Chapter 7 Snow And Ravens #3
The talisman on the desk, the same one Blackstone had been fiddling with, had altered the chimaeras in the room, practically forcing a blanket of calm over both of them.
No wonder he’d been musing about the relative lifespans of Warlocks versus Obeah.
Blackstone had done the equivalent of slipping a calming potion into his tea.
He scowled at the older mage.
“You could’ve asked,” he said.
“You didn’t seem to be in a conducive state of mind for such a question,” Blackstone nodded towards Caelum’s leg. “Is that causing you much pain?”
Caelum felt his jaw harden, but forced his eyes back to his leg.
Thinking, trying to answer the question objectively, he tilted his head in a shrug.
“A little,” he admitted. “Not much when I’m not moving it. Or putting weight on it.”
Blackstone nodded, as if it was the answer he expected. “So this agitation of yours,” he said, still in that observational tone. “Did not come from excessive physical pain. And clearly your magic is still working.”
He waited, as if expecting Caelum to agree with him, or to argue with him, maybe.
When he did neither thing, Blackstone nodded again, almost to himself. Still clasping his hands at the base of his spine, Blackstone wandered closer, his gait measured.
“You were on the verge of losing control over your magic when you first came in here,” the black-haired mage remarked. “Why would you not take your prescribed potion when I offered it? I expected you to jump at the offer.”
At that, Caelum frowned. It annoyed him that his ability to pause, to think about the question logically, likely came from Blackstone having activated that fucking talisman.
“I don’t know,” he said flatly.
Blackstone’s dark eyebrow lifted. “I don’t think that’s true.
But perhaps you’d rather not speak to me about such things.
” He cleared his throat. “I am told our now-infamous hybrid, Leda Shadow-La Fey, is staying here over the winter holiday, as well. Have you seen her since you got out of hospital?”
Caelum physically felt his hackles rise.
“What of it?” he asked.
Blackstone only stared at him blandly for a few seconds.
When Caelum didn’t attempt to break the silence, the professor let out a purring sort of sigh, clucking his tongue against the roof of his mouth.
“It was not a trick question, Mr. Bones. You came here for answers, and for my help. I am attempting to provide both things to the best of my ability––”
“You haven’t answered shit,” Caelum growled, his voice a few shades colder.
“I asked for information about what was done to Alaric Greythorne and to me. You know I wouldn’t have been able to ask that question while Malefic was free.
It’s risky for me to ask you now. But still, rather than give a real answer, you’d rather talk about me and the hybrid.
” His jaw tightened as he gripped the window sill where he leaned.
“I’ve explained why she was there. She was my student––”
“She severed his arm,” Blackstone pointed out. “Mages with over a century of military expertise never managed anything close to that with Malefic Bones. Did you think no one would have questions? That a number of conclusions wouldn’t be drawn, in light of that?”
Caelum looked up, his jaw hard. “Conclusions? What conclusions? He threatened her life. Did everyone expect her to just stand there and do nothing? To simply let him kill her? Or are you shocked a second-year university student knew a basic fucking severing spell?”
Blackstone’s left eyebrow rose.
“She took him by surprise,” Caelum growled. “He underestimated her. Or barely estimated her at all, I’d guess. It was his own arrogance that lost him his arm.”
Blackstone’s long face remained remarkably still, yet he still managed to convey his skepticism in that blank-eyed stare. When Caelum didn’t speak to the stare, or the skepticism, the older mage exhaled a low sigh.
“There was nothing basic in that spell,” he remarked. “Or the power behind it. I’ve seen the Praecuri’s records of the event.”
Caelum only shrugged. “Adrenaline and fear can do things to a person––”
“Stop.” Blackstone’s voice vibrated with magic.
“If you cannot convince me, how do you possibly think you can convince Dark Cathedral?” When Caelum opened his mouth, the Oracle held up a hand.
“I am not interested in your personal life idly, Mr. Bones, nor for the purposes of admonishing you for it. There are implications, if the two of you have chosen to become involved. Particularly if you are involved to the extent your magic suggests.”
Caelum just stared at him for a moment.
Then he scoffed openly.
“Really?” he asked coldly. “Implications? You don’t say.”
The silence deepened.
Through it, Blackstone continued to survey him with those opalescent eyes.
After another pause, he motioned gracefully with a hand.
