by Abbie Lyons
“And now, finally, comes the most important part,” she said, returning to her spot at the front of the room. “You’re going to have to do a bit of magic, and I can’t promise it’s going to be particularly easy. Focus on what kind of person you think would own the object you chose. Visualize them in your head as best as possible. It doesn’t necessarily matter if what you’re imagining is accurate. Just the act of doing so works as a form of summoning. Once you have that mental image, do your best to picture that person appearing in your concoction.”
I’d found that this was how most demon magic tended to work—it was really all about imagination when it came down to it. For this bit of visualization, I figured I might as well picture the exact kind of nice dude I’d thought would wear the sweater—a bit of graying hair, a pleasant smile, probably wearing glasses. A beard, but not too thick. Kind blue eyes, of course. That sort of stuff.
Hell, I even named the guy in my head Phil. He felt like a Phil.
Once I’d put all that together, I took the next step of imagining Phil in the cauldron. This was a little harder for me. What was somebody even supposed to look like when they appeared in a Morteria potion? I figured maybe the red would subside a bit, to be replaced with something that looked like a reflection of the person. So I went with that.
The other half of demon magic, aside from the imagination, seemed to be to think hard. I can only describe it as trying to use determination like a weapon. You want to feel your mind trying to manifest something, whether it be a flame or a transmorph.
For what must’ve been five minutes, I sat there in silence hoping Phil or somebody like him would show up in the potion. Nobody else seemed to be having much luck either. The room was largely silent aside from the occasional sneeze or sniffle.
Professor Mantel strolled around the room examining each individual cauldron, but also stayed silent. She knew we needed our concentration.
Eventually, though, the red liquid began to turn a milky white.
Shit, is this really happening?
Part of me was super excited—although also a little nervous—to possibly connect with a dead soul. But I really didn’t want to be the only one in the class to do it. Extra attention wasn’t something I needed with Camilla already on my back.
The unmistakable outline of a body began to form—vague at first, but details slowly emerged. I stayed quiet as possible, fearing that any reaction might draw eyes toward me. First the hair formed: dark and black, not all that unsimilar from mine. Brown eyes. No facial hair.
Before I knew it, there was a fully formed face staring back at me from the cauldron. He didn’t look all that much like Phil. And he stayed silent, simply staring forward. The thing that struck me most, though, was the mysteriously sad look in his eyes. This was a man who didn’t seem to have much room for happiness.
Because he’s dead or because he didn’t lead a fulfilling life? I asked myself.
“I have so many regrets,” he suddenly said in a tone of voice that was equally as weary as he looked.
Nobody looked in my direction. Was I the only one hearing him?
“So, so many regrets,” he repeated. “But you’re not one of them.”
What the fuck is that supposed to mean?
“I’ve wanted to say that for a very long time. If you’ve met your mother or ever do meet your mother, know that she’ll tell you lies. I was by no means a perfect father, and I made lots of mistakes. But I loved both you and her with all my heart. Something just broke deep inside her one day. And I was never able to fix it, no matter how hard I tried.”
What the fuck? was still the only thing I could manage to think.
“Always remember that I’m a part of you, Nova. Not just her. And I hope the love I showered on you when you were just a baby has helped grant you strength. Maybe it’s helped mold you into the woman you are today.”
This is...my dad?
“I waited years to see if a line of communication to you would open. I can feel the connection breaking away already. Just know that I love you. I’m sorry I didn’t do better.”
And just like that, his image faded and the potion returned to red.
IT WAS ALL SO BRIEF that nobody in class—not even Professor Mantel—realized what had happened. As far as I could tell, no one else was able to make a connection. We were dismissed from class with Mantel reminding us that our lack of results was completely normal and that we shouldn’t feel ashamed.
I desperately wanted to tell her what had happened, but after Camilla snooped on our last conversation, I wasn’t willing to take any risks. Still, something so monumental as hearing from my father didn’t seem like something I should just keep a secret. It was too big for that.
So I decided now was as good a time as any to check in with Lattimore. Chances are he’d be busy, but it couldn’t hurt to see if he was around.
“Come in!” his voice called immediately after I knocked, though he looked concerned when I opened the door and he saw it was me. “Ms. Donovan! Is everything okay?”
I plopped into a chair. “I just heard from my dad,” I blurted out. Might as well just cut to the chase.
“You what now?”
“In necromancy class. He talked to me for a minute before fading away.”
Lattimore leaned forward, his concern now turning to genuine curiosity. “And?”
“He told me he loved me. And that I should remember it’s not just my mother who’s part of me. It’s him, too. He tried his best but he made lots of mistakes.”
Repeating what’d happened felt like a genuine revelation. For my whole life, I only ever wondered about who my mom was. For some reason I always just figured my dad was some scumbag who ran out on us. And according to her, that’s exactly what he was. But why should I trust everything—or even anything—she told me?
“You know he’s right,” Lattimore said.
“About what?”
“You’re not your mother. You’re not your father, either. They both contributed something to create you, and there’s a part of them that will live inside you forever. But you, Nova Donovan...you’re your own person. Never forget it.”
