by Jade Bones
He picks it up even quicker than I imagined.
With dancing, each movement comes from the core, no matter how much work the limbs are doing. But knowing that and understanding it are two different things—it takes years to instill the knowledge into the body. Unless you can experience it first. Unless your core is aligned with another's, and every movement they make ripples through space and compels you to follow. Aeden follows me like a drowning man searches for air.
“You don’t like this power, do you?” Aeden asks softly, something unreadable in his voice. “Because it’s dangerous.”
I shake my head, knowing the movement will ripple over him and answer his question.
“That’s why you hide it,” he murmurs, almost to himself. There’s a long pause. “I don’t believe it’s dangerous in your hands.”
The music swells, leaving me unable to respond as we turn into it. It’s as though my magic loves this, like there is something about dancing in particular that makes it soar. The uncomfortable sensation that something is poking me with a stick returns, but it’s too distant to worry about because my plan is working.
The slightest movements of my spirit form send Aeden stumbling forward, propelled into action. When a motion begins in my chest, flowing out, wavelike, to the end of my arm, he no longer struggles to mimic me in reverse. Where before he was mirroring my movements robotically, because dancing from the core is something you can only learn through experience, now, he dances. His core lifts, tightens, ripples... Each move becomes more fluid as he finally understands what I've been trying to tell him.
The rest is down to memory, and Aeden has always been quick.
And while I'm focused on the dance, on tracing every single motion onto Aeden's skin, something else happens. I can feel again.
It happens slowly at first, so slow I almost don't notice. The tingling in my spirit form that marked the moment our bodies joined begins once more, and everywhere our bodies meet it's as though we are brushing side to side, skin to skin.
I hate this form because it robs me of touch, of sensation, but perhaps that's only because I let it. Out here, where there are no bodily senses to compete for my attention and my choice of focus is the only sensation to exist, Aeden's touch truly has meaning. His fiery heart calls to me from the physical plane, just as the key led me to him, but I’m not in a trance this time. This time, it just feels right.
The walls of the room fade into gray fog, none of it mattering anymore because Aeden and I are moving as one, flowing through the dance effortlessly, even though Aeden isn't holding me.
I want him to hold me.
His heart thuds in our chests, faster than before, and in the space of one beat and the next, I step out of his body and stand in front of him. His hands drop effortlessly to my hips, even though he can’t touch them, and the look in his eyes is searing. He mustn’t know I can feel the ghost of his touch, because his expression doesn’t change as his hands move lower, tracing my inner thigh, revealing what he wants even if he’s still trying to hide it.
Fuck this charade. I step away, intending to return to my body so I can touch him for real, but before I can, the door to the ballroom creaks open.
Our step falters as the professor slinks inside the ballroom.
For a second, I think it's Professor Eaken, but that's obviously impossible and it quickly becomes apparent that it's wrong. This man's face is a little kinder, his beard speckled with white.
When he speaks, I recognize his voice: Professor Jacobs, the one who was looking for us last night. He's found us: me with an illegal power, too far out of my body to save us, and Aeden shirtless, with his demon heart on full display.
Aeden snatches his shirt from the ground and pulls it on in one swift move. Was he fast enough? His chest was angled away from the door, but that's no guarantee. Something flashes across Professor Jacobs' face, but his spirit form is merging too fluidly with his body to tell.
His spirit form is strange. Distended and twisting in on itself, like a dead body underwater. It periodically bloats and retracts, the same kindly smile fixed into place no matter how much the features shift.
I shake my head and run across the room to my body, hoping it snaps me back in soon, because if he inspects me too closely...
"Practicing for the dance competition?" Professor Jacobs asks. "Lady Keller said you had signed up."
"Did she?" Aeden's voice is low, guttural.
"An excellent display of school spirit." His smile grows wider, and although I look as closely as I can, I can't see any falsity in it. "If only more of our new recruits were like you."
New recruits? Aeden's face gives nothing away as he nods.
