Chapter 35. Eloise
Eloise
I stare out the window at the dark sky. The town glows with amber- colored lights and the University in the distance looks like something out of a fairy tale. Without realizing it, I start humming—a happy melody my gran sometimes sings. But with the thought of her comes heartache.
I look down at the poetry book I was about to start.
I seem to have opened it without realizing.
For a bright second, I get strangely hopeful, like maybe my magic is helping me.
But the poem in my lap is entitled “The Cobbler” and it’s about a boy sitting on the floor playing with leather scraps while his dad made shoes.
I can’t see how that possibly relates to the Key.
I sigh at the book. “I need more than this,” I say out loud. “I need you to give me something concrete.”
Which is the exact moment something drops, and I jump. But it’s just a book Grayson had precariously stacked on the table that tumbled to the floor.
I scoop it up and flip to the beginning, and the dedication catches my attention:
For the cobblers who came before and for those who come after. And for the day we break this cycle and surpass not only our family lineages, but our own narrow minds.
Again, with the cobblers. I chew on the inside of my cheek, trying to make sense of it. But no matter how I analyze it, I don’t see the connection. What am I missing?
I’m reading both passages for the fourth time when Grayson strides in like someone lit a fire under him. His hair is wet and it’s dripping on his shirt. He starts to speak but I cut him off.
“Do you think there’s any possibility that Conri Brachan was part of a cobbler family?” I ask him.
“Unlikely,” he says. “Back then, Laboring families didn’t really become Mages. And historically only Mages have called the Key, at least from what I’ve read.”
Back then? I’d argue it’s the same now. “It’s just that I came across two books that mention cobblers. Once in a poem and once in a dedication,” I say, but he seems a little on edge or possibly distracted?
“Uh, maybe? I don’t know, but I think we should get ready to go before Maggie puts a hit on me,” he says.
I smile and put the book down, promising myself I’ll think more on it later. “I’m ready.”
He lifts an eyebrow. “The party’s off campus. No uniforms necessary.”
“I didn’t bring anything else,” I say, disappointed at my own oversight, but he’s already crossing the library and I have to hurry to catch up.
“I have you covered, Claws,” he says over his shoulder.
“I hate to break it to you, Grayson.” I follow him up the grand staircase. “But I don’t think we wear the same size.”
He gives me a cheeky smile and opens the door to a walk-in closet the likes of which I’ve never seen. First of all, it has an entire seating area with a chaise lounge and a coffee table. Imagine lounging in a closet. My bedroom isn’t this big.
There are a hundred shoes in little glass cases. Piles of sweaters. Hangers filled with shirts, dresses, and pants in every color. It takes me a moment to realize that none of them look finished. The blouses have no buttons, the hems are loose, and the shoes are missing closures.
“It’s a starter closet that my whole family shares—me, my uncle, my mom, and sometimes my cousin, Aurora,” Grayson explains, gesturing toward a section that looks like it belongs to a twenty-something.
“All the designs are most of the way crafted, making it easy to complete them magically to fit the wearer.”
Stunned is an understatement. “What the actual shit, Grayson? This is basically a shop, an entire magical boutique in your house.”
He laughs. “Did you just curse, Claws?”
“I’m flustered,” I say with a huff. “This is just … I don’t know what this is.”
He smiles. “Pick out whatever you want and I’ll be in my room; just yell when you need me.”
“Are you sure?” I ask. “Like, really, actually sure?”
“Consider it a peace offering,” he says. “Since you have to suffer through fake dating me.”
Then he walks out of the door and closes it behind him like this were just another day instead of the most exciting thing that’s happened to me in years.
I immediately start flipping through Aurora’s section of hanging skirts, landing on a short maroon one.
I pull it off the hanger, but as I do there’s a knock on the door and I jump.
“Sorry, Miss,” a girl in a maid’s uniform says when she sees my startled expression.
She’s got gorgeous high cheekbones with warm brown skin, silky black hair twirled in a high bun, and startling, light green eyes.
I’d guess she’s only a few years older than me.
“Grayson told me you were in here and that you might need help with some of the spells?”
“Oh,” I say with a relieved breath. “Yeah, actually, I’d love your help if it’s not too much trouble?”
In no time, we pick out a pretty silk shirt and black shiny flats.
When I have it all on, she looks me over and says, “I can improve this. I’ll change the neckline of the shirt to slip off your shoulders a bit.” She runs her fingers along the fabric, weaving a spell. “Yes, better. And let’s make the sleeves shorter. Now for that skirt—”
“Wait,” I interrupt, touching her wrist and accidentally startling her. I pull my hand back. “Sorry, I just don’t want you to exhaust your magic,” I say a little sheepishly.
She looks confused and I scramble to explain myself.
“I mean, I don’t know what other magical work you need to do today and I don’t want you to exhaust yourself on my outfit.”
For a split second she’s silent, looking at me questioningly. “Are you from a Laboring family?” she asks.
“I am,” I say. “My gran and mom are housekeepers. I know the toll of working long hours for Mage families that don’t care what your magical limits are. And I’d just hate to think I was the reason you had a hard day.”
She smiles at me so genuinely that I nearly tear up and I don’t know why. Maybe she reminds me a little bit of my family.
“I can see why he likes you,” she says, and now I’m the one who startles.
“Believe me, Grayson does not like me,” I say, flustered.
“You sure about that? Because I’m willing to wager you’re wrong,” she says. “Now back to that skirt.” She twirls me so I face the mirror and stands behind me. “It’s a perfect color, but…” She flicks her wrist and the skirt loses inches and conforms to my body like a glove.
I’m not tall, but my legs look miles long. “Wow, okay, you’re incredible.”
“Don’t I know it,” she says, and I laugh. She runs her fingers along the back edge of the skirt hem. “Just a few loose threads.” She says a spell under her breath, and the fabric glows, giving off a light static charge.
She steps back, putting her hands on her hips. “And you’re finished.”
“Seriously, thank you—” I say as she heads for the door. “Also, I didn’t get your name?”
She smiles and I swear she’s one of the prettiest people I’ve ever seen. “Sage.”
Sage exits the room, closing the door behind her, and leaving me alone in front of the floor-length mirror. I unbraid my hair, shaking out my brown waves that fall to my waistline.
Which is when there’s another knock.
“Come in,” I say, and Grayson opens the door.
His hair is mostly dry, hanging in waves around his face. His black T-shirt shows off his tanned arms in a way that’s hard not to notice. His dark jeans ride low on his hips and his shiny boots scream luxury. When my eyes meet his, the heat of his gaze makes me blush all the way to my toes.
“Do you need help with—” He stops, looking at me with wide eyes. He swallows. “Oh,” is all he says.
“Is that a good oh or a bad one?” I ask.
“Definitely good,” he says hurriedly, and for the first time ever Grayson looks flustered. Now I’m wondering if Sage was right. But she couldn’t be, could she?