Chapter Thirteen
She didn’t want it to be desire. Or at least, not the kind of desire he had definitely been talking about. The kind that went
with words like sensuous and seductive and made her feel so unsettled she couldn’t even talk to Anaya about it. Even though it was kind of something she could mention, if she wanted to. She didn’t have to hide that from her friend. She could just say she unearthed it in a book, or
overheard other students whispering. It’s not clear thoughts, or intense focusing on what you want to appear, or the exact right hand gesture or wand movement—it’s
emotion, she imagined herself saying, on more than one occasion.
And especially when Anaya seemed to be hitting a wall now.
During Professor Yates’s class on preliminary applications, she managed to light a candle. But she couldn’t turn the candle
into a key, even though wax and iron were supposedly the easiest of materials to alter into each other. “Look, it says here
that they are resonant, yet I can’t even do that,” Anaya said, as they lounged together on Mina’s bed on some freezing cold
Thursday free period, books piled between them, her friend’s thumb holding open Simple Transmogrification Pairings for Foolish Beginners at the right series of diagrams.
Then once Mina had squinted at the tiny drawings of wax shapes, she flicked to the harder stuff. Stone into organic matter, that sort of thing. “Never mind this one,” she said and pointed to a pebble pictured next to a doughnut.
“Nobody can do that one. Yates said that the less pure an item is, the harder it is to turn it into something else and vice
versa. A doughnut is twelve different things; you’ll end up with some sort of flour and butter rock monster,” Mina pointed
out. Then for good measure she mimed what this poor unfortunate creature would look like. A hand coming out of its head. Body
half melted. “Killlll meeeeee.”
“Stop it. Just because Damien Farweather turned his foot into a depressed chair doesn’t mean it’s not possible to do it right.
Or that we shouldn’t be aiming for it. I know for a fact that you are aiming for it, even if you’re keeping how a secret.”
That jolted her. Hard enough that she couldn’t say anything, for a moment.
Anaya had to break the silence, once she seemed to register that silence needed to be broken. “I wasn’t saying that resentfully,
Min. I know you would never hoard information,” she said, then seemed to hesitate. She bit her lip. Before just bursting out
with it. “But I’d be a fool if I didn’t know you were getting that information in some kind of weird and probably dangerous
way.”
“It’s not dangerous.”
“If it wasn’t, you would just tell me what the source is.”
“Maybe I just don’t think both of us should be in trouble.”
“So it’s illegal, then. It’s going to get you expelled.
Or dragged in front of a magical tribunal for crimes against the natural order.
” Her friend’s voice dropped low for that last part.
And even lower when she added one last thing, while leaning forward, eyes wide.
“You know they execute people in really weird ways, right? I heard that they use a rusty spoon. And they don’t cut your head off.
They cut your elbows off. Do you have any idea how long it’ll take to die of having sawn-off elbows? Years, probably.”
“Well, good job, you’re being ridiculous on purpose, then.”
“Maybe I am, but the head and rusty spoon part still made you flinch.”
No, she wanted to say. But the thought of Harker got in the way.
Harker saying what they would do to him.
Who are you really protecting? she found herself thinking.
Anaya? Or him? And it didn’t make her feel any better about things when her mind answered, Anaya.
After all, Anaya was the only person who should even be in an equation like that. Who cared if he got brutally executed?
Not her. No, sir. Not a bit of it.
“Look, you don’t have to worry, okay. I’m being very careful. I’ve got things in place to protect myself.” She swallowed too
thickly around those last words. And had to rush on, before Anaya could point at said swallowing as evidence of her lies and
her nerves. “And once I make sure that whatever I’m learning is accurate and safe and not going to blow you up somehow, I
will share it. I just need to see if I can . . . replicate it. By using certain methods.”
“Do the methods involve emotion?”
Anaya said the words casually.
But she met Mina’s gaze as she did so, and held it.
“So you’ve guessed that, then,” Mina said. “It feels that way to you.”
“Kind of. Sometimes. I did wonder about whether it was something to do with feeling relief? The first time I gathered, it was once I was safe on top of the hedge. My whole body sagged with it, and then somehow I could feel it coming to me. It kind of bloomed. And when I think back on that feeling, I can make it happen. Like some sort of . . . emotional muscle memory.”
