Chapter 19
I’ve been living here for forty-eight now, but the shock hasn’t worn off yet.
And I’m not talking about the private marble bathroom, or kingsize bed with a billion-thread-count sheets.
I’m talking about how I’m treated.
With…respect?
I’m not sure if that’s the right word, but at least with moderate courtesy, by all the Elites. Including Jordan and her gang.
Super fucking weird.
This morning things got weirder when a thick envelope was pushed under my door.
I stare at the contents again. In gold embossed lettering, I’m invited to celebrate the engagement of Jordan Tiffany Singleton-Smith and Cosmo Tyrus Drakeward.
On December the fifth.
Three weeks away. The day before the next Dunamis Pulse, when I’m scheduled to become an ‘energy cache’. Whoopee.
I drop the heavy cardstock onto the teak and brass desk.
We’ve three weeks to come up with a plan.
A knock at the door makes me jump. I quickly drop the card, and go to see who’s come calling so early.
It’s Naomi.
She’s wearing a long silk robe and a sardonic expression. “Did you get one?"
Not waiting for an answer, she steps into my room and looks around until her eyes snap on to my invite.
“Yep, I’m so excited,” I say, deadpan.
Naomi doesn’t know anything about my Lumina, telepathy, or our tiny liberated prisoner. But at least with Naomi, I don’t feel I have to slip into my dazed-Theo persona. I trust her enough not to go running to the authorities just because I act…normal.
She flicks the invitation with one finger. “Did you notice it’s on Krampusnacht?”
“Krampusnacht?”
“Krampus Night! I thought you were from Europe? You don’t know it?”
I shake my head. “No Krampus where I come from, just jolly old Father Christmas.”
“Well, Krampusnacht is when an evil demon crawls from the abyss to do dark deeds, kind of apropos for Cosmo and Jordan, don’t you think?”
“It certainly is,” I agree and she gives a grin.
“Anyway, what shall we get as an engagement gift?” Naomi snickers. “A basket of kittens for them torture? The souls of innocents?”
I stifle a shudder. Her joke is too close to home.
Naomi stops laughing and peers at me. “Are you alright, Theo? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
Giving myself a shake, I try to play it off. “Just got distraught by the idea of tortured kitty-cats, don’t mind me.”
“Wah, yeah. It’s agreed then, no animals for the lovebirds.” An alarm goes off on Naomi’s fancy watch. “Shit, gotta go. See you around, Wilson. Keep safe.”
I give her a salute, then close and lock the door behind her.
—Ludo…how’s everything in Defectivum?—
—Quiet. The girl is still asleep. Duncan Links entertained her with his game machine last night…she…—
—She what, Lu?—
—She giggled—
Wow. That’s huge.
—And our other plans?—
—I’m ready whenever the dog gets here—
Good.
Finally, some things are going right.
Like the dean.
I’m truly stunned that Crankshawe is on our side—and that she knew my mum.
Added to that, my mum had been a student at a magic academy?
Why had she never told me?
I guess I’ll never know.
There’s no point worrying about the past. There’s enough to worry about in the future.
i.e. Tomorrow when River takes the girl to safety, Gods willing.
My stomach is a knot of lead thinking about it.
A hot shower helps.
Then I use an air-spell to finger-blast (as Donovan calls it) my hair.
Getting dressed into the Elite uniform is a whole different ballgame to the sweaty, scratchy, brown polyester nightmare of Defectivum. This fabric is a heavy, weighted silk-wool blend in midnight blue, and my white blouse feels like the softest caress.
Sliding into the tailored blazer, I can’t help but admire the way it makes my small frame look sophisticated.
Then there are the boots.
No clumpy Mary-Jane’s for Electus girls. Oh no.
These are designer leather ankle boots with a sharp, tapered toe and a kitten heel that makes even my stride sound confident when I walk across the tiled floors.
I look nothing like Theo Wilson who delivered sandwiches and occupied Aunt Nancy’s spare room.
And nothing like the anxious remedial who just wanted to know where her twins had gone.
Nope, now I look like a girl who gets invited to the most exciting event of the winter season.
Like the ‘royal’ engagement.
A loud banging sounds on my apartment door tells me the least favorite part of the day is about to begin.
I step into the hallway, put on my "Theo-Lite" face and join Jordan and Kayla.
“Do you not own a curling iron?" Kayla asks, waving a hand in my direction. "It would help you look vaguely Elite. We have standards, you know.”
I give her a tight, fake smile. “Sorry, you’re right. I’ll make more effort.”
—Hey, Dono. I’m with Kayla. She thinks I’m lowering the Elite tone—
—Tell her I’ll lower her face— Donovan’s voice rumbles in my head, making me grin.
“What’s so funny?” Kayla demands.
I look at the floor. “Nothing, sorry.”
Jordan deigns to notice me for the first time.
I give her a simpering smile. “Thank you so much for the invitation, Jordan. I’m so honored to be included.”
She rolls her eyes and any reply she was going to give evaporates as the elevator doors roll open to reveal Cosmo and Wes.
“Good morning, darling,” Jordan goes straight to Cosmo and leans into his body. “Did you see that the invitations are all out?”
“Good morning, dearest,” he replies. “How wonderful.”
Then Cosmo drops his eyes back to what he’s reading. The magazine in Cosmo’s hand has a photo of his father on the cover. Red font shouts the headline "A Revolution in Lineage Purity." —Hey, Theodora. I’m worried about Wes—
I quickly steal a glance at Cosmo, then turn in Wes’s direction.
Hmm, his skin is gray and there is a fine sheen of sweat on his forehead.
—Is he sick?—
—I think it’s the spell. Maybe his body has been under this hypnosis thing for too long?—
—I’ll talk to Alexis…You concentrate on your fiancee…and I’ll worry about Wes—
The look he gives me is one that I can’t quite unravel.
It’s not anger, not frustration.
It’s more like…resignation.
Like he’s given up.
But on whom?
Me?
Wes?
Himself?
???
My whole morning block is taken up with one of my new Elite-track classes, and to my joy, it’s one which Donovan, Wes and Max are in too.
“Come in, come in,” Professor Smithfield says.
He’s a gray-haired, tall and skinny man, a tuft of goatee on his chin, and dandruff on his black suit shoulders.
“Welcome to Sigil the dark spells cast on Wes are doing something awful to his flesh and blood.
In my mind's eye, I see his cells congealing and becoming dull.
"Stop," he whispers, a frantic edge audible in his undertone. "Theo, please. You have to stop."
I don't pull away, instead I press firmer, my thumb finding the pulse point where the pale blue lines under his skin are throbbing with a sickly, rhythmic light.
—Wes, my love. Are you in there?—
I continue to pour a concentrated stream of energy toward the pulse point, trying to burn away the gunk.
Wes gasps and suddenly his hand clamps over mine. For a heartbeat, our connection snaps wide open, and I'm flooded with his internal panic.
—Help me—
The next second, he violently throws my hand off. “Don’t.” Sweat is running down his face now. “You have to, have to…” His body sways, then Wes crashes to the floor.
I’m on my knees next to him in a flash.
“Don't waste…light on me….you need it for…” Wes’s gasped words cut off as his chest arches and he body starts to convulse.
“He’s having a seizure, call the healers,” I hear Max shout.
Donovan is holding his brother’s head. “Breathe, Wes. We’ve got you.”
I rock back on my heels, tears running down my face. Did I do this?
Will trying to save Wes actually kill him?
That can’t be true.
Please Gods, don’t let that be true.