Chapter 13. Grayson
Grayson
I’ll admit, I could have gone about that differently.
Less bulldozing maybe. But there’s too much on the line.
And in truth, I’m annoyed with her on a basic level.
She did something, whether she meant to or not, and now here I am in the goddamn Alchemy Wing instead of settling in with the Gifted students in my uncle’s private tower learning his secrets.
I kick off my boots on the area rug and pull my shirt over my head.
The suite is exactly as I expected. Wood.
So much wood. It’s not that it’s unattractive—the grain patterns on the irregular walls and ceiling look like constellations and everything is cozy as hell, including the four-poster bed I throw my uniform on.
But I’m always on edge in this town, the place where Liam died. It feels like a giant beautiful trap.
I’m pulling on my white linen pants—the impractical color relegated to first years—when I feel the door shield pop. I shove my feet into my brown boots, not bothering to tie the laces, and swipe my white linen shirt off my bed.
It takes me all of two seconds to confirm she’s left and yank open the suite door. As I do a chime goes off, like bells hung on shop doors, only this one sings “Ass-hooooole” at me in a melodic voice.
Despite the hellish twenty-four hours I’ve had, there is part of me that finds it amusing she got me back this way. But I don’t have time to react because Eloise is at the end of the hall disappearing around a bend to god knows where.
I flick my hand to craft a wind spell for speed. When I move forward, crossing the distance in a mere second, Eloise’s eyes widen and she stops short, her gaze caught on my bare stomach.
“My eyes are up here,” I say, pointing to my face, which only makes her angrier.
I can scent the emotion rolling off her like hot sauna steam, a little smoky and earthy.
Although I wasn’t lying when I said she broadcasts every thought on her face.
It doesn’t take a genius to figure out what she’s thinking.
“Put a damn shirt on,” she says, completely flustered, her cheeks once again pink.
“See, I would have,” I say. “If you hadn’t run out of our room without saying anything.”
Another smoky cloud of anger. “You’re joking.”
“If only.”
Her eyes narrow. “I don’t have to tell you if I’m leaving.”
I raise an eyebrow. “What part of ‘inseparable for these next two weeks’ didn’t you understand?”
Double smoke blast. “I did not agree to clearing my every decision with you.”
“Yeah, well, it’s definitely not my first choice, either. But here we are.”
Her jaw sets. “You’ll have to sleep at some point.”
I almost laugh. Her stubborn streak is clearly thriving. And while I respect it, there is no room for flexibility here. “You underestimate me,” I reply with a light tone, slipping my shirt over my head.
Which is when a door opens down the hall and Ivy pops out.
She gets one look at me, squeals, and practically skips down the hall with her blond curls bouncing around her face.
“Grayson! My god, we were all so worried. Naomi especially. She’s showering or she’d be out here screaming like I am.
Come hang out. Bas is around here somewhere and—” She stops short, as if just realizing Eloise was standing with us. “Can you move?”
I wince. Not because Ivy’s being a dick. She and Naomi make a sport of it. And in comparison to my family, they’re like a warm bath. But Eloise doesn’t seem insulted. She’s smiling like Ivy couldn’t have appeared at a better moment.
“You’re right, Ivy,” Eloise says in a sugary tone. “I don’t know what I was thinking.”
Ivy links her arm through mine as though everything is in order, and Eloise flashes me a victorious smirk before walking away full speed.
Damn it all to hell.
I pull my arm from Ivy’s.
Ivy frowns. “Um, you’re not actually chasing after Labor girl, are you?” There’s a warning in her voice.
“Tell Naomi and Bas I’ll hang later,” I say.
Unlike most civilized people, she doesn’t accept my answer.
She reaches out and grabs my wrist. And even though she’s five foot nothing, she’s got one hell of a hold.
“Uh, no. Are you feverish? Hallucinating? That”—she says, pointing as Eloise heads into an asymmetrical stairwell—“is a walking disaster. Not to mention everyone knows she sabotaged your exam. Stay. Chill on our couch and tell us everything. Have a celebratory drink for god’s sake. ”
I remove Ivy’s hand from my wrist. “I gotta run, but I’ll make it up to you guys later.” Maybe.
Ivy’s eyes widen. “Naomi is literally going to hunt you for a wall trophy!” she yells after me. “And you know what, Grayson Stone? I’m not going to stop her!”
