Chapter 25
TWENTY-FIVE
NOX
The bar is overcrowded, understaffed, and the stink of the patrons is worse than a middle-school locker room in the height of summer.
Even Gryph would have his work cut out for him to rummage through this many minds, no matter how limited the collective cognitive function.
The jostling and jeering happening around me is a scathing indictment on the rapid decline of our community once pack mentality kicks in and a drop of liquor hits the bloodstream.
Despite never having stepped foot in here before, within minutes of being seated, the entire building was already toeing my line.
My glass has stayed full, the tables around me empty, and the booth I’ve holed myself up in with a mountain of papers to be graded and research to sift through is given a wide berth by even the most inebriated idiots.
Three of my creatures hold that perimeter, and despite their feigned state of sleep, not a single whisper of protest has been made.
Or so I thought.
The music is too loud to hear the door opening, but the ripple of unease that works its way through the crowd at Gryph’s arrival breaks through my focus on my work. Irritation rakes over my skin. I finished grading hours ago, a task I’d happily be pulled away from, but my research is another story.
Our lives may depend on it.
Tipping back the glass, I down the entire drink in one go before meeting Gryph’s knowing stare.
It’s not disapproving though, and I guess it’s a good thing he’s been sent to assess my condition instead of my wet-blanket brother.
If anyone attempted to curb my drinking right now, I’d let Azrael tear their leg off.
There’s a Healer somewhere on campus that could heal such an injury, so it couldn’t be classed as attempted murder.
Not that North would ever allow it to go that far and certainly not on his account.
Sometimes the reckless impulse to test out exactly how far I could push him before he breaks takes over me with such vehemence that I consider it.
He’s well aware.
Still, he stands at my side.
Stupid man.
When I turn back to the papers before me, Gryph lets out a scoff before he calls out, “Are you going to get them to let me pass or are we having this conversation with an audience?”
Glancing up with a bored look, he’s staring back at me with an exasperated expression of his own…
only it’s not directed at me. I can distinguish between them well after years of—alleged—poor decision making while also serving within the TacTeams and navigating the political minefield of the council.
As a confidant and, honestly, the only Gifted I ever allowed close enough to call a friend, he’s seen it all and if I had to hazard a guess, I’d say he’s here to wallow in misery with me.
The surge of savage triumph or vindication that should fill me is replaced by a wave of disgust. Violent and inescapable, it bubbles deep in my gut and mixes with the countless pints of brown liquor I’ve already consumed until I’m fighting the urge to vomit.
As a cold sweat breaks out over my brow, the feeling only intensifies the closer I inspect it because my repulsion is undeniably at my own relief at his return to our old rituals than at his, assumed, pathetic obsessions.
I allowed myself to form some attachment to North.
I wouldn’t call it kinship, or affection, and certainly not love; a creature like me is incapable of that crap.
It was a concession that was made early on, long before I had anything of worth to offer him, when it became clear to me that his loyalty and responsibility for me were not only a difficulty he was undertaking, but that I was actively and enthusiastically detrimental to his life.
I outlined to him specific circumstances that I’d help him, defend him, or walk away from confrontation at his request as some form of compensation or acknowledgment.
The relationship I built with Gryphon Shore was a different beast, right from the start.
North was convinced I needed attachments outside of my shadows and him, no matter my own opinion.
When my therapist agreed, it became clear my life would become further restricted and monitored if I couldn’t conform to enough of their whims that supposedly equated to my wellbeing.
From a Top Tier family but on the fringe of the community, he was intelligent and quick-witted enough to keep up with me.
His unprecedented Gift came with an irreverent attitude, thanks to his life-long ability to sift through minds like they were his personal sandboxes, and he’s never worried too much about what the right thing to do is—at least, not by the community’s standards.
He has a moral line and he stands by it; it’s not that far off my own.
He was the only suitable contender from the start and, before the girl got dragged back here, we never fought.
In fact, we barely disagreed with one another.
