Chapter 34
The breakup sends the expected waves through both the Abbot and Pine families.
Penny calls me three times, and when I finally ring her back, I’m relieved to find not only is she not upset, she’s grateful her best friend and brother aren’t dating anymore.
It was more stressful than it was fun, she admits. I happen to agree.
The rest of the messages aren’t as kind.
My mother emails—emails!—me to say that she’s sorry to hear about James and me and attaches the number of a highly regarded North of the Chasm couples therapist. She assures me she’s already made an initial call and filled her in.
Nora texts me to say she’s around if I want to talk, which I don’t, and I tell her as much.
James and Penny’s parents don’t reach out, and I guess that’s for the best, but it reeks of relief on their part, which doesn’t feel stellar.
But it isn’t all bad. Peter takes Reid’s new information about Kitty surprisingly well.
“I’m so relieved to have some answers,” he says, winded as he holds my kneepad for me. “And happy she’s not dead or kidnapped. That we were wrong about all that spell stuff.”
I don’t tell him that I insisted Reid still look into the garden for me. That I’m determined to make sure nobody’s touched the asphodels. He’s been through enough. “I’m still sorry, though. About…” There’s no right way to say your only remaining family abandoning you. “The way it happened.”
“It’s okay,” he admits, eyes on Sophia as she pummels Reid’s padding. “I have more people in my life now.”
My phone vibrates in my pocket right as I’m driving my leg toward Peter.
“One sec,” I tell him. He looks relieved.
When I dig it out, I’m surprised to see Fiona’s name. I wander away from the sparring pairs, my feet crunching on the pebbled floor of the coliseum.
“Hey, Fiona.” I cover the mouth of the phone so she can’t hear Sophia’s grunt of pain when Reid roundhouses her to the ground. “What’s up?”
“Hi. How are you holding up?”
For a moment, I have to rack my brain: Does she know Lisette’s essay on harpy discrimination is just a blank page with a cursor staring back at me? Does she know Dawnmere set the velvet curtains of her classroom on fire when Sophia’s potion assignment was late?
“With the breakup?” Fiona adds.
Oh god, duh. “I’m hanging in there,” I say with a sigh. I’m an asshole.
“Well, I’m here if you need anything. I know you’re working hard on your mom’s campaign, but I’m actually calling with some good news.”
“Your punches are coming in too high,” Reid tells Soph.
“Who is that?” Fiona asks.
I hurry over to the stands where Peter is catching his breath. “Uh…political advisor. When they go low, we go high or something. What’s this about good news?”
“Even with the time you’ve had to take off for your mother’s campaign, your past years of work here haven’t gone unnoticed. We’d love for you to help with the Chasm of Astera exhibit tomorrow night.”
“Holy shit.” My mom is going to freak. I slap Peter’s arm in excitement, and he gives me a But why? face. “Thank you, Fiona. I won’t let you down.”
“Eight p.m. Do not be late.”
“When have I ever been late?”
Fiona doesn’t laugh on the other line.
“Thanks again,” I say. But she’s already hung up.
“Care to share with the class?” Reid calls as Sophia limps over to her water bottle.
Students halt mid punch. I put the phone away and cross my arms. “I just got a very cool work opportunity, actually.” Some of the onlookers offer mild congratulations and head nods. “Thanks, guys.”
Reid frowns. Not the response he intended, surely. But there’s a gleam in his eyes. “Why don’t we celebrate with a rematch?”
He’s picked the wrong day for a sparring session with me.
I’m hyped up about a hundred things. A Windsor win and rare mother-impressing opportunity, solving the Kitty case, breaking up with James, looking good in a color (though I’m back in my black leggings and tank today; baby steps).
Reid won’t be fighting the same Viv he bested at the top of the school year.
I toss my phone in the stands and meet him at the center of the arena.
Some students continue their one-on-one matches.
Others take water breaks so they can watch.
I bend over and feel the pleasurable ache of a good stretch.
Stand and let my shoulders go loose. Shake my neck out to either side. “No blindfold this time?”
Reid’s grin triggers that gorgeous dimple. “Thought you deserved one less handicap. In fact”—he unstraps the padded kick shield and raises his fists—“there. Two less handicaps.”
“Generous.” I ready my stance, but he makes no move. “Any day now.”
Reid’s face shifts into a mask of fierce competition. “Always playing with fire.”
“Come on, demon boy,” I tell him. “Show me the claws.”
Unfortunately, I’m not the only one with a competitive streak. Before I can make sense of what’s happening, Reid’s crimson scales are glinting under the chilled morning light. His fingers lengthen and stretch, the inky-black enamel claws at the ends as sharp as razors.
His words flash in my mind as I take in the beastly scarlet skin. You’d look nice in red.
Students suck in breaths. Disgust. Terror. Intrigue.