If she keeps yelling, I don’t hear it because I use another speed-inducing wind spell to catch up to Eloise. Her long hair flutters in the breeze created by my sudden stop and she immediately frowns. She’s not happy to see me. Imagine that.
“Stop doing that,” she says as I keep pace with her.
“I absolutely would, if you’d stop making me chase after you.”
Eloise follows the campus navigation spell, a blue orb that zips down the hall in front of her like a 3D version of the pulsing dot on cell phone maps.
She turns down a wide corridor. “Go back to Ivy and Naomi.”
I smirk. “No can do. You dine. I dine. You work out in the training room. I’ll be there, too. Your classes are my classes.”
She visibly stiffens, and I can tell by the way her large golden-brown eyes turn murky that she’s plotting my demise.
But she doesn’t voice her fury. She just walks faster, stopping only once she reaches the library doors, which are so heavy she has to use her weight to open them.
Of course, when I help her, she graces me with the stink eye.
“You’re welcome,” I breathe.
“Go sit on a tack,” she whispers.
And now I do laugh, which earns me a stern look from one of the librarians.
Like the rest of the University, the library defies symmetry. Trunks act as pillars in the center of the room, some of which are carved out to create reading nooks with pillows. Round, tiered balconies line the walls that rise a good fifty feet toward a domed ceiling.
Eloise is already casting a spell on the reference index, whose pages flip in an unseen wind, stopping on titles related to the Archive Key. I follow her up two sets of twisty stairs to a little alcove balcony.
There are two armchairs and I plop down while I wait for her to collect not one but two armfuls of books. Only when she’s done, she doesn’t carry them to the front desk to check them out. She sits down in the other armchair, tucking her legs underneath her and cracking open a spine.
“You’re not seriously reading right now,” I say, a little stunned.
“Shut up, please, we’re in a library,” she replies without looking at me.
I throw my hands up in frustration and craft a fast noise-canceling bubble that surrounds our little balcony. “Happy?”
Her eyes lift briefly to observe my spell and she returns to her page.
“You can read those later,” I say. “You’re wasting time.”
Nothing but silence.
I run my hand down my face. It takes every ounce of self-control not to lift her up and carry her out of here.
“Those books will tell you nothing,” I say bluntly.
“You don’t know that.”
“I do. I’ve read them,” I reply, and the surprised look on her face is a little satisfying.
“Bull,” she says.
“My uncle has these and more in his personal library. And I’m telling you right now that Merigold’s Compendium on Historic Magic and Ashanti’s Guide to Veiled Doors aren’t going to tell you more than you already know. Which is a whole lotta nothing.”
She looks suspiciously at her stack like I’m trying to trick her.
“The magic that created the Archive door wasn’t ever written down, and the people who have successfully called the Key were extremely cryptic,” I continue.
“And while you sit in this library with your nose in a book, we could be doing something infinitely more useful, like trying to re-create your spell.”
“Maybe you’ve read these things, but I haven’t,” she says, doubling down. “But by all means, don’t let me stop you.” She makes a little shooing motion with her hand. “Run along.”
My jaw tics. “I’m not letting you out of my sight.”
Her lioness eyes promise murder and her grip tightens on her book. “I’m not Lawless,” she fires back with so much conviction that now I’m the one who’s startled. “I have everything to gain by calling that Key. You do not need to follow me around like I’m some criminal!”
“Hold on. Who’s doing what now?” I say with genuine confusion.
She makes a sound that can only be described as a kitten growl. “There’s no other reason for you to trail my every move except that you think I’ll call the Key when you’re not around and make a run for it.”
She’s right and yet she’s so very wrong. I am worried she’ll call the Key, but not that she’ll run—I’m worried she’ll give it to my uncle. Besides, the one thing I know with absolute certainty is that she’s not Lawless.
But I can’t say this. So instead, I say, “Half an hour,” as a compromise. “Then we’re leaving.”
She does not, however, see it that way. “Like hell we are.”
Stubborn.
I smile at her. She glares at me. And when the clock hits 6:00 p.m., I tell her it’s time to go. “You had your turn. Now it’s mine.”
Unsurprisingly, she ignores me. So, I remove the book from her lap with a wind spell and scoop the rest from the table, walking down the stairs before she can grab them back.
The string of insults she aims at me is both colorful and creative.
“Not really appropriate language for a library,” I say over my shoulder with a smirk.