by May Dawson
It only takes a few seconds with his lockpicking kit—maybe I should revise my mental image of him as the rule-follower of the group—before the door opens in front of him. When he steps into the dark hallway, I follow The wall under my fingers is flat and cool, the once-cheerful yellow paint chipping off in long strips.
I should have expected this little mission to be all business, but now I want cookies and kisses. I can’t help feeling let down.
I follow him into a musty, windowless hallway. There’s a door to a lone apartment off this hallway, and then another narrow staircase going up from the end of the hallway.
“How did you know those stairs would be here?” I whisper.
He leans in to me, his voice soft. “Just a guess.”
His lips graze my ear, and I turn my face into his before I think about it. The corners of his mouth turn up, as if he’s noticed. I start to lean away, suddenly self-conscious, but he takes my hand in his. “Come on. Let me teach you how to break through a lock.”
My lips quirk to one side—he really wants to teach Tera Donovan how to break the law?—and he adds, “You’re my partner. Might as well teach you to be useful.”
I squeeze his rock-hard bicep, flashing him a mock-indignant look, and his smile broadens. There’s a warmth in my chest thanks to Airren’s husky whisper. Partner.
He’s so good at making me feel this way—this lightness and ease. He makes me feel like I belong in Avalon.
Even though, as he kneels in front of the doorknob, I’m still just a girl trying to break into places that I don’t belong. As usual.
Still, I kneel next to him—God, the floor is sticky; there’s the cure for my lust—and then change my mind, squatting instead. I brace my elbows on my knees to watch as he holds up one small metal tool after the other, raising an eyebrow meaningfully to make sure I’m taking note, and works them silently into the lock. His hand falls over mine, pulling my fingers to the lock. The tools are hard and thin against my palm, the lock resisting, and then the lock tumbles open and I can feel it give.
“Hold onto those,” he mouths, handing me the rest of the leather kit. “And don’t touch anything.”
I clutch it to my chest as he reaches into his jacket, drawing out his wand. He steps into the room ahead of me and moves on incredibly silent feet, crossing it. He looks into the adjacent room, then comes back toward me and nods.
I step into the apartment. It’s sparsely furnished, but clearly occupied; there’s a bed in one corner with mussed sheets spilling onto the floor and dirty dishes piles alongside a small sink. Airren searches the apartment, and then returns to me, shaking his head.
He locks the door again behind him and we head up the next flight of stairs. I try to hand him the kit, but he shakes his head. When I slip one of the jimmies into the lock, he corrects my grip, moving my hands confidently into place. The lock once again pops open.
Airren’s grin warms my heart.
The man can make breaking-and-entering feel romantic.
I part my lips, and he leans forward, turning his ear toward me. I rest my hand on his shoulder as I whisper, “I’m surprised you don’t use magic.”
“Magic is unnecessary if you’re clever enough,” he tells me. He winks as he turns the knob and the door swings open.
Once again, he goes ahead of me to clear the room. His grip on his wand is confident, his broad shoulders protective, as he checks from room to room. Then he turns, beckoning me in.
The room is empty. Thin light falls through the cracks between slats covering the windows, illuminating dust motes swirling over the honey-colored wooden floors.
I take a breath in, and the scent of dark magic curls into my nostrils—blood and iron and a tang of sickly-sweetness, like death. I clap my hand over my mouth as it stings in the back of my throat. I know how long it takes to get that taste out of my mouth—a memory curls around me: when I was twelve, picking my way through the streaks of blood on the marble floor of my father’s mansion, leaning down to touch the cold face of a corpse that I hoped I could fix—
Airren’s arms close around me suddenly, pulling me tight against his body. I bury my face in his shoulder; the scent of the starch on his shirt and his hair cream and aftershave are almost enough to distract me from the stink in the room.
“Come back to me,” he whispers. “I know that look on your face, T.”
I shake my head. Tears sting my eyes—what is wrong with me today?—but he tilts my chin up to meet his deep blue gaze.
“I’m sorry,” he says softly. “I shouldn’t have—I wanted you with me. It was selfish.”
