by J B Black
Without an ounce of empathy in his voice, William drawled, “That explains the women, what about the rest of you?”
“Oh, how sweet Belmont, are you finally interested in someone besides yourself?” Gilroy snapped.
The warlock huffed, and when Ælfweard turned — dressed in fitted trousers and a blue knit sweater, he saw the tension building in his roommate’s eyes. “Don’t put this on me, Radcliffe. You’re the assholes who objectified and dehumanized me. Anything you’ve gotten in return is on you, so don’t try to use it to cover for the fact that both Natasha and Cassandra now rank fourth and fifth while your male compatriots — who don’t have half the distraction — fall below that.”
“You obviously have no idea how strenuous courtships are on the man,” Gilroy grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest. “It’s not surprising the top three students aren’t dealing with the complications of one or more.”
Frowning, Ælfweard studied the other wizard. “Aren’t you betrothed?”
“After what happened with your mother, he hardly holds to such nonsense,” Gilroy informed him, but a strain about his eyes suggested something altogether less pleasant than that. “Well? Get a move on!”
He herded them from the room and down the tower. Compared to the cruel viper the wizard normally acted like, this version of Gilroy — obviously nervous and visually uncomfortable — fed the vengeful beast in William’s chest. Even if the night ended up being an utter waste, seeing Gilroy unsettled would more than be worth it.
In the main hall, a crowd waited. Most stood as skinny and pale as the alchemy students, but there was a bit more variety in terms of the cost of their robes. A small group — exactly three — completely stood out. Taller and more muscular than the rest, they put Ælfweard to shame.
“Battle magic,” Gilroy informed him, following the warlock’s curious gaze. “Mechanic-focused, obviously.”
“Obviously,” William hummed.
One of the three — the tallest of the trio — turned at the sound of Gilroy’s voice. His dark brown eyes surveyed the crowd, and when they caught on copper, the man’s gaze lit up as if he actually was happy to see the rich sour prick. Saying something to his friends, he pushed through the crowd, making his way to Gilroy with a bright, slightly lopsided smile. His dark hair fell just above his shoulders, and his tanned face was dotted with moles.
“Gil, you came!” the man exclaimed, lifting Gilroy off the ground into a tight hug.
With a huff, the copper-haired man returned the embrace. “I couldn’t exactly not come. As embarrassing as it is to be behind these two useless lugs, I’m still in the top three of alchemy.”
When the man laughed, he snorted, and setting Gilroy down, he kept a hand hovering about the thin wizard’s lower back for a moment before letting it fall away to his side where it clenched and unclenched before he thrust it out toward Ælfweard. “I’m Wulfric, but everyone just calls me Wulf.”
“What? No titles for them?” a blond female wizard at his side teased. She stood nearly as tall, and her short straw blond hair fell about her forehead in loose waves.
Their third — a scarred man a bit older than the rest and with a shaved head — chuckled. “Oh, of course not. No Prince Wulfric for Gil’s friends.”
Wulf flushed as they spoke and immediately glared, elbowing the both harshly. “I’m not — guys, seriously.”
“Are you American?” William asked, smiling at the familiar accent.
Eyes widening, Wulf blinked rapidly. Every emotion showed so quickly and easily on his face. How could he deal with someone as repressed and as big of an asshole as Gilroy.
“Uh — yeah. My dad’s an American, so we live out in California,” Wulf explained, and his darting glances gave away there was more to the story than he had said, but William didn’t intend to push. “And it isn’t like my mom’s royalty. I mean, technically — yeah, but wizards track lineage, and it’s so far out that it doesn’t matter.”
Gilroy shook his head. “Your mother’s line traces directly back to Aelion’s royal family. She has two titles between her bloodline and her adopted family.”
“But I’m not a prince,” Wulf insisted though he seemed to preen under Gilroy’s confirmation that even if he wasn’t a prince, he was a royal.
“Well, Wulf, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” Ælfweard said, taking the other man’s hand in his own. “I’m Ælfweard.”
“Ælfweard — wow, that’s some name,” the blonde battle magic wizard said, her eyebrows raising as she appraised the other wizard.