Maybe he was right. I wanted him to be right.
But the proof wasn’t looking good. If I wanted to be my own person, it was going to be a fight.
“Thank you,” I said. I’d never told Lattimore that he was probably the closest thing I’d ever had to a father-figure, so hearing something like that from him really did mean a lot, even if I would never say that to him.
“I imagine you’re still in a bit of a shock. Suddenly seeing your father for the first time since you were a child can’t be easy. I’m sure there’s a whole wave of feelings on their way, ready to crash at any moment.”
I already knew that getting my father’s sad-looking face out of mind head wasn’t going to be easy. But just as he hoped I’d grow up to be, I was strong. When that wave of feelings crashed, I’d be ready for them.
Chapter Twelve
If there was one class at Hades Academy that was good for stress relief, it was metallurgy. Getting into a tiny, hot as balls workshop and slamming around heavy instruments while fires blazed around me was more than cathartic. Professor Donner wasn’t really much of a teacher per se, and basically just wandered off to do his own projects. I can’t say I blamed him, given that there were only two students in his class. He probably just agreed to teach it for a little extra salary.
So I wasn’t exactly learning a ton about the magical properties of various metals. I was learning that I like pounding a giant hammer. It would have been the perfect release for all of the fucked-up feelings about seeing my dead father if not for the complicated fact that Raines was also there.
And shirtless.
“What are you working on?” Professor Donner asked me, jolting me back to awareness.
“I’m...” I stared down at my anvil. “It’s a bracelet. I think. Or it could turn into a necklace.”
“I see
,” said Donner. “And what metal did you choose?”
Honestly? No idea. It was kind of a gold color, but that didn’t mean it was actual gold gold. And even if it was, I wasn’t about to recite whatever the properties were, because I didn’t know those either.
“Bronze,” came a deep voice from my left. Raines was hovering—again, shirtless—and staring at my anvil. Not at me. Not in my eyes.
“Excellent choice,” the professor said. “And a bracelet could prove useful given the properties inherent to bronze and its coruscation pattern.”
“Of course,” I bluffed. “That was exactly my idea.”
“Well,” Donner said, “as you were.” He rolled his massive shoulders and retreated back to his own anvil, where he was putting together what looked like an entire suit of chain mail.
Now it was just me and Raines, standing next to each other, me with my blazer off and my uniform blouse sleeves rolled up as high as I possibly could get them without revealing too much skin and him—let me say it for the third time—shirtless.
“This isn’t like you,” he said gruffly.
“Huh?” I looked around me. “I mean, no shit. I’m not really into this stuff.”
“I mean not knowing the answer.” His eyes searched mine. “The Nova I know doesn’t slack.”
Yeah, well, the Nova you know also had never seen her father’s face literally ever.
I swallowed, stared at the blob of what I guessed was bronze, and shrugged. “Not my best work. I don’t think I’m going to be starting an Etsy shop anytime soon.”
His expression didn’t change. Presumably he’d never heard of Etsy.
“How are you?” he said, his voice even deeper. Sparks fizzed around us in the air, which was now bordering on hot enough to burn my actual skin. I swept my hair over my shoulder and yearned for a hair tie.
“I’m fine,” I said. “I mean, doing okay. Classes are...tough.”
Classes were tough, and my dead father’s face was burned into my eyes, like I stared at the sun for too long. My father, who was only dead because of my mother. My mother, who’d appeared in a dream to tell me I was just like her.
The heat swam around me. I felt a sudden, desperate need to tell Raines everything about it. Knowing what I did about his own family situation, he felt like one person who would actually understand how confusing and complicated it could be to have a father figure who was...compromised in some way. I couldn’t talk to Morgan or Teddy about parental stuff, beyond them soothing me. And Karolina’s parents were total sweethearts, and remembered to send me something in every care package for her.
No, if anyone else was in the “daddy issues” club, it would be Raines.
“I’m doing great too,” Raines said. “Just in case you were wondering.”
Raines ushered me over to his own anvil. A series of delicate silvery links lay out on the iron surface, winking slightly in the wiggly, hot air of the workshop.
I sucked in a breath. “They’re beautiful,” I said, before I could stop myself.
Raines nodded. “My mom had something like this once. I’m trying to re-create it, although I don’t really remember what exact powers it conferred on her. Mostly just memories of what it looks like in childhood.” He raised a bare shoulder, which shone with a light sheet of sweat. “There isn’t a lot of jewelry design that appeals to me.”
“Yeah,” I agreed. “You’re not really the gold chain or pinky ring type of guy.”
Raines snorted.
“I don’t remember my mom wearing any jewelry,” I said. “Except for this one necklace.”
It was kind of a pendant-y one, hung right down to her boobs. I guess that was on purpose, now that I thought of it. Probably something intentionally seductive. I cringed. And felt a sudden chill in the sweltering air. I was surprised I could even have a memory so specific given how early we were...separated.
“That necklace was the only nice thing my dad ever gave her,” Raines said bitterly. “And I’m fairly certain it got destroyed somewhere along the way.”
