Smith’s eyes widen.
“You think you can help me when you lack all control to help yourself?” I step closer, lower my volume. “Do you want to die, you idiot?” I ask.
He swallows, but doesn’t dare look behind him at his friends, who watch us curiously, unsure of the direction of our quiet conversation. “Everyone dies at some point.”
“Not like that. Not searching it out.”
It’s too far. His mouth drops open and I pull up a shield of glamour on instinct. But he doesn’t go off. Instead, he scrubs a hand over his face, his usually cheerful composure broken. “Holy crap, Lyne. Do you always have to be such a miserable bastard?”
“Yes.”
I kick my door shut behind me, probably with greater viciousness than necessary. As I feared, the pizza is delicious. There’s not much time to enjoy it, though. Tanaka shifted a great deal to fit me into his schedule tonight and I have no intention of being late. I make sure to wipe all traces of my hasty meal from my face before I steel myself to leave my bedroom.
This time, they ignore me. Normally that would please me, except there’s an obvious hole in the tapestry of their magick.
“Where’d he go?” I ask as I head toward the front door. I deliberately avoid looking at them when I ask, not wanting them to make more of it than they should.
The satyr’s magick flares, matching the acerbic bite of his words. “Couldn’t stand being in the same space after taking your shit. He went to study.”
The library. Smith always goes to the library to study.
“Your Highness,” the satyr calls.
I pause, hand on the doorknob, count to three to seem disinterested, and turn back. He doesn’t say anything, so I wait.
Eventually, he gains enough courage to finish his thought. “Are you going to act like this all year?”
“Act like what?”
The satyr’s lip twists. “Like a miserable bastard.”
The insult rolls off, which is fortunate. It stung enough when Smith threw it at me. I raise a brow at the satyr, but for the first time in years, he doesn’t back down. Maybe if he’d shown this much spine years ago, I could have learned to tolerate him.
He can’t quite manage to hold my gaze, but he tries. “Look, I get that your life kinda sucks after this summer, but go easy on Finny. It’s going to be a tough year for him.”
The unspoken reality lies between us with the heaviness of impending death. It’s not going to be a tough year for Smith; it’s going to be an impossible year. He can’t control the ley line, so he won’t be able to pass the classes he needs to graduate. Even if he does scrape by thanks to well-meaning professors, the best he can hope for is a job with one of the Pantheons that, at best, wants to keep an eye on him and his powers. He’ll never make anything of himself; he’ll be stuck in a lonely room doing menial tasks day after day until his magick burns through him or an ancient creature drawn to his power eats him. Worst-case scenario, he leaves Mathers, returns to a life in the human world, and is stuck there, with nothing but fading memories of this place. Of us.
Of me.
I could respond with bitterness. But I don’t want this apartment to become another potential battleground. If I threaten Smith again, if I hint that Smith could be in danger from me, the satyr and the rest of this small gaggle will stand up for him. Shooting for a diplomatic response and acceptable compromise is the least time-consuming option.
“I’ll remember that,” I drawl. “And hopefully this last year passes uneventfully for all of us.” On that vague promise and threat, I leave the apartment and head off to do my mother’s bidding.
Chapter Four
Phineas
It’s bad enough I fled the apartment because Roark was about to make me go off. Insult heaps on injury, though, when halfway to the library I realize I didn’t remember to grab anything. I was too overwhelmed and confused by his unexpected cruelty. It doesn’t matter if he’s got a rapier in hand or not... That tongue of his can cut me down just as effectively.
There’s no one in the library right now, so I don’t get any dirty looks when I swear and let my head thump back against the wall. It does little to make me feel better. The ley line’s recognized all the signs of adrenaline and pushes up into me, trying to bolster me for the battle ahead. It unfurls through my limbs to still their shaking, steadies my speeding pulse, and tickles at the edges of my senses. Its behavior would be perfect if I were facing down a rampaging monster. Too bad the ley line hasn’t distinguished true fighting from some of the finer points in my reaction to Roark.
Like the goose bumps that exploded over my skin when he stepped closer. How the strange twist behind my ribs tightened so much I couldn’t breathe when he refused to accept my excuse to his question as an answer. How I welcomed his challenge and hated it because it meant we could stand there and share the same space, the same air.
The confusing need I’ve grappled with for years dares me to examine it more closely. Instead, I make a tactical retreat, hurrying to the nearest bookshelf in the hopes of distracting myself from the thought of pale eyes and thin lips and capable hands. The random, ancient tome I pull from the shelf has enough weight to make me grunt when it comes free and knocks me in the chest, but when I return to my seat and try to flip through the pages, the only thing I can focus on is the ley line smoldering under my skin.
I have to calm down. I don’t want to set anything on fire, especially not somewhere as flammable as the library.
Breathe in against the magickal pressure welling up inside.