Professor Jacobs glances at me and does a double take. "Is everything all right?"
"She's meditating." Aeden covers for me, eyes flicking to where my spirit body hovers above my real one. No doubt he's wondering why I haven't clicked my fingers and popped back in. Believe me, buddy, if these fingers could click, I wouldn't be waiting.
Any second now.
"Ah." He nods sagely. "Very focused. We let only the finest in here at Dremen, and I can see you two are no exception." He steps forward and hands Aeden a brochure. "Administration appears to have lost your registration forms, but I'm sure we'll have the final details arranged in no time. Miss Potts has her dorm room, I see, and I trust you have arranged your own lodgings, Mr Panz?"
Aeden's face remains stoic even as his idiotic joke—pots and pans—comes back to haunt him. It's only been half a day since we signed that competition form. What's with this guy? Has he been following us around since we landed here, checking up on everything we do?
A horrific thought occurs to me: did he send the wolf?
"You can collect your welcome kit from the front office tomorrow. I'm sure we'll find your paperwork soon. And until then, that brochure contains a map of facilities so you don't get lost." His grin fades a little. "I assume you still have your timetable?"
"Of course," Aeden rumbles.
"Perfect." The grin reappears, like a puppet on strings. "I'll track you down as soon as we've located your folder. There'll be no trouble finding you, I'm sure—you're not easy to miss."
With Aeden being a foot taller than most other people, he isn't wrong. The thought alarms me more than it should.
As Professor Jacobs turns to leave, his attention turns to my prone body once more. I can't see the expression that crosses his face, but I wish I could, because he suddenly clucks his tongue and says, "Are you sure her meditation state is healthy?"
He brushes his fingers across my cheek.
Agony blooms in my spirit body, and without any control over myself I drop to the floor and cry out in pain. Aeden twitches, starting to rush towards me before forcing himself still.
When he grits out the words, "She's fine," I swear I hear a growl within them. I barely notice the moment the professor leaves, only knowing when Aeden has abandoned his pretense and dropped to the floor beside me.
My brain slowly makes sense of the positioning of our bodies, and I realize I'm back in my physical form, clutching my head and quietly sobbing. Aeden's hand runs soothing circles across my shoulders, and I lean into his touch.
Through the throbbing pain, I swear his lips brush against me, whispering something into my hair.
"What did any of that mean?" I mutter as soon as I can speak without whimpering.
My head still aches, my teeth throbbing inside my skull, and I guess I have my answer on exactly how vulnerable my body is when left alone.
"It means they know we're new," Aeden says slowly, so close now that he's managed to pull me back against his chest without me even noticing. "They just haven't realized we're not meant to be here at all. Professor Goatee thinks they've lost our forms."
The uncomfortable thought from earlier returns. Someone brought us here, someone is watching us... It could be anyone.
"Or they're pretending they think that."
Aeden'
s expression turns grim, the soft tracing of his fingers over my skin slowing to a comforting press. "Or they're pretending."
EIGHT
Aeden
Mal's body remains tense the entire length of time it takes to return to the dorm. I don't blame her; that man's touch was a violation. I'm sure of it.
I'm just not sure in what way. Why did his touch hurt her? Would anyone's have caused damage, or is there something about Professor Jacobs we should know?
Why is Mal’s spirit form so shadowed and unhappy?
This place is full of questions and no answers. No keys, either. When I've left Mal at her and Bethany's dorm room, I take the map our dear professor gave us and decide to do a little exploring of my own. At first, Mal protested, insisting she should come with me, but it's too dangerous for us to keep drawing attention like we have been. Men and women clearly aren't meant to be in as close quarters as we are, and besides—if we're to fit in, Mal at least needs to act like a student and move into her dorm.
I, on the other hand, need to find one first.
The map tells me all the student dorms are located in the South and East towers, but I'm not interested in either of those towers. I want to know more about the North... the one everyone refuses to talk about back in my time. The tower that fell in mysterious circumstances and was never repaired. If I can find a place to sleep within that tower, perhaps I can unlock its secrets.
