For Ian, I carefully pipe sigils onto ornament cookies, painstakingly making each curve, arc and angle of the sigils we covered during our Monday night lessons. And, okay, so they’re a little bit wobbly, but it’s still a nice gesture, right?
Bitsy and Ellie crash our bake-a-thon early Thursday evening and together we roll tray after tray of crinkle cookies and snickerdoodles in powdered sugar.
I scrub dried frosting off my nose, wondering how on earth it got there. “So, this is a normal Yule thing for you?”
“Um, yeah. I honestly can’t believe it’s not for you. Your family depresses the shit out of me, girlie. My family’s Yule is about food and laughter and loving the shit out of each other, no matter what. And your family’s is…”
“All about PR opportunities under the guise of charitable giving, fancy food we have no part in making, and impersonal gifts we all shut away in drawers to never look at again.”
“That’s like… an anti-holiday. Remind me to never come to your family’s Yule celebrations. Well, we’re all celebrating when we get back,” the other freshman decides, tapping her cheek thoughtfully. “Presents all around, handmade only. I’ll do the cooking, naturally, and we’re drinking spiked cocoa until we’re stupid.”
I wrap her in a goofy hug, covering her in the flour I covered myself in through a torturous afternoon of baking. “You are too good to us, Lys. I’ll count down the days while opening a new tennis bracelet from my sister.”
“Why do you need a tennis bracelet?” she grumbles. “You don’t evenplaytennis.”
Bitsy chuckles. “Oh, sweetie. It’s not about the tennis. See you and yours at the soup kitchen on the Lower East Side, Junie? Pack Jordan got a ton of bad PR this year—no idea where it came from, definitely not me and my antics—so we have to pretend volunteer our asses off.”
Alyssa groans, but then sobers.
“I know it’s not much, but I thought I’d send some Yule cookies to Trinity and Nick’s families,” Alyssa says, dropping onto the stool beside me.
“I’m making a generous donation of my father’s money to the Wells Foundation,” Bitsy says around a mouthful of crinkle cookie.
“I can pitch in some of my stipend from working in the infirmary,” Alyssa offers.
“Nah, girl, save your hard-earned cash. Spending my father’s money is the only thing I do that he actually approves of. Let me handle this one. It’s weird… it’s not like Trinity ever did anything like this with us. No baking or Yule celebrations. Mostly she kept to herself. But it really feels weird without her here.”
“Like her absence is bigger than her presence ever was,” I muse.
Bitsy slumps against the counter. “That’s what those fuckers want. They want us to feel it. Fear is the greatest weapon they have.
I don’t mention the ember that burns in the chests of my honor guard, the professor who has me so ensnared, and my teenage love. The Mark that now adorns alphas that stalk our very campus.
Because Bitsy is right: their war is one of fear.
And the only way to fight a war like that is with hope.
* * *
I get a dose of hope—andpure girlish glee—the moment I see the paper-wrapped parcel on the doorstep to my cottage. I hoist it into my arms and push the door open with my hip, calling out a hello to Marcus.
My honor guard steps out of his room, toweling off his damp hair. I must have caught him getting out of the shower after hitting the gym while I was sneaking fingerfuls of icing and cookie dough straight out of the mixing bowls.
“What have you got there?”
I set down the package, the brown paper crinkling as I unwrap it carefully. “Books! And a note about… oh, it’s from Ian. The books are about transient sigils and—” I let out a laugh. “I owe him an essay the first week of spring term.
“You’re giddy over… homework?”
I shoot him a waspish glare. “I found transient sigils in some of the research I was helping him with. I was curious. Marcus, this is practically the most thoughtful gift I’ve ever received.”
Marcus studies me for a moment. “Well, I’m glad you’re excited, at least. What else have you got?”
I set down the stack of books and pull the tins of cookies out of the tote I had slung over my shoulder.
“One for the Haley family, one for Simon, one for the Roses, which I’ll hide in my bedroom and share with no one and one for…” I purse my lips and duck away, a flush creeping into my cheeks. “One for Ian. For helping me with the extra lessons this term.”
“So, delivering a few cookies, Peer Advising, packing up, and we’ll hit the road early tomorrow morning?”
