Chapter 15 #3
She began to speak again, and I glanced at her.
“It was important that you remained safe,” Jiayi was saying.
“Although I do wish I was notified earlier. I would have transferred, and we could have been in the same secondary school. We would have had the most fun.” She nodded, seemingly coming to an internal conclusion.
“But,” she continued, “better late than never. In any case, I’m waiting for Xavier. He’s supposed to help me. Have you seen him?”
I was conflicted. I wanted to be annoyed with her for not telling me the truth. She didn’t even seem to be the least bit sorry.
But on the other hand—I’d barely known her for longer than a month, and it wasn’t as though she had been the one orchestrating everything.
What should I do? She needed help. Xavier was not here, but since he was my underling, I had a moral obligation to assist her. This was my chance to prove myself. “Xavier missed class earlier, so I’m not sure he’ll show. What do you need?”
“I’m going to curse someone, and I need information.”
Whatever I expected, it wasn’t that. I blinked at her—perhaps I’d misunderstood. “Pardon?”
“My revenge must be swift and deadly. But not quite enough to kill him completely.” She gazed off into the distance. “I want him mostly dead for a time. Perhaps with some permanent scarring.”
How could one be ‘mostly dead’?
“Why are you asking Xavier this?” I knew that rumors had stated the fae—and especially Unseelie—might be cruel, but surely such stories were exaggerations. “Don’t you have a witch in your quintet? Ask them.”
She sighed. “Catalina is a softy. She’s a firm believer in doing no harm. She’d not approve. ”
I blinked at her. Did this mean Xavier would ?
Jiayi ignored my open-mouthed stare. “Besides, this is Xavier’s book, and it seemed promising. But I have questions.”
I eyed the item, which now didn’t seem quite so innocent. “What book is that?”
“Ah.” She shut it, revealing the flesh-colored leather that bound the book. The Practical Applications of Advanced Demonology was scrawled across the top in rusty brown letters I suspected might be blood. “It’s just a bit of light reading.”
I was unsure of how to respond. I couldn’t ask if it said anything exciting without compromising my morals.
“Does this scare you?” She frowned.
“I’m just surprised.” My gaze dropped to my knees. “You’ve always seemed so… well, poised and put together.”
“I was raised with certain expectations,” Jiayi replied. “In my family, women are meant to be seen, not heard—always something pretty to look at. I discovered my love for fashion when I went to boarding school. It’s the one thing I’ve done for myself. And besides, it works out better this way.”
I glanced at her, puzzled.
“Lure in your prey with innocence and a pretty smile,” she continued, clenching her fists against her chest as she looked up at the sky. “Then you can crush them.”
A shiver ran down my spine.
“Which brings us back to my curse,” she continued, unbothered. “It has to be something potent against witches, too. And it needs to push a man to pick a side.” She glanced at me. “Not that you’d understand. You let everyone walk all over you. I doubt you’ve got a mean bone in your body—”
“Now, hold on a minute…” I started, ready to set the record straight. Hadn’t I stood up to Finn? That was mean .
But my words faded as a white cat emerged from the bushes and made its way toward us before it stopped in front of me,
The amber-eyed feline stared at me, causing my skin to prickle.
“Ugh,” Jiayi groaned, hiding the book and slipping into her backpack. “Cécile. I suppose that’s my cue to leave.”
“Leave?” I frowned. “But why—”
“Bianca.” Ms. Protean appeared. “I’ve been waiting for your return. Another word, if you will?”
Jiayi, who’d been in the process of swinging her bag over her shoulder, made a sound of sympathy. “Someone’s in trouble.”
“Trouble?” My heart began to race.
“Don’t be dramatic, Miss Chou. Nobody is in trouble,” Ms. Protean replied.
Today, she wore a floral dress that reached mid-calf and a white sweater.
“And if it’s boils you need, Mr. Kelly is visiting today.
He loves causing calamity. You’ll find him lurking in the History department.