“I’m trying to be a good partner,” I whisper.
“You’re the best.” He kisses my cheek, a quick, comforting peck unlike his usual passionate kisses. “And I am going to make this up to you.”
“You should buy me a cake.”
My shaky attempt at a joke makes him grin far wider than it deserved. He kisses my cheek again, squeezing my hands in his.
I nod to him that I’m fine. Airren nods in return before he looks around the rest of the room.
When I take a step forward, I bump into something that isn’t there.
Airren waves his hand, muttering a quick spell, and a table appears in front of me.
On the walls are weapons: shields and battle wands, longer and thicker, almost like batons, and explosive pendants on thick gold enchanted chains. I’ve never seen this anywhere but in stories about long ago, during the Avalon wars. My father tried to keep me innocent—of some things.
There’s also a printing press, an old fashioned one—even by our standards—alongside wood-and-brass letters in small wooden boxes and stacks of oversized paper.
Airren slips on leather gloves. When he picks up one of the papers, he steps next to me so I can read it too. His shoulder bumps mine.
The True will rise again!
Beneath is the same kind of long, bullshit manifesto I read too many times when I was a kid. I skim the small black print. It’s the same old nonsense.
“You’d think they’d find something new,” I mutter.
“Let’s go,” Airren whispers. “We know we found the True cell. And their armory.” His jaw tightens. “Mycroft and I might come back here with an enchantment for their weapons. Leave them a small gift. I’ll have to do some research.”
“Bring me with you.” I’m strangely compelled to prove I’m not really afraid. It’s a room, after all. Nothing but a room, no matter how many ghosts it raises for me.
He cocks his head to one side. “We’ll talk about it later.”
“I mean it.”
“I know.” His lips turn up. “You’re a tough little thing. But that doesn’t mean you can’t let your partners do some work now and then.”
A few minutes later, we stumble out the front of the bakery. Airren carries a brown paper bag with a ridiculous assortment of pastry, and his arm is tight around my waist. He kisses me passionately, the bag bumping against my ass as we head down the sidewalk, so entwined in each other that he almost walks me into a tree.
He gives the lacy leaves a dirty look, then flashes an apologetic smile my way. I can’t help giggling.
My lips are still parted in a smile when he kisses the corner of my mouth, and I twine my arms around his broad shoulders.
Pretending to be Airren’s girl? It’s an easy cover to lose myself in.
Chapter 14
When we walk into our office in the library, Mycroft turns to us with a grin across his face.
That smile makes me start to smile back—it always does, Croft smiling is such a rarity—before I’m jolted by my anger. The tears that dried stiff on my cheeks are gone but the groggy, sick feeling that always follows a good cry rises again in my head.
“I found it.” His eyes gleam with triumph and crinkle at the corners.
Airren slips off his jacket and folds it across the back of one of the chairs. “Where did she lead us? Who is she?”
“I
t doesn’t matter,” Croft says. “I found something more important.”
Cax doesn’t seem to share Croft’s enthusiasm. He leans back in a chair, with his rich-brown-leather boots on top of the table. He toys with his wand, bending it between his fingers as he stares at the ceiling.
“Are you all right?” I ask him.
When he looks at me, he brightens slightly. “Oh—of course.”
The smile he offers me feels fake, and I ignore Croft’s enthusiasm and Airren’s grumpiness over their mission. As the two of them talk, I boost myself onto the edge of the table, sitting next to Cax’s ankles. “What’s wrong?”
Cax tosses his wand in the air and catches it. “It turns out that the woman we followed is an old friend of the family. Sometimes, it feels like you can’t trust anyone.”
Cax speaks lightly, but his show of indifference isn’t fooling me one bit.
Airren breaks off from his conversation with Croft, and his eyes flicker over to us. “Except each other. We have each other.”
“I’ve got a way to bring back Tera’s magic,” Croft says, his voice irritated as if he can’t stand the distractions. He casts a look at me then says, softly. “If it works. No point getting our hopes up.”
