“You have blood going back to Merlin.”
Maeve laughed, “Father doesn’t believe that. He was at Vaukore you know? He was a Serpentine, like yourself.”
She was quiet for a moment watching his expression. “I don’t know anyone with the last name Gagner.”
He nearly rolled his eyes. “They were no one of importance. The daughter was sold as a slave it seems.”
“Slave to the Peur family. Your family.”
“I don’t need to hear about how you don’t like that term right now,” said Mal. “We aren’t talking about Zimsy.”
Maeve bit her lip. Mal was tense.
“Why is there no record of the name Peur anywhere. Not one single book? No lineage. No list of names. It’s like they simply don’t exist.”
Maeve had been waiting for him to bring it up. “Because it’s possible she wasn’t a witch Mal.”
Mal stared at the table between them. And didn’t speak for many long moments.
“I always wondered how could she have died. How did she come to be who she was, what she was, if she had magic at her fingertips. But after years of searching the name Puer, and finding nothing, I suppose I already knew.” He leaned back in his chair. “If she had been as powerful as me, a Magical like me, she would have been able to beat death.”
“That would be quite the accomplishment,” said Maeve.
Mal didn’t look at her. He was deep in thought.
The next day Mal was distant, reserved and quiet. In classes he didn’t raise his hand to answer questions. He didn’t even ask questions himself.
At dinner, a bright green light illuminate from her bag, whose contents spilled out onto the bench beside her. She dug for the small slither of parchment and on it was Mal’s elegant handwriting.
Meet me in the library before monitoring duty.
Maeve looked around the Hall to find him, but he wasn’t there.
Maeve paced in the darkened corridor later that evening with her hands tucked behind her back outside the Library, waiting on Mal. He appeared a few moments later with Abraxas and Hendrix Fawley.
“You two get promoted, or am I missing something?” Asked Maeve.
“Missing something,” said Fawley sweetly.
“Hendrix and Abraxas will be patrolling the halls for us tonight,” said Mal matter-of-factly.
Maeve’s mouth fell open. “What?”
Mal held open the door to the Library. “Come, Sinclair. On your way, boys.”
Abraxas gave Maeve a wink and sauntered off with Hendrix. Maeve looked after them, her mouth still hanging slightly open.
She turned back to Mal, ready to protest.
The look on his face stopped her. His expression was more serious than she could recall ever having seen him. “This must be important if you’re willing to blow off Paragon duties.”
He didn’t reply. He merely gestured his head towards the Library.
She walked past him without further protest. The door snapped shut, and he brushed past her. All the fires were out. The lanterns and chandeliers above them hung still and dark. She followed him to the far end of the Library, where there was a locked door that read:
RESTRICTED AREA
“Oh, it’s that kind of night, is it?” Whispered Maeve, grinning.
