Chapter 8
“I started a new club Maeve,” said Lavinia as Maeve entered the common room late one evening after dueling with Mal. Her legs were exhausted. Her arms full of lead. And her brain fuzzy.
He pushed her harder each time they met. Each curse and hex was stronger, and each time she fell to the stone ground she pulled herself back up. Red welts covered her knees. She didn’t have the energy to heal them. Nor the bruises across her chest. Bruises she had a morbid fixation with in the bathroom mirror. Something about his marks on her spiked her adrenaline.
Lavinia offered her a drink. Maeve declined.
“What’s that?” Asked Maeve absentmindedly, her attention on Harriet Simms across the common room. She and Presley and Lavinia played all the Magical sports Vaukore offered.
Harriet sat there, her skin flushed and her laughter loud. Maeve tried to stop herself, only a little, and was unsuccessful. She argued it was wrong, unethical. But the thought of Harriet and Mal at that party was burning a hole in her mind. She could put it to rest with ease. And so she did.
She slipped into Harriet’s mind. Harriet didn’t even feel her there. She was weak, and the drinks Lavinia poured were strong. The memory Maeve desired to see presented itself in a flash, and Maeve latched onto it at once.
The third year Serpentine boys’s dormitory blurred into shape. Only the tapered candles in the wall sconces were lit.
Mal and Harriet appeared into focus. The door clicked closed behind them. Harriet stood on her tiptoes to reach him. His arms wrapped around her waist.
Their lips pressed together and Maeve’s insides plummeted. Sweat pooled at the back of her neck. Mal’s hands moved to Harriet’s hips. And then her face. And then his hands dropped to his side. He pulled from her slightly. Harriet pressed forward, placing her hands on his face.
His hands brushed across her hips once more, gripping her tightly. She pushed their kiss deeper-
Suddenly, he shook her off and stepped away from her, turning his back. He ran his hand through his hair. Harriet took two steps backwards.
“What did I do?” She asked.
With a heavy sign Mal leaned against the wall in between his and Abraxas’ bed. “Nothing,” he said weakly, his head hanging.
“Then-” she started, but Mal sighed and looked up at her, cutting her off.
“Apologies, Harriet,” he said, little sorrow in his voice, never looking away from her. “But it’s time you left.”
She stared at him, her eyes wide with hurt. She didn’t protest.
Mal’s stare was intense.
Then without meaning to, Maeve slipped through a doorway. And was in Mal’s mind now. Harriet turned and left him without another word, slamming the door behind her. He didn’t even watch her go. He stared at the opposite wall in his dorm, his face taught with conflict.
Darkness slammed around Maeve like four walls that appeared from nothing. She turned and gasped, stepping backwards.
Mal stood, towering over her. His face rang with a mixture of awe and anger. The realization it was her washed over his face and the anger subsided. They stood there in that swirling silent darkness until Maeve finally spoke.
“You wanted to see,” she said softly.
Their voices echoed off the void, bouncing around them.
“Incredible,” he whispered.
Maeve sucked in a breath. She looked up at him. “No one has ever felt me inside before.”
“You might as well have been screaming at me.”
“I’m sorry,” said Maeve. “I shouldn’t have.”
He shook his head.
“Why did you stop kissing her?” She asked, regretting the words as they slipped from her lips.
His eyes turned cold.