Anaya held up a hand, light suddenly blooming in it.
Then she seemed to look at Mina pointedly. And Mina realized her friend was waiting for her to do it back. To show that she
had mastered this muscle memory, too. Or at least started to give it a go.
But of course, it wasn’t that easy.
“Well, see the thing is, though . . . my emotion is sort of embarrassing.”
“You mean you have to, like, pick your nose to feel it?”
“What? No. No. Gross. And probably not a thing. Hopefully not a thing.”
“I dunno, Min. I saw Humphrey Smythe the other day in the spooky hallway behind the quad, muttering to himself while rooting
around with both fingers. And I don’t think he was searching for clear thoughts.”
Mina flicked back through her memories of their various classes, searching for a Humphrey. And when she got him, it didn’t
make this information any easier to digest. “Oh god, is he the guy with the monocle?”
“It popped off while he was attempting it.”
“This is the worst thing I’ve ever heard. I don’t want to talk about this anymore. In fact, let’s just go back to the life
cycle of a unicorn. First, there is the horse orgy. And then . . . and then they . . . and then—” Mina started to say. But
she couldn’t finish the thought. And judging by Anaya’s pointed expression, Anaya understood why. Most likely Anaya could
see the blush spreading over her cheeks, and was now connecting the dots.
“It’s a sex thing, isn’t it?” her friend said finally.
While she scrambled for a way out of it.
“I have no idea what would give you that impression.”
“Your face is bright red just because you had to talk about horse shagging.”
She threw up her hands at that. Before putting her head in them. “I’m just not used to thinking about these things, okay?
Or talking about them. Or feeling them. The closest I ever got to experiencing a sexy sensation before now was that time in
school when Jenny Haverman tripped and accidentally brushed my boob with her boob. And now here I am at nineteen years old
saying the word boob to my probably reasonably experienced and very cool friend.”
“Min, I am not experienced at all. I had braces so big and thick all through high school that one boy started crying when I suggested we kiss behind the bike
sheds. He said the idea traumatized him. He had to go to the nurse. And even if boys had made it through, my Baba used to
squirt any who came too near me, with the thing he used to mist the tomato plants in his sort of greenhouse,” Anaya said.
Exaggerating quite plainly, but oh, it was amusing enough to make Mina drop her hands, and sag back against the frame of her
bed.
“I get what you’re doing, you know. Telling silly stories to try and make me feel more comfortable about this. But the simple
truth is that I’ve never been. And I don’t know how to be. Or even if I can be,” she said, but even as she did, she could
feel something long asleep inside her, stirring. Deep down, beneath layers of sad disappointments and dull encounters. And
all it needed was something more to unearth it, something like darkness and danger and the sense of everything being turned
upside down. Something like him, stroking her face in the middle of a maelstrom of emotions.
And so softly, too.
Like she was something fragile and forbidden.
A gothic story with a hero red in tooth and claw always did make your heart race, some voice in the back of her head said. But god, it was unbearable to hear it. She shoved it away before it could take
root. It simply couldn’t be that, and even if it somehow was, it definitely had nothing to do with him.
He was just a stand-in.
Anyone could have prompted the same feelings, in someone so unused to them. She just needed to practice on her own. And apparently,
Anaya thought the same thing. “Maybe I should leave you alone to explore this a little more intensively,” she said, half laughing.
But not unkindly.
And she gave her a half squeeze as she made her way out the door. Then it was just her, alone with her thoughts. Close your eyes, she told herself. Lay back, she told herself. Think of the fantasy version, not the real version. A woman running through a maze wrapped in red veils,
something chasing her, thunder rolling above, everything lush and deep and dark.
And for a moment, something seemed to shift. The books she’d laid back on melted away; her breathing slowed, slowed. She could
almost feel the chill air on her overheated skin, could almost hear the ragged breaths of whatever was after her. The hunt, she thought, the hunt, and then somehow her hand was nearly between her legs.
And that silvery feeling—it was there. It was within reach.
Just a little more, she thought, as she turned her face up toward that lovely magic. Hands coming together, ready to gather. Every part of her sure this was entirely divorced from him. Then she heard it, clear as a bell, in her head. His voice, just as it broke through.