Tilting his head, Wulf’s eyes narrowed. “You’re Ælfweard Grey, right?”
Whatever thought he had, Gilroy seemed to brush it away with a wave of his hand at the other two. “This lovely woman is Petra, and the quiet gentleman beside her is Taki.”
“Your pleasure, I’m sure,” Petra joked with a wide smile. Her bright eyes landed on William, and her grin grew. “Oh my god, you’re the warlock!” Reaching forward, she shoved Gilroy. “I can’t believe you did it! You bloody brilliant bastard!” Flushing, Petra pushed Ælfweard aside, so she could stand beside William. “My sister’s dating a witch, and she might just be the most amazing magic user I’ve ever met. You guys are incredible! What are you doing wasting away with us chumps?”
Leaning back, the warlock stared at Petra in utter confusion. “I’m already a master, so it was this or a mortal university, and I didn’t have anything I wanted to study.”
Gilroy choked. “You’re a master!”
“I’m not surprised. Your magic is incredible!” Ælfweard said with a bright smile.
Almost jumping in place, Petra opened her mouth, but before she could speak, people around them started to teleport. Her shoulders sagged for a moment before she reached out. “You’re sitting next to me at the bar! I’ve got so much to ask.”
“Sure…”
Whatever William expected, he hadn’t planned for Petra. She enthusiastically listened to everything he said, asking him questions about warlocks and witches. However, it wasn’t just her. Taki barely spoke, but he listened with obvious interest. Other wizards from different departments came around, and surrounded by people who genuinely seemed to like him, William found his thirst for friendship reinvigorated.
Nursing the same beer Wulf handed him at the beginning of the night, Ælfweard watched William talk with the growing group of wizards from other courses. A master — of course the warlock had mastered his craft. He was a genius. Earning his masterhood in his guild before deciding to also obtain masterhood in a wizarding specialty. All the options set before him, and somehow, William decided on the place where he’d be treated terribly.
If nothing else, Ælfweard hoped the night would show not all wizards were as narrow-minded or cruel as those in the alchemy course. William deserved friends. Someone as brilliant as him ought to be surrounded by people who recognized his intelligence. Perhaps now he’d be less stressed about his position.
Gilroy certainly seemed a bit more curious about William and in a far less troubling way — up until they arrived at the bar. Though they were seated close together, Wulfric set himself between Gilroy and the rest, using his muscular form to almost blockade the copper-haired wizard into the corner of the booth as they spoke in hushed voices. While Ælfweard found Gilroy’s face unreadable, Wulfric gazed at the smaller wizard as if he hung the stars.
“Ælfweard?” William called, knocking his empty pint against Ælfweard’s full one. “Come on, you’re falling behind!”
The warlock’s face flushed — whether from the excitement of finally getting positive non-sexual attention or the alcohol, Ælfweard couldn’t be sure. “How have you managed to down a pint? Petra’s barely given you time to breath.”
“Hey! I bought the round and — and look!” Lifting up the chips, Petra stated, “I bought food for your light-weight roommate.”
William laughed, bright and open as he fell back against the booth’s seat. “Light-weight roomma
te! You rhyme!”
“And he’s pissed,” Petra announced with a chuckle.
“I’m not pissed,” the warlock protested. “I’m — wait...what’s the slang that means happy but sounds high?”
“Chuffed?” Ælfweard suggested.
“Yeah!” William exclaimed, smacking the blond wizard on the back. “I’m chuffed!”
When Petra laughed, the whole room seemed to light up. Her eyes danced mischievously, and tears gathered at the corners as she laughed with her whole body. “That’s more of a mortal thing than a wizard one.”
“We still use it,” Ælfweard argued.
Offering him a small smirk, she shook her head. “Maybe you country bumpkins do, but we rich city wizards have our own vernacular.”
Another wizard, Tilly from the runic course, sighed. “I wish I could blend with mortals. They have the best stuff.”
William nodded sagely. “I’ve never issued electricity so much. I’m tempted to bring back a solar powered battery charger just so I can have my laptop.”
