Prince of Air and Darkness (The Darkest Court)

No. There are far more important things to do than waste my time with my roommates and their inevitable barrage of well-meaning questions.

Their magick rubs against mine in this small space, individual imprints growing stronger with their heightened concern. I’m used to that, to the sensation of other beings’ glamour or magick against my own; it’s part and parcel of our world. Normally, I don’t mind the unconscious intrusion, but tonight the individual markers of their presence irritate me. The sun-warmed wood of the satyr and sea spray of his half-Gorgon girlfriend. A steady earthen weight of the bridge troll. The flickering duality of the faerie who straddles Court lines. And the fiery burn of Smith’s ley line.

“Lyne?”

Speak of the devil.

Smith pushes himself over the back of the couch, the only one stupid enough to watch me as I stalk across the living room. “Everything okay?”

No, Smith, nothing is okay and it’s all your damn fault.

“We’re celebrating,” he continues, turning back to his friends and ignoring the way I glare at the back of his head. He lifts his beer. “To the future!”

To the future? Really?

Smith’s future is as bleak as mine. Constantly attacked by ancient creatures drawn to the raw power he can’t control. Treated with kid gloves by the university administration because he’s a freak of nature. Living on borrowed time despite everyone’s best efforts to keep him alive for a little while longer.

Something ugly curls tightly in my chest. Something that wants to bring ice and darkness and pain. I don’t listen to those baser urges; I’m a prince and I’ll behave like one.

They go dead silent when I stalk over to join them, all except Smith, who sits there laughing on the couch in a dirty, sweaty shirt and a pair of athletic shorts, beer bottle dangling from his fingers. A plate of pizza sits in his lap.

“So, you hungry?” he asks, a picture of control except for the flush rising high in his cheeks.

No one else risks eye contact.

He freezes when I step past the troll and move closer still. My leg brushes his knee and his magick flares from that simple touch. He always reacts like this. A match held close to a flame. Ready to explode at any second, just waiting for the right nudge.

He tilts his head back and I steal a moment to take in the details I couldn’t during our battle. The hint of stubble blurring the strong column of his throat. A new summer haircut. The sides are shorter than they were before, the top still a soft fall of blond that catches the harsh electric light. Dark blue eyes lift, flicking in tiny movements as he tries to read my expression.

His façade crumbles the instant I reach my hand toward him. A full flinch, a tightening of his body. Every reaction involuntary because he’s scared shitless of me. The second he realizes I’ve stolen his plate, the fear transforms into a comfortably familiar anger.

>

“Hey!” he calls after me. “You could have asked. We got extra on purpose.”

“I don’t want extra. I want yours. Consider it repayment.”

Confused muttering from his friends and a squeak of sofa springs. I swallow a smile. Smith’s feeling spry tonight if he thinks he can stand up to me.

“You could eat with us,” he says.

The novelty of the offer is enough to make me turn and reassess the situation.

“Why on earth would I want to do that?” I ask, confused.

We’ve managed to live together peacefully for years through carefully choreographed avoidance. Smith and the satyr only invite over their small circle of friends while I keep to myself. They don’t complain about my unusual hours and I keep the kitchen stocked and apartment clean. To avoid arguments, the satyr and I rarely speak to each other, and he doesn’t take sides when Smith and I have it out. Strangely enough, they are decent roommates, even if I could never acknowledge it. I don’t want to risk our balance now.

Apparently, I’m not alone in the sentiment, since the satyr scowls at the back of Smith’s head when he says, “It’s fine, Finny. We’ll leave some pizza in the fridge for him.”

Smith doesn’t back down. The buzz of his magick pushes and strains across the empty space toward me. He crosses his arms over his chest. Is he unconsciously trying to hold in that explosion of energy?

“It’s not fine. You should take a break from whatever it was that set you off a few minutes ago.” His gaze darts to the floor. “You’re always helping everyone else, but you never let us return the favor.”

The quiet, accurate observation steals the breath from my lungs.

“It’s the last year we’re all living together,” he continues. Finally, he meets my gaze. “Soon we’ll graduate and move on with our lives—”

“A bit presumptuous on your part, isn’t it? Especially after last night.” The words fly without thought.