by Monica Sanz
“Yes, I heard.” Mary inched closer to read the article. “But the chancellor’s illness aside, can you imagine what it’s like to be Mrs. York? This”—she plucked at the picture—“is what waits for the girl Timothy chooses. This is what I want.” She scoffed. “Who would be so foolish to turn down Timothy Delacort?”
Sera glanced back to Isobel Weathers’s picture and smiled, wishing she could say, “The same girl foolish enough to doubt her professor.”
…
That night, Sera marveled she had made it to Professor Barrington’s home and not an alley somewhere, given how quickly she had written out the transfer spell from memory. No doubt the writing was perhaps as bad as Barrington’s. But she rushed forward, not caring one bit. She was here and, staring up at the painting of the twin boys, she smiled. Grim as Barrington was, she could’ve hugged him! Not that she would, no, but she could.
Newspaper in hand, she spun in place and relished how wrong she had been the last time she’d stood there. Her smile widened. Her previous visit wasn’t to be the last time she was in Barrington’s home. And if he didn’t dismiss her, she would be sure to not risk it again. She would apologize and thank him, and after, she would mind her powers, listen to direction, and not test fate again.
Long minutes passed. Unable to wait for him any longer, she strode to the door and yanked it open. She marched past his empty workroom but paused at seeing Rosie sorting through a crate of vials.
“Good evening, Rosie,” Sera said.
Rosie lifted her head, and her lips spread in a smile. “Miss Dovetail! It’s always such a delight to see you.”
“You as well. Is the professor in?”
“Yes, but he’s downstairs with Mr. Rowe at the moment. I will tell him you’re here—”
“No, no. I can wait.” She moved closer to the table. The crate was filled with vials of various herbs and crystals. “May I help you with anything?”
Rosie sighed and picked up a handful of vials. “Just sorting these into the pantry. The order finally came in. You two have been going through supplies so quickly, but I’m glad of it. It means you’re learning, and now with the pantry replenished, you can resume your lessons.”
Sera reached for the vials. “Do you mind if I put them away, to better familiarize myself with the rest of the supplies?”
Rosie agreed and, emptying the crate, she set the rest of the materials on the table and left to discard it. Sera put down the newspaper and sorted out the vials, then began putting them away in the pantry. Once inside the storeroom, she closed the door slightly, to reach the rack of obsidian vials on the counter behind it, when—
“It will take me some time to produce that amount, but they’ll have the delivery in a matter of weeks,” Barrington was saying.
“As long as you keep up your end of the bargain, Rosetta’s is at your disposal,” Rowe replied, “though you’ll have to be careful being seen there from now on. You know, with your history and all…”
Sera hissed a curse. Couldn’t they have gone into his office? She grabbed the knob to open the door and walk out, but Barrington walked to the black door, while Rowe sat at the worktable and crossed his feet on the surface, a drink in hand. Curiosity piqued, Sera inched back into the dark pantry and prayed Rosie didn’t return soon.
“It’s a good thing Rosetta’s is my least favorite of their establishments,” Barrington said. He pressed the tip of his wand to the handle and various clicks resounded, more than Sera could count. He walked inside, and she struggled to see into the dark room from her hiding spot. In the light filtering in, she noted another worktable in the middle, upon which were a mess of glass funnels, beakers, and retorts. If the numerous spells she had seen written all over the beams of his house weren’t strange enough, now there was an abundance of locks and secret experiments.
Before she could see or think any more, he walked out of the room and closed the door. He set a black Gladstone bag on the table before Rowe. A quiet tinkling of glass upon glass resounded from inside. “This should do for a month. By then, the next batch will be ready, and we’ll go back to our normal order. Once every two months, as is our agreement.”
“Perfect.” Rowe downed his drink and stood. Barrington shuffled papers aside, searching for something. “I’m sure you’ve dismissed Miss Dovetail after all this trouble?”
