Professor Turner paused, presumably to let that sink in. Some of the students—mostly the young women, but a handful of young men as well—gave hushed gasps and murmurs as they waited for more. He gave it to them only after making a show of giving his fallen magician comrades a moment of silence. “When we did finally breach the sub-level,” he said, “I detected a three-thousand-year-old glamour that was still operational and remarkably challenging to both detect and dismantle. It had a nasty confusion effect layered into the illusion, but once I realized the scorpions crawling over my body weren’t real, I was able to reveal, beneath a seaming of ancient stone, a clay urn. Now, thanks to my personal experience and knowledge of Outsider cults and their magical practices, I knew right away two things. This urn was immeasurably valuable—and it was heavily protected.”
I was tapping my foot at this point, and had to force myself to stop. I looked over at Hunter again, and this time he turned to look back at me. He shook his head slowly, rolling his eyes. Well, at least it was an easy credit. I watched Hunter a moment longer, but when he didn’t look back to me again, I sighed and slumped on my desk, chin in hand.
I did my best to pay attention to the details of Percy’s story as he described the complicated process of getting the urn out of the temple without either damaging it or triggering the curses laid on it, and then the several people who were killed attempting to break those curses. One was swallowed up by the desert sands, another was devoured by phantasmal insects, and a third began to lose skin until he was flayed to the bone over the course of several days while the others attempted to halt the curse. They failed.
“It was in a feverish moment of desperation,” he said, “that I finally realized that two of the glyphs that were carved onto the surface of the urn repeated. Three times each. The sign of Shem-Aruk, the Silent Warden. Thanks in large part to my research in Iran and my encounter with the belok in southern Pakistan, I was able to puzzle out a seemingly nonsensical incantation cross-referencing the markings on the urn with the pictograms on the altar in the sub-level of the temple. Upon speaking this incantation, a kind of key-phrase to neutralize the curses on the urn, it… opened.”
“What was in it?” a student asked. Nancy-something, she was a junior and she sat front and center every day, and was constantly throwing obvious questions at Percy. The kind that he was inevitably going to answer, but he always seemed to like that she asked. She was the only one that did.
“I was the only one of us willing to reach inside,” he told her, and then the rest of us as he swept the room again with his eyes and a dramatic pause. “And inside, I discovered a single square of parchment no bigger than my hand.” He held his hand up, fingers spread. “Now, I knew right away that whatever was written on this parchment, sealed in a cursed urn that was made of layers of clay, lead, silver, and gold, it had to be immensely important to this cult. And as I began making sense of what was written there I discovered that it certainly was.”
I had to scribble out the words please just get on with it when Gamberly’s Living Ink shaped my idle scribbles into my loudest thoughts.
“Until that moment,” he said, “there were only four known Outsiders. Throughout all of history, these cults have managed to maintain a veil of secrecy that has rarely been pierced, though many have tried. Those four names were paid for in blood. Written here, on this parchment that was over four thousand years old, there were seven names. And these seven are, to this day, the only seven Outsiders that we have names for, although there is a great deal of speculation that there may be many, many more.”
“What are the names?” Hunter asked, loudly, and a little sharp. I looked at him along with the rest of the class.
Percy glanced up at him, his face momentarily blank, which I’d come to realize was irritation at having his stories interrupted. Still, he did answer. “Rather than speak them out loud,” he said, “just in the event that speaking them does, indeed, draw their attention, I will write them down. I caution you all—speak these terrible names at your own peril.”
He turned to the blackboard, and where many of the teachers at Rosewilde simply wrote down whatever they thought necessary, Percy made a show of it. He took a piece of chalk, broke it in half and placed it on his desk. The first spell pulverized the chalk to dust, and a second sent it streaming onto the blackboard to make thick white lines of jagged handwriting.
I wrote the names and epithets down as they appeared.
Shem-Aruk, the Silent Warden, Gatekeeper of the Fallen Gods.
Az-Harad, the Dreadmother, She with the Thousand Hungering Offspring.
