3. Lucy
Lucy
I ’ve been summoned like a common contractee. I might be bound to my father, but that does not behove him to summon me like the rest of his grinners.
It’s insulting.
Before I push open the door to his office, I steady the clenching in my gut. There is nothing I dread more than alone time with my father.
The door opens and I find him perched on a desk talking to Professor Thessaly Grimwood who is, in a word, gentle.
Her blue eyes are round and smiley, even when she’s cross with a student.
Her curves are soft and full, even her hair falls in loose waves around her face.
And yet, get her in a classroom and she’s vicious.
A professor who demands excellence at all times.
But what do you expect? She’s the most respected Eytomancer in a couple of centuries, so the faculty claim.
As I step into the room, she hardens. Those bright blue eyes shift to frigid. Her jaw ticks as she lowers her voice.
“We cannot afford anymore budget cuts, Ignatius. See reason, for demon’s sake.” She lowers her voice.
Father reaches forward, clasping his hands over hers.
“Professor Grimwood. I understand your reservations, but it’s imperative that we bolster the Veil.
Chancellor Arcadius will make an announcement tomorrow.
But I’m approaching the subject leaders I have good relationships with to give them a heads-up. ”
She flushes. “I appreciate that, but how do you expect me to continue teaching without a resources budget? Let alone a budget to provide complex linguistic defence? Students need necromantic spells. I can teach the necro languages, but I am no expert in spell defence.”
Father’s face radiates enough warmth that my teeth clench, and my chest burns. It’s rare he displays that kind of warmth towards me.
I crave it.
What girl doesn’t want her father’s love? I don’t have a mother. I was always going to be a daddy’s girl.
He chuckles, a summery rumble that billows from his chest like a bouquet of blossoms. “Why Professor Grimwood? Because you’re the best. It’s rare I’ve seen such creativity in the classroom.
Your last fifteen cohorts of students have all received outstanding grades.
You constantly innovate in order to push the standards.
I hardly think a little snip cut of ten percent on the budget lines is going to do anything more than cause a bothersome afternoon for a professor of your standing. ”
Grimwood’s hard stare liquifies, settling into an abashed smile. Once again, Father’s charm penetrates right where he wants it.
Grimwood stands straighter. “I’ll make it work. But I implore you not to make any further cuts.”
Father squeezes her hand and gives it a gentle tap. “I hear you, and thank you, Professor Grimwood. It’s appreciated, especially under these difficult circumstances.”
She withdraws from his grasp and makes her way out, giving me a polite nod, her smile turning stiff as she does.
Father’s office is old. Brown leather books fill the shelved walls.
The glow of library-dim orange warms the space.
Two Chesterfield armchairs, cracked and worn from the weight of study, nestle in the corners.
If it weren’t for the wall filled with plaques and honours my father has received over the years, it would be as unassuming as any other academy reading room.
Father’s rigid, his skin pulling taut across his cheeks. All the affection he showed for Thessaly a moment ago has vanished. He wears the strain in his shoulders like a freshly commissioned soldier. He’s all charm and confidence for Grimwood, but I know the truth.
“Good evening, Professor Corvine,” he says.
“So formal, Father.” I mock curtsey, which makes his lip flicker.
“Indeed. Congratulations are in order. I’m giving you what you wanted.”
“You’re freeing me from my birth contract?”
He rolls his eyes.
As well as saving the city from that wretched fallen angel, Architecti, he saved me from, well, being dead, I guess. Unfortunately for me, I’ve been paying for that graciousness ever since.
His mouth pinches. “As my daughter, how could you possibly think you’ll ever be free of me? That’s not how parenting works. I gave you everything. I raised you singlehandedly?—”
Demons above. How is it I’m forty years of age, and still made to feel like a nine-year-old burden? I won’t be pandering to him today.
“I’m aware. I owe you my life, etc, etc.” I waft a disinterested hand in his direction.
He stands and looms over me. He’s trying to intimidate me.
But I stand my ground. My father hates disobedience, free thought, and independence.
He’s a controlling man. It’s how he got to where he is.
You can’t blame him, really. He’s done a lot of good.
Saved the damn city. He’s just not the most affectionate or loving of fathers if he’s not getting his way.
His neck vein pulses. When will I learn? Poking him only leads to loss—for me.
