Just weeks after the new year, Night of the Fallen isn’t as big of a deal as the Feast of Marmora is at Fairhaven, but it’s right up there with All Saints’ Eve: a night of revelry spent in tribute to the saints who gave their lives for the good of magekind and non-magical humans alike. Dressing up as your patron saint is practically mandatory.
“That’s great, but can we handle one holiday at a time? Bits, Elle, what do you think of the spice cookies? I’m probably ditching the anise in favor of cardamom, but that should just make them better.”
“Ten out of ten,” Bitsy says around a mouth of spice cookie. “You going all out for Yule then?”
“You’reallgoing home with at least three dozen cookies to share with your families. Help me ice them?”
“I’ve never made Yule cookies before, actually.” On rare occasions, a few Yule cookies from New York City’s finest bakeries would show up in pink boxes, but we certainly never made cookies as a family, even when my mom was still around.
“That’s tantamount to sacrilege. Your penance is icing a dozen cookies and sifting all the flour I ask you to,” Alyssa says brightly.
Honestly, nothing in the world sounds better.
“Besides, no offense, but even you couldn’t fuck up icing.”
We’re laughing when we finally hit the quad and it shouldn’t feel as indulgent as it does, but after so many dark days behind us and even more ahead of us, it feels like a rare treat.
Until I catch horns out of the corner of my eye. The horned figure tracks us as we make our way down the quad, following from a distance, but keeping pace until we finally step into Saint Briac’s Hall for our first class.
“Junie, you look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Alyssa whispers as we take our seats in Introduction to Casting.
But ghosts aren’t real, and while no one else seems to see the figure, I know in my gut that he’s dangerously real.
* * *
“You knowyou don’t have to bring me coffee. There’s no point in sucking up. I told you you wouldn’t get any extra credit, despite the extra work,” Ian says as I set his coffee down on his desk. In truth, trying to guess his coffee order has become something of a game I haven’t admitted to him that I’m playing.
“I wasn’t aware I needed the extra credit, professor,” I say archly.
He grins ruefully and shakes his head. “Help me through some of the books you brought down yesterday before we get into spellwork? You can tackle the English and French while I handle the Latin and Greek.”
“What are we looking for?” I ask, dragging the library cart over and pulling out the first two volumes, one in French and one in Latin.
“Any reference to the ember, to Baphomet, the Mark. I’ll take Saint Aldous ramblings at this point.”
“The Mark isn’t that old, though, is it? Wouldn’t it stand to reason that it’d be written in English or French, based on when the Mark was first cast?”
“Ah, it would stand to reason if not for one thing: these alphas were elitist assholes. They thought magic belonged to the elite few—those educated in…” he prompts.
“Ancient languages.”
“Precisely. You, for instance. If we pretend for a moment that you’d revealed as an alpha, you would have been among those they thought magic belonged to. You come from a pure bloodline, with a family pedigree that not one of Saint Aldous’ followers would have turned their nose up at. But I didn’t come from such a family. It’s possible I would have been allowed to learn magic based on prowess alone, but not due to my lineage.”
“I’m sorry I threw your pack in your face earlier this term,” I murmur.
“You had every reason to. I was goading you. And, anyway, I’m not ashamed of where I come from, nor the family I still have after my mother left with most of her pack.”
I look up from the index I was browsing. “Your dad?”
“He’s not my biological parent, but he’s my dad in every way that matters so much more. He’s one of the best men I know and gave me a good upbringing, and I wouldn’t trade that for the prestige of an elite pack.”
I smile faintly. “I’m glad you have that.”
“I wish you did. Saints, Juniper, I dread the thought of you returning home for the holidays, to be back in the care of your father.”
I still and finally manage to force a nod. It’s something I’ve been trying not to think too hard about. I’m grateful that a good chunk of my Yule break will be taken up by PR opportunities and photo shoots of the Rose family doing charitable work, a heat I can claim lasts longer than it does so I can stay holed up in my room, and holiday celebrations where there will be far too many people around for my father to try anything. “I’m frightened. And… and I’m sick of being frightened.”
“The disappearances have scared you.”
