Chapter XXXIII. Domenic
XXXIII
DOMENIC
WINTER
Going on a walk. Be back soon.
–El
Domenic lay on the mangled hotel carpet, the note crumpled in his fist, counting the passing minutes until his dread felt justifiable.
Finally, he hissed, “Hanna.”
No response.
“Hanna.”
Scowling, Domenic shuffled toward her. She slept like a pill bug, curled up tight on her side. But as he reached for her, he froze. Her eyes shifted beneath her lids, back and forth, back and forth. Sweat gleamed across her brow.
Trembling, he slid aside the covers until he glimpsed her hands: one hugged to her chest, another wedged between her knees. Empty.
He shook her shoulder. Her eyes stilled. She groaned indignantly.
“Ellery’s gone.”
Hanna shot up. “What?”
He passed her the note, now bunched into a ball and slightly damp. She snatched Syarthis from the nightstand, unsheathed it, and squinted into its light.
“Shit. Shit.” Hanna sprang out of bed and scooped up her clothes from yesterday. She hoisted her trousers up beneath her nightgown. “Why are you just standing there? Move. Get dressed.”
“You think something happened to her?”
“To a Chosen One? No, Dom. I want to know who she’s with, what she’s doing, who Syarthis and I can question.” She sniffed the armpits of her thermal, scrunched her nose, and yanked it on anyway. “What? Don’t look at me like that. I know you’re suspicious, too.”
He was, but he didn’t want to admit it.
Nevertheless, Domenic scanned the floor for his discarded socks. “And you, you’re all right?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Because when you were asleep, you looked…” He couldn’t bring himself to finish.
Hanna scoffed. “No. We’re not doing this. You want to worry about something, worry about your own…”
They stared at each other, both haunted, both wretched.
Three minutes later, they jogged through Nordmere’s nighttime streets. The near emptiness of the city that had unnerved Domenic during the day was nothing compared to the desolation of its darkness. Everywhere, buildings lay abandoned to rot.
“How much farther?” Hanna huffed.
Domenic, too, already felt run ragged, a stitch in his side, the frigid air brittle and sharp. The wire-thin thread of his tracking spell pulled tauter with every step.
“We’re close.”
They at last stopped along a street with more life than most. Light shined a murky halo around a nearby door, labeled Altitude Sickness. Music clashed from inside.
“The fuck?” Hanna asked, her hands braced on her knees as she panted.
“I think…” Domenic gasped. “It’s called … a bar. It’s where … normal people go … to have fun.”
She shot him a withering look, then she threw open the door. But she only made it three steps inside before Domenic collided with her back.
Perhaps the streets of Nordmere were so dead because every person was here, bodies crammed together like matchsticks.
The floorboards were a hazard, spiked with protruding nails and spongy with water damage.
Drinks were served in every type of vessel, from pint glasses to mugs, jars, and even a vase.
For a room so cold, it smelled remarkably like sweat.
And everywhere, inexplicably, was magic.
They were all flimsy spells, half-faded and fraying at the seams and glowing the harsh, artificial white of being cast by training wands. Enchanted graffiti glittered on the walls. Coats and scarves floated where their owners had last left them.
“These people are … magicians,” Domenic said.
“Yeah, and they’re all staring at us.”
“I know you don’t get out much, but believe it or not, I’m actually quite the celebrity.”
Hanna waved dismissively. “No one will recognize you without all the makeup and gel.” But she mustn’t have been truly sure about it, as she squinted up the length of him and muttered, “Just … put away Valmordion. It’s not like this place is big.
We’ll find her eventually. And I don’t want any suspects escaping out the back door. ”
Domenic managed a snort, even as he grappled for a reason why Ellery would be here, of all places.
Then the back door in question slammed, and a cool draft grazed his neck.
He spun, and Ellery halted in surprise as her eyes locked onto his from across the bar. Her hair was frizzed and wild, and tears shimmered frozen on her cheeks.
He rushed toward her. “Are you all right? What’s wrong?”
Before she could answer, someone called out from behind her. “Hey! You can’t just—”
“Let her go,” said another voice. “It’s not worth it, Kester.”
As the two newcomers and Hanna shoved their way toward them, Domenic realized he recognized the speaker. And he felt a clench of horror as he examined his scars, remembering the shape of him doused in flames, the sound of his scream.
Domenic schooled his face into neutrality. He refused to betray pity.
Even as he hid Valmordion behind his back.
“Norwood?” he said incredulously.
