Chapter 7. Grayson
Grayson
Sparks of light swim in my vision, and my head pounds like someone clobbered me. I squint at the heavy wooden desk before me, and the inset bookshelves separated by two large bay windows with cushioned seats—my uncle’s study?
As my head clears, I realize Eloise is in a matching armchair … asleep. Her head tilts back and her long brown hair is braided with pieces escaping around her face. Her heart-shaped lips are slightly parted, and the sunlight from the ocean-facing window falls in bands across her face.
I don’t know Eloise, not really. Except what everyone knows—that she comes from a poor Labor family here in Maine, spends all her time with Maggie O’Donnell, and that she hums to herself when she does spellwork. But the song she sang when she blew up that box and called the Key was different.
Maybe it was the acoustics of the room or possibly the discernment spell itself, but the melody felt disembodied, like she was leaning over my shoulder and whispering in my ear. The song was haunting and ethereal as though her fingers were lightly brushing the skin down my spine.
In her stillness, I can almost hear it again, like it’s vibrating through her even now.
And it throws me so entirely that when her dark lashes flutter against her lightly freckled cheeks I startle, looking away and running my hands down my face.
It’s also when something moves in my peripheral vision near the fireplace.
Not something—two giant Dobermans. Hauling themselves off the floor and zeroing in on me and Eloise.
The dogs growl and whatever haziness I feel vanishes with a jolt of adrenaline. Eloise gets one look at the snarling Dobermans and her naturally large eyes widen, making her look like a spooked lioness. I instantly scent her surprise.
“The thing is,” I tell her, “we don’t have dogs.” My family isn’t good with animals any more than we are with each other.
Eloise slowly climbs out of her chair as I stand, both of us avoiding any sudden moves that could cause them to spring.
“Let’s everyone just stay calm,” Eloise says to the dogs in a soothing voice, as though she could somehow subdue the approaching beasts.
“Like I said, they’re an illusion.” My tone reflects the frustration I feel. Five years of fostering a crucial relationship with my uncle and she’s managed to put it in jeopardy in one afternoon.
The dogs pull back their gums, saliva glistening on their pointed teeth, positioning themselves directly between us and the door.
“I’m assuming they can still bite?” she says, more of a statement than a question.
Only advanced magic can manipulate illusions in such complicated ways.
But given that it was my uncle who made them, I have no doubt.
I’m also sure he’s watching every moment of this through one of his magicked mirrors.
Eloise glances at the windows and the desk behind us while I run through spells in my mind. Only I come up short—disbanding an illusion, especially one created by a Mage as strong as my uncle, is nearly impossible.
“How are you at defense?” I ask quickly.
“Not awful,” she says, but I can smell her doubt like rust on metal.
“Which also means not great,” I reply, and she flashes me the same challenging look she gave me this morning in the parking lot.
I test them by taking a measured step backward. The dogs immediately bare their teeth, the muscles in their shoulders rippling beneath their fur. I freeze, but Eloise reacts, lifting her hand to cast.
Only her choice of spell could not be worse. She doesn’t create a cage or a shield. Her spell pulls from the cushioned window seat and transforms it into a goddamn dog toy. A fluffy white ball to be exact, which she tosses in the air toward the fireplace.
Surprise, surprise, it doesn’t distract the dogs. In fact, they lunge toward us, their heads stopping a foot from our stomachs, jaws snapping the air. I can feel the heat of their breath on my shirt.
“Are you kidding me?” I breathe.
“Would you rather I cast a defense spell and fully antagonize them?” she asks, stubbornly lifting her chin. “That was small magic. A test, just like you did with that step. And now we know what sets them off.”
“How about you do nothing,” I reply with a clipped tone. “Your magic is no match for my uncle’s.”
Her jaw flexes. “And how about you call your uncle and ask him to stop this?” she says like he isn’t doing it on purpose.
I don’t bother to enlighten her. “If we can get on that desk—”
She shakes her head. “You barely moved your foot and they wanted to pounce. Unless you know how to fly, we’re not getting anywhere.”
“We are if you can cast a containment spell,” I say, matching her challenge. “But it’ll have to be synchronized or one of us will get mauled.”
Only as she opens her mouth to answer, her dog springs forward.
I don’t know if she shuffled her foot or if my uncle’s at fault, but I don’t have time to consider how my next move will utterly screw me.
The scent of her fear hits me like a punch and I throw myself in front of her, blasting her dog with the strongest defense spell I know.
It freezes mid-jump. Not that it matters, because the other dog lunges and sinks its razor-sharp teeth into my forearm, cutting through flesh with no resistance.
Except the pain isn’t the worst part—it’s knowing my uncle will interpret my protecting Eloise as proof that I sabotaged the discernment spell.