Maeve smirked.
“Ophelia. Good to see you again,” said Maeve.
“Si pleasur’zis all mine,” said Ophelia.
Ophelia bounced to the table and set herself opposite Maeve, next to Mal.
“Let the children converse,” said Clarissa, taking Marguerite’s arm. “We’ll have tea in the sunroom.”
Ambrose followed them inside.
“I’m Ophelia,” said Ophelia, turning to Mal and extending her hand.
“Malachite.”
“I know,” said Ophelia, her gaze starry eyed. “You are the Dread Descendant.”
Mal smiled diplomatically. “Guilty as charged.”
“My mother and father can’t wait to meet you zemselves. When they got word of you, they cried!”
Ophelia turned to Abraxas and extended her hand once more, though Abraxas didn’t take it.
“We’ve met,” said Abraxas, incredulously. “Many times.”
“Oh!” Exclaimed Ophelia, her voice rising into an even more annoying octave. “I’m zo sorry I don’t remember.”
His eyes narrowed, and he returned to The Starlight Gazette, wounded, without another look her way.
“You were at Vaukore with Maeve?” Ophelia asked Mal.
“I was. I assume you attend grade school together?”
“Oh, yes. It was a lovely school. Though I ‘ave always been jealous of Maeve going to Vaukore.”
“Why’s that?” Asked Maeve.
“Oh,” Ophelia blushed. “I was never meant to be a strong Magical. Mother considered secondary Magical education I waste of my time. She said my talents lay elsewhere.”
“Well, maybe we can give you a taste of Vaukore while you’re here,” smiled Mal.
He was being entirely too nice.
In the coming days, Maeve attempted to avoid Ophelia at all costs. Ophelia, however, had no issue bursting into Maeve’s bedroom unannounced to see what she was doing.
Maeve and Abraxas were left to fend for themselves at Sinclair Estates as Mal’s new flat was ready and he moved in. Maeve was eager to spend time there with him and escape her busy and listening home.
The penthouse suite sat seven floors high, with mahogany plank floors and scrolling windows that looked out over Westminster in London. Mal had his very own study on the East side of the apartment, where he spent much of his time. It was furnished with its own library, large working desk and potion making station.
He was given a bottomless budget for furnishing and outfitting his new home.
“I cannot accept this freely,” he said as they toured the lavish apartment, filled with deep woods and leather, plush rugs and linens.
His face was sad.
Maeve recalled his first week at Vaukore, when the Head Boy and his gang of fourth-year senior boys decided to mock Mal’s secondhand uniform and books. They all learned quickly, though. He may have had little to no money, but the first time he dueled all their lips were tightly sealed thereafter.
Her throat tightened. Her eyes felt glossy.
