Chapter 9 A Cold Night #2
“No.” He sat on one of the pillows, the peacock blue one, and motioned me towards the red one next to it.
Once we were both situated, he threw the blanket over both of us.
Grinning at me from underneath it, he winked.
“As shagging is about the only permissible excuse for spending time with you, at least according to that lot, I haven’t tried to dissuade them.
A few are a bit bent out of shape about it, but it’s pure jealousy, love. ”
It was my turn to scoff.
“Right,” I said, rolling my eyes. “I’m sure that’s exactly what it is.”
He snorted another laugh, then handed me a covered mug.
I lifted the cover and sniffed cautiously.
It turned out to be hot chocolate with something alcoholic in it, probably something Magical that didn’t have an exact equivalent in human England. Whatever it was, it smelled strong, alcohol-wise, and spicy. The unusual scents blended surprisingly well with the chocolate.
I took a few swallows without even asking him what it was.
“You are unbelievable,” I told him, right before the chocolate concoction hit my tongue and the back of my throat. Heat seared down me, warming my chest. I let out a happy little moan. “Oh, gods. I take it back. You’re a bloody genius.”
He grinned and drank some from a second mug, scooting closer to me so we could huddle together for warmth.
His eyes grew serious a few seconds later.
“Sorry to pull you out here like this. I figured you’d want to listen––”
I shook my head. “Don’t apologize. Of course I want to listen.” I studied his eyes from a few inches away, huddled around my mug. “How did you hear about it?”
“Eavesdropping,” he said at once. “I’ve been experimenting with spells, since I don’t have the drakai here. I heard Scar Maskey talking to Marigold Beauville, a firstie royal he’s been trying to shag since summer.”
I shuddered a little, unable to help it.
“Lovely,” I muttered, sipping my chocolate.
But Alaric was staring at the receiver, his expression suddenly grim.
“The dial is glowing. I think it’s about to start.
They’re a little early tonight,” he added, pulling out his silver pocket watching and glancing down at it.
“It’s only just ten-thirty. I thought it would be closer to eleven when they began. ”
“Why so late?” I asked him. “It was usually early evening in the summer.”
Alaric shrugged. “They’re always late this time of year.”
My eyebrows rose.
“Why?” I blurted.
Alaric met my gaze, his own eyebrow cocked. Something in those hazel eyes made me think he’d heard the sharper note in my voice.
“I don’t know exactly,” he said, after a pause.
“It was the same last year. I assumed it was because they’ve made a point of targeting students over the past few years.
Particularly here, I would imagine, given how many royals attend Malcroix Bones.
It’s easier during the school year for students to listen later at night. ”
I didn’t say anything, but he must have seen something in my face.
“What?” he asked.
I hesitated, opened my mouth, closed it, then rolled my eyes. “Come on, Alaric,” I said finally. “It must have occurred to you, too.”
Alaric gave me an innocent look I found completely unconvincing.
“What must have occurred to me, sweetness?” he asked, arching an eyebrow.
I rolled my eyes a second time. “That the change in schedule would also make perfect sense if the Priest was a student himself.” I bit my lip, feeling faintly sick that I’d finally said it out loud.
“You must have thought about it,” I insisted, suddenly feeling stupid for never having asked him.
“You probably even have a pretty good idea of who it is.”
Alaric shook his head at that, his eyes serious once more.
“I don’t,” he said. When I opened my mouth, he cut me off. “I’m not saying I haven’t thought about it, Leda. I have. But no, I don’t know who it is.”
“There’s an obvious suspect,” I pointed out.
“No.” Alaric shook his head, once, his eyes losing all of their coyness. “It’s not him.”
“It’s not?” I scoffed. “Then why is it you know exactly who I mean?”
“It’s not Bones,” Alaric warned. “If you knew anything about how he was raised, what his family life is like, you wouldn’t believe it of him, either.”
I opened my mouth to argue that those very things could be the exact reason he would do it, but Alaric nudged me with a shoulder, right as magical smoke began to pour out of the front of the receiver.
I set down my mug of chocolate next to my thigh, and tried to push Bones out of my mind.
Even so, I struggled to focus as the aether-like substance reconfigured into the hooded, masked figure we’d watched and listened to all summer.
“Greetings, friends of Magique, allies of the Magical race,” the Priest intoned solemnly.
“Welcome to the Dark Cathedral.” It was how he began every missive, as was the next thing he said.
“In joining this gathering, you mark yourself one of the chosen, part of a select group of spiritual warriors tasked with rescuing our people from corruption, dissolution, and darkness…”
I decided I didn’t want to wait.
I didn’t need to hear whatever he intended to say.
This might be the only chance Alaric and I got for months.
I closed my eyes, and deliberately slowed my breathing, and my heart.
I brought everything inside me down to stillness, erasing anything that would identify me to anyone who might be looking.
I mouthed the silent spell that erected a thin but strong shield over just me, and watched it harden into a shell over my aura.
I reached out carefully, slowly, but maybe a little faster than usual, using the subtlest, quietest magic I possessed.
I threaded it into the magic that swirled around the masked Priest.
“Gods. That was fast, Leda,” Alaric said, his voice nervous. “Be careful.”
“I will.” I meant it. “Tell me if you feel anything wrong.”
When he didn’t speak, I brought my vibration down to the lowest, stillest, most invisible frequency I could manage. When everything about me felt preternaturally still, I slid more of myself into that particular flavor of magic I associated with the Priest alone.
I tried not to think about how it felt to me.
I tried not to think about who it felt like.
I tried not to think––
“Leda!”
I snapped out, startled.
Breathing hard, I found myself sitting on the stone in pitch darkness. It was like someone had switched off the light. I was so shocked at the sudden change, it took me a few seconds of staring at the receiver in front of me before I understood what I was seeing.
The green dial was completely black.
For a long-feeling few seconds, Alaric and I just sat there, staring at it, both of us breathing way too hard.
I felt like I was choking on the cold oxygen swirling around The Eyrie’s roof, even though I was ensconced in warmth, inside Alaric’s chimaera, under his spelled blanket, with his warm body pressed against mine.
“What happened?” I asked finally. I could hear the panic in my voice.
“I don’t know,” Alaric said.
“But what happened?”
“He vanished.” I heard the same quavering, manic, verging on hysterical notes in Alaric’s voice that I heard in mine. “He was talking and he just bloody vanished, Leda––”
“Did he say anything? Before he went?”
“No.” Alaric shook his head vehemently. “Nothing.”
Both of us sat there on the soft pillows, breathing hard, staring at the dark receiver on the blanket, willing it to come back to life.
It didn’t, though. The dial remained black and dead.
Not a single sound came out of it. I didn’t see the round face so much as flicker, and no more magical mist swirled around the spiral in the center.
The Priest, whoever he was, was gone.