Chapter Twenty-Five
Over the rest of the week, I basically move into Bastian’s flat.
He’s still serving his two weeks’ suspension, so whenever I’m not in college I’m in Spinningfields, eating Bastian’s amazing home-cooked meals (some so accidentally spicy I cry and Bastian has to kiss me to make it better), and watching TV on the big sofa with René cuddling happily between us.
I get used to sleeping in Bastian’s bed and waking in his arms. Beryl is absolutely overjoyed by the development, but I think that’s just because my new form is female and she likes the idea of me having a boyfriend.
I make liberal use of Bastian’s wardrobe, and when I need to go to college on Friday, I leave the flat dressed in a pair of his old jogging bottoms and one of his vintage band T-shirts he says looks “sexy as hell” on me.
I walk up through the city in the sunshine, the air smelling like soot and crisp leaves.
The world is bright and sharp and lovely, as wintery and fresh as an apple, and all I think about is the fact that Bastian has given me firm instructions to come back to the flat as soon as my class finishes because:
“I can’t go more than four hours without kissing you now. It’s the new rule.”
“The new rule for what?” I grinned up at him as I stepped into the lift.
“Our companionship.” He winked at me. “Don’t tell me you never got gay vibes off Frodo and Sam.”
“I do love a queer reading.”
Now, as I’m walking into the common space as light as a cloud, all I can think about is how his lips are a little bit chapped and, actually, it’s really sexy.
Especially when he kisses me in very soft places.
I’m so full of happy butterflies, I don’t even notice that I’ve flopped into one of the nice seats by the big windows.
I pull out my headphones and am cheerfully lining up my next Stephen King audiobook when my phone buzzes with a message from BBB.
I open it and laugh. It’s a photo of René and Bastian on the sofa doing matching puppy-dog eyes.
We miss you. I’m about to message him back when someone kicks my boots. I glare up at Carl Lord.
“Where’s your boyfriend, shifter? Oh, that’s right, suspended.
” Carl doesn’t look so good. Unlike Bastian, he clearly doesn’t have a good recipe for bruise paste, and the mark of Bastian’s fist has bloomed dark purple and livid green across his nose and is taking its time to heal. I’m weirdly proud of Bastian for it.
“Yeah, because of you,” I mutter. Carl grins nastily and sits down on the arm of my leather chair.
“Because he’s a sucker,” Carl says emphatically. “Anyone would have to be to be with you, right?”
I’m sure he thinks this is hilarious wordplay.
“Oh, piss off.” I stand up to get away from him. I’m a little surprised when Carl stands up, too, crowding into my space. After all, I’m in a female form and he’s not stupid enough to think that his popularity will protect him from the consequences if he hits someone who looks like a girl.
“Say it again, shifter.” His voice is low, threatening, just like it always used to be when he would corner me, telling me I was fit and he wanted me.
I’m not the same person I was then. I’ve talked down a boggart and survived a drowning and thwarted a hellhound; I’ve lost someone I loved and found someone new who gives me hope.
Carl Lord doesn’t get to treat me like I’m nothing.
When he sees I’m not backing down, he scowls.
Suddenly his ring glows pink and he moves his fingers quickly, producing a sharp blow of heat, a warming spell misdirected again, just like the one he shot at Bastian in their fight.
I flinch a little but I don’t turn and run; I plant my feet wide.
Even if I don’t have any magic I can use like he does, I can use my words.
“You think your little ring is going to scare me?” I sneer. The air smells sickly sweet with his magic and his hands are trembling just to hold this small spell. He’s always thought he’s much more powerful than he is. Having seen Bastian in action, I’m no longer afraid. “I said, piss off!”
Around the room, a hush descends.
“You want to go, shifter? You’re finally going to use some of that magic you’re pushing into changing your boobs every two days?
” He looks around, expecting a laugh. It doesn’t come.
Maybe people are more scared of me after he and Bastian had their fight, but they’re looking at me as if they’re expecting me to do something astonishing.
It’s the first time I’ve thought that people’s prejudice might be helpful.
“Right, because you want to pick a fight with the one person who can’t do witchcraft, right?
That’s what you like, isn’t it, Carl? To pick on someone vulnerable?
” Carl’s eyes twitch and it’s that, the signal that actually he’s nervous about me speaking up, that gives me the courage to go on.
