by S. W. Clarke
“Your enunciation was perfect.” She gestured through the air. “But I didn’t see the words.”
Neither had I, of course; my eyes had been shut. “Should you have?”
“Yes, if the hex has been properly cast.” She nodded once. “Again.”
I wanted to master this hex. I needed to master it.
But, in the most backwards experience of my life, I didn’t want to do it with the help of the only fae who could best assist me. The closer I got to casting the hex in Frostwish’s presence, the more questions it would raise in her mind.
And I wondered now if it hadn’t worked this time because the rod hadn’t been in my hands. That was out of the question, of course.
So I tried again. I pronounced the words and nothing at all happened.
Frostwish crossed her arms once more. “Was something different the other day, when I saw you cast it?”
“No,” I said too quickly.
Her head tilted. “Were you holding something? I could have sworn I saw a weapon in your hand.”
Shit.
“A baton,” I said at once, holding her gaze. “Lent to me by Torsten. He’s teaching me blunt weapons.”
“And why did you have the weapon out?”
“I was practicing with it.”
“Really? I never heard any movement until you ran past me.”
We stood in a standoff, the conversation becoming rapid-fire. “Well, I was.” It isn’t my fault you were too deaf to hear me.
“How did you end up casting the likeness deception while practicing with one of Torsten’s blunt weapons?”
“I decided to incorporate it into my practice.”
It was amazing how fast I could fabricate a story when I was annoyed. I had forgotten about my ability to weave untruths; I used to do it all the time as a teenager. Counselors hated me, fellow foster kids (temporarily) loved me for it.
I’d talked my way out of so much trouble. Problem is, when you can always talk your way out, you don’t know the power of consequences.
Another problem: people stop believing you.
When nothing’s your fault, everything’s your fault.
I could tell in the ensuing pause that Frostwish had been backed into a corner. She had no other routes to pursue.
And that familiar old feeling came over me. Smug victory. It was particularly delicious when the person you were lying to didn’t have your best interests at heart.
“Very well.” Frostwish clapped her hands, a jarring noise. “Let’s return to the paralysis hex. We’ll focus on the synesthesia to start.”
I nodded. “Let’s.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Afterward, I gathered my bag and spotted a certain fae standing near the path leading back to the academy’s center.
I approached her slowly. “Hey, roomie.”
Eva looked at me like I was a homeless, malnourished cat. “I heard about what happened with Mishka.”
As much as I knew Eva meant well, I couldn’t take any more today. Mishka’s screams had reentered my head without my consent throughout the past hour. Not to mention Frostwish’s unrelenting push for the past half hour to get me seeing the air magic.
Which I still couldn’t.
“Eva, I can’t talk about it right now. It’s too raw.”
“I figured. You want to sleep, right?”
“Mostly I want unconsciousness.”
We began walking back together. “What do you say,” she began, “to dinner in the dorm tonight?”
I eyed her. “So we’re eating fae rolls for the main course and dessert? The last time we did that we both nearly died.”
“You think that’s the only food I can conjure?”
“To be fair, I haven’t seen you conjure anything else.”
“Well, I can.” We came to the dorm steps, began our ascent. “Lots of things—human food, even. Spaghetti, pizza, calzone. I’m just not as practiced.”
“So by ‘human food,’ you mean Italian.”
She glanced back at me. “I took a strong interest in conjurations when I was a teenager. So flame me for liking noodles and cheese and bread.”
I laughed. It was the first time I’d laughed all day. “So even fae are dangerously obsessed with Italian food.”
Thirty minutes later I was freshly showered, in my pajamas, and surrounded by conjured Italian food and one nosy cat.
I nudged Loki away from my slice of pizza. “Look, there’s a whole pie over there. Why do you want mine?”
He stared at me, nose half an inch from my slice. “Because it’s tastier when you want it.”
Eva grinned from her bed, observing the two of us. “I can conjure milk for you, Loki.”
“Do so,” he said without taking his eyes off my pizza. “And whatever else you can that involves dairy. Now.”
“He wants milk,” I translated for Eva. “Anything you’ve got with milk, please.”
She snapped her fingers, and a cat-sized dish of milk appeared on my desk. That distracted Loki well enough for me to eat in peace.
“You’re almost as good as Vickery,” I said through a full mouth.
Eva twined her spaghetti around a fork. “Far from it. But I’ll accept the compliment.”
As I watched her, it occurred to me how much I’d needed this. We hadn’t spent as much time together since the school year started. “Tell me about your life,” I said.
Loki groaned, padded over to the door with droplets of milk on his whiskers. “Someone open this slab of wood so I can be free of girl talk. I’m a creature of the night.”
I got up, allowed Loki out. When I closed the door, I knew he was disappointed in me. He was usually disdainful, but he didn’t normally mind spending time around me.
Now I had let him down. I hadn’t been present for a rescue, and that mattered to him, too. He was supposed to go with me on the rescues, after all.
I slouched back over to the bed. “Anyway.”