But I warn you against messing with witches. ”
“Oh, thank you,” Jiayi said but then frowned sympathetically. “I’m sorry to hear about Mr. Weaver.”
Ms. Protean looked to the sky. “I wouldn’t write him off just yet.”
I nervously stepped into Ms. Protean’s office, with her trailing close behind.
My mind raced, imagining every possible reason I might have been summoned.
The office was bathed in various shades of crimson, and lace-patterned doilies covered almost every surface.
Judging by the knitting set perched on her desk, I suspected she’d made them herself .
However, we were not alone—nor was I the only one confused by my presence.
“What in the hell are you doing here?” Mr. Weaver glowered from the opposite end of the room.
I froze, staring at the ghost, and ignored Ms. Protean as she stepped around me to go to her desk.
He had been attempting to root through Ms. Protean’s bookshelves.
However, since ghosts couldn’t always move physical items, he’d been failing.
At my arrival, he seemed to have gathered enough energy to tug a book out by the spine.
But his victory was short-lived, and the book fell to the floor with a crash.
He turned his dark scowl to the thick, fallen volume, and a pang of longing stabbed at me.
Did he really miss reading all that much?
“That’s what I thought.” Ms. Protean slumped into her chair, her weary gaze on the dropped book. “He’s always been this way.”
My attention returned to her. “Sorry?”
“It’s been over a week of this.” She nodded her head toward her library. “I suspected he was haunting me, but I wasn’t sure—”
“I’m not haunting her!” Mr. Weaver protested, uncaring that the woman couldn’t hear him. He was watching me, uneasiness touching the air. “I’m a protector. I’m watching over the crazy old bat!”
“—Any time I ask for a sign of his presence, he goes silent.” She crossed her hands under her chin, her eyes glowing. “It’s rather annoying.”
He’d been with her all this time? And wasn’t this during the time he was supposed to be watching Michelle Nolan? “Don’t tell me you were stalking Ms. Protean instead of watching Damen’s suspect? What about our agreement? ”
Besides, why would he hide from her? Another emotion—not mine—touched me, and I added, “Are you embarrassed ?”
Mr. Weaver had normal feelings?
“I am offended.” Mr. Weaver floated above the fallen book, placing a hand on his chest. He was genuinely hurt.
“My life has never revolved around an Abernathy spawn, and nor will my afterlife, but I’ve always done my work to the best of my ability, which is better than anything you’ve done.
Your magic is still out of control. What deuce trained you? ”
“Brayden is training me now.” My lips pursed, irritation causing my blood to race, and he shot me a look. Technically, you were supposed to respect your elders. But he was dead, so did that rule still apply?
“Is he insulting you?” Ms. Protean narrowed her eyes. “Don’t pay him any mind—he’s just an idiot.”
“I’m not an idiot!” Mr. Weaver protested.
My fury faded, and I sighed. I couldn’t stay annoyed with someone who was posturing. Being an empath made it difficult to separate oneself from the situation.
Why was I here? She’d still never told me. I was supposed to be on my way to Geology. I’d missed so much just being absent for one week. I wasn’t sure how I’d ever catch up.
I was so stressed that the heavy peppermint scent that lingered over the room threatened to make me puke. And I liked peppermint.
“Did you ask me here to confirm that Mr. Weaver was haunting you, or…” I didn’t care much about why he was sticking around Ms. Protean. That was his business. “Why are you asking me? You could have just asked Dr. Stephens.”
This avoidance between the two of them was getting out of hand.
Her elbow slipped, and she jerked upright into her chair. Redness brightened her weathered cheeks. “You want me to ask Gregory ?” Her usually even voice squeaked. “No, thank you.”
“Oh, here we go.” Mr. Weaver groaned into his hands.
“I haven’t spoken to him in a half-century, and will not start today. I have no intention of revisiting that old flame.” She snatched her knitting supplies with jerky movements and spread them over her lap. “Yet he still watches me with that same dewy-eyed stare. It sends shivers through me.”
