55. Chapter Fifty-Five
Chapter Fifty-Five
Augustus
The Newton continues to lead me through the halls long after Astrid and Effie have been dropped off in their quarters. My underling guide takes me deeper into the tunnels as we move higher into the peak. A familiar black door comes into view, and the Newton stops in front of it, looking up at Augustus as if to say, “This is your stop, bud.” I raise my fist, knocking three times. After a few seconds the door opens revealing an old woman hunched over and using a cane. Her pointed ears poke out from the sides of her graying hair. Windows line the far wall looking out over the mountain range around us and allowing the moon to peek in and wash the room in a pale light. Books on magic and runes litter the floor in front of an over filled bookshelf. There’s a small kitchenette where I can hear a kettle whistling brightly.
“Gus, it’s good to see you,” her voice grates, stepping aside to welcome me in. This room hasn’t changed a bit.
“It’s Augustus,” I correct as I step over the threshold. I hate the nickname; it brings the image of me as a child into my mind. I want to be menacing, not the child who had to fight to get rid of his baby fat. The Crone motions to the two armchairs in the middle of her sitting room. I pick one and sink into the over plush cushion. Two Newtons glowing with a pink hue waddle over with trays strapped to their backs covered in a tea set. The elder pours herself a cup of tea, dropping two sugar cubes in the dark liquid. I pour my own, mimicking her actions until I refuse the sugar, and turn toward the old fae.
“I felt her, before you entered the city. I could feel her aura.” The Crone absently stirs her tea, the spoon clinking against the sides of the cup as she loses herself in her own thoughts. “It seems muffled somehow,” she says furrowing her brow.
“She’s definitely an interesting human,” I agree, taking a sip of the floral tea, thankful I didn’t add any sugar to its already sweet flavor.
“Maybe,” the crone muses. “I have a theory, but I would rather not share it before I have proven myself right.”
“You think she’s something other than human, don’t you?” I set my cup down on the table in between our chairs. The Crone doesn’t say anything, she just smiles conspiratorially.
“She’s human, but I think she is a human who figured out the secret of magic. You’re nearly 80 years old, you know how bad this could be for our world. Remember when Demendia was more than human tyranny. The influence and magic they had in the hands of humans. If they’re grooming human children into sorcerers, we have to know. We have to be ready for that fight,” the Crone scolds, and she’s right we have to be ready for a fight but not against this small group. Magic in the wrong hands could be disastrous, but there’s no way Astrid’s a sorcerer in disguise. She’s too kind and gentle even if she’s hiding a fire deep within her.
“We don’t have to fight Astrid; she’s already fighting for her people that were abandoned by their King. If there are sorcerers out there, Astrid is nothing more than a powerless human.” I scoff at her accusation.
“We’ll both see when I go to meet with her,” the Crone says as I rise from my chair unwilling to stick around to hear more baseless accusations from the old fae.
“Even if this results in us not being able to stay, it was good to see you, old friend,” I say, pausing at the door glancing behind me one more time before I step into the hall. My Newton wiggles his tail and glows yellow when I rejoin him. “Can you take me back to where my companions are staying?” I ask, and the Newton gives a little chirp before waddling down the hall.
When I return to the room Astrid and Effie are strewn across the couch of one of the rooms with the television blaring some night fae programming about the local crystals and the best places to collect them. I watch them sleep for a moment before I decide they should be in bed instead of waking up sore from being on the couch all night. I slide my arm under Astrid’s shoulders and knees before I lift her. Cradling her to me as I take her to one of the empty beds provided.
“Augustus?” Astrid rubs at her eyes as I open the door to her room. Her scar stands out against her pale skin, and I silently admit to myself how much I like the way it accentuates her face. Perfectly imperfect. Her black hair is piled on her head in a messy bun, and I can see her curves in the way the sleep shirt clings to her. Tempting enough to make me want to run my hands over her body, but I resist.
“It’s me,” I say, kissing the top of her head.” You need to listen to me about the Crone,” I whisper as I set her down in soft blankets. “Don’t be afraid of her, she can sense your fear. Just be honest and answer every question she asks as best as you can,” I encourage, and I don’t know why but I want her to succeed. I want the Crone to admit that she’s wrong.
“I can do it,” Astrid mumbles half asleep as she rolls over in bed. I can’t tell if she truly heard me or if her response was coming from somewhere else within her. I can’t stand to leave as her black hair billows out over the pillows, and her luminescent skin begs to be touched. I take off my shoes, slip on some sweatpants before I lower myself in the bed beside her.