Chapter 31 Dorian
Dorian
It was not the thorn bending to the honeysuckles, but the honeysuckles embracing the thorn.
—Emily Bronte, Wuthering Heights
My clothes hang neatly in the closet, ready to be folded into a suitcase. I don’t have much. One pair of shoes. One coat. One toothbrush. The apartment came fully furnished, so I don’t have to worry about the rest.
While I pack, I think about Atticus. And Raven.
And my future. I can’t imagine going forward without them in it.
I don’t even have a plan. And Atticus—Atticus just stormed away.
Raven tried to catch up with him, but he was gone.
I wish I could explain, but all my thoughts are so murky and confusing, even I have a hard time seeing through the mess.
The line between friend and lover has blurred.
I like them both. They’re both so smart, so ambitious.
They know what they want. I admired them the moment we met.
Loved them, though I didn’t know the right words to say it.
I don’t know how to label myself; maybe I don’t have to. Not now, at least.
But now they’re gone.
A pathetic laugh escapes me when I throw my suitcase lid closed.
What will I do now? Move back to the city. And do what? I have no idea. Start over, I guess. Seeking comfort, I touch my great-grandfather’s watch in my pocket. He started over, once. It’s never too late to start again. But it’s a lot scarier doing it without my friends.
I really can heal with my touch…Maybe I can help my mom with her cancer.
But would I just be making myself sick, too?
How does my magic work? What can I do? How can I help?
I have power I’ve only just begun to understand, but the truth is I don’t know anything about myself.
Not really, not yet. Without Sibylline, I’m just stumbling in the dark.
I distract myself by cleaning my desk, throwing everything into a cardboard box, until I come upon the binder from Old Bones, the one with all the donor addresses I was supposed to mail thank-you letters to.
I brought it home, promising Evander I’d complete my work before the gala, but I completely forgot about it.
Granted, I had other things on my mind. I only got through mailing thank-you notes to surnames that began with the letter R.
Idly, for old times’ sake, I open the binder and riffle through the pages, scanning the contents.
Inside are the lists of names and the donated articles. Every artifact that comes into the museum has a paper trail. It’s the only way items can be verified in their origin by ordinary staff. Sometimes the names have hundreds of donations under them, but my attention snags on one name.
Stone, Jeremiah.
Warden Stone. My blood turns to ice in my veins when I read what he donated. I sit on my bed as I read and reread the entry to make sure I’m not hallucinating. I’ve seen them before. I remember them all too well. I can’t not.
Warden Jeremiah Stone donated three artifacts to the museum.
One necklace made from carved beetles.
One onyx ring with snake detailing.
One wand made of wood and mother-of-pearl.
—
“Say it again,” says Raven, her eyes hard. “Warden Stone donated a wand, as in…”
“Hecate’s wand, yes. The same wand Adelina Ward used to raise the malum.”
Adelina needed a powerful wand to conjure chaos, and the only wand powerful enough to do it once belonged to the goddess of magic.
From her seat on the couch, Raven stares in shock at the document as I pace. I can’t sit still, not after what I just found. I rushed over to Atticus’s apartment and was thankful Raven let me in. I bet I sounded like a maniac pounding on the door.
“How did he get Hecate’s wand? I thought it was taken from Adelina when she was locked away.”
“His predecessor must have kept it in storage. Only now did Stone decide to donate it.”
“Why, though?” Raven asks.
“I don’t know. I just know that it’s not a coincidence. Where’s Atticus? He needs to hear about this, too.”
“He hasn’t come home yet.”
“Yet?” I stop pacing. “What, you haven’t seen him at all since yesterday?”
“No,” Raven says, rubbing her arms for heat or comfort. “I thought he was with you…”
“He wasn’t.”
“You don’t suppose he went back to the tunnels to find proof? Maybe the malum…?”
“No.” I cut my hand through the air, banishing the thought. “Maybe he just went somewhere quiet to sketch. Remember how he used to do that?”