Where I expect to find horror within myself, there’s only exhilaration. The thrill of the hunt sings in my aeon blood. My vision tunnels until I can see Reid’s powerful body and nothing else. My lips pull back from my teeth and I leap forward.
My fists clash against ancient scales as Reid meets me blow for blow. I sidestep his swipes, block his fists as they fly. My kicks land ineffectually against his loose track pants or the length of his back in that sweaty sleeveless shirt…
Focus, Viv.
When Reid’s claws slide past my side, I dodge right.
When they brush so close—almost affectionately—against my neck, I duck neatly.
My smile grows more triumphant on my face, and his, more lethal.
I’m better now, after a few months here.
A stronger fighter. More agile. Blending a lifetime of intuition and months of formal training.
With a hook kick, I take him down to the ground, my legs landing on either side of his torso. I nearly have my fingers around his pulsing neck, awaiting the sweet sound of him tapping out—begging me for mercy—when he flips me over him and into the ground, my arm held under his primordial hand.
He crouches atop me, snarling like a beast, and I wrench free before he can put me into a crucifix hold. My knee drives hard into his gut, and he grunts, absorbing the pain. I’m up and sailing toward him, breaths heaving, body alight with vicious, violent glee—
Until a jolt of pain sears through my upper arm. A spear of that curved nail carving through my flesh.
I tumble to the ground, knees landing hard, dust filling my mouth.
Reid curses above me. Low and hollow. Filled with shame. “Fuck, I’m sorry—”
I roll to the side, pain ripping through my bicep. “No, it’s—” Reid reaches for me, but I stand up and back away, arm clutched in my hand. “I’m fine.”
Students lean forward. Whispers swirl. Sophia stands from her seat.
“I’m fine,” I repeat to nobody. To myself. I’m fine.
“Viv—” That look on his face. I could have gone a lifetime without seeing such agonized guilt in those blue eyes.
I bolt from the arena, clutching my arm, before Reid can say another word. Before anyone can see the blood oozing through my fingers.
Not thirty minutes later a fist is pounding at the door of my dorm. Insistent. Worried. Even without the jolt that zips through my body, I know it’s Reid.
I freeze in my bra and leggings, blood dripping down my arm and pooling on the hardwood at my feet. My second attempt at stitches has only resulted in a mess of thread, gauze, and alcohol swabs littered along my desk.
The knocks pound again. “Viv.”
My heart races. The gash bleeds more quickly. But I can’t move. I egged him on. I made him hurt a student—the one thing I know he’s sworn never to do. No different from my own fears of being an aeon. Of hurting mortals. Especially those I care for.
Shame is a hot, heavy sheen along my skin. Even as he continues to pound on the door, I can’t bring myself to answer.
“I can hear you breathing in there,” Reid barks. Then quieter: “I can smell the blood…Let me in, Viv.”
But I don’t.
By ten that night, the gash is still seeping through its dressing. When I peel the flimsy white layers back, the significant divot in my skin pours rivulets of blood down my arm. I rifle through our room’s wooden first aid box and find I’ve used up all the gauze. Shit.
What I need are stitches, but the wound’s too far around my arm for me to do it myself, and I’m not going to the infirmary.
Even if the pixies could fix me quickly and painlessly with their powers…
they log every injury down there. It would mean telling the school their own combat instructor was the one who sliced me.
Sophia is at Elliot’s game, Peter has told me point-blank he can’t even hold a needle let alone stick one into someone…and I’m starting to feel dizzy—not the greatest sign. Self-preservation may actually edge out my pride. Just by a hair, though, I think.
I rewrap the wound and stalk down the hall in my rolled-over Harker sweats, first aid box in tow.
Outside, I realize it’s way too cold to have left in just a thin black baby tee, but I’m already halfway across Old Campus, and I know if I turn around now, I’m not going to have the guts to bundle up and come all the way back.
I have to capitalize on this blood loss–fueled conviction.
I rap once on the door of his cottage. When Reid doesn’t answer on the second knock, I start to worry.
What if someone found out he hurt a student and he’s been removed from campus?
What if someone learned he was looking into that hidden garden for me?
Maybe it’s paranoia taking root, but suddenly I’m knocking feverishly on the wood, so hard the lone lantern that hangs over his door rattles like it’s alive and kicking.
With no luck, I jimmy the door handle, yanking it this way and that until I hear a snap and realize I’ve broken the thing. Too late now.
Heart thumping like a rabbit, I shove my way inside.
Pools of watery moonlight paint the small space in pale streaks. The rickety table and two chairs. The simple wooden desk, bare aside from one dog-eared political memoir. A cast-aside pair of athletic shoes and the rushing sound of—
A shower.
He’s in the shower.
Oh god, Reid’s taking a shower and I’ve broken into his place like a sicko.
It’s fine, I’ll just step outside, and knock again in ten—
The water shuts off in the bathroom, and not one second later, a rush of steam billows into the chilly cottage. When it clears, there’s Reid, in nothing but a towel, shock plastered across his face.