“Tomorrow then?” Her Father asked as he understood.
“Tomorrow,” answered Maeve.
Ambrose’s face fell flat with disappointment that he attempted to hide. “You’re really not going to finish school, Maeve?”
“Really not.”
Mal had saved Vaukore. And it was being pieced back together and new magic poured into it every day. Rowan resigned as Headmaster, Larliesl took his place. Elgin was alive, but Maeve’s Dread Magic had paralyzed her spine. She was a permanent resident at The Restoration, the Healing hospital where Alphard and Astrea’s mother worked.
Most Magicals were too afraid to send their children back to Vaukore. But Mal had plans to remedy that.
Ambrose clapped his hands together and nodded. He moved to step away from them.
“We’d like to discuss something with you, sir,” said Mal. “Privately.”
“Of course,” said Ambrose, making for the stairs to his office.
“Actually, Daddy,” said Maeve, “we need to go downstairs.”
Ambrose stopped suddenly. He turned towards them slowly with a mischievous grin developing.
“Say no more,” he said. “Meet me there in thirty minutes.”
When his footsteps disappeared around the corner, Mal looked over at her. Maeve exhaled under his piercing gaze and leaned against the wall behind her.
“You don’t want me here?” He asked quietly, a taunting in his voice.
“No,” whispered Maeve, looking up at him and tucking her hands behind her back. “I want a place far from this house where you and I can be.”
“Clever girl.”
Maeve bit her bottom lip.
Maeve followed Mal and her father down into the basement. It had been a long time since she visited there.
The main corridor was lined with portraits of every patriarch from the Sinclair bloodline. At the very end was Atony, peacefully sleeping in a large armchair. Next to him was an empty portrait, meant for her father. On the other side of her father was Grandfather Alyicious and so on.
The corridor opened into the large basement room, with the giant dragon skull and skin as the room’s centerpiece.
Maeve had not been exaggerating when she recounted her childhood memories of the Sinclair Estate basement to Mal. With its vaulted ceiling, carved statues, a hundred shelves filled with nothing but dark artifacts, glass jars filled with strange potions and materials, illegal potions made centuries ago, trunks and cases that seemed to whisper things as they walked by, it lived up to her description.
It was like a glorified antiquities store, only it was filled with much more dark magic than was allowed under current legal regulations.
Ambrose had stacks of books that were enchanted just to hold themselves up. In the center of the room was a seating area with a large mahogany table in the very middle.
Maeve began walking around, looking inquisitively at all the artifacts. She didn’t understand many as a child, and many she still did not understand.
“The stone you spoke about last summer, the broken one,” said Mal.
“Ah, yes,” said Ambrose excitedly. “You need it?”
Mal nodded. “And we’re prepared to find the other half.”
Ambrose’s face turned serious.
“Maeve,” he called.
She looked at him.