Sera bristled. Barrington froze over his papers. “Miss Dovetail remains employed by me should she still want the position.”
Rowe’s brows lifted. “You’re serious?”
Finding the sheet he sought, Barrington straightened. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“She saved our lives, yes, but she nearly ruined you, Nik.” Rowe grabbed the pen the professor handed him. “If the Aetherium ever found out you were in that tunnel…”
Barrington lowered the sheet and slid it across the table slowly. “They won’t.”
“Of course not, but she’s a liability. I trust your judgment, but I must confess her appearance was rather surprising. You’re always alone, have been for years. Suddenly there’s an assistant—a she. How much do you know about her, about her abilities?” He signed the form before him in two quick strokes. “You wouldn’t be the first man to be fooled by a pretty face.”
“I’m wise in the company I keep,” Barrington said, each word mounted with offense. “And her beauty is of little importance.”
A flush of warmth crept into Sera’s cheeks. Barrington thought her beautiful? She stared at the man through the small part in the seam. His light eyes were always steeled and sad. Lips bowed to a permanent frown, and his brow low. It seemed he lost the ability to sense beauty in the world and in any person long ago.
“She’s a talented witch,” he went on, “powerful and exceedingly necessary. I’ll work with her to control her powers. But that’s the least of our problems.” He slid the Gladstone bag across the table and held out a hand. “You have something for me?”
Rowe reached into his pocket and drew out a sheet of paper. “With all that happened, I forgot to give it to you at the scene.” He handed Barrington a folded page. “From Miss Portia Rees. She said she tried her best to draw the warlock who drained her.”
The corners of Barrington’s mouth bowed as he turned in place and unfolded the letter. He raked a hand through his hair and squeezed at the nape. “Damn it all.”
“What is it, Nik? You know the bastard?”
Barrington gritted his teeth, glaring again at the picture in his hand. “Unfortunately, I do. His name is Noah Sinclair.”
Sera’s eyes widened, Barrington’s words like claws digging into her soul. Noah…Sinclair?
She pressed a hand to the wall, her knees suddenly weak beneath her. Noah couldn’t be alive. It couldn’t be her Noah.
“He was rumored dead,” Barrington went on, as though hearing her doubts, “but there have been sightings of him over the past months. I had hoped they’d been mistaken, but apparently he is alive and well and, to make matters worse, in tandem with the Brotherhood.”
Her legs gave way, and Sera silently crumpled to the floor. Noah was alive, and Barrington knew?
“Nasty business,” Rowe muttered. “What did he do, or given your reaction, what didn’t he do?”
Barrington sighed. “Murder, black magic, kidnapping, torture—he’s done it all. What he didn’t do was kill Miss Dovetail. Only two witches have ever survived him.”
No, no, no. Sera cupped her mouth to stifle the scream building and spreading through her chest and into her throat. She rocked back and forth, memories devouring her magic to where she couldn’t get a hold on it. It was scattered everywhere. Like her soul. Like her heart.
Rowe whooshed out a breath. “Damn, does she know?”
“Of course she doesn’t know, and you’re not to share this with anyone.”
“Mum’s the word. But are you sure you want to keep doing this, Nik? If the Aetherium knew that all the charred corpses were seventhborns and that he’s involved, th
ey might—”
“Might what? Protect a seventhborn?” Barrington chuckled bitterly. “Don’t be ridiculous. They already think it’s a cult committing the necromancy. I tell them this, and they will think it to be a cult of seventhborns. This will be the fire needed by every opponent of the seventhborn program. They hear of this, and they will shut down the program, after which they will demand all seventhborns be either killed or banished. We don’t need another round of persecutions. We’ll lose our only chance at luring these monsters in and finding out what they’re after.”
Luring these monsters in…
Sera pressed a hand against her mouth. Her fingers trembled against her lips. A mix of fury and hurt stabbed her within. Had he meant to use her? To lure in the necromancer? To lure in Noah?
