"Mr. Miftah?" Villeneuve turns to Rowan expectantly.
"Sure," Rowan says through tightly clenched teeth. "Thanks."
He's standing like someone starched his entire outfit into cardboard, but I'm impressed by his restraint. Villeneuve disappears briefly and returns with a tray bearing an elegant tea service. I notice Margot is nowhere to be seen today, but it feels intrusive to ask where she is when I was only a guest here for such a short time.
As Villeneuve pours, I find myself watching his hands. He's elegant. Too elegant to be a shifter, I think. I've seen serpent shifters with similar body language, but they're never this good with their hands.
Then I notice his hand isn't quite steady. The stream of tea wavers slightly before he corrects it. For a heartbeat, the dark irises burn gold, his pupils narrowing to slits.
And then it's gone.
When he glances up and catches me staring, one dark eyebrow arches slightly, and I look away quickly, heat creeping up my neck.
Was my little investigation that obvious?
Rowan is watching him too, with considerably more suspicion. Looking for even the slightest indication that he's a threat. I'm sure the professor notices, but he pretends otherwise.
Somehow, I get the feeling he's used to people thinking the worst of him.
"I can see you're adjusting well to pack life," Villeneuve observes, handing me a delicate porcelain cup.
The heat in my face flares into full blown hot ears as I wonder exactly what he can sense. Can he smell the pack on me? Sense the energy exchange from the other day's... activities?
Gods, I hope not.
"It's been an adjustment," I say neutrally. "But a positive one."
Rowan accepts his cup with a polite nod, though when Villeneuve turns to add sugar to his own tea, I notice Rowan discreetly dumping his into a nearby potted plant. I suppress an amused grin and bring the cup to my lips, only pretending to drink so my overzealous guardian doesn't have a complete meltdown.
"Well then," Villeneuve says, settling into an armchair opposite us with less grace than usual. Like his bones are heavier than they should be. "What can I do for you?"
"I've been researching the bonding ritual," I explain. "I think I have a workable approach, but as a siphon, it's difficult to findreliable information specific to my type of magic. I was hoping you might be willing to look it over."
"Ah." A flicker of genuine interest crosses his normally impassive face. "I'd be delighted to offer my expertise."
I extract my grimoire and the reference materials from my bag, passing them across to him. He handles the ancient texts with surprising reverence, his long fingers tracing the faded script with care.
"This is impressive work," he murmurs after several minutes of silent reading. "You've integrated multiple traditions quite seamlessly."
I can't help the pleased flush that spreads across my face. "Thank you."
A rumble from my left reminds me of Rowan's presence, but it seems to be involuntary, because he cuts it off and tries to pass it off as clearing his throat.
"Do you have all the required materials?" Villeneuve asks, finally glancing up from the pages.
"They've all been procured," I confirm. "Sadie—Micah's stepsister—helped with the more obscure ingredients."
"The Bryer witch." He nods thoughtfully. "Talented, if somewhat overconfident and unorthodox." He resumes scanning the papers, one finger tapping against his lips as if in deep thought. "This is really quite remarkable spellwork. The arcane Latin is rusty in a few places, but the structure and cadence is top notch."
Beside me, Rowan shifts impatiently. "We know she's smart," he says, nodding toward me. "The question is, will it work?"
Villeneuve's eyes return to the grimoire, studying it for a moment longer before closing it with a soft sigh. "No," he says finally. "I'm afraid it won't."
My heart sinks. "What? But I checked everything?—"
"Your research is commendable," Villeneuve interrupts gently. "But there are several critical errors."
"What errors?" Rowan demands.
