Chapter 4
Four
Kyrith
Modern clothing is ghastly.
“Why did I never notice how chilly the Arcanaeum was before I tried out a miniskirt for the first time?” I ask the room, pausing to polish off another of the breadsticks that Eddy brought up a short while ago. “Ed lient.”
The hem drops to my ankles, and for good measure, I conjure a petticoat.
“No, no. That won’t do.” The outfit in the mirror is far too close to what I wore before. People nowadays label such things as frumpy. “Ugh. Why did I send Eddy away again?”
The Arcanaeum rustles with laughter, even as the temperature adjusts accordingly.
“Thank you,” I whisper, then startle as a familiar sequin-covered blue dress appears, hanging from the mirror in front of me. “Oh, well, that’s hardly appropriate…”
The hanger jiggles, and the light catches on the sequins. It’s the exact dress I showed Eddy, the one I saw that demon wearing all those years ago, and it’s just as beautiful as I remember.
Evidently, the Arcanaeum remembered that wistful dream, and now it’s replicated the outfit perfectly.
“Well, there’s no harm in trying it on,” I concede, slipping it from the hanger. I take a steadying breath, then broach the subject I’ve been dreading. “You were trying to help me when you kept shoving the heirs at me last term, weren’t you?”
I thought my oldest friend was betraying me, but all along it was trying to save me.
At the time, I was frustrated by how it was keeping me in the dark, but I’ve always known its ability to communicate was limited.
It’s also always been on my side when it counted, and after five hundred years, I should’ve had more faith in our friendship.
The clock hands on all four sides of the tower go limp, and the bell above chimes once mournfully.
“I should’ve trusted you.”
Another lonely peal.
“I won’t make the same mistake again.” I swallow back the lump of emotion clogging my throat. “And…I suppose you could decorate for Easter in a few months.”
Every single book in the library straightens in interest.
“Tastefully!”
I’m certain the Arcanaeum would’ve done so without my blessing, but the eager rattling of my desk drawers below assures me that it appreciates the gesture.
“And…thank you, old friend.” Surely this thickness in my throat isn’t normal? I don’t recall it being so hard to speak before. “This is a gift. I won’t waste it.”
The Arcanaeum is silent, though I can’t be sure whether to interpret it as embarrassed or ominous. Perhaps it’s simply still tired. Either way, I return my attention to my outfit.
Zippers are undoubtedly one of the better inventions of modern times, though the tiny hook and eye at the side of the dress is a struggle. Once it’s done, I take a second to look at myself in the mirror.
Honestly, I barely recognise myself, but I feel pretty. This was just supposed to be a quick try-on, but now I find myself wishing I could wear it downstairs to dinner.
“It’s too dressy,” I remind myself sternly, even as I run my hands reverently over the lines of midnight sequins.
The Arcanaeum summons a white knitted jumper and a pair of cotton canvas shoes straight onto my body. It dresses down the outfit enough that it appears festive but not overdone, and I smile, giving a small twirl.
My arms get tired after brushing my hair, so I elect to leave it down, hanging in barely there waves down to my thighs. It’s a nice change from the messy braid it’s hung in for so long, and it softens the hard lines of my face a little.
Eddy’s hair is short. Should I cut mine? Will it stand out?
There’s so much joy in dressing up for the first time in so long. It flutters in my chest, and the pages of the books around me ruffle.
“I need scraps,” I mutter, then smile when a bunch of small paper strips appear in a stack beside me.
Cosmetic runeforms are simple enough, and when I head for the wooden stairs a few minutes later, my lashes are darker, my lips are glossy, and my eyes are painted with smoky eyeshadow. It’s armour of a sort. I’ll need it to face the five men below.
After that, I have my own plans.
Eavesdropped conversations have assured me over and over that, should I find my way to a ‘nightclub,’ as a woman, I won’t struggle to ‘pull.’ A prickle of guilt lodges in the back of my throat at the idea, but I shush it sternly.
It’s easier to focus on the novelty of having sensations, rather than the discomfort that arises at the idea of taking a stranger to my bed.
Only an idiot would get hung up on the men downstairs, after all.
With any luck, a ‘one-night stand’ will purge my head of whatever foolish attachments I’ve formed.
Messing with parriarchs and their heirs is a bad idea.
Inepts are safe. Hopefully, I’ll have crossed off two of my three bucket list items by tomorrow morning.
Then I can return and resume my duties as Librarian.
I might even consider closing on Sundays if it goes well.
Now that I’m alive, I may even take a holiday.
I don’t make it more than a few steps down before I trip over an obstacle.
A pair of tempest eyes rises to meet mine, a larger-than-life body unfolding from where he was sitting midway down the stairwell.
“Hey.” One single word, thick with some subtext I can’t name.
It’s not often I’m rendered speechless, but Lambert Winthrop has certainly never looked this terrible in his life.
His shoulder-length blond locks are messy, and the shadows haunting his face aren’t solely the result of his three-day-old stubble.
He’s still wearing his magiball uniform, for magic’s sake.
“Mr Winthrop,” I murmur, softening the words. “I trust you have a good reason for dilly-dallying on my private staircase?”
“Yeah… Erm… Well…” He huffs out a breath, offering me a tiny smile. “North said you were awake, then the others said you wanted to be alone, and I figured…” He bites his lip, takes a step down, then hesitates. “Should I go?”
Even like this, he still looms over me, and I worsen the height difference by descending to the stair above him. “No. I’m glad I caught you.”
His eyes meet mine, so much brighter than they were a second ago, and I tug the sleeves of the jumper down my arms a little.
“I’m sorry,” we both blurt at the same time.
Wait… What?
“I never realised hugging you would hurt you,” he quickly explains. “I would never have kissed you if I’d known what would happen. I can’t believe I enjoyed it while you were in pain. It makes me sick that I was so happy while you were literally dying.”