Raven nods, like she’s forcing herself to believe it, too. “You don’t think Stone might…” Raven pauses, as if wondering if she should say it aloud. Then she continues, “You don’t think Stone’s responsible for the malum’s escape, do you? You don’t think he’s picked up where Adelina left off?”
“I don’t know,” I say again. Dread sits uneasily in my gut. “I mean, wouldn’t that jeopardize his position as warden? It still doesn’t feel right. We’re missing something. He may have known what was down there, but I can’t imagine him setting the creature free.”
Raven hums, staring at the page.
Without Atticus, the group feels incomplete. There’s a gaping void in his absence. I go to the window and search for him in the distance, but all I see is gray. Late autumn has sapped all of the color out of the world.
Even if we could prove that Stone is behind it all, who would believe us? We’re just a few disgruntled former employees, with nothing to lose and everything to gain from taking down the university’s warden. We were fired. Who would listen to us?
“Raven,” I say, my breath catching on her name.
She glances up at me, her dark eyes wide and curious. I admire the curve of her lips, the furrow of her brow. Being near her will always make my heart race.
I lick my lips and drag my teeth over them, chewing on the words I’ve always wanted to say but never had the courage to speak until now. “I…I know it might be too late, but I want you to know how much I care about you.”
Raven’s gaze softens as she stands up and joins me at the window. “I care about you, too, Dorian.”
Her tone isn’t at all what I expected. I don’t think she understands. “No, I like you, Raven. Actually, that’s not entirely true. I don’t just like you. I’ve been in love with you since we first met. And I have to tell you before you go away, because otherwise I’ll never move on.”
There it is. The truth. Finally out.
Raven doesn’t say anything for a moment. Then she places her hand on my gloved one. “Oh, Dorian, I know. I’ve always known. Just like you’ve always known Atticus has a huge, terrible crush on you, right?”
I guess I’ve never been that good at hiding my feelings for her; I’m practically a lovesick puppy. But Atticus—it was only recently that I knew it to be true. I’d been so preoccupied, so lost, I never really realized. But Raven saw it. She knew.
“How ironic,” I choke out, “the guy who can see the truth through touch couldn’t even see the truth in himself until it’s too late.”
“It’s never too late,” she says. Her dark eyes have captured mine. “I’m sorry I didn’t mention that Atticus and I fooled around.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t mention it either.”
She lets out another huff of a laugh and shakes her head. “I don’t know why we’re making this so hard for ourselves.”
“Because we like making things complicated.”
“We like challenges.”
I allow myself a smile. “A challenge means it’s worth doing, right? Nothing without great effort.”
Raven smiles, too, and she takes a deep, steadying breath, eyes locked on mine. The urge to touch her is almost overwhelming, but I hold myself back. My other hand clenches into a fist to stop myself from doing it.
“I was jealous of Aspen,” I say. “And then when I found out you and Atticus kissed, it felt like a punch to the gut. Like I was losing both of you.”
“I’m right here, Dorian,” says Raven, and there’s something different in her gaze this time when she looks at me. She used to look at Atticus that way.
“Aren’t you going to Paris?”
“Come with me.”
Raven’s eyes are soft and warm. They dance across my face, reading me like a favorite book. She tips her head forward, and I hold my breath. She pauses, the briefest moment. The scent of her honey shampoo sends my spine tingling.
“You’re joking,” I whisper.
“I’m not,” she says. And there it is again. That look. With that curious twinkle in her eye, a glow so potent it could light up the universe. Her fingers tighten around mine. “Don’t you think?”
My lungs constrict, my breath catching in my throat. I drop my head, lean in. Do it, I tell myself. Do it, just kiss her. She wants you to.
But I still can’t. It’s everything I want, and it’s so close, even as I recall what she just told me—that Atticus has felt for me what I’ve felt for Raven this whole time. Atticus…
“Dorian,” whispers Raven. “Are you going to kiss me, or am I going to have to throw myself at you?”
A groan escapes me. “Raven.”
I close my eyes and press my lips to hers and take what I’ve always wanted.