Chapter 7 #5
August glared at Casimir with a dislike bordering on something vicious, and I could almost taste the enmity that crackled between them, despite August having no inkling of what he’d done to earn Casimir’s wrath.
Finally, August gave a derisive sneer. “Have it your way. Monty, hand me your notes.”
Monty handed them over at once, and August began scribbling. For his part, Monty looked utterly relieved to be freed from all responsibility where the assignment was concerned.
Five hellish minutes later, August handed in the assignment, and Skinner signaled the end of class. I seized my bag and books as quickly as I could manage without tripping and all but ran out of the room with Gwen following close behind. I tugged at Gwen’s arm, urging her to walk faster.
“Goddess help me,” she said breathlessly as we hurtled past a group of chattering freshmen.
“I was trying to focus on Orpheus and fate but I couldn’t help overhearing—!
” Her eyes went wide. “What a group you had! So much more exciting than mine. Penbury is a spoiled twat, and Langburg is denser than a gargoyle. So tell me, what happened? And who was that guy—?”
“Not now Gwen,” I gritted out. My bag bumped against my hip as I dragged Gwen away, determined to put as much distance between us and the classroom as possible.
“Skinner hates me, he always has,” I muttered under my breath. “Of course he just had to put me in the worst possible group, the power-mad-shiny-headed bastard.”
Gwen grabbed my elbow to stop me, her expression intensely suspicious.
“Arden, please don’t insult my intelligence, I know you’ve been holding out on me. Casimir was practically tormenting August. Spill!”
I was saved from answering by the sudden appearance of Neha Iyer.
“Hello,” she said, offering the pair of us a tentative smile.
Gwen’s expression went blank as she stared back at Neha, momentarily robbed of the power of speech.
Neha’s cheeks began to grow pink under Gwen’s silent gaze. “I, er, was wondering if I could get your notes from last week’s astronomy class.” Neha raised her brows hopefully.
Gwen’s lips opened and closed like a fish, her mind apparently not yet caught up with her tongue.
Neha’s smile slipped at her continued silence. “It’s okay if you don’t want to share them, Gwen.” She backtracked, looking utterly mortified, but at the sound of her name, Gwen seemed to return to herself.
“Oh! The notes!” Gwen piped in. “Of course you may borrow them. Honestly, you should just keep them,” she rambled, her face going red as she began frantically searching through her bag for the notes.
Neha accepted the proffered notes with a dazzling smile that accentuated her heart-shaped face. “Thanks so much! But… won’t you need them back? You know, for the exam?”
Gwen’s left eye twitched. “I—yes. I suppose you’re right. Silly of me, really…” Her voice trailed off as she lost herself in Neha’s chocolate brown eyes.
I took pity on Gwen and stepped in. “Why don’t you two meet up for a coffee once Neha is finished with the notes?” I suggested. “That way she can return them to you, and you can even study for the exam together?”
Gwen’s head snapped to me, her face torn between horror and gratitude.
“That sounds lovely!” replied Neha, beaming. “Okay then, I’ll see you later, Gwen.”
It took several long moments before Gwen was recovered enough to speak again.
She looked at me with a dazed expression. “Oh my gods, Arden. I have…a date with Neha Iyer? Is this really happening?”
“Yes, it’s really happening,” I said, rolling my eyes.
“No, this can’t be real…” Gwen sighed. “Ouch!” she yelped and rubbed at her arm. “What’d you do that for?”
“I pinched you to prove that you’re not dreaming,” I explained, snickering.
Gwen grumbled irritably, but there was no denying that the sharp pain had brought her plummeting back to reality.
Unfortunately for me, the pinch also jogged her memory about her interrogation.
“You still haven’t told me what’s going on with you and Casimir Wrayburn,” she said, drawing out his surname with an exaggerated emphasis.
“I don’t know him that well, Gwen. Really,” I insisted.
But knowing Gwen’s stubborn expression meant she would not give up easily, I acquiesced.
