2. Ambrose
Chapter 2
Ambrose
FRIDAY
B lack hair and hazel eyes teased me as I inhaled deeply on my pipe. The smoke and slow lull of opium crawled into my veins, its familiar warmth filling me like a wicked lover’s embrace.
Isla Hallowes.
She was trouble with a capital T.
The way she had called out to me, daring me to come out and confront her. Even when I said her name, hoping to get some kind of reaction from her, there was no true fear. Sure, there were nerves, which were understandable, but fear… That was absent. If I was being honest with myself, I wasn’t sure if I liked it.
Did she not recognize that I was high fae? Or maybe she just didn’t care? An intriguing yet irksome thought all the same.
Try as I might to relax, my mind kept wandering back to the witch I had met this evening. Absently, I brushed my hand along the edge of my coat that she had complimented.
A slamming door made me sigh in frustration and annoyance, giving up on my drug-induced escape for a while longer. There is no damn privacy on this campus. In walked the President of Greywood Conservatory, his long beaked nose followed by his lean, willowy frame in a cheap suit. Really, the man should just stick to his necromancer robes. They fit him better.
“Did you give the witch the invitation, Ambrose?”
Hot rage warmed my blood at his cool tone. I focused on him as I took another deep inhale from my pipe. I remained sprawled across the deep ruby-colored chaise, purposefully looking him up and down with an unimpressed glance.
“Yes,” I answered a minute or so later. Smoke swirling between us, a lingering reminder that I would not snap to attention under his mere presence. “Isla took the envelope and brought it inside to her mothers as soon as she thought I was gone.”
“Did you stay to ensure she accepted?”
“That would be in violation of your own rules, President,” I reminded him evenly, my eyes narrowing as he bristled. “I might work for you at the moment, President Thatcher, but do not forget to whom you speak.”
The dim lights of the room flickered, going out one by one until the only light in the room was from my pipe and the red and gold in my eyes. The necromancer looked surprised by the power display but not afraid. What an annoying theme of today.
A condescending laugh fell from his lips as he sneered at me. “Already protective of the girl, Ambrose? Let me remind you that she will be a student here.”
“She is a grown adult, and given the plants she was tending in her small private garden, I do not think I have to worry about protecting her. We should instead worry about protecting others from her.”
Just as Thatcher opened his mouth to reply, a golden ball of light floated through the walls. It hovered near him until he cupped it in his hand, then a dark green plant grew in its sphere. A half smile curled his thin lips as he closed his hands around the glow.
“She accepted.”
“Delightful.”
“It will be.” He shot me a hard stare as I let the lights go back to their original dimmed setting. “At least I know you can do one job correctly despite indulging your… vices.”
Thatcher hated the smell of opium, always had. Maybe that was why I’d loved it so much as a student here and even more so now as a professor. I merely inhaled deeply again, letting that response speak for itself.
He huffed in disgust, leaving just as loudly as he’d arrived. The pictures on the walls rattled when he slammed the door shut, and the mocking smile on my lips immediately fell.
That man was a nuisance and a pain in my ass. His position as the president of this school was the only reason I put up with how he spoke to me, at least for now.
He hated me when I first arrived here, but due to my contract at Greywood, I knew I’d be here long after he was gone.
Maybe if I had known the conditions of the offer, I would have refused… or that was what I’d like to think.
The fae were long lived enough that my position at Greywood would be a mere blip in my existence. This place would fall to ash and dust before long, meaning I’d be returning to the courts eventually. Oh, the hell that would erupt if I ever stepped back into the fae realm...
Or the damnable silence.
Shit, even the idea of going back to that blasted place made me itch for something stronger than my preferred opium. Luckily, that wasn’t an issue I would have to deal with anytime soon.
Numbness and a floating feeling started to take over my body, so I laid my pipe down on a nearby side table. Lying back on the rich red chaise, I closed my eyes, determined to luxuriate in the short-lived euphoria.
The curse of being fae meant that every drug I tried didn’t last for long. Addiction to the drug itself never developed, but I was addicted to the feeling, or lack thereof, that I got when I smoked, shot up, or drank. When it came to using, I didn’t care about how I did it or what I took as long as it worked.
Try as I might, that dissociation didn’t take hold of me this time. The sweetness of the opium hung in the air, and I lied there, wishing that my swirling thoughts would fade away.
Instead, all I could picture was that beautiful witch singing lullabies to her thorn apple. Her haunted voice bewitched my mind, chasing away any drop of that sweet oblivion I so desperately needed.
Damn this witch. One meeting, and she was taunting me.
I need something stronger.
As her voice weaved through my bones, I knew that nothing I had here would be enough to chase her from my thoughts. Never had I been so consumed by someone.
Ever.
The fact that just a few minutes in her presence was enough to make my favorite pastime lose its edge… It made me angry. I didn’t want my curiosity spiked by some random witch. I had too much that I wanted to escape from for her to make me feel present and alive. Hopefully time would make Isla lose her shiny new appeal.
And if all else failed, she would be here at Greywood soon. I’d lose myself in her, and maybe that would let me get my solace back. If not, then I’d consume her, burn her from the inside out until I was covered in blood and her screams echoed in my ears.
There were so many ways to chase my demons, and I’d do whatever worked. The Unseelie blood in me had much sharper appetites than Thatcher had any inkling of. This young witch, Isla, called to the darkness inside, beckoning that part of me to the surface to come play.
Part of me just wanted to light another pipe and smoke my stash until I passed out, but on the other hand… the only thing I wanted was Isla Hallowes screaming my name as I came, covered in her blood.
I was fucking starving, and with just one meeting I had a whole new obsession.
A witchling to die for… or one to kill.