There’s something sweet about his urgency; it’s so unlike cool, professionally-disinterested Croft. It makes bravery bubble up in my throat. I tug my ponytail over my shoulder, twirling it around my fingers anxiously, as I look toward his chest. “If it works, I just might forgive you for making me cry.”
Croft’s eyes widen, almost in panic. But his voice is gruff when he asks, “Excuse me?”
The front legs of Cax’s chair slam into the floor, as he leans forward. The noise makes me look at Cax, but his attention is on Croft, one eyebrow quirked as if he’s waiting for an explanation.
“Nothing.” I shake my head, regretting my words now that they float in the air.
“It was just our cover story.” Croft grumbles. He looks back down at his book, flipping through the pages with his gaze fixed on them intently.
“You are not an idiot, Mycroft. You knew that would hurt my feelings.”
“We can’t break up. We aren’t dating.” He doesn’t bother to look up when he delivers this new treat.
Airren groans.
“How are we going to restore my magic?” I ask loudly. “So that I can turn Mycroft into a toad?”
Mycroft rolls his eyes, unimpressed by my threats. He brings the book over to me. When his shoulder bumps mine, my hurt feelings war with my curiosity. The book brings us so close together that I can smell his aftershave and feel the heat of his arm radiating into mine. Strangely, his warmth makes me shiver.
The text is written in tight, cramped letters—some foreign language I can’t read—and I stare at it without understanding. It doesn’t fill me with hope. Croft’s enthusiasm just makes me ache.
“We don’t need to worry about why Tera lost her magic,” Croft says. “Whether it was stolen or taken, the spark it grew from is still here.” He palms my head, and I look up at him in irritation.
“It’s a mighty small spark then,” I say.
“It just needs kindling.” He winks at me, a quick flash, as if we haven’t just been fighting. Something in me wants to cry all over again. “And we’ve got kindling.”
“What are you going on about?” Airren’s eyes are fixed on Cax, and he frowns like he’s worried about him. Then he rounds to join us, as if he’s shaking off whatever worries are on his mind.
“My magic!” Croft says. “I’ll give some of my magic to Tera. It should activate her own magic.”
He talks about it so confidently, but if there’s one thing I’ve learned about magic—and men—it’s that nothing is as simple as it seems it should be. Something about this makes me uneasy.
I stare at him warily. “What if it doesn’t work?”
He shrugs. “It’s worth trying.”
“I mean, what happens to you and your magic? Is there a cost—do you lose some of your magic?” Croft’s magical genius, the raw talent that outstrips almost everyone at this school, is part of what makes him him. And while everything that makes him him also makes him maddening, I don’t want him to lose any of it.
He rests his hands on my shoulders. “With your own magic, you’ll be safer. And more mission-effective.” He adds that last sentence like an afterthought.
“What do we need?” Airren asks.
“That doesn’t answer my question,” I say.
“I’ve got most of the supplies rounded up, but we’re missing a few,” Cax says to Airren. Something passes between the two of them—unspoken, as usual, leaving me out—and Cax stands. He pats my knee as he passes by. Airren and Cax head out the door behind us.
“I’m saying you’re worth the risk,” Croft tells me, his voice gentle.
Goddamn him. What the hell am I supposed to do with these shifts—the coldness interspersed with his sudden warmth, the way he pushes me away and then rests his hands on my shoulders like nothing ever happened.
I take his wrists in my hands, my thumbs brushing his corded forearms, and pull his hands off my shoulders. I’m too angry to let him touch me, and yet, I don’t let him go. “You haven’t even told me what the risk is.”
He braces his hands on either side of my hips, which brings his face intimately close to mine. “It doesn’t matter.”
My lips twist. “You’re ridiculous, Croft.”
His eyebrows lift, and he nods at me to go on. Condescending bastard.
Caring, condescending, confusing bastard.
“You claim you don’t care about me, but you’re willing to risk your magic for the mission.” I lift my fingers in air quotes. “You couldn’t be honest if your life depended on it.”
“I’m a spy,” he rumbles. “My life usually depends on a lie.”
