Cal forced a smile.I wish I was next to you.
Though he couldn’t see her, he knew she was smiling. A smile he wished more than ever he could see. It was a warmth deep within him, and he knew he would do anything to keep her smiling despite being unworthy of it.
The grimoire pulsated against his chest and, glancing around quickly for anyone who might see him, he took it out. The book opened, and the pages turned of their own accord. His curls flew back with a gust of wind as the pages flipped faster and faster.
What’s going on? What’s wrong?Ara’s voice sounded even further away.Is it the book? Cal, I think something is wron—
Cal furrowed his brow and raised his hand as if to wave off her concern despite her being unable to see the gesture. She surely felt it from the wave of annoyance that came from her end but Cal concentrated and fortified his mental shields, the connection going silent. An overwhelming emptiness spread through him at the loss of her, but he needed to see what the grimoire wanted to show him.
The book finally slowed to a stop and Cal waited for the ancient text to rearrange itself into a language he could understand. The drawings on the page were crude, but if you turned the book and squinted, you got the general idea of the hand movements required to execute the spell.
“Portal concealment?” He whispered in the quiet library. “Why are you showing me this? And why is it so poorly drawn?”
The grimoire throbbed, delivering an electric shock to his hands as if punishing him for questioning it or insulting its artwork.
“Okay, fine, I’m sorry,” He said, his voice contrite, and examined the page closer.
He shrugged. “Seems simple enough.”
He tucked the book back into the inner pocket of his jacket and stood, straightening his lapels. Waving a hand, he stepped through the dark green portal to his bedroom. He needed more privacy than the hidden alcove of the library provided.
“Now, who to spy on?” He walked to where Horacio slept, his head tucked under one wing, the feathers so dark they looked like an oil slick under the firelight. He stroked his familiar as he mused.
“Not Icarus, I can already imagine how he must spend his nights. His pointed nose stuck in a book or pining for the ill-tempered Seren. Either way, it would be a boring evening.”
Horacio slept on as if used to his master’s monologues.
“Seren is likely sacrificing small animals to an unknown deity in the hope that I meet a painful death or thinking up new ways to ruin my clothing.”
He snapped his fingers as the idea came to him, truly surprised that it was not his first. “Cyrus. I’m not the only one sneaking off the grounds at night. I’ll find out what he’s got up his sleeve.”
Horacio lifted his head, opened one bleary eye, and cawed his agreement before resuming his position and settling back to sleep.
Cal removed the book and flipped to the page, examining it once more. He shrugged off his jacket and laid it neatly on the chair next to his desk, unbuttoned and rolled his sleeves to the elbow, and stretched out his arms.
He moved his hands counterclockwise to each other, palms flat, and intoned the guttural ancient words. A portal appeared, but it was smaller than the one used for transport. Cal jumped back as Cyrus’s face appeared, but his uncle didn’t seem to see him.
Cal didn’t recognize the room his uncle was in, but from the manacles attached to the wall, he assumed it was a dungeon. It looked damp with green and brown lichen growing in the cracks of the stone walls, in the corner was a stained mattress covered in a threadbare blanket. Someone had taken the time to make the bed as best as they could, considering the circumstance. Scratches were etched along the entirety of one wall as if marking the passage of time spent there. A bucket with questionable contents was in the other corner and Cal was grateful the portal was sight only.
This better not be a sex dungeon. Even Cyrus cannot be that deranged.
But even as Cal had the thought, he knew it wasn’t true. Terrible things had happened in this dungeon.
Cyrus was talking now, but Cal couldn’t hear what he was saying. He looked at the grimoire and frowned, wondering which part of the spell went wrong. The book rearranged the page again, giving off an air of annoyance with him, and Cal rolled his eyes. He readjusted his hands, palms facing towards him, and repeated the words.
Cyrus’s voice filled the room as if Cal was next to him. His voice echoed off the walls and the steady drip of water sounded in the distance. Cyrus kept his back to whoever was there, as if they didn’t warrant his full attention, a feeling Cal was very familiar with.
“Calder is lazy and undisciplined, which shouldn’t come as a surprise, yet it does. I had hoped that my influence would be enough to extinguish the weakness of his mother’s bloodline, but it appears he is more Atwood than Darkmore.”
Cyrus was pacing with his hands behind his back. His eyes kept cutting back to whoever he was talking to, the hatred in them was clear, though whether it was for Cal or for his companion was unclear.
“And Icarus and that witch school—” Cyrus spat and paced, a maniacal gleam appearing in his eyes.
“Do you remember those sisters? The rarities from that backwoods village?”
Cal’s heart leapt to hear his uncle talk of Ara and Seren. Why would he be talking of them to this person?
Whoever he was talking to made a noise, a sort of muffled grunt of outrage, and Cyrus laughed. “You remember? I knew you would. You made such a fuss when their magic manifested. Went on and on about one of them being the vessel.”
