Chapter XIII #3
“So far? Very little.”
A massive fist rammed against the door to Max’s office, and Vic jumped to her feet, her heart in her throat.
Max stood and sighed. “Come in, Alexandros.”
The door swung inward with a bang, and Xan charged back into the room.
If she thought she’d seen Xan angry before, she’d been wrong.
Hostility flooded the room when he entered, choking the air.
His dark hair was swept back from his forehead like he’d run there, though he bore no signs of exertion.
His eyes landed on Vic immediately, then Max.
The instant she saw him, Vic knew Xan had not found the strix.
How he had searched the castle so quickly, Vic had no idea.
“Nothing?” Max asked.
He shook his head and crossed the room to stand beside Vic, his anger palpable.
“Victoria suspects the creature is a strix,” Max said.
Xan nodded, looking at Vic from the corner of his eye. “The wounds are consistent with a strix attack, and there was an open window on the western side of the library.”
“The Brotherhood has finally attacked,” Max said.
“Yes.”
“The Elders will want to investigate,” Max said. “And we should inform the rest of the Order before they find out elsewhere.” Max looked apologetically at Vic. “Allow me to beg your pardon in advance. This will not be pleasant for you.”
Before Vic could ask what he meant, Xan stepped forward, and held his arm out in front of her for an instant before he pulled it back. When she looked up, Vic noticed Max had caught the gesture as well.
“You cannot seriously be thinking about bringing her,” Xan said.
“She’s in training,” Max said, meeting Xan’s eyes. “All the other recruits will be there.”
Xan gave an exasperated shake of his head. “You’re still going to push this?” Xan’s voice fell low. “Someone’s dead, Max. We should get her out of the castle while everyone is distracted.”
“What are you talking about?” Vic asked.
“I will need to convene the Order,” Max replied, watching Xan’s face. “Tonight.”
“She will not be safe down there,” Xan said. “Max, you need to think this through.”
But Max turned to Vic. “What do you think?” he asked. “It’s your decision—you can come to the meeting with Alexandros and the rest of the Order present, or you can leave the castle.”
Vic swallowed and looked up at Xan. He wasn’t looking at her, but she could see his anger in the tautness of his face and neck. He was furious at Max. At Vic, too, probably.
Not twenty minutes ago Vic had wanted out of this castle.
She’d wanted to take Henry and run as far as she could.
That had been fear talking, the old voice in the back of her mind telling her to run.
Already, it began to quiet. She couldn’t abandon Henry—leaving her brother behind was unthinkable.
But Vic had another reason to stay, one that became more present in her mind each time she wondered why she was still here: She wanted to know what they wanted to keep from her.
Vic wanted to see the other side of the door.
“I’ll go,” she said.
Beside her, Vic thought she felt Xan sigh.
Max nodded, all business, and moved toward a narrow table in front of his desk. The raven, which had sat so silently that Vic hadn’t noticed its presence, took flight and perched on the edge of the table.
“Where is it?” Max mumbled to himself as he scanned a row of jars beside the desk. “Where is—there.”
He plucked an ancient-looking glass jar and set it on the spell table, then pulled a flat stone basin forward and eased the jar open. It was full of something dark and viscous. It might have been mud once. Vic moved for a better view and caught Xan watching her through narrowed eyes.
She shot him a look, and he turned away from her, frowning.
Max scooped a glob of the stuff out with two fingers and drew a series of inscriptions on the base of the bowl.
He worked with the swift ease of an artist sketching a scene he’d witnessed a thousand times.
The pigment stuck like dried paint, but Max’s lines were smooth. After a few seconds, he straightened.
He rubbed his hands together, and all traces of the paste disappeared as if he’d washed them. He reached across the table and drew a black match from another jar. It flared to life without being struck, and Max dropped it into the basin.
Vic jumped when it exploded, and Xan put a hand on her back to steady her. A puff of fire filled the basin and was gone. Max’s drawing burned bright as dying embers, then faded.
Xan elbowed Vic gently and put his hands over his ears, encouraging her to follow suit. She did, though she didn’t see why it was necessary, and turned back to Max.
Vic had less than a second to consider the strangeness of the display before pillars of fire flared from the candles lining the walls.
Another instant, and she understood the need to cover her ears.
An angry shriek resounded from the walls, as if the castle were screaming.
It came from everywhere, all at once, as every atom of the walls wailed.
“Follow Alexandros,” Max mouthed to her, then strode swiftly out of the room.
“Where is he going?” Vic shouted.
But Xan watched her without speaking, his face grim.
Then he moved toward her, and Vic fought the urge to step back.
What had gotten into Xan? He kept touching her, like small contact was typical between the two of them, like he had a right to put his hands on her skin.
On another night, Vic might have welcomed the change.
Not today, not when she felt raw—exposed, like a gaping wound.
Xan put his hands on Vic’s shoulders and leaned in. Vic held her breath.
“No matter what happens,” Xan said. His voice was low, and loud enough to hear over the alarm. It rumbled through Vic’s chest. “Do not try to run, and do not let them know that you’re afraid.”
And he turned and pulled her out of the room. And Vic felt the edges of fear creep across her mind like a shadow.