Cold, she hugged herself, the earthy scent of herbs now set to suffocate her.
“You should at least tell Miss Dovetail. She deserves to know. After last night, I daresay she’d destroy him once and for all. Her power is…extraordinary.”
“It is, but sadly she is all raw power and little control. Unless she can focus that magic, she will not survive him. She escaped him the first time due to a flare of power, but should she meet him again… No. We will find him and destroy him for what he did to her…to all the witches he’s killed.” He set down the paper. “I think we’re done here. I’ll see you out.”
Rowe took the bag and, with a resigned sigh, followed Barrington from the room. Their footsteps and words soon faded, but Sera cared for none of it. She’d heard enough. She stumbled out of the closet, her joints numb. There was no doubt now, no mystery as to why he had chosen her. He had planned to use her.
Picking up the newspaper in shaky hands, she admitted it was worse than that. He had lied. And perhaps it wouldn’t have hurt so much if he hadn’t seen the scars, hadn’t pretended to care when she told him of Noah’s savagery.
She stifled a gag, the truth rolling through her in bitter waves.
If he hadn’t asked to be her anchor.
No, no, no…
If he hadn’t asked for her trust.
Feeling outside of her body, she struggled toward the worktable. The page lay facedown on the open case file, the impressions of dead witches spread out beneath it. She neared her fingers to the sheet and hesitated, her body trembling as she beheld the proof of her folly. The evidence of his betrayal. It didn’t matter whether she flipped it over or not, the truth beat loud in her ears and burned in her veins. He had used her in spite of this trust he’d asked of her. In spite of having told her she was safe.
She turned over the page.
A vast, broken breath left her lips.
Noah’s face stared back at her, and she dropped the paper onto the table. The upward angle to his eyes, his strong jaw and fine features. An angel facade wrapped around the heart of a beast. A beast she thought was rotting in hell, and yet he lived—and Barrington knew.
She weaved her hands in her hair, dug her nails into her scalp. He knew!
The sight of Noah blurred and crackled in her eyes. It shouldn’t have made a difference. Barrington had admitted to his betrayal in so many words to Rowe, but to see it with her own eyes…
Her breaths came in quick spurts, the room shrinking around her. She spun away from the horrid picture. Questions chased one another in her mind, trailed by deafening accusations. Where was Noah now? Was he coming for her? How long did she have till he arrived? Why hadn’t Barrington told her? Why had she been so stupid as to believe he was different from all the others who saw seventhborns as something to be used, as something less than human? Why had she trusted him with the truth of her scars? Worse, with her dreams? Sound muted in her ears until all she could hear was the muffled thrash of her heart. The whoosh of her breaths. The voice of her conscience echoing fool, fool, fool.
Currents of fury-laced magic waved to her fingertips as she beheld the workroom. Heat flushed down her body, the prickling of magic seeking release. She could burn it. She could set it all aflame and burn it to hell. Reason warned her that Barrington had protection spells all over. Not to mention, it was undoubtedly Rosie who would have to clean up the mess after all was said and done. But she couldn’t let him…let him hurt her and not hurt him in return. Burn or flee? she wondered.
She shook her head. In spite of Barrington, Rosie and Lucas had shown her nothing but kindness. Would she leave them without a home? Would she endanger their lives?
Burn or flee?
Footsteps neared and stopped at the door. While she may have wished it to be Rosie, the height and air of the person told her this wasn’t so. Neither did the preceding sigh and scent of musk and sandalwood.
“I wondered when you would see the newspaper,” Barrington spoke from behind her.
Her hand tightened on the paper. She sensed him enter the room, his steps measured. A moment passed. She had yet to turn, to speak, to decide what to do with the horrid ache.
Burn or flee?
“Miss Dovetail?”
“Send me back,” she said before another thought.
He stopped behind her. “Pardon me?”
“I want to leave.” She shut her eyes and braced her spine, her control and voice weak. “Only you or Rosie can allow for it, so send me back.”