The academy pillars turn slowly from glittering gold to a dull stone the further I get from the South tower. By the time I've reached the base of the North, the walls are obsidian. The rubble is blocked off back home, but I swear it's ordinary stone, nothing like volcanic glass. To test my sight, I run my hands across the walls—they're slippery and cool.
A voice appears inside my mind. Welcome, little demon.
My heart flickers in fear, sending flaming shadows dancing through the fabric of my shirt and onto the volcanic walls. There's no one around, but still I glance over my shoulder, fearful of who might have followed me here. Wolves, secret voices, and shitty bureaucracy... not a good combination.
It isn't the same voice I've heard in my dreams, but the way she talks to me... she's of the same people. And thanks to Stacey, I now know who that is. Part of me has been waiting for this voice ever since we stepped foot within the walls.
"Succubus?" I ask under my breath when I'm sure there is no one listening.
The voice chuckles, and I don't think I've heard anything stranger than another person's laughter inside my own head. You remember some, even if you lack the appropriate deference.
"Give me a reason to bend the knee, and I'll consider it," I growl, beginning to climb the stairs. No need to linger in one place and risk being caught. "What do you want?"
Only what we are owed.
"You're not winning me over."
Another chuckle. I am not trying. Your loyalty means little to me; it has been bought before.
Interesting. "Then what do you care for, if not loyalty?"
Power. Respect. Even a rival may respect a worthy adversary.
I grin at that, watching the stairs carefully as I climb. I can't hear anyone coming down them, but that doesn't mean shit. Although a strange silence has undoubtedly descended the higher I go—like the walls are listening. The sconces that line the walls flicker with green-tinged flame. "So now you want me to fight you, is that it?"
Oh, little demon, how we could rumble. But no.
The raw sensuality in her voice sends shivers down my spine, even though I'm not interested. It makes me want to rumble with someone else. Someone with choppy hair, leather gloves, and a secret that eats her up inside.
Relax. We only prey on those who beg for it.
Fucking hell. When Stacey said they only knew one other type of dream the succubi fed on, it was obviously sex, but come on... This is ridiculous. I'm not going to be able to walk straight if she keeps this up. Already, images of Mal appear in my mind—stretched out on the bed, shirt riding high, a hint of her breasts falling free.
I adjust myself in my pants and ignore the blatant laughter from the succubus. You need to make a decision, demon. Who will you choose when the time comes? Your witches? Or their masters?
That makes me pause, frozen on the stairs with a frown on my face. "Their masters?" The voice of my dreams echoes in my mind, telling me that someone will control us no matter what I do to stop it. That my bond with Mal will be used against me—she will turn on me. "Who are their masters?"
There is no answer.
I break into a run, taking the final steps two at a time, but I don't get far. Instead, I nearly slam face-first into a door lined with golden bars.
"Who are their masters?" I hiss into the shadows beside the door, but the succubus is long gone, and I'm left with even more questions than before.
I can sense demons beyond the bars. Not succubi, but the tortured, weary souls of my brothers and sisters, summoned to their bonds but forced to hand over their freedoms in exchange for the power they crave. I think I could enter—the door is designed to keep things in rather than out. But once I was through the wards, there is no saying it wouldn't recognize me as a demon and keep me locked inside.
And Mal would be on her own.
Reluctantly, painfully, I turn away from the prison cell.
When I edge the door to the dorm carefully open, the sight that greets me stops me dead. Mal and Bethany each sit on one side of the room, on the floor, heads tipped back with laughter.
Empty wine bottles litter the ground between them.
Bethany sees me and sits bolt upright, pointing sharply. "Oh, no, no, no. No!" She shakes her head and climbs, swaying, to her feet. "Nah uh. If you're going to have a boyfriend, you sneak around at night like the rest of us."
"It is night," I point out with a grin.