Eva set a hand over her mouth as she chewed. “My life…it’s classes, preparing for the trials, picking at my face. The usual.” Then, “And you?”
I shook my head, folding my slice of pizza. “When I came to this place, everything was unusual. I didn’t realize how much this had become my regular life until it all got turned on its head.”
“You mean when you became a guardian.” A wistful look came over her, and she nodded once. Went on eating. “It’s a massive responsibility.”
One I knew she was more than ready for.
God, I had so many things to tell her from today. From the past few weeks—
“I heard you and Liara went off the grounds today,” she said. “That you two missed the rescue.”
She hadn’t asked me any questions because probing wasn’t her way when she didn’t feel entitled to know, but she might as well have.
For Eva, that was asking.
“We went to the Kowloon Library in Singapore.” I set my slice of pizza down on the plate as Eva’s eyes shot up to me. “I asked for Liara’s help getting in.”
“Why?”
I realized now I hadn’t shared my theory about the chain with Eva. That felt negligent; she was as much a part of this as anyone. “There’s a hex called the likeness deception. Have you heard of it?”
She shook her head.
“It’s advanced. It allows you to create an illusion that looks like you—and somehow I’ve been able to cast it more than once.”
She dropped her fork onto her plate. “How?”
“When I was holding the deceiver’s rod, the hex happened twice over the summer. Then once here at the academy.”
Her eyes darted in thought. “You think that’s part of its power?”
“I think so. And I asked Liara to help me learn more about it in the library’s restricted room.”
I went on to tell her everything that had happened from the time we’d entered to the moment we’d been booked in, to entering the magical birth registry. Eva gasped half
a dozen times throughout the story.
But we hadn’t even gotten to the most gasp-worthy part.
“And what did you do when he read ‘fire witch’ on your birth certificate?” she asked.
“Well, he didn’t read that.”
“He skipped that section?”
“No—he definitely read the section. But it didn’t say fire witch.”
She set her plate aside. Licked her fingers off in preparation for whatever was about to come, as though clean fingers were a necessary part of being ready.
“It said air witch,” I murmured, meeting her eyes. “I was listed as an air witch, just like my mother.”
It wasn’t often I heard Eva curse. And mostly she just said “gods,” which was a questionable curse. But this time she let it fly in English. “Holy shit.”
I laughed, went immediately somber. “Yeah, that about sums it up.”
“You’re an air witch?”
“Except for, you know, this.” I raised my hand, set it aflame.
The two of us gazed at the flames, and then I doused them by closing my hand. “Eva, do you know how Liara and Umbra came to channel lightning?”
She shook her head.
“A fire witch,” I said. “A fire witch attacked them both as children. Some of that magic rubbed off on them.”
That elicited the loudest gasp of all. And Eva whispered, “So you must have been attacked.”
“I don’t remember being attacked. And I can’t use lightning.”
“Then it happened early—before you could form memories. And maybe more of the fire witch’s power seeped into you than them.”
She was on to something—in large part because of the creature I knew resided in me. The Spitfire had been there for as long as I could remember.
Sitting there with her, I remembered why Eva was my closest confidant. Why I told her everything.
She was smart. She asked good questions. But most of all, she cared. She cared about me, which meant she was tireless in getting to the bottom of things.
And that was when I finally told her about the Spitfire.
Eva didn’t have the reaction to the Spitfire I’d imagined. I had thought she would be stunned, appalled, think differently of me. Find me suddenly questionable and untrustworthy.
None of those things were true. She was only curious and kind and full of questions.
She always surprised me with her constancy.
So I went on to tell her about Liara. How Liara now knew everything.
“And how did she react?” Eva asked.
“She was…hard to read.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means she just nodded. When I asked her not to reveal any of this, she nodded again.”
“Interesting.” Eva’s eyes narrowed, unfocused.
“What is it?” I said.
She shook her head. “Nothing.”
But over the next week, she arranged a meeting between the five of us: her, me, Aidan, Loki, and Liara. We met in the secret room behind the unused storage room, and as soon as Eva had conjured some rolls on the table by way of hospitality, she leaned across it toward Liara.
“What are your intentions with Clementine?”
I jerked back. “Woah, she’s not my date.”
Liara’s arms folded. “That depends. Are we talking right now? Because my intention in this moment is to sit as far from her as possible.”
“I share those intentions,” Loki said from atop the table. “Most of the time.”
“Wow.” I swept a hand out. “Anyone else care to roast me? I’m not crispy yet.”
Eva swept a graceful, dismissive hand out. “I mean with regard to the prophecy. The weapon.”
“I won’t tell anyone about your secrets,” Liara said. “If that’s what you mean.”
Aidan turned to her. “But will you help us?”
“I took her to the library, didn’t I? Got banned for it, too.”
“She needs your help with air magic,” Eva said. “You’re better with synesthesia than I am. Way better.”
“Oh gods.” Liara rolled her eyes. “Now I’m going to be her tutor? You couldn’t pay me enough. Besides, you have Frostwish.”
“Frostwish isn’t trustworthy,” I said.
