sitting. “Pierce,” I murmured, and whipped the stench toward its creator with a flick of my hand.
I didn’t have a whole lot of experience trying to sabotage people, so maybe I tossed it Victory’s way a little more forcefully than was necessary. I knew it’d hit the mark, at least, from her startled but furious gasp. Her clothes rustled as if she were wiping at them—had I sent the smell right onto her instead of just into her bubble?