Welcome back, Slate. Welcome back, Cadence.
I take a mouthful of the hot liquid and let its bitter flavor coat my tongue. “Ah, but such a handsome one. Makes me harder to hate.”
“Oh my God.” She rolls her eyes so hard I don’t think they’ll ever level back. “You’re just trying to get a rise out of me, aren’t you?”
“Perhaps. Or perhaps I’m really this conceited.” I put the cup back down and call a truce with a softer tone of voice. “Which piece should we go hunting down today?”
She sighs. “It has to show itself.”
I hold up my hand with the ring. “Not necessarily. I’ve got a detector, remember?”
She bites her bottom lip again, and again I’m transfixed by her white teeth denting the full red flesh. “I’ve got a couple classes today.”
“With all this magic shit happening, you’re really going to class?”
“If I drop everything, then that shows I’ve lost faith that we’ll succeed, which means the dark magic wins.” She lifts her chin to display confidence, yet her eyes glitter with fear.
“We’ve got the first piece, Cadence. There’s no reason we won’t get the others.”
She nods. Before I can think better of it, I reach out and take her hand. Her fingers are warm and soft. So soft. My mind blanks and then whirs back to life, her touch waking me quicker than caffeine.
Her fingers jerk out of mine, and then with a trembling hand, she snatches a croissant before striding back toward the foyer. “I’ll go grab my stuff.”
Operation getting things back to normal with Cadence is a fail. The hand-holding probably did it.
I eat another two pastries and scoop up some ham. As I wash it all down with a glass of pulpy orange juice, Cadence trundles back in, silver jacket zipped up to her chin and slouchy hat wedged over her ears.
My heart holds still, and goose bumps rise. And not the good sort. The bad sort. The sort that use to pebble my skin when I’d hear Vincent pound down the creaky corridor toward my bedroom.
Cadence’s red lips part just like the siren’s, but no sound comes out. They part wider. This time, I catch my name, loud as a zinging bullet, followed by, “Are you okay?”
I stand up slowly, my joints stiff and my skin slick with the memory of the chilled well water. I tunnel my fingers through my hair, hoping my hand isn’t shaking. I need to kick this PTSD before it sets in any deeper. I focus on the end of my mission, on the cloud of black gore and the shine of the leaf.
The cursed piece wasn’t successful; I was.
I was.
Curling my fingers, I amble toward Cadence. “I’ll get my coat.”
I don’t remember where I put it but assume the house elf stashed it in the foyer closet. I pull open the door and bingo. I tug it off the hanger and slide into it. Once I’ve buttoned it up, I stick my hands inside my gloves, my ringed finger feeling a lot less swollen.
As we make our way up the circles toward campus, I ask Cadence if I got it right, if her father did take her mother’s last name. I find it odd but that’s because society has brainwashed me to think a certain way. Why not take your wife’s last name? I think of my own last name. Or rather my two last names. Who am I? An Ardoin or a Roland? Both. Neither.
When we reach Fourth Kelc’h, we hit an expanse of snow-covered lawn tattooed with dirty footprints going every which way. Students scurry from one ivy-choked gray limestone building to another, books and binders in their arms or in heavy bags slung over their shoulders.
Cadence grins and turns into a tour guide. “So, this is where the campus buildings start.” She points out some faculty housing, a couple of amphitheaters, the cafeteria, a massive gym. All are outfitted with modern gadgets, but the stone walls and slate-tiled roofs are in tune with the ancient feel of the whole town.
Up on Fifth, the fog fades into vaporous webs. Far below, I spy the silver mirror of the lake on one side and the green slope of pines on the other.
Cadence gestures to the four buildings spaced evenly around the temple-turned-library. “Centuries ago, these were the founding families’ homes.”
I lift an eyebrow at the massive size of the structures. “Guess magic was profitable.”
She points to a long building with an even longer glassed-in promenade. “The Bisset