“That’s good, then,” I say, playing with the notebook.
“Your blood still smells really good.” She clears her throat, leaning on her coffin as she stares at me. “But Marcus’s blood was different. I always thought synthetic blood was filling, but it has never hit like this. I feel”—she glances down at her hands—“strong.”
“I’m glad,” I say, looking up at her again.
Her eyes pause on the saltward. After everything that happened last night, she must have forgotten its presence, and now she seems confused. “What is that?”
“A barrier,” I say. “I found instructions on how to make it in a grimoire.”
“You’re a witch now. Fun,” she says, before heading into the bathroom.
After a few minutes, I hear the shower switching off, and Aliz peeks out the door, damp hair sticking to her forehead. We stare at each other. “Did you have another weird dream?” I ask.
Her lips part. Colour rises to her cheeks.
“I’ve already written mine down,” I say, walking towards her. Her shirt is only half buttoned, and her damp hair smells like mint. I glance up at her and hand her the notebook. She opens it, flicking through to the last page I wrote in. She bites her lip as she reads, sharp fang almost piercing through her skin.
Her gaze pauses on mine, silence a beat too long. “Did you omit anything?”
“A few details,” I whisper.
She walks past me, heading back to her coffin. She leans on it, scribbling into the notebook. Her face remains neutral, not a hint ofembarrassment. She prepares her breakfast, mixing Marcus’s blood with her usual synthetic liquid. I wait for her to drink, twisting my sleeves as she tastesit.
“Does it taste spoiled?” I ask as she gulps the crimson down. Then she tosses the notebook across the room.
“Not as nice as last night. But filling.” She wipes her lips and stares at her notebook, now on my lap. “I wasn’t as prudish as you.”
I keep it clasped shut, cheeks burning. I can’t make myself read it. “Did you see your sister climbing out of a painting?”
“Yeah. That was pretty terrifying,” she says. Then she sighs. “Though I imagine for you, it must have been even scarier.”
My curiosity gets the best of me, and I open the notebook. Even when she wrote in a rush, her handwriting is still perfect, lines thin and curled. “These dreams must mean something,” I whisper. “Your sister’s palace, the maze…” My eyes skim down to the bottom of the page, and I regret it instantly. I slam the notebook shut, glaring at her. “You could have spared me the details,” I hiss, and Aliz feigns offense. She folds her arms.
“I’m just being thorough, Cassie. Our dreams are clues. What if we miss something?”
“And what part of ‘I took off your nightgown’ is a clue?”
“I don’t know. Maybe there’s a secret message in the fabric.”
My skin burns. “We should only write what matters,” I say, gritting my teeth. “I’ve got to get going. I have Integration.”
“There are only humans in that class, right?” she asks, and I nod.
Aliz seems relieved, until I add: “But all my other classes are with vampires. Last time I checked, Tynahine was still a vampire university.”
She looks around the room, and I see worry creasing her features. “You need to be careful. Tynahine is no longer safe for you.”
“I’m always careful,” I say. “And I’m stronger than you think.” I expect her to argue. But instead, she just sighs.
I spend the hours between Integration and Gustavsson’s class down in the maze. I’m better prepared this time. I’ve redrawn the messy map in my notebook onto a larger sheet of paper, which Ikeep folded. Several chunks are still missing, though I have an idea of what those might be. I find my way back to the flat labyrinth with the curved walls and candle alcoves. Unlike last time, I have more than my unfinished map. Chalk, and if that fails, a ball of wool.
As soon as I trace the first white line on the wall, it moves, turning into stone, sprouting leaves and hardening with thorns, before vanishing completely. “This is normal,” I say in a small voice. I draw another line, and it happens again, my attempt at keeping track of my steps swallowed by the wall. And as soon as I drop the first inch of wool onto the stone slabs, it dissolves. So despite being so well prepared, I run back the way I came, breathing out as soon as I’m on the stairs and slopes of the more familiar tunnels.
When I look at my watch, it’s already time for Gustavsson’s class.
The odd cough interrupts his lecture on leitmotivs. Julia warned Ife in advance, but still, when I sit down beside her, her full lips part, a flash of crimson appearing in her eyes before she blinks it away. “Are you serious?” she whispers. “Thisis what you really smell like?”
I mutter a small apology, but just like Julia said last night, Ife whispers that it’s not my fault. “I’ll get used to it,” she adds. “Can I tell my brother about you? He’s a doctor, and I’m pretty sure he’d love to study your blood.”
