“Out. Now.”
“As you wish, sweet thing. Check your doorstep. Sun and I left a token of our... affection.”
Whoosh. He's gone before I can throw something heavier at him. The honey-thick air dissipates, and my lungs remember how oxygen works. Stars and shadows, those twins are like walking aphrodisiacs with fangs. If they weren't so pathologically determined to get in my pants, they'd actually make decent mission partners.
But nope. Not until they find some other poor soul to obsess over.
I crack open my door and—huh. The steel-tip from Ezra's whip sits on my welcome mat (which reads “GO AWAY” in blood-red letters), wrapped in a crimson ribbon with a note:
XO XO
For our lady.
“That would almost be cute if you two weren't total creepazoids,” I mutter, snatching up my murder-gift.
The handle's stubby with this little finger-hole that's perfect for flipping the blade around like I'm some badass assassin from the movies. Which I'm not. Yet. But this could be a sweet weapon if I can hack those clearblood runes and rewire them for blood magic. Totally doable. Maybe. Probably. Whatever.
My brain's buzzing like I mainlined a gallon of espresso, so I drag myself down to the library. The dusty tomes upstairs are useless for dragon intel, and I need answers, like, yesterday.
I'm skulking through the hallways—seriously, the shadows are my only friends right now—when I practically faceplant into Director Reinhardt's chest.
He freezes, blackish-gray eyebrows doing that disapproving caterpillar dance. “Shouldn't you be unconscious in the medical wing?”
“Believe me, I'd kill for a coma right now, but duty calls.”
My chest tightens. If he figures out I'm researching my dragon-napped sister instead of leaving it to the “professionals”, I'm toast.
“You took a beating that would've hospitalized most students,”he says, fussing with his fancy-pants sleeve cuffs peeking out from his blood-red jacket. “Yet here you are, vertical.”
“Two Gaudian Pulses and almost strangled by a whip, but who's counting?” I force a laugh that sounds like a dying hyena. “I'm a healer, remember? Nothing a little Salem family tea recipe can't fix. Plus, Chad helped me out.”
“Physical recovery, perhaps. But mentally?”
“Sharp as a tack, sir.”
Reinhardt scans the hallway like he's expecting more delinquent students to materialize. The guards are making their rounds, but otherwise, it's dead quiet. Even the resident ghosts have noped out after tonight's crapshow.
He gives me the director stare-down. “What's your business lurking around at this hour?”
“Could ask you the same thing.” I flash what I hope is a disarming smile while my brain scrambles for a lie that won't get me detention.
He sighs like he’s physically pained. “In light of tonight's mayhem, I've been reviewing our pathetic excuse for security. Corvin and others are coordinating the search for your sister.”
“Right. Corvin's little rescue squad.”
“That is correct.”
Problem is, that dragon could've flown her to Mars for all we know. If the clearbloods showing up at our doorstep proves anything, it's that nobody has a clue where they went. Which is exactly why I need to dig up whatever dirt I can on these scaly bastards. I’ve read every obvious text on dragonology, but there must be more I can find.
“Just heading to my office,” he continues with an exhale. “Need to draft emergency protocols for the other covens. Some are losing their collective minds over this.”
“Wow, sir. Really taking charge of the situation.” I lay it on thick.
“What's gotten into you?” Reinhardt's eyebrows practically merge with his hairline. He knows sucking up isn’t like me.
Inspiration strikes. I pull out Ezra's whip blade. “Snagged thisduring the fight. Thought I'd hack the clearblood runes, make it work with blood magic instead.”
“Hmm… Clever. Using their tech against them.”