“Do I detect insolence?” he snarls, peering down at me. His hot breath trickles down on me. That’s close enough.
I shove him back.
A searing heat floods through the palm of my hand. I grit my teeth against the pain and curse the day he saved me. I hate that he has this power over me.
I can’t hurt him or threaten him. Apparently, it’s part and parcel of the magic in the contract he created to save me.
Which was highly illegal, I should point out. No under eighteens are allowed to be contracted, and yet, here we are. A vile abuse of power that saved my damn life, so I’m stuck with it. What’s the alternative?
Death?
“No, Father. You detect a tired, middled-aged woman with several contracts lessons to prepare for the new term, an investigation into a fraudulent agreement, apparently impending wraith attacks, if I read the subtext of your conversation with Grimwood, and above all, a need for a large glass of wine and a good dance.”
He perches on the edge of the table, folds his arms and beams. “You’re being appointed Head of House Inferos.”
My mouth falls open. “I did not ask for that.”
“Of course you did.”
“No,” I say firmly. “I most definitely did not. That is a considerable amount more responsibility. I have several research projects I’m heading up. I don’t have time to babysit new students. Let alone move across campus into House Inferos.”
“It is not babysitting, and it’s an honoured position.
Professor Dregan retired rather suddenly.
His wife was taken ill. They decided to leave the city and spend her last months together in peace.
We’re maxed out on staffing in other areas and we’re in a state of constant vigilance with the Veil thinning, so I volunteered you.
Besides, you’re always saying you would like more seniority at the Academy. Therefore, you’re welcome.”
You’re welcome? How dare he. My contracts research is vital to gaining funding for the Academy.
“No,” I say, pouring as much authority into my voice as I can and standing a little straighter. Sticking up for myself against him has never been my strong suit. Not when it usually leads to weeks of cold shoulder and silence.
A single crease forms between his brows. He laughs once, short and sharp and runs his hand through his greying hair. “Would you like to try that again?”
I shrug. “I said no. I’m not going to roll over and take on more responsibility that will detract from my research.”
His expression darkens, pupils pooling to hollow wells. “You will do as I say. I won’t have you embarrass me.”
I step towards the door, done with this conversation.
I have one ace up my sleeve, a secret of his I unearthed.
He flashes to anger every time I use it, but it is ruthlessly effective at getting him to back off.
Not least because if I were to spill the truth, it would bring down everything he’s built.
“You’re not listening t—” I start.
He leaves his perch on the table and draws near. I shuffle away until I hit the door frame. He grips my chin and pulls my face up to his.
It hurts.
He holds me tight enough to show he’s in control. But not so hard he’ll leave bruises. Because, of course, that wouldn’t look good to Chancellor Arcadius, academic faculty, or any of the other devils.
“I have already told the Chancellor you’d be happy to take the appointment. You will do this because it is good for both our reputations. Can you imagine? A dean and Head of House Inferos in our family?”
“You’re already the city hero, remember ,” I say, dragging out my last word, making sure he understands the implication—that he remembers the secret I carry. “What more do you need, Father?” I hold his gaze, the threat clear.
He hesitates, huffs and drops my chin. “It’s easy to win a city. Staying on top is much harder. Don’t you see how good this would be for us? Just think—my daughter, Head of House Inferos.”
He’s lost, his eyes glazing as he thinks of a future I want no part of. He doesn’t give a fuck what I want. I could plead all day, and he wouldn’t hear me. Either he’s ignoring my thinly veiled threat, or he’s intentionally pretending not to understand.
My stomach heats, chest simmering with the kind of rage that could ignite a revolution. I swallow it down.
If I lash out, I’m the one that will end up injured. But occasionally, I can subvert the contract.
My hands plunge for his wrists. My nails dig into his flesh, deeper and deeper.
“I said, no. Or would you prefer me to remind the city just how much of a hero you are?” I snarl the words, savouring the way his skin swells; resisting, fighting, slicing. The delicious sensation of my nails sinking into his pulpy flesh throbs in my fingertips.
It is one glorious millisecond of triumph.
Then it crashes around me. The sting of tears wells in my lids, the sensation in my fingers turns hot and searing, as though I’m having my nails ripped from their beds.
I endure the agony knowing he is also suffering. How dare he take my choice away, again.
I dig harder.