He sighed weightily and moved away. Sera imagined him leaning against the table as he so frequently did, considering her.
“Aren’t there things we should discuss first?” he asked, at ease. “Namely, how you nearly cost us both our careers and our freedom?”
Her breaths grew tighter.
“What you did was noble but incredibly foolish. I’ve been through and have handled far worse than a Barghest. While I appreciate your effort, your powers are for the most part untrained, and I need to know that from this day forward, you will listen to instruction. I trust this will not happen again…” There was a long pause before he continued. “Is there a problem, Miss Dovetail? The newspaper in your hand tells me you’ve seen I kept my word.”
She opened her eyes and spun. Barrington sat on the table, just as she’d expected. Dressed in all black, he was a vision of elegance and grace. Yet, beholding him, Sera thought of the devil—cold and manipulative. Selfish with eyes the color of the sky, fit to lure one to think they could fly, only so he could delight in watching them fall.
He lowered those eyes to the newspaper, whose edges curled in flames and floated down as ash beside her. “You’re angry,” he noted with some surprise. Black lashes lifted, and his gaze narrowed. “Do you think me wrong for moving the body? Think it unfair to the poor girl? I did what I thought was best.”
“Best, of course,” she returned. “It’s always been about what you thought was best for you, regardless of anyone else.” She looked at the picture beside him. “Most certainly not me.”
His brow dipped slightly. He trailed her gaze. “Miss Dovetail—”
“I was in the pantry,” she confessed before he spoke again. Before he lied again. “I was helping Rosie. I heard everything.”
He made to speak, but she raised a hand. “Don’t say a word. Everything you say is a lie.”
Barrington’s jaw pulsed, but he said nothing.
Sera shook her head, a bitter laugh in her throat. “Tell me, should I be more disgusted in you or in myself? After all that’s happened to me—to my people at the hands of Purists—I should’ve known better than to fall for your trap. You’re just like them.” She pointed at Noah’s picture. “Just like him.”
At this he looked at her squarely. “I’m nothing like that monster.”
“You’re right,” she seethed through gritted teeth. “You’re worse, and don’t you dare say you’re not.”
Light eyes hardened, a mix of gray, anger, and offense. If looks burned, Sera knew she’d burst to a cloud of ash, settling beside that of the newspaper. Still, she went on.
“He fooled me with promises of magic, and you…you tricked me with my dreams of becoming an inspector and f
inding my family. At least for the monster he was, he was brave enough to stab me while I faced him. But you’re too much of a coward. You ask for my trust and then stab me in the back. You promised to help me become an inspector only because it was not a promise you would have had to keep. I would be dead before ever seeing it come to pass.”
His shoulders lowered with a slow, measured sigh. “Not that it matters what I say, but know that I don’t waste my time on failed experiments. If I didn’t think you capable—if I didn’t think myself capable of protecting you—I never would have chosen you as my assistant.”
“Oh, that’s grand! Assistant? You could have chosen any seventhborn to be your assistant, but you chose me because you knew he’d come after me. I’m not your assistant, Professor. I’m your bait.”
“You have no idea what you’re saying, and I won’t do this with you right now.”
He walked out of the room, finished. Snatching up Noah’s picture and case file, she followed him to his office. “No, of course not. You don’t spend time on failed experiments, do you, Professor?”
He shook his head, sat down at his desk, and moved a stack of folders before him. “It means I can’t talk to you when you’re like this.” Calm, he opened a file and resumed his work.
“When I’m like what? Offended? Betrayed? Hurt?” Each word churned the anger in her belly. “Oh yes, you expect me to feel nothing at all because those feelings are reserved for humans, not monsters like me.”
Barrington’s hand tightened on his pen, but jotting down notes on the file, he remained quiet.
Sera pulled out an impression from within the file and threw it at him. “Was she a monster?”
She thrust another at him. “What about her?”
Another. “And her? Was she human?”