“What’s your dad like?” I blurted out. Sweat prickled under my arms, and the back of my neck was practically dripping under my hair. Maybe I couldn’t figure everything out about my own dad and what things my mom had told me about him were true or false. But I could figure out...I didn’t know. Something, anything, about fathers.
Raines snapped his gaze to me, his eyes blazing so red I couldn’t see his pupils.
“Why the hell would you ask me that,” he growled. “Why would you bring that up? What the hell is wrong with you?”
He advanced on me, his broad shoulders and muscled arms filling the space between us so that I was almost pinned up against the workshop wall.
I swallowed, hot and dry and no longer just from the smelting going on around us.
“Defensive much?” I said. Even though I knew I had crossed a line. I knew before I asked I was going to cross a line but I still crossed it.
Raines almost bared his teeth, the glow not diminishing at all .
“I never, ever want to talk about my father. Understood?” His voice was gravelly, almost as if it was echoing from somewhere deep inside of him, totally inhuman. Because, of course, he wasn’t human. “Gods, Nova, you are absolutely impossible.”
“Hey, there’s no need to go all Freudian on me. I only asked because...” I had no idea how to articulate it. “Never mind.”
Deep down, I knew I’d been selfish. But Raines wasn’t letting me forget it, either.
“You won’t let me do anything for you. You won’t let me get close. You’re so afraid of making me sacrifice something. But as soon as there’s something important you want to know, all of that goes out the window. You’re ready to interrogate me about something you know is painful. You try to get me out of my quote-unquote emo phase so that I’m in a good enough mood to make out with you, and then you toss my feelings on the fucking fire when you’re on one of your little investigative missions.”
His words burned me. Because he wasn’t wrong. He wasn’t wrong at all.
“I’m sorry, Raines,” I said. “It was fucked up. I shouldn’t have said it.” I ripped off the band-aid. “It’s just I saw my own dad in necromancy and...”
“Do you know what, Nova ? I’m not sure I care. I’m not a bad person, and I’m not heartless. But it’s hard for me to empathize with someone who is so willing to open up a vein on me only because she wants to dump things of her own out.”
The air sizzled around us, Donner’s hammer clanging somewhere in the distance. As close to quiet as the workshop would get.
And the strangest thing was, even with Raines literally blazing with anger, even with the dumb shit I’d just done, I wanted to grab him, hold him, let him hold me, hold all of me in. But a dark feeling was creeping over me. A feeling that maybe there was something deeply broken about this dynamic we had. I knew we might not have real staying power—at least that I might not have. I’d come to terms with that, thought I’d defined a barrier to keep myself from unleashing my terrible potential.
But now we couldn’t even make things work in the moment. Because of me. Again.
“Fine,” I said. Anger was the only emotion I could muster now. “I’m sorry. I’m a terrible person. Terrible demon. Whatever. I really was trying not to hurt you. But yeah, I’m not perfect.”
“You don’t have to be perfect, Nova,” he said softly. The red glow abated just a little bit. “Perfect is for angels.”
He spun on his heel, his bare back to me, and I swear, I could see a flicker of his wings.
Chapter Thirteen
If metallurgy was full of angst, drama, and literal sparks flying, then fancy demon etiquette with Professor Rouse was like watching paint dry. Literally: we were watching him make a painting of one of our classmates. And I’ll give you three guesses to figure out which classmate volunteered to have her portrait painted.
“As you’ve noticed, students, Hades Academy is decorated with hundre
ds, no, thousands, of portraits of illustrious higher level demons such as yourselves,” Professor Rouse said primly, twitching his paintbrush. It was a final flourish on Camilla’s face, which was smirking a little less on the canvas he’d propped up on a curlicued golden stand than her actual face was right next to it. “It’s very important that our image is one that our fellow demons respect and therefore trust. The honors with which we are bestowed are something that is essential to communicate in every instance of our presence, from the literally physical to the planes beyond to anywhere our image appears. We represent the best that demonkind can offer, and therefore, we should always look our best in addition to doing our best.”
Barf. Sure, Lattimore had had those hokey inspirational posters in his classroom, but he was so jolly and good-natured most of the time that I actually kind of liked them. But this holier than thou crap from Rouse was driving me absolutely crazy.
It has been a full day since the metallurgy incident with Raines. I wasn’t even sure I was ever going to go back to that class. Partially because I wasn’t even sure if Professor Donner would notice if I was missing, but partially because...
Because Raines had been right. I’d acted like a real piece of shit, to be honest.
So much for putting out my best self or whatever.
And I knew I looked as bad as I felt. My face in the mirror that morning had been chalk pale, probably even paler than Karolina, and that was saying something. Not even my usual five cups of morning coffee had done anything to put some roses back in my cheeks. And now I had to stare at Camilla and her stupid elfin face. Two times over.
“Thank you very much for demonstrating, Countess de Locke.” Professor Rouse gave a golf clap as Camilla took her seat in one of the carved back chairs. I actually rolled my eyes, because I had no filter left. And apparently I also let out a little groan, because Camilla shot an immediate glance my way.