This makes her pause for a second, going slightly cross-eyed as she tries to focus on me. "Without me!" she declares finally. "You sneak around, at night, without me. I will not be party to this."
"So who do you sneak around for?" Mal asks wryly, bringing one of the bottles to her lips and taking a long swig.
Bethany drops onto the bed with a dreamy sigh, my intrusion forgotten, and I take a seat on the floor. "Michael."
Bethany and Michael. They sound like they should run a cooking show; it's kind of sweet.
A sigh comes from one side of the room, love drifting into the ether. Mal's just as soft on their romance as I am, and it's feeding our bond nicely. I relax back against the door and let our energy grow.
"He's not a big talker," Bethany goes on, settling into her story. "But he's got the most beautiful voice when he does. Sometimes I just lie against his chest and listen to it rumble against my skin." She closes her eyes in bliss, and the familiar ache of jealousy tugs at my chest. I wish I knew what it was like to share that with someone. To not have to worry about demonic flame consuming the two of you, or the fact that, as a demon, you aren't meant to have anyone but another demon.
"And when he slips into the old tongue..." Bethany laughs. "Oh my lord, I never would have thought that could be sexy, but it's so deep. Like the entire voice of the underworld is captured in one—" She breaks off, eyes wide with horror, at exactly the same moment I realize what she's said.
I sit bolt upright. Mal hasn't noticed yet, but she's drunk. Almost as drunk as Bethany, who would have to be fucking smashed to slip up like that and give away that she's—
"Holy shit!" Mal's eyes snap open. "You're banging a demon!"
"Sssh!" Bethany squeaks, stumbling forward and clapping her hand across Mal's mouth. "Don't say it so loud!"
Mal snatches Bethany's hand away and leans forward, mouthing dramatically: you're banging a DEMON.
Bethany's eyes squeeze tightly shut. "You can't tell anyone," she whispers. "They'd kill him."
In the seconds before Bethany's pained final confession, Mal had been gearing up to tease Bethany more, I could see it in her face. But when she hears th
at, everything dies. My breath catches in my throat, swift and lurching, and I can't help marveling that Bethany would hand us her vulnerability so surely. It's one thing to let a secret slip, but quite another to show your potential executioners how much that secret means to you.
Or perhaps, at this stage, there is simply no point trying anything else.
"We won't," Mal murmurs, her voice soft with guilt, but Bethany's face is twisted into a grimace. She doesn't believe us. I wouldn't either.
And so I do the one thing that will seal our fate—allies or victims, that’s up to Bethany. I take off my shirt.
Bethany's eyes snap open as the heat from my heart hits her face. I see every emotion as it flickers through her expression: shock, fear, horror, and then... elation.
Her eyes meet mine. "You're a demon."
"I'm a demon."
"But... how?" She frowns. "All demons are tracked and recorded. Are they searching for you?" Her eyes widen. "Is that why Professor Jacobs is after you both?"
Mal interrupts, more sober than she should be. "He doesn't know. We aren't from here, Beth. We're searching for a way out, and the only way we think will work is if we can get our hands on Lady Keller's trophy."
Instead of frowning, like I expect, Bethany tilts her head and hums thoughtfully. The sound ends in a kind of undignified fish noise, because above all else, she's still drunk as hell.
"So you're looking for a key?" Bethany asks. "I thought it was strange that a dance trophy had a key on it. Is this your prison, then?"
"Not quite, but it is someone else's."
An odd light of understanding flickers in Bethany's eye, far too knowing for the strangeness we've revealed. I sit up straighter, but she only says, "So it's true." This time, when Bethany looks at me, all I see is pensiveness. "Demons aren't our enemies."
"Is that what you're taught?" I ask softly.
Bethany nods. "I thought Mikael was different." I can hear the subtle distinction in her pronunciation of his name this time. "But perhaps he isn't. The demons are taught to fight us, but none yet have broken the Summoning bonds because witches are too strong."