“Alright, fine. I met Casimir the other night when he overheard August and I in the library during our…break up.” I paused, debating how much to reveal.
At that moment, the tattoo on my thigh prickled uncomfortably.
I couldn’t tell her about the magical bargain I’d unwittingly entered into.
Nor could I tell her about the scene at the Tusk.
But how long could I evade Gwen’s suspicions?
“And?” she prompted.
“We—that is, Casimir and I, talked that night in the library. He promised not to tell anyone about what he’d overheard.
And…I don’t know, we just keep running into each other,” I said with a shrug, catching the smug smile tugging at Gwen’s lips.
“Don’t read anything into it, Gwen,” I warned. “He’s—”
“Gorgeous?” Gwen offered.
“An absolute ass,” I growled. “He just gets off on tormenting me. But he’d better back the hell off, or else I’ll—”
I stopped cold at the sound of a low, familiar chuckle, the rough sound of it skittering across my skin. I whirled around to see Casimir emerging from a stairwell, his eyes dancing with amusement. How much did he overhear? My face flamed with embarrassment.
“Or you’ll what?” he goaded, smirking as he approached. “Come on, Farrow, finish your threat. I’d love to hear what terrors will befall me for daring to run into you.”
“Eavesdropping on my private conversation again?” I fired at him. As if on cue, as though my body sensed his proximity, my tattoo began to prickle again. I ground my teeth, trying to ignore the sensation.
Gwen’s eyes darted between us, taken aback by my open hostility, her expression curious. No doubt she would pester me with a slurry of questions later tonight.
She shot me a significant look before murmuring, “I’ll see you later, Arden.” She strode off toward the West Wing, leaving Casimir and I alone in the corridor.
“Interesting lesson today,” Casimir said breezily, sidling up beside me.
A dull flush crept up my neck. I averted my gaze, not wanting to betray signs that I was still recovering from that extremely uncomfortable discussion.
“You seemed to have a good enough time at my expense.”
He frowned. “At your expense?” he repeated. “I thought we were just having a lively discussion about fate and Greek mythology.”
When I turned to leave, he grabbed my wrist. On instinct, I twisted away, and to my surprise, he let go.
“Are you still pissed about the other night?” he asked.
I snorted at the vagueness of his question. There were so many reasons I might be pissed, but one loomed above all the rest: his name, the proof of our bargain was still etched into my skin.
“That depends,” I snapped. “Are you finally going to give me some real answers?”
“That depends,” he mimicked. “Are you prepared to show me proof of your alleged abilities?”
Just then, a blaze of silvery-blonde hair flashed in my periphery, and I whipped around with a strangled yelp.
My shoulders slumped in relief. It was not Devereux, just a girl with jaw-length hair of the same cornsilk texture and color.
But my exclamation of surprise did not escape Casimir’s notice.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“My bloody tattoo hurts,” I lied. “Which I still haven’t forgiven you for, by the way,” I added. Not that he’d bothered to apologize.
Casimir snorted. “You think that’s bad? Try living with a bloodbargain brand.”
“Oh, I don’t know. Hard to imagine anything worse than having the name Casimir written on your thigh.” As if I’d summoned it, the mark began to itch uncomfortably. I fought the urge to scratch at it through my jeans.
“You’re a terrible liar, Farrow,” he replied disapprovingly. “Is it really bothering you?”
“Yes it’s bloody bothering me! It’s itchy, and it prickles whenever—” I caught myself. I’d been about to say, whenever you’re near. “Whenever I think about it,” I amended.
He sighed at my histrionics. “The pain should wear off in a few days. In the meantime, try not to think about it.”
Right. I gritted my teeth. “Fine. Look, forget the tattoo for now, we need to talk about what we’re going to do.”
Casimir lifted a brow. “We?”
“Yes, we! What are we going to do about Devereaux!?”
A few heads turned curiously in our direction.
“Listen,” he said in a low voice, “we can’t have this conversation here. I know a place where we can talk later. There are other things we need to discuss. Meet me on the West Terrace at sunset.”