“It’s not like that would help,” Tilly informed him. “They have that stupid warding shield to prevent modern equipment from working around the castle. They say it’s to prevent mortal discovery, but I swear it’s just to make us get hand cramps.”
“Ugh, and no internet,” the warlock added.
Tilly sagged forward around her fancy multicolored drink. “It’s so stupid. I’m behind on all my shows, and I haven’t read anything good in months.” With a moan, she added, “And I missed the new seasons of all my favorite shows.”
The warlock’s eyes lit, and lunging forward, he grasped her hands in his own. “If we work together, we can rework a magic mirror into a TV.”
“You’d have an easier time using a spyglass and flipping through houses to see who is watching what you want to see,” Petra pointed out, breaking the pair’s hands apart, and forcing the warlock back into his seat where he pouted. “Anyway, nobody has time for television.”
Though Ælfweard knew vaguely what they meant, he had never watched a television show in his life, and none of the families in his village owned a computer. The farmers who he sometimes helped had cell phones. More than once, they had commented about how hard it was to get in contact with him, but someone was always at home, and there was no reason to get a landline when the only person outside the house they contacted was more easily reached by magic mirror.
Sipping his beer, William commented, “The way the alchemy students are, you’d think wizards never interacted with mortals.”
“Most don’t,” Petra replied.
Tilly nodded. “I grew up in London, and my mother is a sorceress, so I’ve had more exposure than most.”
“You’ll find the upper crust only has contact with the mortal nobility if that. Working class folks who live in wizard villages also rarely have contact, but the middle class — small as we are — can’t really avoid it,” Petra explained, eating the olive from her martini glass. “Wizard villages almost guarantee poverty. The income just always pours out as they have to bring resources in, so if you want to have something of a stable life, you’ve got to get a job that’s close to the mortal sector.”
Nodding along as Petra spoke, Tilly informed the table, “That’s why I’m going to work for my uncle’s security company.”
“And I’m planning to join my father’s bodyguard business. Train up in battle magic to take care of pansies like Gilroy and royalty like Prince Wulf over there,” Petra said, gesturing toward the pair in the corner. Neither acknowledged her, and with a snort, she turned back to William. “What about you, Ælfweard?”
Humming softly, the blond wizard leaned back in his chair. “Originally, I planned to join an alchemist front, but I’ve been thinking I might open my own practice back in my hometown. Bring a bit of the money back in, so to speak.”
Another belly laugh burst free from Petra, and she slapped the table with glee. “Going to get enough money to buy a plot of land and fake stumbling across a gold mind?”
“I was thinking diamonds,” Ælfweard retorted.
William’s nose scrunched up. “No geologist is going to believe that.”
“Doesn’t matter what they believe,” the blond man told the warlock. “Mortals accept what they’re told.”
“Mortals will think you’re part of an attempt by the Irish mafia to import blood diamonds without people knowing,” William replied, finishing off his drink. “It’d be better if you became a jewelry, and then you could create your own materials.”
Shaking his head, Ælfweard chuckled, “Unfortunately, I lack enough artist talent to manage that.”
“Just buy crap fake jewelry, copy the pattern excluding the maker’s mark, but use gold and fancy gemstones. Then you say you found it in your nan’s attic,” Tilly suggested. Her pale face flushed red as her bright lipstick. “Or even just look some up online!”
Petra laughed, shaking her head. “I don’t know why you two are bothering to come up with suggestions for him. He’s first in the course. Workneh will grab him, and a bunch of big lords will come down to recruit him.”
Ælfweard stared down into his class. The froth already dissipated, leaving a golden liquid mirror in which his own reflection shifted with each tilt of the glass. “I’m not sure about that.”
“What? Because Nicholas hates you?” William asked.
Petra’s brows rose. “Nicholas Blythe hates you. Well, then you are fucked.”
“Petra!” Tilly squeaked.
The blonde battle magic wizard waved her hand. “Don’t ‘Petra’ me, Tilly. Nicholas Blythe is going to be richer than the royal family and twice as powerful. The Blythes have their hands in everything. You can’t get anything done in the wizarding world without them. They’re my father’s biggest customer.”
