Chapter 25 #2
“I’m sorry I lost my temper…” Sheepishly, he gestured to the flattened lump that was once a candelabra. “I’m not going to renege on our bargain, and not just because of the magical consequences of breaking it.” His eyes were softer, now, a clear, liquid honey. “Stop waiting for me to betray you.”
I flinched at the words. Was I waiting for his betrayal? “If you’re done rearranging the furniture,” I said brusquely, “can we be done training now? I’m exhausted.”
He snorted and then shot me a wary glance. “Yes, but I’m taking you to see Dr. Hobart.”
I groaned. Not this again. “I feel fine!” I lied, ignoring the way my temple throbbed, how the room kept blurring at the edges.
“Don’t be absurd,” he snapped. “You’re bleeding all over the place.” He tugged at my elbow. “You’re not arguing your way out of this one, Farrow.”
I could see from the cold determination in his eyes that he wasn’t going to budge.
With a sigh of resignation, I nodded and allowed him to lift me to my unsteady feet.
Upon standing, I was immediately overcome by dizziness and forced to lean against him to avoid falling.
My cheek grazed the soft, supple leather of his jacket, and I stifled a gasp as his intoxicating scent threatened to overwhelm me.
I needed to get as far away from the dizzying smell of him, but I couldn’t risk releasing my hold until the room stopped spinning.
He made no complaint as I held onto him, gripping my elbow with one hand, the other supporting my weight at the waist as I righted myself.
I fought the impulse to bury my face in his neck and inhale ragged lungfuls of his smokey scent.
I held my tongue between my teeth so it wouldn’t dart out to taste his skin.
Something was seriously wrong with me. I held myself as rigid as a porcelain doll in his strong arms.
My cheeks felt hot when he finally released me, and I backed away several paces, nearly crashing into a bench in my haste to put distance between us.
I hated the way my traitorous body reacted to him.
Unlike Casimir, I was a terrible liar. Now, in contrast to his earlier eruption, he kept his expression carefully neutral.
It made me wonder what he was trying to conceal.
On the way to the infirmary, Casimir allowed me to walk unaided, though he continued to watch attentively, his brow furrowed in concern. Blood oozed from my head wound, and my body still ached from the aftereffects of the glamour.
“Will you stop hovering?” I whined. “I’m fine.”
“We have bigger problems,” I said dismissively, trying to redirect his attention. “We’re no closer to discovering the identity of the Keeper’s Heir, nor have we found a way to stop the blood ritual.”
Casimir released a slow, weary sigh that told me he knew I was right.
Since the night of Bryce’s party, we’d made no progress on our search, which was a problem. The blood ritual would take place in a matter of days, and to my increasing dismay, no matter how many times I attempted to decipher the Book’s hint, I came up blank.
Beware eyes of venom, the winding coil’s twist, and death’s slithering kiss.
There was no doubt in my mind that the clue meant to describe a snake.
A book I’d once come across in the Labyrinth claimed that in ancient cultures, snakes were associated with danger and temptation, but they could also act as symbols of renewal.
Some Indigenous cultures, like the Hopi, revered snake-shedding as a metaphor for rebirth and renewal; others believed in serpent river-spirits who dragged trespassing mortals to a watery grave.
Throughout human history, snakes inspired both respect and an ancestral fear.
The problem was, I didn’t know which serpentine qualities the sprite considered relevant.
Assuming the clue referred to stereotypical snake-like qualities, that meant we were looking for someone deceptive, cunning, and stealthy.
Unfortunately, a lot of people fit that description.
But overwhelming instinct told me that the sprite that dwelled within the pages of the Book of Erebos was a clever creature, more twisted in its logic, which made me wonder whether my approach was entirely misguided.
As we made our way to the infirmary, I ruminated over Casimir’s thievery of the serpentine necklace the night of the party.
His motives for stealing it still perplexed me.
He himself had asserted that I was more a hindrance than a help these days, so why take such a risk?
The most mind-boggling, frustrating thing about Casimir was that his words never seemed to match up with his actions.
Like how he’d kissed me on the terrace at Bryce’s party, and then rejected my advances when I’d tried to take things further earlier this morning.
And then he’d called me his weakness. Humiliation heated my cheeks at the memory of my treacherous hands on his belt.
Desire, humiliation, and dismay fought for space in my heart when it came to Casimir.
Stop waiting for me to betray you.
Was that what I was waiting for? A betrayal? An excuse to hate him?
With each footstep, his challenging words repeated in my ears like a litany.
Why don’t you say it, Farrow? Why don’t you say it?
Ouverham College’s infirmary consisted of a long row of hospital beds separated by privacy screens.
There was only one other patient in the ward, a mousy-haired boy—whose name was either Trevor or Trent—lying prostrate on a bed, one leg propped up in a cast. The walls had originally been painted a stark white, ostensibly to provide the ward with a clean, clinical feel, but they had since curdled to an aged, sickly yellow.
Still, the room had a comforting, well–cared–for sort of atmosphere, and was strictly attended by the head physician, Dr. Hobart, a slightly plump woman with a round face framed by thick spectacles and frizzy gray hair that added to her harried demeanor.
She bustled past the expansive windows, which opened to the east side of campus, as she approached us, her eyes bugging out in alarm.
“Ms. Farrow!” she squeaked. “Did you slip on a patch of ice?” Her voice was sharp as her eyes swept over me, searching for signs of injury. She noticed Casimir at my side and gave a little gasp as she took in his striking appearance.
It struck me then how he always wore that black leather jacket, so unusual in the sea of tweed at Ouverham.
“Yes, I fell on the ice,” I lied.
Dr. Hobart’s eyes darted between the pair of us, as though unsure which of us would satisfy her vulture-like curiosity.