“That’s what you were thinking when you tried to hump me every second of the bloody day in first year, wasn’t it? ”
“You wish, shifter, like I’d ever look at you!” Carl spits. Another wave of pink magic comes off his ring as he moves his fingers in the same blunt movement, but even though the heat stings, I don’t grimace. I won’t back down, not now.
“You did look at me, you always look at me, you never stop looking at me.” I fold my arms across my chest. “If you don’t care about me then why don’t you just leave me the hell alone?”
“Because—” Carl splutters, his eyes darting to his friends, who are watching impassively, all their rings quiet, letting it happen.
Maybe they’ve seen this coming for a while.
Maybe they’ve secretly hoped for it. He looks desperately around the silent room, but no one stands up for him, just like no one stood up for me. “Because—”
“Because it’s fun, right?” I say. Carl looks at me with a panicked expression on his face.
“It’s fun to feel like you’re the most powerful person here, like you’re the one everyone respects and you’re the one who can make or break people.
Well, news flash, Carl…” I pick up my bag and pull it on my back.
Carl hasn’t moved; he’s watching me like I’m dangerous, and suddenly I do feel dangerous to him.
The truth is powerful. “Being a gropey wanker isn’t sexy and it doesn’t make you less of a patriarchal dick just because you only want to shag boys, okay? ”
With that, I turn to leave.
“You’re a fucking murderer, Orlando!”
I feel the rush of a spell coming toward me; I can smell the sugary nastiness of it and I know I can do nothing to stop it.
I turn to face it so at least everyone in the common room will see I was defenseless, but suddenly, someone is beside me, moving their fingers, and silvery magic shunts a stack of chairs between me and Carl’s spell.
Carl’s eyes widen. I turn to look at the blond boy I thought was Carl’s boyfriend.
His high cheekbones are flushed, and the diamond ring on his finger is shimmering with a silver sheen as his trembling fingers hold the position of Atlas’s Grip, glaring at Carl.
“Now everyone knows,” he says to Carl, who is too shocked to speak. Then he turns to me.
“Thank you,” he mutters under his breath. “I thought it was just me.”
I realize then that the shifter in the book was right. No one changes the bad things in the world for us. Sometimes, we have to stand up against the bad things, to be honest about how they’ve hurt us, because maybe other people, people we would never expect, have been hurt, too.
“You’re welcome,” I say, nodding and walking down the stairs. For the first time since I started college here I feel like people are seeing the real Carl Lord. Perhaps they’re also seeing the real me, too. It’s a shock, but now this thought doesn’t make me afraid.
I ride on the high of standing up to Carl all day. I take a moment to message Bastian about it.
Just so you know, I stood up to Carl. I told him he was a gropey wanker.
Bastian responds with a video of René doing what Bastian calls “a victory dance.” I’m about to walk into Ezra’s and buy us both celebratory coffees when someone taps me on the shoulder. I flinch and turn, expecting Carl or one of his crew, maybe wanting to make trouble, but it’s only Kira.
“I need to talk to you about something,” she says, looking particularly earnest today in a pair of clear-rimmed glasses.
“Don’t you think you’ve said enough already?”
“Fine, don’t listen to me, but you need to read this.”
Kira reaches into her bag and pulls out a flat blue file. It’s got no stickers or cats doodled on it, so I know it doesn’t belong to her.
“What is that?” I ask, my throat dry.
“It’s Bastian’s personal file.” Kira shifts awkwardly and looks down at her shoes. “From college.”
“You stole his personal file?” I stare between her and it. “Why the hell would you do that?”
I realize it must be something bad for her to take such a risk, for Miss Goody Two-Shoes to actually steal a file, but something inside me rebels against it. I don’t want to know. I’m happy; why can’t I just stay this way?
“Because you need to know the truth.” She pushes it into my chest and walks away.
Oh, no, you don’t, I think wildly. I follow her past the street art peeking out from the alleyways, a riot of reds and blues and faces and eyes, and down into the pedestrian area in Stevenson Square.
It’s busy as usual; some people are sitting on the brightly painted breeze blocks beside Fred Aldous to vape or drink takeaway coffees, and they stare as I chase Kira, but I don’t care.
“Hey, hey!” I catch up to her and grab her shoulder, pressing the folder back against her chest. “You don’t get to decide what I need to know! This is a massive violation of his privacy; I won’t take it!”