“No, Lambert.” I inject every bit of steel I possess into my tone, and his head snaps up, pupils widening slightly.
“You are not allowed to feel bad about my decision. I kissed you. I used you, cruelly, without thinking about how it would affect you. I’m so sorry, and if I could go back and stop myself—”
“Don’t say that,” he says. “You’re alive. You get to do all the things you wanted to do. I’m not mad. Hurt? Yeah…” He pauses, swamped in thought for a second.
I bite my tongue, forcing myself to wait for him to find the words.
“I wish that you hadn’t used me to do it,” he says. “And I hate that I caused you pain, even if it wasn’t intentional. I know you needed to do it to get your body back, but I could’ve used some warning.”
“You do realise, I had no idea that I would live, right?” I say slowly. “I thought…”
“I know. I get it.” He pauses again. “Being a ghost really sucked, huh?”
He has a gift for understatement.
Swallowing, I nod. “You made it bearable, but it also brought into focus just how much I was missing. I was bitter and resentful and—”
All of my explanations are cut off with a tiny ‘oof’ as Lambert Winthrop drags me into a bone-crushing hug that leaves perilously little room in my body for oxygen.
He says nothing, merely buries his head in my neck and breathes in deeply.
My hands hover awkwardly by my sides, but after a few long moments, I return the gesture, patting his broad back softly.
He is warm, after all. And there’s no danger anymore. I owe him one hug, at least.
So what if I’m soaking the contact up like rain after a drought? That’s a perfectly rational response after several lifetimes of deprivation. However…he doesn’t seem to have any intention of releasing me.
“Better?” I ask after a ludicrous amount of time has passed.
He tightens his hold, and I’m struck by the disturbing thought that this may be a conspiracy to hug me forever.
“Lambert,” I caution. “I can still banish you.”
The threat is completely empty, but familiar enough that he snorts.
“I’m okay, boss lady,” he promises, words tickling my ear. “But I don’t wanna stop hugging you just yet. I’ve waited a long time to do this.”
A tiny part of me—a truly tiny part—melts into a puddle.
“Yes, well. I—”
“Can I kiss you? Properly this time? I want to replace that memory with a good one.”
My heart leaps even as my spine stiffens reflexively. “That isn’t a good idea.”
The tension, which had just started to leave his body, returns with a vengeance as his expression settles into one of obstinate disbelief.
“Why not?”
For too many reasons to name. My annoyingly active heart thuds a little harder in my chest as I force my way out of his embrace.
“There’s no need to complicate things.” I take a deep breath, shaking my head to clear it. “I enjoyed what we shared,” I say, trying to soften the blow. “But I also enjoyed what I did with Jasper.”
We never mentioned anything about exclusivity or agreed to anything more than that one flirtatious moment in the shower, yet I still brace for his reaction.
Lambert merely shrugs. “He loves you too. That’s okay. I get it.”
Love? Who said anything about love? I’m probably reading too far into that one little word. He doesn’t mean it like that, surely?
Oh, what was I thinking? This is Lambert. He’s a master of casual sex. Of course, he doesn’t expect fidelity when he would never give it in return.
I shake my head. “The point is, we never discussed it being anything more than that one incident. It was a selfish decision on my part. I would never have done it if I thought—”
“That it could lead somewhere? That we might want you?”
“Oh, Lambert.” I sigh, deflating. “You don’t want me.
You’re young, and magic knows, you’ve gone through enough women over the last few months that what we did can’t have been anything special.
You need to get out there and continue enjoying your life.
” Forcing some resolve into my words, I straighten.
“And I need to do the same, without drawing the Arcanaeum’s impartiality into question. ”
Beyond the novelty of seeing a naked ghost, I’m sure our entire encounter was more meaningful to me than it was to him. Patiently, I wait for him to agree, only to swallow as I take in the determined set of his jaw.
“Enjoying life?” Of course, Lambert hasn’t paid attention to half of what I said.
“You have your magiball and your studies, and I have my own concerns.”
“That’s not what you’re talking about. You think I’ve been fucking other girls.”
Magic. My heart falls even further. “In the last month alone, you’ve entered and left the Arcanaeum with at least a dozen different ladies.”
“Yeah, but I didn’t fuck any of them.”
My fingers twitch, and his library card flashes into being before us. “Lying to the Librarian is against the rules.”
“I’m not lying.” He shifts so we’re on the same step, towering over me, but I refuse to step away. “When do you think I’ve had the time? I’ve been in tutoring with you, or practising magiball, or stuck in lectures listening to the professors drone on.”
His card dissipates as he steps closer, crowding me. “Boss, I swear, I haven’t fucked another woman in months.”
Our breaths mingle. My heart flutters. Stars, I think I’m even leaning into his warmth, just a little.
No. I can’t do this. This is the future parriarch of House Winthrop.
“The point remains. I used you horribly—”
“Yeah, you did.” His smile returns, soft and a little cocky. “But I’ll let you kiss it better.”
“You deserve a proper apology.” I force as much finality into my tone as I can, dodging under the arm that tries to cage me against the beam at my back.
“I’m not sure what I can do to make up for ruining your win the other night, but I’ll do my best. Until then, you should shower and find some clean clothes and then come and eat with us. ”
His stare burns into me as I flee down the stairs, the heavy, even creak of his footsteps following a half-second behind.
Fortunately, the most heavenly scent in the world reaches my nostrils a second later, cutting off the demented little part of my brain urging me to turn around and kiss him until he’s breathless and begging for more.
“Is that…?” I ask, freezing in place.
His breath whispers against the back of my neck, a smile in his voice as he answers, “Smells like cheese and pepperoni to me, boss.”