Yol-Virat, the Unfather, He That Devours Creation.
Khet-Urur, Son of the Deep, That Which Decays.
Kur-Thep, Daughter of Chaos, She That Drinks the Stars.
Ruu-Asik, Deathsister, She That Consumes the Fallen.
Zaar-Shehem, Goatbrother, He That Sows the Unclean Seed.
I felt my gut quivering as I wrote them down, and my handwriting, even with the Living Ink enchantment, was shaky at best. Mother, Father, Son, Daughter, Sister, Brother. A tidy little Abyssal family of horrors.
Percy turned back to us, dusting his hands although he hadn’t actually touched any chalk except to pick it up and put it on his desk. “These seven comprise what we believe to be a kind of… primordial foundation of the original creation. Or perhaps corrupted templates of the first elements, or even the original creators who were overthrown by whatever force is responsible for the current reality we exist in.” He paused for a dramatic second, letting his fans in the front row dangle with anticipation.
“The truth is, no one really knows, and very little is known of the Outsider Gods except what we’ve been able to collect, gradually, regarding their worshippers. We don’t even know how the first came into contact with our world. Were they always here? Are there some who are simply more susceptible to their influence than others?” At that, his eyes fell on me. “Do they, at times, reach into this world and deliver their corrupting touch in an attempt to pervert the creation that they seem to view with both avarice and destructive hatred?”
No one had an answer. Least of all me. And, as with most questions that Percy asked, they were mostly rhetorical. He smiled and spread his hands. “Again, no one really knows. Now, tomorrow, we’ll begin discussions on cults throughout history and, in some cases, still operational to this day, in relation to each of the seven Outsiders, starting with the Silent Warden. I hope you’ll arrive fresh, and remember that if at any time you simply cannot countenance the weight of the material in this class, I can see to it that you’re provided with notes after each class if you need to excuse yourself.”
I glanced up at the clock over the chalkboard. Of course, class was done. I smothered my frustration. At least tomorrow we would, potentially, begin to actually learn something that could be useful. I waited until I saw Hunter standing up before I scooped up my notebook and went after him. I caught up to him in the hallway. “Hunter,” I said as I came up behind him. “In a hurry?”
He slowed as he glanced back, and shook his head. His cheeks turned red, but he spoke quickly. “Just headed back to the room. A lot of studying to get done.”
“Ah,” I said. “Memorizing Percy’s anecdotes for the inevitable memoire he’s going to have us all write about him? I have to say, it’s a smart way of getting the book written.”
He chuckled. “No,” he said, “but now that you mention it that does make perfect sense. Maybe I’ll get a head start. Just classes, is all. Lots to remember and apply. You’ll be headed to your next lesson with Nathan. How is that going? Still good? He’s not… you know…?”
“Trying to break me?” I asked. “Or kill me, or send me back from the black abyss from which I emerged?”
“It’s a serious question,” Hunter grumbled.
I cut him a little slack. “He’s actually not a terrible teacher,” I admitted. “I don’t know that I’d say we’re friendly but… it’s not bad. Um, hey—s
o, I wanted to ask you, actually… you know this Academy thing is happening over winter break?”
“The summit thing,” he said. “Yeah, I know. Why?”
“Well,” I said, “there’s this… big thing. The Academy Ball or whatever, and Lucas and Isaac and I are going to be there and I just sort of wondered if… you know, if you were going to be there? Or you and Nathan, or… something.”
“I’m not going with Nathan,” he said. “Those kinds of events aren’t really his style anyway, even if we were so inclined to go to things together, which we aren’t. I wasn’t entirely opposed to going, I know a few of the students coming up from Goldhaven from back home, but haven’t really decided.”
“Oh,” I said, clinging one of my notebooks to my chest. Other students hurried around us in the hall, heading to their next class. “I was just wondering. Serena is taking Pete, and she’s dressing him up and everything and we’ve got a betting pool going on whether she’s going to have him in a gimp suit, just a gold lamé g-string, or just stark-naked with a bow tie.”