Julian Norwood scowled, as if the sight of Domenic personally offended him, though Domenic was pretty sure the only words they’d ever exchanged was when Domenic had asked to bum a training wand off him before their third-year corporeal exam.
“Barrow,” Norwood grunted. “I should’ve known you’d show up.”
“Don’t,” Ellery told him warningly.
Hanna examined Norwood. “You know this guy, Dom?” Hanna remembered none of her former classmates. She claimed it was because no thirteen-year-old had made much of an impression, in the tone that never offered room for other suggestions.
Domenic didn’t know how to answer. He only knew Norwood as Ellery’s best friend. He’d sat next to her in every class, walked with her down the academy’s halls, was a fixture in every piece of gossip about whether Miss Perfect was so perfect behind closed doors.
“You know what, El?” Norwood growled. “Kester was right. They told me we shouldn’t have bothered with you, and I should’ve listened.”
“Yeah, you should’ve,” Ellery snapped.
With a final inexplicable glare at Domenic, Norwood stalked off.
The other newcomer, meanwhile—Kester—didn’t budge. They were pale and lanky, with a storm of brown curls and a stance as if they, a teenager, owned the whole establishment. Training wands jutted out from every pocket of their jacket. Several even peeked out from their boots.
“Do you mind?” Domenic asked them. “We’re trying to have a conversation.”
They held their hands up in mock surrender. “Oh, don’t worry, Domenic. I won’t interrupt.”
Domenic frowned at the usage of his first name.
Hanna, however, smiled wide. “Oh good, a prime suspect. Let’s start with your full name, age, and whether or not you harbor ill will against the Republic of Alderland.”
Kester crossed their arms. “I’m Kester Wright. Eighteen. And the Republic? No. Although I don’t appreciate Order magicians crashing my party. Especially swinging around a wand like that.” They nodded at Syarthis in Hanna’s fist.
Impatient, Domenic turned to Ellery. “What happened? Why are you here?”
Ellery vainly tried to smooth down her hair. “I’ll explain everything back at the hotel.”
“Oh, we’re not going anywhere without some answers,” Hanna said.
Kester shrugged. “I’m an open book.”
“Are you?” Hanna challenged.
Kester examined Syarthis again. “I’m not afraid of you.”
Hanna hesitated. Syarthis curled its tip around her pointer finger.
Domenic, too, hesitated. Hanna had to be as exhausted as he was. And light enchantments were one thing; peeling open a stranger’s mind was another.
Then she mumbled, “Go, Dom. We got this.”
“You don’t know what you’re agreeing to,” Ellery told Kester warily.
“Oh, I know what wand that is,” said Kester. “And while you all clearly think otherwise, I’ve got nothing to hide.”
After they left, Ellery tugged Domenic by his shirtsleeve against a far wall, and he settled for the privacy of a cloaking enchantment. Despite his many questions, it was a relief to have found her, to let the stage of the world fade out around them.
Until she said, direly, “I have something I need to tell you.”
Domenic listened to her confession of stealing the seeds and the harrowed events of that night.
Yet even before she’d admitted to lying, he’d decided he didn’t care.
None of her secrets compared to his own.
For days, it’d tortured him. He couldn’t keep down food.
He’d barely slept. And for all he reminded himself that every second had become precious, never had the details of his life felt so inconsequential.
What did it matter if he was well? If his actions were rational?
Apparently, every choice led to their demise.
“I shouldn’t have lied to you,” she finished. “And I know you didn’t tell me the Council’s suspicions because you’ve been trying to protect me. But I think they’re right. I must be Summer’s traitor. Because Kester has a theory about me, about us, and—”
“El, stop.”
“But this is important. And after I tell you, you might not—”
“I don’t care,” he said fervently. “Besides, you can’t be the traitor. It’s your turn to hear the next prophecy piece. So now that you’ve accused yourself, have you?”
Ellery’s throat bobbed, like whatever words she’d left unspoken had lodged there. “No.”
“Then it’s not you. And I don’t care that you went behind my back either. All these people here, you really believe they’re Winter magicians?”
“Yeah. I really do.”
Domenic smiled for the first time since they’d left Gallamere. “That’s amazing, El. How are you feeling right now?”
She backed away from him, stretching his cloaking enchantment tight enough to fray. “You don’t have to do this.”
His smile collapsed. “Do what?”
“Take care of me. It’s hard enough trying to keep things between us the way you wanted, but—”
“You think this is what I wanted?” He gestured at the chasm of twelve inches between them.
“Isn’t it?”
“Of course not!”
“Well, that’s not what you said when you broke up with me. So if you’re miserable, too, then why are we still doing this?”