I pressed my lips together, looking between Mr. Weaver and Ms. Protean. He seemed mournful as he watched her violently knit, as if trying to maim the piece she was working on.
Could Mr. Weaver and Dr. Stephens have both been involved with Ms. Protean? It would explain why Ms. Protean and Dr. Stephens hated each other, and why Mr. Weaver’s ghost chose to linger here.
I couldn’t ignore what Finn had told me about my ability to foresee things.
“Is there something on your mind?” Ms. Protean interrupted my thoughts, her expression returning to her usual mildly fascinated and somewhat agitated state.
Now that I thought about it, she was actually the least-grandmotherly figure I’d ever seen—I was sure she’d have no hesitations about shifting and ripping out people’s throats if angry enough.
“You’ve been standing there with your mouth open. Come sit down. You’re making me nervous,” she commanded.
My thoughts raced as I settled into a chair. It wasn’t like I could ask her about her romantic entanglements. She was probably a hundred. There was no way she’d had a scandalous affair in her youth. People in those days were known for their wholesome family values and well-behaved women .
It was one thing to press boundaries in the professional world. But anything else was unheard of.
“How are your classes going?” Ms. Protean raised her eyebrow, needles reflecting the light as she worked her craft.
The feeling that had been following me around all day intensified. I pushed my hands in my lap. “I—I don’t think I can finish the semester. People are gossiping about me and Bryce, and I’ve seen them looking at me. Plus, I wanted to drop French to take Chinese.”
I felt so stupid. Here I was, admitting my failures to a woman who’d made a name for herself in this school. She’d never understand.
“Why are people talking about you and Bryce?” Mr. Weaver asked.
But I didn’t respond since Ms. Protean started speaking. “Don’t waste your time on something you’re not interested in.”
I bit my lip, touching my fingers together, choosing, for the moment, to ignore Mr. Weaver. It was difficult to carry on two conversations at once, especially when one party couldn’t join in. “But I am interested in Botany.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
“I don’t know what I want to do with the rest of my life.” I didn’t even know what was expected of me. The others… did they even choose their own path, or was it decided for them?
And, as much as it shamed me to admit, being a research scientist didn’t seem so enticing anymore. I’d never be able to relax. Not with Damen dodging bullets every day and walking into haunted crime scenes with no one except Kasai for company.
Who would protect him? I couldn’t leave Damen’s life in Norman’s hands. I might as well send him off to his death.
“Poppycock!” Mr. Weaver was strangely invested in our conversation. He was no longer paying attention to the books at all. “How can you not know what you want to do? You’re almost sixteen already.”
“I’m nineteen.” I frowned at him.
“Ignore whatever Caleb is saying. Most people don’t have their lives planned out at your age.” Ms. Protean continued working as the shimmery white yarn pulled my attention.
“Did you?” Her admission encouraged me, and my racing heart calmed.
“Well, yes, I did.” She nodded, pausing her actions briefly. “I have known what I wanted since I was five. But that’s not normal. Do you want to wait out the semester, or take a break and regain your bearings?”
“There’s so much going on already,” I bit my lip. “What if the school won’t let me return next semester?”
“Bianca—” Ms. Protean sighed.
“You’re calling her by her name?” Mr. Weaver asked.
She took a low breath and set down her project on her desk. “Dean Abernathy would be a fool to refuse your readmittance. Especially considering who you are.”
Mr. Weaver perked up. “Who is she?”
“But I don’t want special privileges,” I told her. I glanced at Mr. Weaver. Was this okay?
She was an Elder; I guess she knew what she was doing.
“There’s no avoiding it. People will treat you differently because you are different,” she continued. “Besides, you must stay nearby, especially since Caleb went and got himself killed. Gregory is now the only remaining fae Proxy in this realm capable of mentoring their Xing.”