And she shut down so fast, it felt like a slap.
She decided the best thing to do was just not push it. Let it come naturally, away from him. If she could just get a moment’s
peace, she could sort all this out herself, she was sure of it.
But unfortunately for her, there wasn’t a moment’s peace to be had.
She had barely gotten herself settled in for an evening of fervent study and serious thought, when she heard the familiar
sound of a letter in her dresser drawer. And she knew as soon as she saw it that it was from him. She recognized his handwriting
now. That old-fashioned script.
He’s probably a thousand years old, she thought bitterly.
But she picked it up anyway. She broke the seal and spilled the contents all over her bed. First a letter, with just one line
written in it. You cannot stay away from everything you fear forever, it said. Then beneath it, a sumptuous piece of card, embossed with gold lettering.
Familiar, because she had seen it in the hands of other students.
It was an invitation to the All Hallow’s Ball. The one being held that very night, but that she hadn’t considered for a second.
It was not for the likes of her, whether she was fearful of it or otherwise. She was the sort of person who stayed in, while
other people danced and drank and did fun things. I don’t even have anything suitable to wear, she thought.
But then she heard a rustle from her wardrobe.
And when she opened the door, there it was.
A deep red, among the worn browns and grays.
Vivid, even through the gauzy wrapper, and underneath, silk, taffeta, layers all furled and furrowed, like the frosting on a cake.
Beautiful enough that her eyes and fingertips marveled, even as her heart hardened against it.
I’m not a doll to be dressed just so, in the hopes I’ll be accepted.
And even if I was, it won’t fit, she told herself, as she tossed it aside.
She kicked it into the corner of the wardrobe, alongside the shoes that had also
appeared.
Crystal slippers, obviously.
Faceted to catch the light, and so fragile looking she wasn’t even sure she would dare step into them. And she’d definitely
never be able to walk in heels like that. She picked one up and almost cut her hand on the high sharp point. Impossible looking,
and certain to shatter the second she tried to walk.
Maybe that was even the joke. She’d dare and slice her feet to shreds.
You can forget it, she wrote, on a sheet of paper torn from a notebook, under notes on Professor Jameson’s lecture on maintaining a code of silence. Then she stood, and went to the drawer, and held it above, waiting to drop it in.
She probably would have even done it, if it hadn’t been for the knock on the door. Too soft to be him, she knew. But it still
jolted her. Her heart still did the same thing it always did, whenever he was around. She had to force herself over there
and make herself open it. And it wasn’t even a relief to see Anaya on the other side.
Because Anaya was also wearing a dress.
A gorgeous emerald-green creation, with a halter neck that revealed only the amount of skin that Mina knew her friend was
comfortable with. No sign of her bust, but her toned arms and smooth as silk shoulders were bared. They glowed, in the low
light of the hall.
Perfect for her.
And even lovelier with her hair done up like that. Tendrils floated around her elegantly made-up face—done with magic, Mina
knew, because Anaya had sent her a note about it the other day. If you want me to show you how I did it, it had said. And for just a moment Mina had thought how nice that would be. To be able to rely on her friend instead of
her enemy.
But of course you couldn’t kill a vampire with eye shadow.
And even if you could, Mina was pretty sure Anaya wouldn’t be able to teach her. It wasn’t the mechanics of spellcasting that
she had a problem with. It was feeling things she barely wanted or understood, apparently.
But she pushed all of that aside to focus on her friend. “I didn’t even know we were all invited. Let alone given dresses
like this,” Anaya said, as she bustled excitedly into the room. She snatched up the red silk on Mina’s bed, already cooing
over it, while Mina’s heart sunk over something she didn’t even know how to explain.
I think you’ve been invited to make sure I come, just so he can do something horrible to me, she thought sadly, at her friend’s back. But of course, she couldn’t say that. She couldn’t ruin it for Anaya. And doubly
so when there was a good chance it wasn’t true. Maybe someone thought Anaya was as lovely and magical as Harker thought she
was awful and ordinary, and they desperately wanted her to be there.
It was possible.
She was clever and beautiful.
“It’s the least you deserve,” she said.
Then slipped out of her sweater and skirt, ready to try on a dress.