Chapter 16. Grayson
Grayson
I follow Eloise through the Illusion dorms where she asks anyone and everyone who’ll listen if they’ve seen Maggie. And with each additional “no” the scents of her worry and guilt get stronger.
When there’s no one left to ask, and the sconces dim in warning of curfew, her eyes drift to the ceiling and she drags her teeth over her bottom lip. Then without a word she turns and marches back toward our room.
“Don’t you dare say anything,” she warns.
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” I reply, which is only partially true.
“Yeah, well, I can see it in that smirk of yours—that you know you were right,” she says on an exhale.
“That doesn’t mean I want to be,” I say, and she shoots me a doubtful look.
“Look, I’m the first to admit that I’m a dick.
But what you did was … admirable in a way.
” Her eyebrows shoot up in surprise. What I don’t say is that my brother would have done the same and that recognition is making me do stupid things, like carry around a plate of chocolate cake for an hour.
But because I’m me, I add, “Admirable and also unhelpful that you used up all our time before curfew.”
Right on cue, her scowl returns. “Wow. For a second there I was starting to think you were human. My mistake,” she says as she walks into our suite.
“So, what—you think I’m superhuman? You wouldn’t be the first,” I reply. Maybe I know she needs a distraction or maybe I just really am a dick. Tough call.
I put down the slice of cake on our coffee table, and she frowns at it like it’s further proof she has no idea what to make of me. Same, I want to say.
“Let’s just do this spell,” she says.
“No argument here.”
She shakes out her slender hands and rolls her neck, and the moment she starts casting, she hums. It’s a sad song, like her worry over Maggie is seeping through her magic. But it’s not only sadness I scent, it’s resolve—determination.
She pulls a box from the floor like she did for her exam, but when she’s finished there’s no sign of the Key.
“Again,” she says before I can comment.
She casts her spell over and over, throwing the failed boxes in the fireplace.
“The song isn’t the same,” I say. “It’s not how you sang it in the auditorium.”
“You keep saying that,” she replies. “But it’s not a planned thing. There aren’t specific words or melodies. My tune just follows a … feeling. It follows the magic.”
I consider her. “More anger might help,” I suggest, leaning back on the couch.
“Believe me, I’m frustrated beyond belief,” she replies.
“You could try adding embarrassment,” I say, and she narrows those big eyes at me. “You told my uncle you were both angry and embarrassed when you called the Key.”
She presses her heart-shaped lips together.
“You could think about Naomi,” I offer, and her look turns hostile. I give her a wink for extra motivation.
Without answering, she casts again, and this time her spell feels different—more hurricane than fresh breeze. I sit up, momentarily hopeful, but there’s no Key. There is, however, a coffin-shaped box with a pop-up middle finger pointed in my direction.
I smirk.
So, we go again.
She casts until her breath quickens and her fingers shake, until she’s wiping the back of her hand on her forehead.
“I can tamp down the heat from the fireplace if you’re too hot,” I offer.
She chugs water. “The fireplace reminds me of home. I need that right now.”
I lift my eyebrow like a question.
“My gran keeps a fire lit all year round, okay?” she says in a huff.
She’s overworking her magic and it’s not yielding results, but if I say that she’ll probably just give me the finger and cast again. So instead, I push the plate of cake toward her. “Why all year?”
She eyes me with suspicion and I can tell she wants to refuse on principle. But I give her my most innocent smile and she relents, plopping into the armchair and scooping up the cake.
“Gran lights it for warmth in the winter, and then outside in our stone firepit during the summer. My little sister loves to roast marshmallows.” It’s a simple explanation, but I can hear in her voice how much her family means to her and for a spark of a second, I envy her for that.
“What’s your sister’s name?” I find myself asking before I can consider it.
“Delilah,” she says with a small smile, but I’m not prepared when she follows up with: “Do you have any siblings?”
“I don’t,” I say, hesitating. But that answer feels wrong, cheap. So I add, “Not anymore.” And then immediately regret it. I never talk about Liam. With anyone.
Her large eyes get even bigger and she puts down her cake. “I’m sorry,” she says quietly, and it takes all I have not to flinch. “I can’t imagine how hard it would be to lose a sibling.”
