Chapter 25
The hall was filled with initiates from all guilds going to or from their lessons—the closest washroom sported a line out the door.
Mist take her, there was Lottie at the back of the washroom line, and she was waving her over.
A bead of sweat dripped down her back, despite the fact that she felt colder than she ever had in her life. The air thickened, seeming to swell around her, pressing cloyingly to her face, weighing down her hair. She gasped, struggling to pull in breath.
Alone.
She needed to be alone.
Someplace not milling with initiates, scholars, or priestesses.
Hand clutched to her chest, eyes stinging with unshed tears, heart fluttering behind her ribs like a caged bird, Audra pivoted, shoving open a side door, which, according to the map she’d memorized, should lead to the basement.
She hoped for a washroom, but more than anything, she needed a moment alone.
The moment the door closed behind her, blessed silence.
By the time she made it down the stairwell, she was still gritting her teeth in pain, but her breaths were no longer shallow, stilted.
The stairs led not to a large basement, but a sparsely lit corridor that smelled of earth, damp, rot.
A look around, and if she hadn’t been in so much pain, she might have smiled. This level was wonderfully void of initiates, scholars, or priestesses.
Though it wasn’t empty.
Audra stumbled as someone burst out of a door down the hall.
Tall, male, moving quickly, heading right for her.
Audra’s breath hitched as her mind raced. The space was most likely restricted for initiates … Would he question or chastise her? Order her back upstairs? Was he dangerous?
Fuck. Why had she panicked like that? Why had she decided to go somewhere alone?
Growing up in Salt Hollow, before she’d even learned her letters, she’d known that to be a girl meant avoiding being caught alone.
Every instinct she’d always trusted seemed turned around here, unreliable. Any confidence she’d ever had in herself was being stripped from her with every passing moment she was trapped in this place.
Audra had to consciously resist the urge to freeze, to press herself against the wall, or turn around and race up the steps, back to the main floor—to the crowd of initiates.
She conquered every urge. Quickened her steps, raised her chin, feigned the walk of someone who knew exactly where this corridor led, the walk of a person who was supposed to be here.
As he grew closer, she recognized the gray jacket and trousers, the scuffed boots. A groundskeeper, his arms loaded down with boxes, the heels of his boots clipping loudly on the black stone floor.
She prepared to greet him, to nod or smile, but he swept by without even a fleeting glance.
She supposed he had more important things to worry about than whether an initiate was where they were supposed to be.
That was the concern of the guards who patrolled the perimeter, walking the fence line no matter the weather; of the scholars, who marked the presence of every initiate at the start of each class; of the academy’s executive offices, who strapped them all with timepieces that tracked their every move.
Speaking of … She pulled her wrist away from her chest, wincing at the shooting pain the minimal movement caused her. The timepiece! It would have chimed or heated if she were somewhere she wasn’t supposed to be. And yet, it ticked on, the chain limp, cool.
When the man disappeared up the stairs leading to the primary levels, Audra stumbled on. The pain hadn’t lessened; by now, it felt like hoarfrost crystalized in her blood.
There were so many rooms—windows cut within each door showed that they were mostly filled with broken desks, empty standing candelabras, slate boards, and shelves lined with bedding, uniforms, parchment, and other supplies for the hundreds of initiates.
This level appeared to be mostly storage.
She was on the verge of relinquishing hope of finding a washroom when, finally, she spied the familiar sign.
A cold shiver racked her body as she slipped inside. It was freezing, a stark contrast to the insulated corridor.
She quickly checked each stall—all empty. She locked the door and slid the strap of her satchel onto a hook affixed to the wall. With frantic, jerking motions, she unfastened the buttons on both sleeves and tugged the fabric higher on her forearms.
She turned the faucet; water streamed from the fluted silver faucet into the marble basin—but the moment the frigid water touched her fingers, she yelped, withdrawing her hand and holding it to her chest. Still unused to running water and magic and ill with pain, she’d forgotten to initiate the heating element.
She pressed the incra-covered lever beside the faucet handle until the water ran warm, then pressed it a few more times, increasing the heat until steam billowed out of the basin, filling the washroom.
Slowly, she inched her fingers beneath the hot water.
A pained moan escaped her, but she gritted her teeth and pushed through this initial burn, ignoring the desire to pull her fingers from the stream.