He barked a laugh and quickly put a hand up to cover his mouth, as if he were embarrassed. It made me smile to see him give such a genuine reaction. I ducked my head, pushing my hair behind one of my ears, hiding my smile.
He was quiet for a moment, until, finally, “I’d hate to miss whatever getup Serena puts Pete in. So they’re still…?”
I shrugged. “It’s a complete mystery. Serena won’t really talk about it, which is really weird for her because you know boundaries really aren’t her thing at all. But she seems happy. A little run-down sometimes, but I think they’re not, um… sleeping much. Ahem.”
Hunter looked as mystified as I was. He sighed. “You should get to class. Trust me, Nathan gets irritable when things don’t happen on a schedule. I’ll see you, then?”
I blew a dramatic raspberry. “When is he not irritated with me?” I stopped in the cross section of the halls. “Whisper me if you change your mind, Hunter?”
His eyes went wide as he blushed again, and I cocked my head, baffled. “Are you okay?”
He cleared his throat. “Yeah. Fine. Whisper. Right,” he croaked out. “I, uh, got to run.”
He gave me a too-broad smile and left me, headed down the hallway toward his room. I didn’t know why he was being weird, but still I watched him for a little bit, to see if he’d look back. Yeah, I know. Silly.
But, about halfway down the hall… he did. And he smiled, and I smiled and offered a tiny wave.
Then I went to go learn how not to accidentally open portals to hell dimensions in my sleep.
Amelia
“If we actually had seasons here, this dress would give me hypothermia,” I tried to complain as I looked at myself in the bathroom mirror. It may be a danger to my health, but damn I felt gorgeous. It was a crimson number with silver highlights in key places, which Serena insisted would ‘draw the eye to all the right parts’. A swirl across my left breast, a little starburst sort of pattern over one hip, and a long, winding kind of stripe that led to my calf—it was clear what ‘parts’ she thought needed eyes drawn to.
Not that I was really complaining about the dress. It was actually about the nicest thing I’d ever worn. Strapless, calf-length, and made of fabric that, unless I moved, I didn’t feel like I was wearing anything. Something alchemical, but what exactly the ‘secret sauce’ was, Serena wouldn’t tell me.
“Just know that it will be really fun, but not until you want it to be,” she assured me. “Trust me. I’m the classiest bitch you know.”
Looking at myself in it, I wondered if maybe part of the magic of the fabric was that it made you look just a little bit curvier. Not that my hips were nonexistent but… maybe the silver highlights really did draw the eye just in the right way.
“So this,” she told me as she put a necklace that was almost short enough to be a choker around my neck, “is a personal favorite, and if you lose it I will break your kneecap. Kidding. Sort of.”
It was a fine gold chain with a cascade of smaller chains that laid over my neck and collarbone, with a small purple stone dangling just into the hollow of my neck. “Serena, this is… are you sure?”
“Uh, wow,” she muttered. “You are easy to please. Well hold onto your horses because…” She reached around and stroked the stone as she muttered something in Pre-dynastic Egyptian that I didn’t quite translate fast enough before the enchantment switched on.
I reached up to my face, where a perfect smoky eye, slightly smoothed eyebrow lines, mascara, lipstick—the works, all of it—shimmered into existence on my skin. “Holy wow,” I breathed. “Is this how you always look so—”
“Shh.” Serena put a finger to my lips. “You must never, ever speak of this to anyone, ever. If you do, the enchantment turns you into a frog with a lot of warts. With gonorrhea. And crabs. You don’t want that.”
I reached up to take the necklace off, unwilling to take the chance.
But she caught my fingers and rolled her eyes. “Rama’s purple rosebud, I’m kidding. Leave it. But seriously, it’s kind of my secret, so don’t spill it. Everyone will wonder why I spend so much time in the bathroom in the morning.”
“Why do you?” I asked as I tried to find a flaw in the illusory makeup. It managed to somehow look like me, but sort of brushed up. Normally, I didn’t go for makeup. Maybe a lip gloss from time to time, but it just seemed like a waste of time in a very, very busy schedule.
