CHAPTER TWENTY
There’s a certain kind of deep, fulfilling sleep I’ve often admired in other people. They wake refreshed and energized, with a smile on their face. Not like me, typically waking bleary-eyed and zombified like I’ve spent the night on spin cycle.
But this sleep I’m waking from now?
Pure.
Blissful.
Perfection.
It’s a familiar scent that pries my eyes open. It’s his scent—sandalwood and spice, and something I can never place. I turn my head left, searching for his massive frame only to be met with disappointment.
The Professor’s not there—only an impression of his body on the sheets.
I notice the edge of a black envelope sticking out from under the pillow. I reach for it and open it, wondering what prompted a letter of all things, but he does seem so wonderfully archaic at times.
“My pet,
Urgent matters require my attention.
You are welcome to stay and gather your strength.
Yours,
D.D.”
“Sweet,” I mutter under my breath, setting the letter down on the bed. I stretch my arms out to the side, smiling to myself. Truth be told, I’m not used to such tenderness from Damien, even if they are only words.
Regardless, I’m going to enjoy this while it lasts, and yes, I think I will stay in bed, thank you very much.
I rest for another half hour or so, eventually rising and lightly padding around the immediate area quite naked.
The fireplace is running, the air warmer than usual.
I spot my coat over a chair in the corner. No idea how it got there, but it’s nice to know another nudie run won’t be required.
There’s a light ache in my bones, but a far deeper pain in my muscles that make home gym sessions or jogging along Brooklyn pier seem like a piece of cake. This fatigue? It’s much more encompassing.
I move from the bedchamber into what I imagine is a living room of sorts. There are the deep purple curtains I’ve come to know, black couches, the infamous armchair and dining table. Even the furniture seems sexualized here.
I’ve never been alone in his chambers until now, deciding to take advantage of the situation with a bit of light snooping.
I wrap my arms around myself and move to a dresser across from the couch. There are framed pictures on top with ornate, antiquated frames. I examine them one by one.
In the first, Damien is all alone, posing in front of a lake with his arms extended. A snowy mountain is in the backdrop, its peak piercing through the clouds.
In the second picture, he’s got a man and a woman on his flanks. All three of them are smiling, wearing snowcaps and thick winter jackets. It’s the kind of perfectly fine picture you’d find filling any generic picture frame.
The third frame contains a picture of the exact same people. They’re now in T-shirts, some sort of waterway behind them that looks European. Venice, perhaps?
I pick up the frame, the picture slipping out. I notice there’s something written on the back of it in the Professor’s handwriting.
“3-17-2012. On the hunt for Mortis.”
Mortis?
Shit.
So he is real. Damien knows, his friends here know, are actively ‘hunting’ him in these photos.
Or it could be a lark, I consider. An inside joke.
They do look more like holiday snaps than a group of wizards looking to take down a dark sorcerer. I squint looking closer, his friends too familiar, but I can’t place them.
I slide the picture back into the frame with a sigh, my relaxed state of mind ruined, because what now? Do I keep this information to myself, or do I share it with Lily, Ava, and Leo? Not that it means anything.
Staying quiet might be the best course of action. If Darkwood was threatened or challenged with this information, if he perceived anyone as a threat, I have no doubt he’d destroy them—students or not.
But then, telling the others would convince them to investigate the relationship between Darkwood and Victor Mortis. It’s clear they’re not the same person, but Damien surely has insight into the matter. There’s a connection between them, of that I’m sure.
It’s clear the Professor is hiding things from me, as he has every right to, but this is not about him. This is about discovering the true identity of the murderer, and maybe worse.
I grab my coat and leave, hoping to make a quick and quiet exit while it’s still early.
In a small mirror on the wall I see the small cut on my neck where Damien pressed a knife to it.
Dangerous, I repeat to myself.
So why am I wet thinking about it?
Snap out of it, you horny little bitch, my brain scolds me. We’ve got more important matters to attend to than your sexual satisfaction.
I head out from Darkwood’s quarters, a painful strain in my thigh muscles that wasn’t there yesterday.
I find Lily in the hall outside her room, chatting with Ava.
“Good—you’re both here,” I tell them, keeping my voice down. “We need to talk.”
Lily looks me over. “About your fashion sense?
The pea coat. Shit. “Yeah, long story.”
Lily nods. “Long story, huh? We talking how many inches long now?”
I ignore that. “Can we go inside? Please, it’s important.”
