Horacio cawed and shuffled his wings, drawing Cyrus’s malevolent eyes away from his young master.
Cal grinned, crooked and endearing. “Uncle, I’m not one to kiss and tell.” He drew a pillow to his chest, covering the burn mark left by Seren’s magic. He played with a tassel, running the smooth cords across his palm. Finding a loose thread, he pulled it until it came free and let it fall to the floor.
Cyrus narrowed his eyes and flared his nostrils. “I wasn’t aware whores smelled of magic.”
“You must not be doing it right.” His grin felt more like a baring of teeth now as he willed his uncle to leave his room. “Though I must admit I’ve never had to pay for sex. If you need advice on how to pick up women, I am always willing to impart my infinite wealth of knowledge, uncle.”
Cyrus’s stare bore into Cal’s and he could feel his uncle trying to root around in his mind, but Cal had endured many painful training sessions since childhood from this very man. He could withstand the intrusion, though, for how long he wasn’t sure. He had nearly reached the depths of his magic.
“Were you at the docks tonight, then?” Cyrus asked. “Has your brother finally deigned to submit to a fight? I’ve been told how you goad him, switching matches around, paying off officials. Your persistence is quite impressive. It reminds me of myself. Your brother has always been cowardly, of course.” The disdain dripped from his voice and Cal could almost taste his uncle’s magic as it gathered, the topic of Icarus always causing him to lose the tightly held grip of control he had in everything he did.
“No. Is there anything else you need, Uncle?” Cal asked through gritted teeth, the effort to close his mind from his uncle’s intrusion was growing painful after such a long and taxing night. Cyrus relaxed his gaze and Cal had to restrain a sigh of relief.
“Have you made any progress in your quest to find the grimoire?” his uncle asked. He still stood in the doorway, his hands clasped behind his back. He hardly came into Cal’s room, preferring to see Cal in his study.
Cal shook his head, his curls limp with sweat from the effort it took to protect his mind from his uncle’s intrusive magic. “No, I’m starting to believe it is lost to history as you say.”
Cyrus paused and Cal thought he saw his uncle’s eyes flick to the loose stone behind the nightstand. “We must all give up the boyish dreams of our youth one day, son. Your father never understood that, much to his detriment, unfortunately. There is no hope of reuniting witch and wizardkind and clearly you know the only thing humankind is good for, if that’s how you spent your evening.”
The lecherous look on his uncle’s face turned his stomach, but he offered a jovial laugh in response. “You have nothing to worry about, uncle,” Cal reassured him. “I am a Mistral man through and through and a Darkmore before that.”
The words were heavy on his tongue, but his uncle smiled, a true smile that reached his cold dead eyes. His uncle loved nothing more than to be reminded that Cal was his: mind, body, and spirit.
“You may be my brother’s son, but I truly consider you my own, Calder,” Cyrus said, his voice solemn and reflective. “In another time perhaps you would have been.”
Cal narrowed his eyes and opened his mouth to question what his uncle meant, but Horacio rustled his wings and flew to the window, tapping on the glass to be let out to hunt. He got to his feet, trying and failing to conceal his limp from the wound on his ankle, and brushed the raven’s soft throat with the back of his hand before opening the glass and watching his familiar soar across the clear night sky.
Cyrus watched him, his look contemplative. “If you weren’t at the docks tonight, then why are you limping? And what happened to your shirt?”
Cal cursed himself and Horacio as he leaned against the window, the cool breeze ruffling his hair. He considered what his uncle may or may not know and opted for a version of the truth. “Now that you mention it, I did see my brother this evening. His office was hardly a challenge to break into. Icarus should be more careful with his things.” He produced the wand, holding it out for his uncle to see and enjoying the look of pride that came over Cyrus’s face. He despised the way he wanted, no craved, the approval and validation his uncle threw out like crumbs, and yet he couldn't stop himself from seeking it.
“The Pavor wand,” Cyrus smirked, taking the wand from Cal, a gleam in his eye. “Finally back in its rightful place in a true Darkmore’s hand. You may live up to my legacy yet, Calder.”
He clapped Cal on the shoulder and squeezed, leaving the room without another word. Cal nearly buckled and limped back over to the bed and sat, sinking his head into his hands. Should he have given his uncle the wand? Perhaps, like the grimoire, that was a secret better left in his hands. He rubbed a fist into his chest, the gnawing emptiness that ached within him had returned.
This night had not gone to plan. At that thought, the loose stone rattled, the grimoire inside calling to him. The pages rustled his name. He clutched the book to his chest, the leather as soft as velvet and finally succumbed to sleep.
His dreams were disjointed and terrifying and only ended when Seren’s giant snake swallowed him whole. That damn snake. Of course, Seren’s familiar would be a giant snake as cold-blooded and deceptive as its master.
He woke to find his wound had reopened during the night and his sheets were bloodied. Thank goodness the cleaning staff was discrete. He didn’t want to give his uncle a reason to bring him to his office for a more in-depth training session. Last night was reminder enough, every muscle in his body ached this morning.
He cursed his temper when he realized he was out of antiseptic, having shattered his last bottle, and instead opted to clean his wound with water and wrap it with linen. He would send Seren and Icarus a bill for his damages. Between the two of them, his favorite shirt and now his sheets had been ruined.
He dressed for the day, tucking the grimoire, now small again despite its shivers of protest, into the inner pocket of his Mistral robe, no longer content to be without it for any length of time. He reached for his augere and stopped. It was a pocket watch, identical to Icarus’s except in metal, his silver and Icarus’s gold, and both had belonged to their father. He had so few happy memories any longer. The ones he had of his family were tainted by madness and betrayal.
Seeing Ara at events was always a bright spot in his life. Though he never spoke to her, he watched her. The way she laughed with the redhead who was never far from her. The way her cheeks would redden when she would catch his eyes on her. It’s why he never approached her. Watching her blush when she caught him looking was far more entertaining. He didn’t want the allure of her ruined if she didn’t meet the expectation he had built up of her, or worse, if she did and he ruined it. There was something about her, a light within her he had never seen in anyone else, but it made sense now knowing she was the vessel.
He shook the thoughts and memories away and tucked the augere into his front pocket. The metal cold compared to the warmth the grimoire gave off.
The shrill whistle of Mortimer, his uncle’s familiar, pierced the air. The vulture sat on the ledge of the window, completely filling the space. He crossed his arms. “What now?”
His uncle’s voice came from the bird’s open maw, “I received a missive from your brother. He has always had a pension for speaking when he shouldn’t. Perhaps he needs a reminder as to what happens to traitors. If it weren’t for him, your father would still be with us. Icarus is threatening our family once again, Calder. If you do not shut him up, I will and he will join my brother in the family plot.”
He could feel the magic in his veins like a sludge around his feet, preventing him from portaling within Calami’s grounds. With a wave of his hand, a dark green doorway opened where The Whispering Woods and Calami joined.
Horacio circled overhead, as if he knew his master would be there. He cawed and flew down to where Cal stood. He held out his arm and Horacio landed, his talons piercing his master’s robe. Yet another ruined item to add to the list of damages to send to his brother and Seren.
“Find Icarus, Horacio.” Cal lifted his arm, throwing his familiar back into the sky. The grimoire grew hot against his chest as his augere grew colder in his hand.