She wasn’t wrong. Even if Nicholas failed to prevent Ælfweard from becoming Workneh’s new apprentice, the other wizard could easily block him from opportunities after graduation, and the number of people willing to go up against a Blythe were slim to none. As much as Ælfweard wanted to use the other’s betrothed to threaten him, Nicholas had all the power. If he had hundreds of children and mistresses before getting married, his betrothed and her family had no recourse. Breaking the betrothal would hurt the other family more too, and the only reason for hesitation on that part would be the double-insult of it becoming a pattern as some might point to due to Ælfweard’s mother.
Of course, if Gilroy’s father truly had found his own fated mate at the same time, blame shouldn’t have fallen solely on the Blythe family. No matter how it had gone down, Ælfweard had no way of knowing. His mother would never tell him, and reaching out to her parents and the Blythe family spelled only disaster. None of it mattered anyway. Ælfweard belonged to the Greys. A family of no fortune and no titles who should have bent to the will of the Blythe but who didn’t have any reason to as his father had no family and his mother had no reason to fear her own.
“I figure I should be prepared however it goes,” was all Ælfweard could offer.
William huffed, shoving his empty pint away. “You’re not going to lose Workneh’s apprenticeship because you cockblocked him.”
Petra snorted. “What?”
“Nicholas keeps cornering me, and this idiot thinks he’s going to get screwed because he’s a decent person and has helped me,” William informed her, and he spoke with such certainty that Ælfweard wished he could claim it was that simple.
Tilly popped her lips, tilting her head back and forth. “I don’t know. He’s a Blythe. Might be enough.”
“Yeah, those bastards are petty,” Petra agreed.
Ælfweard smiled. “My mother was a Blythe. They disowned her for marrying my father.”
Petra sputtered, coughing up some of her drinks as she stared at him with wide eyes. “Medraut’s muddy bollocks, Ælfweard, what the bloody hell?”
“Petra! Language!” Tilly scolded.
“Language? You’re
not blowing over this one. We’ve got the Blythe black sheep in our midst,” Petra hissed back at her friend.
Tilting his head, William murmured, “Not a Blythe, so can’t be a black sheep.”
“And there are more of us than there are Blythes,” Ælfweard pointed out. “I’m one of eight.”
“Oh my giddy aunt,” Petra huffed, rubbing her hands over her face. With a sigh, she smirked. “Plus side, he’s twice as rich because of your mother’s disowning, so he can’t be too mad at you.”
Ælfweard shrugged. He shifted his drink from one hand to the other. “He’s got plenty of reasons is what I’m saying.”
“If he’s a dick,” the warlock huffed.
Drumming her nails against the table, Tilly hummed softly. “I’m stuck on Nicholas Blythe wanting to get into a warlock’s pants. That’s practically blasphemy to the old families.”
William snorted. “Not like I’m going to let him knock me up.”
“But there is a chance,” Tilly retorted.
His brows furrowed, and the way his nose wrinkled made Ælfweard want to kiss the disgruntled look off of the warlock’s face. “Not likely. Witches and warlocks are in complete control of conception.”
“Is that why there are so many of you?” Petra asked, slouching forward in her seat to rest her chin on her hand as she leaned on the table.
William shrugged. “I mean, there’s still variance in fertility. A witch or warlock can be infertile or sterile, but if it is with our fated mates, it is almost entirely guaranteed.”
“Unless you’re cursed,” Tilly suggested, and the warlock begrudgingly nodded.
“Curses were made to be broken,” Petra proclaimed with a bright smile before she puckered her lips and made kissing noises.
Ælfweard laughed as William blushed. Even his ears tipped pink. Running his hands through his dark hair, the warlock shifted, half falling into Ælfweard’s lap, and to the blond man’s surprise, the warlock stayed where he landed, settling himself with an arm about the wizard’s shoulder. His presence overwhelmed the blond, leaving him half-desperate. What was this feeling? It curled around, worming into his heart until he almost couldn’t bear it anymore. All he wanted was to hold onto this moment. To keep his arms about William - holding him steady as the warlock laughed.