He slams a fist down on the dining table in frustration and then throws his head back, finally seeing me, Luca and Marcus. He leaps up from the bench at the dining table and races over to me, pulling me into a kiss before passing me into Ian’s arms.
“You haven’t had any luck either,” Luca surmises, slouching against the kitchen counter.
“Luck has nothing to do with it,” Simon mutters. “I’ve got an algorithm scanning every fucking inch of Maine and New Brunswick, searching satellite feeds for a facility the size you described. But either my search is being intercepted by Radcliffe Industries satellites or the facility is warded so strongly, it’s practically invisible.”
I sink to the bench beside him, dropping my head into my hands and massaging my temples.
“It’s been a day,” Marcus says, setting a hand on my shoulder. I lean into the touch, pressing my cheek against his arm. “We’ll keep searching until we find it.”
“I’ll try to dig in Rad’s mind the next time I see him,” I sigh. “I have no doubt he’ll want to court more often now that he’s revealed how close he is to Fairhaven.”
Ian disappears into the den and comes back with a wrapped book.
I tilt my head up for a kiss, and he obliges me.
“I hate that we still need him,” I murmur. “I hate that he might be following me again.”
“Your affinity picked up his presence despite the mage tech last school year,” Ian says reasonably. “Have you sensed him around the campus?”
I shake my head. “But I was tapped out yesterday. He could have followed us back to the cottage, and I wouldn’t have known.”
“I have a solution for that,” Simon says. He disappears upstairs for a moment and returns with a small box, popping it open and showing me the shield-shaped charm inside of it.
I frown, but he grins.
“I gave it a boost.”
He unhooks the chain from the velvet-covered card in the box and twirls a finger. I turn and lift my hair, and he carefully slips the necklace around my neck and clasps it, his fingers brushing against my skin.
I tuck it beneath my shirt, and it’s a comfort to be wearing a new tracker. Saints, something I once resented, saw as an invasion of privacy, now brings me relief.
Simon taps something on his phone and the pendant goes cold against my skin. He grins again at my reaction. “That’s what it’ll do in Rad’s presence, whether he’s concealed by mage tech or otherwise. I’ve been working on it formonthswith Luc and Ian’s help. Getting the spell to work and getting the charm to respond was a feat of magic none of us could have accomplished alone, but let’s just say we were motivated to complete it.”
He stops, his mouth still open, and then he whirls back to the table, hitting a few keys on his laptop. “What if we don’t search for a facility, but for mage tech instead? Oh, I’mbrilliant. You’re brilliant. We’re all fucking brilliant!”
He gets lost in his work and Ian draws me down to the practice room in the basement, ready to teach me everything Professor Cadigan hasn’t. After sitting in Luca’s truck all day, I’m ready to stretch my legs and my magic. I’m ready to work, and ready to practice the magic I know I’ll be called upon to perform in Monday’s class.
I’m ready to show Professor Cadigan just what I’m made of.
“All right,” Ian says, every inch my imperious professor once more as he draws his golden scribe. “Transitive sigil alteration requires focus and precise intention. The sigils are secondary. You must first find your center…”
We work until dinner time and by the time Cassian comes home, arms laden with bags of take-out, I’m casting the most complex magic I’ve ever cast—perfectly.
* * *
I castthe same spell during class the next morning, precise and perfect, just like Ian showed me, but that doesn’t stop Professor Cadigan from stopping me on my way out of class.
Hatred, sharp and severe, rushes through his thoughts. He hides it behind his stern facade, but he can’t hide the way his earthy-moss-and-vetiver scent sharpens into something bitter. “You seem to be struggling, Miss Rose. Every class, you seem so much more strained than your peers. Is this type of casting taking a toll on you? Perhaps this level of magic is a bit beyond you.”
It takes every bit of my high society omega training to hide my shocked reaction and keep my mouth from falling open at his accusing words. Struggling?
Then it dawns on me.
It has nothing to do with casting and spellwork at all.
No wonder he’s picked up on my strain—Ihavebeen straining myself, but not for the reason he thinks. I’ve spent every class trying to slip into his mind with my affinity, using magic he can’t even begin to comprehend for hours at a time. I’ve been working myself to the point of exhaustion, all in an attempt to uncover the secrets he holds so close to his chest.
I’ve been studying him just as intently as I’ve been studying our casting coursework, seeking out his connection to Rad, to the Soldiers of Saint Aldous and Project Halcyon.
