His eyebrows lift at his name. He walks over and leans forward on my desk. I back up, terrified of the hunger in his eyes. “Not all lives are equal, Viola. I see raw power within you. With the right guidance, you could alter the fate of all Mortemagi in this world.”
Suddenly, the room feels suffocating. The closer he gets, the more I feel like the walls are closing in on me. “No,” I blurt out. “No. I refuse to kill anyone.”
“I refuse to let you die and waste centuries of cultivated magic.” He slams his hands on the desk, and I jump. My heart races, and I stare at him in disbelief. Why is everyone so obsessed with my magic?
“Poachers are murdering people senselessly. No one will miss their hearts, I assure you,” he adds with the same fervor.
I stand, pressing my hands to my sides to hide that they’re shaking. I need to leave.
“The choice isn’t yours. It’s mine,” I say. Sylas’s face flashes across my mind, but I shove it away.
“I’m sorry,” he says. “I don’t know what it is about you.” He says something else under his breath, but I linger on his frustration. Why is he so concerned about whether I live or die? Maybe if he had shown Olivia the same concern, she wouldn’t be gone.
Only a desk separates us. His eyes lower to mine, and I want to crawl out of my skin. “Viola, there’s something I have to tell—”
He doesn’t finish his sentence because there’s a knock on the door. “What?” he barks.
The door opens, and Rhodes walks in, a smile on her face. The moment her eyes land on us and the board, her smile drops, and she glares at Lorne. I jerk away from the desk, nearly tripping over my chair.
“Magister Lawton is in the middle of a lifedrain lesson?” asks a familiarvoice. My limbs relax, pure relief washing over me. I’ve never been happier to hear a voice in my life.
Lyria peeks into the room, winking at me. Behind her, Beau gives Lorne a blank stare. “I hope we’re not too late to join.” His smile doesn’t reach his eyes.
“Dean Rhodes,” Lorne stutters. “I believe it will be distracting for Viola to have a mage as talented as Grand Magus Archyr in the same class.” He completely ignores Beau.
Dean Rhodes glares at him as if he were a disobedient child. “Their relic lifedrain research could change the fate of Firstline officers. I thought you’d be an excellent pairing, given your… natural interest.” She gestures to the board, and Lorne’s cheeks turn red.
“Let us hope this partnership completes Lilyana Ronin’s Lifedrain Theory. It would serve us well to have something positive to show to DOTS,” Rhodes tells Lyria and Beau before leaving.
Something tells me she doesn’t care about the fate of Firstline officers, and she’s hoping they make a breakthrough so no one questions her leadership.
“Lorne,” Beau drawls. “I am so excited to learn from you.”
“It’s Magister Lawton.” Lorne’s upper lip twitches. “Don’t get too comfortable, Beau.”
“It’s High Magus Archyr.” Beau’s jest is gone. He squares his shoulders, his lips drawn into a line. It reminds me of his brother, and the guilt that’s been circling me since I spoke with Sierra finally chokes me.
“Lesson’s over.” Lorne snatches his book from the desk, burying it under his coat. He gives me a cold glance. “Self-study for the rest of the semester. You may find me in my office, should you need assistance.”
Before he leaves, he turns to Lyria. “Overseer Delaney shared your most recent report with me, and the two equations weaving a healing aspier’s venom into a cuff look very promising. With your help, Grand Magus Archyr, we may very well be at a turning point for Mortemagi.”
Lyria’s eyes light up, and she smiles at him. “Thank you, Magister.”
“Lorne,” he corrects her. “Feel free to drop by my office anytime to discuss.”
With that, he leaves.
“Are you all right?” Lyria hugs me the moment the door closes. “I’m so sorry we didn’t come sooner. Sylas told us to look out for you and not leave you alone with Lorne, but Paltro grounded Beau and stripped him ofrank, and I had to make a million excuses about needing him to complete Mom’s research so we could be assigned to the House of Death.”
I nod, holding back tears. They are here for me. None of it was a facade; somewhere along the way, the lines blurred, and we did become friends.
WEDNESDAY, DECEMBER 1, 1939
The next four days are marked with two unsuccessful attempts in which I tried to seal my magic. The first had Overseer Delaney referring me to the institute’s counselor, and the second had Dean Rhodes shutting her door in my face.
They don’t seem to understand. If the murderer is indeed collecting relics for a ritual, sealing my magic solves a problem: no magic, no relic, no ritual.
Lyria thinks I’m losing my mind and we should focus on finding any hidden clues that we may have missed. Of course, there’s nothing.