“Waiting around in the dark made me feel like a creep,” he says, coming to my side.
“I mean, that is textbook creep behavior,” I tease.
In the warm glow from the gas lamp above, I can just makeout the hint of a smile. Affection radiates off of him. But he only thinks of me as a friend. I know that, and I’ve accepted it. I’ll pine for him forever. My heart sinks when I look at his gloves. The gloves he never takes off, to feel closer toher.
“Did you get the key?” I ask, masking my churning feelings.
Pulling it from his back pocket, Dorian holds it up. “Raven did her job.”
“Then let’s put it to good use.”
Without a minute to waste, we make our way toward the student union, Dorsia Hall. According to the map, the underground tunnels are all connected, and the entrance in Dorsia Hall is the closest access point outside of the Rosette. Raven said the library will be locked at this hour, so this is our best bet. We navigate to the basement of the Palladian-style building, slipping between the white columns of the portico at the side entrance, and enter the mostly empty atrium, where only a handful of students linger in the lounges, their faces illuminated by soft candlelight as they study in silence. The map says there’s an entrance to the tunnels in a closet behind the boiler, so we make our way as casually as we can toward the rear of the building, where there are fewer people.
No one crosses our path as we descend the stairs to the basement, but my heart feels like it might burst out of my chest. Nervously, I tap out a paradiddle on my thighs as I walk,one-two-three-four, one-two-three-four.
At the end of the hall, we find the janitorial closet unlocked.
Slowly, I push open the door, careful not to make the hinges creak, and Dorian slips in past me. The room is dark, the air humid and warm, and the boiler hisses. It takes everything I have not to bounce on my toes, giddy with excitement. This is the most rebellious thing I’ve ever done.
“Behind there,” I say, pointing to the boiler.
But when Dorian rounds the corner, he stops short.
“Where is it?” Dorian asks.
All that’s here is a solid brick wall.
“It has to open somehow,” I say.
“I don’t see a mechanism.”
He’s right. No door. “Maybe the map is out of date…” I say. It’s rolled up against my back, tucked safely into a cardboard tube, and I pull it out to check the route again.
But Dorian steps toward the wall. “Let me try,” he says.
He takes off one of his gloves, and my gaze latches on to the smooth milky-white skin of his hand, the tendons moving as his fingers twitch, like they’re eager to touch. He takes a deep, calming breath before he places his palm on the cold brick. He closes his eyes and traces his hand over the rough surface, searching. A line appears between his eyebrows, and his mouth turns down into a small frown.
Watching him use his power is a thing of beauty.
It’s like he’s his most true self, his armor stripped away.
A small intake of breath, and Dorian’s eyes snap open. “Got it.” He keeps his palm pressed to an unassuming brick, one of hundreds. “The last person who used this tunnel. A teacher, I think. I can see them. We just need to say the secret word:pateface.”
Just then, the bricks rumble and grind, moving on their own, forced by an invisible hand. Then they crumble away, and a hole appears, revealing a dark, echoing tunnel.
Dorian slips his glove on, acting as if what he’s done is no big deal, but it is.
“You just used magic,” I say, impressed. “Successfully, I mean.”
Dorian looks at the hole in the wall as if it only occurred to him. “I know.” Then he smiles at me, a big toothy grin, and I can’t help but smile back.
Sibylline wassowrong about him. He and Raven are incredible magicians. They should be students here. We all should.
I step into the tunnel first, and Dorian closely follows. When we’re inside, there’s a rumbling sound again as the bricks rearrange themselves back into a wall, sealing up the tunnel once more. We’re plunged into darkness, but I can feel Dorian’s body heat, his breath on my neck, the shape of him beside me.
I wonder what it would feel like to hold his hand.
I have to force the thought from my mind as I reach into my bag and find the lantern I brought, igniting the wick with a lighter. The warm flame illuminates the area around us, throwing Dorian’s face into a ghostly version of itself. But his eyes are bright. He’s excited.