“Ask me your questions. Unless you would like a dose of your potion first?”
In spite of his annoyance, Caelum thought about the offer.
More than the offer itself, he thought about why he was so reluctant to take Blackstone up on it.
The Oracle was right; normally Caelum would have accepted the dose gratefully.
He’d have downed the bottle within minutes of walking through the door.
Moreover, he would have asked for it, not waited for it to be offered.
He likely would have asked for a double dose, given how long it had been.
So why did every part of him rebel against the idea of suppressing his magic now?
There had always been unpleasant side-effects to the potions.
They made him drowsy, even woozy at times. They fucked with his concentration, his ability to focus. Of course, given their purpose, they weakened his magic, and made certain frequencies significantly more difficult to access.
But normally that was a relief. Why didn’t it feel like a relief now?
If the professor gave him a potion, he’d expect Caelum to take it right in front of him.
His magic was definitely not okay with him doing that.
“I want to know about the ritual Malefic did on Greythorne,” Caelum said, annoyance in his voice. “I already know it’s a bridge of some kind. I want to know what they’re using it for. And who’s on the other end of Alec’s leash.”
Blackstone’s eye twitched.
He didn’t change expression apart from that, and his voice remained that calm, rolling purr that never seemed to contain any emotion at all.
Caelum continued to gauge those blind-looking eyes.
“Are there books I could read, at least? Records of similar rituals?” he asked.
“If you could point me in the right direction, that would be something. I plan to conduct research off-campus over Yule, but it would be nice to have a place to start.”
“You plan to leave campus?” Blackstone asked.
“I do.”
“Alone, or––”
“I don’t know.” Caelum felt his hackles rise a second time. “Does it fucking matter? I don’t think Malefic has anything to say about it, in any case. Not anymore.”
“Do you need money?”
Caelum flinched.
He stared at the tall mage, completely thrown, maybe for the first time since the conversation started. He opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again.
“No,” he said, his voice subdued. “My mother got access as a result of his imprisonment. It’s apparently done with or without his permission.” He scoffed. “Well, obviously. He never would have given permission, if he’d had a choice.”
“You cannot access the vaults yourself?”
Bones swallowed. He felt his face heat, which irritated him.
“No. But my mother…” He hesitated, cleared his throat. “Varya gave me enough to tide me over for a while. I should have plenty until the end of the school year.”
Blackstone nodded slowly. He leaned lightly against his work table and crossed his ankles, arms folded in front of his chest as he surveyed Caelum’s face.
“I can give you several references,” Blackstone said next. “You and Mr. Greythorne are both aware it’s part of a longer sequence of rituals?”
Caelum nodded, still thrown by the direction the conversation had taken. “Yes,” he said, his voice still subdued. “For Alaric, anyway. Mine is obviously different, since it was done to me years ago, and by a family member. But there are parallels, aren’t there?”
Blackstone tilted his head. “In a way,” he conceded. “The ultimate goal of both is possession of another’s magic, although the degree and mechanism are different.”
“Possession.” Caelum felt the muscles of his chest tighten around the gold markings there. “Can Malefic still do that to me now? While he’s imprisoned?”
“No.” Blackstone shook his head. “Absolutely not. Prisoners are collared inside the Pyramid. Their hands and arms are chained. I would be amazed if Malefic could feel anything at all through the aether in his current circumstances. I would be even more amazed if he could feel you, despite the strength of your connection. Especially given…”
Blackstone hesitated, as if stopping himself from saying more, then inclined his head.
“Suffice it to say, Mr. Greythorne’s situation is more urgent,” he finished calmly. “But I admit, I am more concerned with you at the moment, Mr. Bones.”
“And why is that?” Caelum asked.
The raven, Morag, took flight suddenly, winging out the open window and into the winter air. Caelum followed her flight with his eyes as she soared above the snow-covered fields. The sky was a shocking blue, contrasting the snow covering the ground and trees.
“It is dangerous, what you are doing,” Blackstone said, his voice soft, barely a murmur.
“Your father obviously knows about the two of you. Continuing to foster this… connection… between yourself and the hybrid gives him leverage. It gives the Cathedral leverage. Perhaps in ways you don’t realize––”
Caelum scoffed. He couldn’t help it.
“Leverage?” he said mockingly. “You say that as if it’s something new. As if that’s not been an issue for me since the day I was born––”