They hurt both outside and in the water. This, at least, was beneficial.
Probably.
The water in the basin swirled black and gray as charcoal dust rinsed away, the drain slow to empty. She watched, focusing on the liquid darkness’s whirl, spin, eddy—distraction from the stabbing agony as her fingers thawed.
Steam clung to her cheeks and lashes in little water droplets. Audra blinked them away, focusing on her hand.
By the time the water ran clear, the pain had subsided into a tolerable, almost comforting burn.
She sighed in relief as she stretched and wiggled her fingers, rivulets of steam rising from them, so cold was this washroom.
The academy was always drafty, cold, but with so many people and fires, it was usually manageable—and the basement corridor, underground, insulated in a way the rest of Central Main was not, had been almost warm.
Once her fingers moved and flexed without noticeable discomfort, Audra shut off the faucet and reached through the steam for a towel to dry her hands.
Her hand closed on empty air.
Was she hallucinating again, or had the towel moved—shifted? The room was steamy but not so cloudy that she couldn’t see where the folded fabric hung on the rack.
She extended her reach farther to clasp the towel, and this time, she watched it shift—as though sentient—to the other side of the bar, where she was sure it was initially draped.
Audra, wide-eyed, took a step backward, hands dripping onto the brown of her skirt, causing dark circles to bloom, looking almost like blood in the dim bathroom steam. The hairs stood on the back of her neck as she craned, eyes dancing, searching the washroom.
But she was the only one in here; she’d made sure of that before locking the door.
“Alright, alright, go for it; I won’t move it again, promise.”
Audra whirled around. “Who said that?” she asked the room.
Silence.
She cautiously rechecked the stalls before bending down to peer into the cupboard under the sink. Extra tissue, menstrual products, stacked bars of soap, and fresh hand towels, but not a soul.
She pressed her hands to her eyes and huffed a frightened breath as she stood.
She was losing it.
She studied her reflection in the round mirror above the sink.
Dark circles ringed her eyes, her warm brown skin looked ashen despite the glistening condensation on her cheeks, and her lip was swollen from where she’d been gnawing on it, an unfortunate side effect of being abducted and forced to attend an academy where she either outperformed the other students or was sent to be devoured by demons.
Fuck this, she was going through enough without dealing with disembodied voices and moving towels. She made to snatch her satchel off the hook and unlock the door—but her bag wasn’t there.
Tears pricked behind her eyes. She knew she had left it by the door. She’d entered, checked the stalls, then she’d hung the bag on one of the hooks on the wall.
She glanced back toward the sink; maybe she dropped it over there … when a transparent figure stepped behind her, just barely visible in the reflection.
Audra whirled around, heart thundering in her chest, but the sight before her was empty, save the tiled wall.
She turned back toward the mirror and watched, stunned, as the figure materialized from the wall—it wavered, gray, and blurred as though Audra were underwater. Audra clasped a hand over her mouth, stifling a scream.
Round dark eyes, pointed ears, unruly hair, the hint of a mischievous grin.
A crumpled, faded academic uniform, complete with a crooked tie and academy crest sewn on the pocket.
Audra, staring at the apparition with a mixture of disbelief and burgeoning panic, stammered, “Are … you … a demon?”
Was this demon going to whisper cunning words? Offer her pain or pleasure? Was she about to be godsdamned possessed?
“Alehera’s Light,” the figure gasped, its voice weak, quiet, as though spoken from the other side of a long tunnel. “You can see me.”
The figure placed a hand to its mouth and made a sound reminiscent of rustling leaves.
Audra stared, mind reeling. She moved her jaw, though no sound escaped.
“I was wondering why I had the vigor to … Are you the cause?”
Finally, her voice worked, her question exploding from her, loud and discordant. “Cause of what?”
The figure leaned closer, examining her with formless eyes.
“You shouldn’t be able to see me.”
“Shouldn’t I?” Audra breathed.
She felt distant, removed, apart from herself, like she wasn’t really here right now. Like this was a memory, one from long ago, one she couldn’t quite remember but was trying to pull back to her present state.
“You are alive, aren’t you?” The figure’s head cocked to the side, its expression dubious.
Was she … alive? The question lingered between her and the gray figure, so absurd it took moments for her to process it, to devise the meaning of what the apparition was even asking.