Liara’s eyebrows rose as she turned to me. She had a smug deviousness on her face, as though she’d predicted my words. “Oh?”
“Rathmore told me before he left.”
“Rathmore told you?” Liara settled into her seat. “Now that’s interesting. I wonder why a fae who’s dabbled in hexes would be untrustworthy.”
Eva straightened. “And Clem and I may have...followed her to Inverness once.”
Liara’s hands clasped atop the table as she looked between us. “I would have expected as much from the fire witch, but you’ve surprised me, Whitewillow.”
I ignored the newest slight. “She met with William Rathmore.”
“Callum Rathmore’s father,” Liara said at once. “The head of the Mages’ Council. He’s famous.”
“And Frostwish’s mentor from her studies,” Eva said. “They were talking about Clementine. Calling her the ‘new’ witch. And they mentioned Raven Murkwood.”
“And who is Raven Murkwood?” Liara asked.
“I think she’s the Shade,” I said, and everyone went still. Even Loki’s tail stopped moving atop the table. “I think Raven Murkwood is her. Or was her.”
Liara turned an arched brow on me. “Now this is getting interesting.”
When I explained why I thought they were one and the same, no one seemed doubtful about my theory. The discussion circled back around to Frostwish and her class.
“She’s been tainted by dark magic,” Liara said. “Can you ever make a glass of water clear again after one drop of dye?”
Loki’s tail flicked. “Doubtful.”
“I feel like she’s studying me in class,” I said. “Scrutinizing me. Waiting for something to happen.”
“Isn’t that what professors do?” Liara asked. I knew she was playing the devil’s advocate.
“There’s Goodbarrel scrutiny, and then there’s Frostwish. They come from very different places.”
Liara lifted a macadamia-nut cookie, turned it. “So you don’t feel comfortable learning with her.”
“Not when it comes to the likeness deception,” I said.
“But I don’t know the likeness deception.”
“You could learn it,” Eva said. “Faster than me.”
“And how’s that, Whitewillow?” Liara shot back. “Remember, I’ve been banned from the library?”
“So get unbanned.” Eva’s eyes held a challenge. “You’re a Youngblood. You want Clem to take down the Shade? Get back into that restricted room and read that book.”
Damn, Eva. She was doing the hardest work for me.
Liara’s eyes flashed, but she only said, “I could.”
I was beginning to understand the tone in Liara’s voice. The teasing. She wasn’t closed off to the idea of teaching me—but she wanted something.
“What is it?” I said. “Tell me what I need to give you to get your help.”
She lowered the cookie. “This prophecy. You claim you want power to defeat the Shade, but few people who obtain power aren’t corrupted by it.”
“I won’t be—” I began.
“You can’t know.” Her elegant throat bobbed as she swallowed, her eyes faraway. “You just can’t know.”
“So?”
“So I’ll help you on one condition.”
“Whatever you want.”
Her eyes flicked to me, hard and flinty as ever. “If you fail in any way—if you turn to darkness, or you aren’t able to defeat the Shade—you’ll give me my revenge for my parents’ death.”
My stomach coiled like a snake. “And how can I do that?”
“One witch’s life for my mother and father’s.” Her chin lifted. “Seems more than fair, doesn’t it?”
“Well, this took a turn,” Loki murmured.
The coiling grew tighter. “If I turn to darkness, I’m not likely to keep that promise anyway.”
“But you’ll know why I’m coming for you,” she whispered. “You’ll know I helped you in good faith, and you’ll know you failed to achieve what you’d promised. The world won’t mourn the loss of the last witch.”
Now I understood what she was asking of me.
It wasn’t a request. It was a threat.
If I failed and didn’t die by the Shade’s hand, I would die by hers. It was Liara Youngblood’s twisted way of keeping me on the straight and narrow.
And given the ice crystallizing in my veins, it was effective.
“Clem—” Eva began, setting a hand on my shoulder.
I put my hand over hers, squeezed it. Didn’t break eye contact with Liara. “That’s fine,” I said. “Because I won’t fail. You’ll have to live out your revenge fantasies when I take down the Shade.”
Liara studied me for a few seconds. Then, with a decisive nod, she stood. “Meet me at the boggan’s cave tomorrow after dinner.”
“The boggan’s cave?” Aidan and I said together.
The last time I’d been in there, I had nearly been drowned by the boggan itself. And then there was the incident in the labyrinth…
As a rule, I avoided boggans.
“You want me to help you?” Liara made for the door. “Meet me there.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
“What did Eva mean about you being a Youngblood?” I asked as Liara and I stood at the mouth of the boggan’s cave.
She shrugged, staring into the pitch blackness. “We have a reputation in Singapore.”
“For what?”
“Connections. Power.” She paused. “We’ve always carried influence, though I imagine that’s changed now.”
“Why?”
“A twenty-one-year-old is the heir to the Youngblood name after her parents’ murder? Doesn’t scream influence.”
I looked over at her. “You’ve got influence. I saw the way you handled that librarian.”
She snorted. “Mr. Rosewort loved my parents. I’m riding their coattails even now.”