“Yeah, well, I’ve already dealt with a lifetime’s worth of other people’s lies.” My father’s quick smile flashes across my memory. Never again do I want to be protected from the bitter truth—sooner or later, every lie comes home. “I don’t want any more.”
His lips are in my line of vision, since he’s leaning so close to me. Those lips press together over his big jaw; he has a distinct cupid’s bow, and a wide lower lip—perfect for drawing into my mouth. The little lines at the edges of his mouth deepen. “Tera. Let me do this for you.”
I shake my head. His magic defines him, even if he doesn’t realize it. He must be sure there’ll be a happy ending, but I doubt it. I don’t think he’d really risk his magic for me. “I don’t understand why.”
“Don’t be an idiot.”
I raise my eyebrows as my gaze moves up to meet his. “You’re not helping your case here.”
His big palm brushes against my jaw. His golden-brown eyes are tender. “It’s not an insult. I’m keenly aware that—despite my gifts—I’m an idiot.”
“Oh?”
“I don’t know what to do here, Tera.” For once, he sounds completely honest; his voice is a low, rich rumble. “Everything between us is…”
When he seems stuck on a word, I volunteer one. After all, the dark lord’s daughter and the veteran of the Divide War make an unlikely combination. “Complicated?”
“Wrong,” he corrects.
Well, that’s worse than complicated. I rake my hand through my hair—he is exhausting—even though we’re so close together that my elbow brushes his chest. “You’re the one making it so difficult.”
“Just let me do this for you,” he says. “Just let me fix the one thing that I can fix.”
I glance away, although there’s nowhere else to look in this small room with his eyes still intent on my face.
He takes my chin between his thumb and forefinger and turns my face back to his. I part my lips, although I’m not sure what I’m going to say yet. Talking hasn’t gotten me anywhere with Croft, anyway.
He presses his lips to mine. His grip on my jaw is possessive, but those lips ar
e soft. There’s so much tenderness underneath that bossy, cold exterior.
I kiss him back hard, despite myself. My lips do the talking, or maybe even the thinking, when words have failed us. My fingers wrap around his biceps. He sways forward, his hard abs against my knees, and I part my thighs, wanting him close to me. My thighs rest on the narrow, hard bones of his hips as he leans into my kisses. His thumb caresses my cheek in gentle circles as he kisses me, his lips searing-hot against mine now.
When my tongue sweeps against his upper lip, he groans into my mouth. The tip of his tongue brushes against mine, sending sparks flying through my body. My hips tilt up, almost against my will, and his hand settles on my ass, pulling me across the smooth wooden table so that I’m pressed to him. My fingernails dig into his biceps. I might hate him sometimes, I might love him sometimes, and right now all that emotion is blurring into one desire for release, as my thighs tighten around his lean waist, as his fingers tangle in my hair…
Something bumps the door outside, and I pull back, raising my hand to my lips. They’re swollen from the kisses we’ve traded.
Mycroft reaches out to smooth my hair, tucking it behind my ears. “I’m sorry.”
It’s a tender gesture, but it feels like a rejection. “Sorry for what?”
He shakes his head, not willing to answer that question.
“You are impossible,” I tell him. Or rather, I tell his back, since he’s walking away, back to his book.
The door swings open just as Croft scoops his book off the table, his face disinterested, as if his pose hasn’t changed since they left. Airren carries a mirror under each arm and a bowl in his hand, and Cax carries a bundle of flowers and herbs, their intact roots scattering crumbs of dirt behind him as if he’s just ripped them out of the earth.
“Where did the flowers come from?” Croft asks.
“The dean’s private garden.” Cax looks more cheerful than before, after stealing from the dean. I’ve fallen in with a bunch of miscreants, that’s for sure. I slip off the table and grab Airren’s forearm, pulling him with me toward the door. His momentum takes him another step past me. Then he turns, tossing the bowl on the table where it lands with a metallic clang, and allows me to tow him out the door. He kicks it shut behind him with his foot as I turn to face him, out under the bright lights of the warehouse.