Everything about our foundation was built to last; clinical, controlled, and without some uselessly frivolous construction like friendship being thrown into the mix.
Gryph’s mouth sets into a line as the seething rage that’s filling my head must bleed into my eyes, but as one of the servers rushes over to refill my emptied glass with a harried sort of panic, I smirk at him. “You’re welcome to join me, but only if you’re drinking with me.”
His eyes narrow, but he nods to the server and accepts a glass before he edges carefully past my shadows to take a seat across from me, their heads lifting to watch his every move now that they’re no longer pretending to nap.
The server, a college-aged boy I don’t recognize from class or any of the Top Tier families, gulps dramatically as he turns to walk away and is also faced with Azrael’s keen gaze, his tongue lolling out of his mouth as he pants.
The rows of razor-sharp teeth on clear display are a warning and a threat, one no one is ever stupid enough to disregard.
It’s probably the fact that, when the shadows choose this form, and they usually do, there are three rows of teeth instead of one.
The deviation from the animal they’re imitating is one of the more unsettling reminders that the creature is a Death Dealer’s creation.
Honestly, if the void-eyes didn’t somehow glow, it would undoubtedly be the shadows’ most terrifying feature.
After another beat of silence, Gryph sets his now empty glass back down onto the table and motions in the direction of the bar like he’s unaware of their diligence in prioritizing this particular booth as an act of self-preservation.
“Should I even ask you what’s eating your ass so bad that you’re suddenly hellbent on staying up-to-date with your paper grading? ”
I almost want to snarl back at him but the effects of downing that glass in a rush has dulled some of the sharpest edges in my mind. For now, at least. We’ll see how long I can keep it up.
“William is campaigning and now all of my research on the Magnifier’s movements have been wasted. His hold over North might not be what it once was but that girl being here has cracked my brother’s defenses and William is using that to his advantage.”
It’s as neutral as I can possibly hope to be on the topic and Gryph, thankfully, takes that attempt for what it is and doesn’t start an argument with me over that Bond of his.
We pause for our glasses to be refilled and I tell the server to leave the bottle.
If this is the direction the conversation is heading in, I’d rather not deal with the interruptions.
I don’t have to worry about being overheard, Gryph can deal with that easily enough, but there’s nothing more irritating than a broken train of thought.
Distracted by the information spread out before me, I almost forget he’s here for a moment before Gryph murmurs to me again, “I have my own concerns about William… I was unaware you shared them.”
Glancing up slowly, my head spinning a little with the action, I find him shuffling through the pages and pages of photos from the mass grave. The sickened look on his face ages him, as I’m sure my own restless nights must be etched onto my face by now.
When I don’t answer him, he misreads my silence and sends me a careful look as he swiftly changes the subject, holding the pages up to me. “North said you’d found more clues… is there anything that ties this to the Magnifier? Anything to say that Gifted was responsible for sure?”
I send him a droll one back as I reach for my glass again, set on properly drinking now that he’s joining me.
“Nothing conclusive, but even the Resistance have enough wits about them to refrain from publishing the findings of their experiments in plain language. It’s amazing how even the lowliest of their minds are able to function enough to hide the worst of their crimes. ”
He scoffs but he goes along with me without protest or bringing up that Bond of his. It’s almost like she’s no longer here ruining things.
It’s there that North finds us hours later.
I don’t know if Gryph called him for a ride home, or if someone at the bar did, but he shows up right as they announce it’s the last call for drinks.
One minute we’re arguing about the new recruits that Vivian is considering, and the next I’m staring at North’s deeply disapproving face and wondering why the fuck he even bothers to fuss after me when I’m such a waste of time and energy.
My remorse doesn’t last.
North sighs at us both like we’re children. “Is there a reason you’re drinking here? It’s not exactly… clean.”
The scathing look I send him has his mouth snapping shut so hard I hear his teeth rattle.
“Gryph told too many people about Al’s and when I voiced my concerns, you sided with him.
Now the place is crawling with students and personnel, and not a single fucking one of them can shut up about that girl. ”