Medical curiosity won out, and she fussily guided me over to a hospital bed.
“It was sleeting all night,” she rambled.
“I told Dean Winthrop he should have canceled classes, but of course, no one listens to me.” She prodded the injured area of my scalp, and I gave a hiss of pain through my teeth.
“You’re lucky, Ms. Farrow, this cut isn’t too deep.
It won’t require stitches.” She looked at me sharply.
“Unless—did you experience any loss of consciousness? Any nausea? Blurred vision?”
I shook my head, gritting my teeth against the feel of her probing fingers.
To my dismay, Casimir interjected, “I’m concerned she might have a concussion, Dr. Hobart.”
I shot him a mutinous look. Traitor. Was he trying to get me admitted into the infirmary, so I’d be stuck here all weekend?
He barely concealed the amused smirk that tugged at his lips. He slid his eyes to me conspiratorially and then gave a tragic sigh, as though I was a hopeless case. “She did throw up a few times on the way here, Doctor.”
What the hell was he doing?
Oblivious to my pointed glaring, Dr. Hobart listened intently as Casimir continued, “I think she should be kept under observation at least until tomorrow morning.”
Well, at least he was looking out for me where classes were concerned, I thought.
“And I don’t think it would hurt to take a few X-rays, either.”
Oh, for fuck’s sake.
Nodding seriously, Dr. Hobart said, “I do believe you’re right Mr.…?”
“Wrayburn,” he said, inclining his head. “Casimir Wrayburn.”
She gave him an appraising look. “It’s lucky you were there to help, Mr. Wrayburn,” she said, nodding at him with the sort of respect she might extend to a colleague.
I stared at him in amazement.
When Dr. Hobart bustled off to retrieve some paperwork from her office, Casimir threw me a crooked grin brimming with satisfaction.
“You look pleased with yourself,” I grumbled.
“What can I say, I’m good with professors,” he said, smirking. “Especially female ones.”
I scowled. “I can’t believe you convinced her to keep me here all night.”
His eyes narrowed. “And you’re going to stay put tonight, Farrow. Doctor’s orders. Do you understand?”
“Excuse me?” I huffed. “You don’t—”
“Enough.”
My breath caught as Casimir suddenly leaned over me, bracing his arms on either side of my hospital bed. I shot a nervous glance toward Dr. Hobart’s office. His eyes darkened.
“When I return in the morning, you will be right where I left you,” he said. “You’ve already suffered a concussion. We wouldn’t want you to get hurt again, would we?”
I swallowed thickly, thinking again of the twisted candelabra lying on the floor of the Grotto.
I was sure he could hear my heart beating wildly in my chest. This close, he was overwhelming.
I breathed in the faint scent of smoke on his skin.
Traced each dark tendril of hair as they fell across his cheek. My breaths became short and shallow.
“Arden,” he said quietly.
My heart stopped. He hardly ever called me by my first name. It was always Farrow. Always distant, always formal. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t breathe.
He leaned even closer, so that our lips were mere inches apart. His breath ghosted over my cheeks, making me shudder.
In an impossibly seductive tone, he asked, “Are you going to stay in the infirmary tonight so Dr. Hobart can observe you, or do I have to glamour this entire ward to ensure you don’t try and escape?”
Blood rushed in my ears, blocking out the sounds of the infirmary.
My tongue melted into a thick, guileless thing incapable of forming words.
I couldn’t think around the heat of him, around the way his eyes bored into mine, like he was peeling back the layers of my consciousness and memorizing every inch of my soul.
“I’d know it if you tried,” I whispered, the tremble in my voice betraying me. Theoretically, I could now detect glamours, but of course, Casimir knew all too well that this morning was my first and only successful attempt.
“Hmm.” He huffed a laugh. “Even if you could detect my glamour, you wouldn’t know how to break it.”
Damn him, he was right. Up close, his eyes were even more hypnotic, threatening to suck me into their dark pools. No matter how hard I tried, I could not tear my gaze from his. Was this a glamour, too?
Casimir smiled and leaned away, breaking the trance.
I released a shaky breath. “You called me Arden,” I said.
His mouth twitched, but the rest of his face remained inscrutable. “Call it a slip of the tongue.”
“Can’t you just whip up some enchanted potion for my concussion like you did when I drank Daemon wine?” I pleaded.
But Casimir merely smirked and shook his head.
“Fine,” I grunted. “Either way, I’m out of here tomorrow morning.”
“In the meantime…” he said, clearing his throat. “Is there anything else you need?”
I already had an answer. “Could you bring me the Book of Erebos? I want to interrogate it a little more. See if it will offer me more information about the Heir.”
He nodded. I glanced up at him in time to see the afternoon sunlight limn the angular planes of his cheeks and jaw, warming his golden skin. He just stood there for a moment with an inscrutable expression on his face.
But all he said was, “Don’t do anything stupid while I’m gone.”
“Whatever,” I said, trying to dismiss him.
Dr. Hobart would be back any minute now to take my X-rays.
When Casimir showed no signs of moving toward the exit, I gave an exasperated huff. “You’re still standing there.”
“Where are you keeping the sprite these days?”
“Under my mattress.”
He frowned. “Hmm. Perhaps it’s time you found a more secure hiding spot.
..” Then, shaking himself from his reverie, added curtly, “I’ll retrieve the Book for you and explain to Gwen where you’ll be tonight.
The oh-poor-Arden-slipped-on-the-ice reason, of course.
” He paused. “I really am trying to help you, Farrow.”
We were back to a strictly last-name basis, then. When I didn’t reply, he turned to leave. I almost didn’t catch the words he muttered just as he passed over the threshold.
“I just wish you would let me in.”