“It is what it is,” I say without meeting her eyes, wondering why I brought it up in the first place.
Eloise
The way Grayson looks down at his hands and his shoulders slump breaks my heart. I know in my gut that relationship must have meant a great deal to him. “What was your—”
But that’s where the conversation ends. “There’s a different quality to your spells when your emotions shift,” he says, completely changing the topic. “After watching you cast, I’m thinking there’s some connection between your emotions and how you called the Key.”
“Maybe,” I concede. “I’m not saying you’re wrong, but it can’t be that everyone who ever called the Archive Key was angry or embarrassed. That just doesn’t make sense.”
“Fair point,” he agrees. “The Key could react to a basic need, though. What was it that you needed when you called it?”
I pause, swallowing the last bite of cake, which he carried all over this school for me—yet another nice act I don’t know what to make of. “I just wanted to survive. I heard what people were saying in the crowd. And all I could think was that I didn’t want to die on that stage.”
“Makes sense. So then, what are you scared of?” he asks.
“Why don’t I like the sound of that question?” I reply, but my tone doesn’t have the sharp edge it did an hour ago.
He smiles. “Humor me and think of a fear you have, like spiders or ghosts—something we can spellwork to help you re-create your need to survive.”
I scrunch up my nose, wanting to find fault in his logic and failing. “That’s actually not the worst idea. Don’t get me wrong, it sounds like it sucks and like I’ll want to murder you after. But re-creating that instinct in this cozy living room isn’t working.”
His eyebrows raise like he’s surprised by my willingness. Spoiler—I am, too.
“What do you suggest, then?” he asks, and it’s genuinely nice to be asked.
“Well, I’m not scared of bugs or snakes or of things I know are illusions. I was scared of those dogs your uncle made, but I’m guessing you don’t know how to craft an illusion that actually bites?”
He shakes his head.
“Then we’ll need to make it something real,” I continue, thinking it through. “And, I can’t believe I’m saying this, but the element of surprise might help.”
His lips pull up slightly. “Define surprise.”
I hesitate, looking down at my plate. Grayson jumped in front of a dog for me. And he saved my sister from being interrogated. That meant something. While I’m pretty sure he’s the most frustrating person on the planet, I also don’t think he’d actually hurt me. He needs me as badly as I need him.
I sigh. “I guess what I’m saying is … surprise me.”
“You trust me that much?” he asks, looking startled.
“It seems so,” I say, wondering how much I’m going to regret this. And because I can’t help it, I add, “Even though you clearly don’t trust me.”
“I don’t trust anyone,” he says, which, if it’s true, is really sad.
“But you distrust me so much that you won’t let me out of your sight for two seconds,” I say to qualify.
“I’d do the exact same to anyone I was in this position with.”
“You called me Lawless,” I reply, because it doesn’t get much worse than that.
He exhales, his brow furrowing like he’s having a debate with himself. After a long pause he says, “I don’t think you’re Lawless.”
And I don’t think I believe him. “You said—”
“I know what I said, but that’s not what I meant,” he says like he’s annoyed with both of us.
Hmmm. Maybe he is telling the truth. “Good,” I say.
“Good,” he replies, and we’re both silent for a beat.
“Okay, let’s do this thing,” I say, working up my nerve.
He shakes his head. “Tomorrow.”
My jaw sets. “My life is on the line.”
“As is mine. But you need to recharge your magic,” he counters.
Now I’m frustrated. “Just because I didn’t come from a fancy Mage family doesn’t mean I can’t keep up.”
“You’re spent. Anyone would be,” he says bluntly.
“You took the biggest exam of your life. Survived my uncle’s dogs and then flew through the night to another country.
Not to mention we’ve spent the last three hours straight re-creating your spell.
If you weren’t exhausted, I’d be the one calling you superhuman. ”
Now I’m the one who’s surprised. Because I have no idea what to make of that. He’s kind and then he’s horrible. He’s thoughtful and then he’s rude.
When I don’t reply, he grabs his water from the coffee table and heads toward his bedroom. “Good night, Eloise Belrose,” he says over his shoulder.
“Good night, Grayson Stone,” I reply, and for the first time there’s not a hint of annoyance in it.