“Okay,” Lily nods and gestures me forward. She takes her key out of her pocket and unlocks the door to her quarters, while I sense Ava’s stare burning a hole through me.
“You’re torn,” she presumes, eyeing me off. “This is important.”
I follow Lily in, giving Ava a polite smile. I don’t want to point out the obvious. I’m not trying to hide anything from them.
“Ava,” I start, my hand on the pane of the door to push it closed. “What else do you know about Victor Mortis?”
“Not much,” she says, a flicker of disappointment in her tone. “Conquer inais, black arts, umbral shit…the usual. My grandparents talked about him like he was the boogeyman. Could well be. Fictional, that is. Why do you ask?”
I pull the coat tighter around myself. The last thing I want is to flash my friends. “Because I found a reference to him in Darkwood’s chambers,” I explain, embarrassment beginning to bloom over my face.
“You…”
“Yeah,” I interrupt Lily before she has a chance to finish her sentence. “Let’s skip the part where you act all shocked about me and the good Professor, okay? I’m a dirty little ho, yeah, yeah, yeah, but I found an old picture of him with a man and a woman. There was a something written on the back of it, saying they were hunting Mortis.”
There’s a knock on the door.
Lily puts a finger up. “Hold that thought.”
She pulls the door open and Leo walks in. “So Darkwood knows who this Victor Mortis is, huh?”
Lily throws her hands up. “Fuck me, are the doors around here made out of paper?”
I shrug my shoulders, addressing Leo. “Your guess is as good as mine, but there does seem like some kind of connection there. That’s all provided this Mortis character is even alive.”
“Look,” Ava interjects, her hand slashing through the air. “I think Mortis, or whoever this murderer is, is very much alive. You probably don’t know this, but Stephanie Tyler and Dale Donovan were highly skilled in their respective magical disciplines. Stephanie was phenomenal at divination and scrying, whereas Dale was a powerful elemental. If you ask me, Mortis, murderer, whatever is eliminating anyone who’s too powerful or who could challenge them. And something tells me we’re next.”
Lily gives a laugh. “I’m safe then. You’ve seen my grades.”
I eye the others first, before shifting my gaze back to Ava. “Wait, wait, you’ve got evidence of this?”
“Evidence? No,” Ava replies, confidence still high in her tone. “Just my grandparents told me. According to them, a practitioner reaches the peak of their powers in time. If someone wants that particular practitioner dead, they take them out early. Look around you, people. What is Lumina fucking full of?”
It's like the air has been sucked right out of the room. Leo is staring at Ava, while Lily gnaws at her bottom lip, at a total loss for words. I try to process this, offering her a short, simple answer.
“Young witches and wizards.”
“Exactly,” Ava gives an emphatic nod. “And two of the most promising prospects have already turned up dead in a matter of, what? Days? This means our so-called ‘Mortis’ is keeping an eye on things here. Maybe that’s all Lumina is—somewhere to assess potential threats and eliminate them before they get too powerful.”
“Kind of dark,” says Leo, “though it does make sense in a fucked-up way.”
I bring my fingers to my temple to think. My coat begins to split open, about to give everyone a nice eyeful of vagina before I bring my hands back and tug it closed.
“Okay, screw what we were thinking before, traps and all that,” I tell everyone, urgency speeding up my tone. “We train. We work our respective disciplines so we’re powerful enough to take out this fucker when the time comes. Mortis or not, offense is the best defense, right?”
“Not what I think George Washington had in mind when he said that, but I’m on board,” Lily agrees, breaking her silence. “We have to be ready for anything, stay vigilant and shit.”
“Well said,” Leo nods in appreciation, holding out his hand, fist clenched. “We stand together. Whoever the fuck this guy is, we give him hell—united.”
“Strength in numbers,” Ava goes on, awkwardly extending her own fist. “If one of us is in danger…”
“We notify each other,” I finish.
“How?” Leo asks.
“There’s a spell for telepathy,” says Ava, “Mumur mentis. My mother taught me.”
“I don’t know if I want you in my head,” laughs Leo.
“You and me both,” replies Ava, a look of disgust on her face.
“For emergencies only,” I tell the group, extending my own fist into the middle.
Lily nods, bringing her fist in. “It’s settled then. We learn Ava’s spell, menstrual murmur or whatever, and we train, and we fuck this shit up.”
“Hear, hear,” nods Leo.
We fist-bump, which is totally, completely cheesy in a poor-Avengers kind of way, but fuck me sideways if it doesn’t feel good to be part of something for once.