Serena grinned. “Lately? Because I shower with Pete. He has a tongue that can just go and go and go—”
“Wow, okay,” I whispered loudly as I glanced around at some of the other girls in the room, all of them in the process of getting done up for the party. “Well, at least I know you see something in him.”
“Oh, that’s not even the best part,” she said as she leaned in close. “Pete has a dash of incubus blood in him. Can’t you tell? He’s like, a walking sex idol.”
My mouth fell open, and I stared at her. Clearly she saw something different than I did. “Uh… no, I guess I couldn’t. Incubus? Huh. I mean… but is that like… you know, safe? Cause you’ve been looking just a little tired lately.”
“Fuck you too,” she snapped, though she was smiling as she gave me a gentle shove. “I am tired but he’s not like sucking my soul out or anything. He’s barely a sixteenth; he couldn’t register with a coven. It’s just enough, though, that he’s insatiable. We go for hours sometimes. It’s… yeah, I can’t even describe it.”
“Thank God,” I muttered. “But, I mean… you’re happy with him?”
Serena threw his head back and laughed, and actually wiped a tear away when she looked at me again. “Oh, sweet thing. You are just so precious. Phenomenal orgasms make me like, really, really happy, so yeah. I am. But I’m not gonna marry him or anything. I might keep him around forever, if he’s a good boy. But this bitch? I am more than happy just being me. A good boy who can follow orders and has a slightly elastic tongue is just a really nice accessory.”
“Ah,” I breathed. “Still you, then. Just checking. Mm… should I like, put my hair up, or…?”
Serena got behind me and looked over my shoulder as she arranged my hair over my shoulders. “Nope,” she said, “just like this. You’re gorgeous, and those boys are going to cum in their pants when they see you.”
I rolled my eyes. “Har har.”
She turned me around and held me by the shoulders. “No, really. That’s the secret about the fabric, so, careful what angle the light hits it at.”
I laughed, but she didn’t.
“Uh… seriously?” I asked, squirming as I reached for the zipper in the back. “Serena, I can’t wear a dress that—”
When she couldn’t hold it in anymore she gave another long, beautiful laugh and wiped her eye again. “Oh my golden gods, you’re too easy, I can’t even help it. You’re perfect. Come on, let’s go get our boys.”
We stopped by my room and grabbed Pete first. He was not, as
we were betting, in any kind of fetish gear. Instead, he wore a simple pinstriped tuxedo number with a bow tie that matched Serena’s purple gown, which made my own dress look like it was off the rack. Which was fine with me—I wasn’t about to try and pull off Serena’s style.
“I like your dress,” he said, with the same flat affect and nearly blank expression he said everything else. Maybe it was the incubus blood? Or come to think of it maybe it was having necromancers for parents. Or maybe he really was a golem… the more I thought about it, the more that explained so much of his personality.
Whatever the case was, Serena acted like he’d told her she outshone the moon. “You are the sweetest thing,” she murmured as she pulled him close and buried his face in her cleavage. She lowered her voice to almost a whisper, though I could still hear her. “We’re gonna skip out about halfway into this thing and I am going to do things to you that would make your great-great-grandparents look away.”
I puzzled over that as we left the room and headed to Lucas and Isaac’s, until about halfway there I realized that if Pete was something like one sixteenth incubus, then his great-great-grandparents were full-blooded. Or at least one of them was. I snorted a laugh, and drew a curious look from Serena. I waved it off and composed myself as I went to Lucas and Isaac’s door and knocked softly.
“…just wear the fucking wing tips, Isaac, you know they make your—oh. Uh… wow.” Lucas looked me up and down, blinking. “I didn’t…”
“Expect me to dress up?” I asked, and bit my lip as I swayed a little and looked down at the dress. “Is it too much? Serena loaned it to me, I don’t really—”
A Spell for Shadows: Rosewilde Academy of Magical Arts Page 16