Chapter IX #3
“Why would you do a thing like that?” Max asked.
Another pregnant pause. The raven followed Vic’s gaze as she looked between Max and the Sentinels.
“She doesn’t belong here,” May said, her voice harsh.
“And is it up to you to decide who belongs in the castle and who does not?”
“It’s against the rules.”
“I know the rules quite well, May. I wrote many of them.”
“This one is a rule for a reason. People will get hurt.”
“It wasn’t too long ago that the same argument was used to keep Mades out of the castle.”
May looked away, and Vic wondered whether she was a Born witch or a Made like Sarah. “It’s not the same.”
“Yet the comparison stands, doesn’t it?” Max faced the window, and the raven flew to perch on the shelf nearest him. “You may go,” he told the three witches. “I will inform the Chief Sentinel about what’s happened here, and he will address your insubordination as he sees fit.”
“Yes, sir,” Em and Michael intoned, while May seethed.
The three Sentinels left Max and Vic alone for the first time since her arrival at the castle.
“Are you all right?” he asked, watching her face, and she nodded. “I heard what happened in the Arena. And I heard you’re helping the Sentinels train. You’ve been busy.”
“What’s with the bird?” Vic asked, unable to hold the question in. The raven sat on the shelf behind Max’s shoulder, staring blankly at the two of them.
“My familiar,” Max said. He stroked the underside of the bird’s beak, as if free-roaming ravens were as normal a sight as house cats. “Do you like him?”
“It’s a bit creepy, to be honest. His movements almost track yours.”
“Don’t listen to her, Augustus,” Max told the raven. “You’re not creepy at all.”
“You say ‘familiar’ like I should know what it means.”
“You should,” Max said, still stroking the bird, while the animal’s eyes remained locked on Vic.
“You should learn whatever you’d like to know.
Familiars are a relic of a bygone time. Powerful witches used to imbue creatures with their souls and their power, making them functionally immortal.
They bind with living witches and multiply their power. ”
“You’re saying there’s a dude in there?” Vic asked before she could stop herself. She stared at the bird’s black eyes like she expected to see humanity hiding inside them.
“There are several dudes in there,” Max replied with a smile. “Augustus holds the collective memories and abilities of a line of witches dating back even further than the Acheron Order. I am the Ninth Raven—there were eight before me.”
“And you’ll join them,” Vic guessed.
“Someday,” Max replied.
And he would spend eternity trapped inside a bird. What a horrible thought.
“How are you enjoying Avalon Castle?” Max asked as he returned his attention to Vic. “Putting aside the events of the last hour, of course.”
“Putting aside the events of the last hour, I still find it unsettling.”
“Some of that can’t be helped,” Max said. “Drafty hallways, too many empty apartments.”
“Witches learning how to kill each other in the basement.”
“Exactly. It’s unavoidable.” Max raised a curious eyebrow. “How are your lessons coming along?”
“I’m becoming very adept at staring at rocks.”
He watched her like he expected her to say more. But there was nothing to report. Vic had no magic and could do nothing more than stare.
“It’s making people angry,” Vic said instead. “My being in the classes, helping with the Sentinels. They don’t like it.”
Max turned back to the raven and petted it with a finger. “Growing pains,” he said. “They’ll get over it eventually.”
“And hopefully no one kills me in the meantime,” Vic said.
“No one will kill you,” Max said. “I told them not to.”
“Thanks.”
“It was no trouble,” Max said, having failed to detect Vic’s sarcasm. “Although seeing you reminds me.” He stood straight and patted the pockets of his suit. “I have something for you.”
He pulled an empty hand from his vest pocket, and Vic watched in confusion until an object formed atop his palm. The hair on Vic’s arms stood alert as a key knit itself together. Heavy and brass and identical to the one to her and Henry’s apartment.
“Meredith kept rooms in the castle for more than two decades,” Max said, and her stomach dipped. “I thought you might want to visit.”
Vic took the key from Max’s palm. Electricity ran through her fingers when she touched it, like static from a rug in winter. She measured the weight of it in her fist, imagined it in her mother’s hands.
“If you’d like to learn more about her life here, it’s number 481, in the Northwest Wing. We closed that wing about five years ago. You’ll have privacy.”
Vic slipped it into her pocket. It sat cold against her fingers.
“You can stay, you know,” Max said. “As long as you need to.”
“I can’t stay,” Vic said. “I’m not a witch, I can’t do any of this. I’m only here to…” Vic stopped.
“Why are you here?” he asked.
Because she wanted to keep Henry safe? Because she wanted to prove herself to a woman who had been dead almost a decade?
Or because she was desperate for a purpose, for a place where her actions had more weight than they did in the real world, where Vic shuffled aimlessly from day to day?
She remembered what Xan had told her last night.
Max wanted Vic to prove the Order wrong—to learn magic, and in doing so show them all a new world was possible.
“I’m curious,” she said.
Max looked at her with pale, incisive eyes and seemed to hear the sentiments she held back. He smiled when he spoke.
“Unanswered questions; I understand. But I urge you to consider what happens when you’ve answered them. When you peel away the final curtain, will you feel satisfied returning to the world outside?”
Vic wasn’t sure.