And just maybe if I can get into this study, I can learn what he is doing here. And if he was the one who turned Wilder into a vampire. If so, why?
Why wouldanyonewant to make someone as vain and conceited as Wilder immortal?
It seems almost like an eternal punishment for humanity to me.
“Aha,” I whisper as I finally find a spell that I think will do the trick. It’s an ice spell, but just summoning ice won’t do what I need it to do unless I intend to freeze the lock and break it. However I’d prefer to keep it, so the good professor doesn’t know that I was here.
No, this spell not only summons ice but manipulates it to take a specific mold. It’s longer and more complicated than a regular ice spell. I don’t remember where I found it but probably in some musty tome and I thought it would be handy, so I jotted it down. This is just another area where one of my sisters would succeed much more easily than me.
Natasya could use her sorcery to manipulate the lock and turn the mechanisms within. Sorcery is capable of changing and manipulating any existing object—even the dead as my father and sister are so fond of using—but magic can only ever create something new.
Still, perhaps this ice key will work. I whisper the spell, making certain to form each syllable carefully. If I say one thing wrong, then the spell could go awry. I could wind up creating a creature of pure magic to fight at my side instead of summoning the ice like I want.
The temperature drops, and my breath fogs in the air in front of me as there is a cracking sound. A light fog appears, condensing before it clears to leave a jagged piece of ice protruding from the keyhole. Hopefully, the rest of the ice filled in the space beyond and is now pressing on each mechanism that needs to be lifted and pressed to work the lock.
I turn the ice piece carefully, moving painstakingly slowly to make certain that I don’t snap the piece I’m holding. Cold slices across my skin like tiny daggers, but I grit my teeth and keep at it.
A click sounds, and the doorknob dips slightly. I let out and exhale as I push it open, peering in. As far as I can tell from my vantage point, the room is indeed empty. No vampires lurk within.
I push to my feet, whispering a heat spell that immediately melts the ice key.
I brush off my skirts as I stride into the room, balling my numb fingers into a fist so that they will warm up.
Now, if I were a vampiric professor with a hidden agenda, where would I hide my personal correspondence and other incriminating letters that might just reveal what I’m up to?
There are stacks of papers lying on his desk, but I doubt any of those will reveal any sort of pertinent information. No, the stuff I’m looking for would probably be kept in a hidden compartment. I move across the room, checking behind picture frames and tugging on the spines of the books before I move to the desk. I run my fingers along the edges, looking for loose panels.
I’m so engrossed in my work I don’t realize that the door has swung open and that I’m no longer alone until a voice says, “Well, well, well. What have we here? Hello then, Eel. Fancy running into you here.”
Chapter Eight
Bronwyn
Igasp, jumping and whipping my head around to see none other than Wilder standing there with his shoulder against the door frame. His white hair practically glows in the poor lighting. He reaches out, running a hand over the water dribbling from the lock, holding it up. The droplet glistens in the bobbing light of my sphere. “But you are just full of surprises.”
I straighten so fast that I knock over a stack of papers on the desk. They flutter to the ground, landing in heaps at my feet. My eyes dart to the door that I had relocked behind me then back to Wilder. If anyone was going to walk in on me, he was the last person I was expecting. “How did you get in?”
He smirks, holding up a gleaming brass object. A key. “I asked nicely.” He drops the key, catching it midair and arches a single pale brow. “But this isn’t about me. What are you doing in here?”
“I… uh,” my mind races for an explanation, until I realize that I don’t owe him one. “I don’t need to tell you.” I bend over behind the desk and begin picking up the papers just as much to hide my expression as to clean up the evidence of my presence here.
“Oh, I think you do. That is unless you want the good professor to know of your nightly visit.” His voice is dripping with moral superiority when in truth he doesn’t have a moral leg to stand on. Any morality he may have once had is a rotten hollow husk that was eaten by his ego and cruelty.
“And risk revealing that you were in here as well? I think not.” I keep my attention on the papers as I try to show him just how little I care, but then something catches my eye. It’s my name written across the parchment.
Bronwyn the Eel. Father Elwis the Eel is a notable merchant and landowner. Mother Vala owns a reasonably successful inn. She and her two sisters are all adopted, original parentage unknown—suspected a low-class farmer. Seems reasonably proficient in magic and a quick learner but lacks ambition. Is the first magic wielder in her family line. What can she offer? Money but not much else.
I reach out, spreading the paper revealing the sheets underneath it. There are more names. Meruna Kotov, Asimov… name after name. These sheets are filled with the names and information of the students here at this academy.
“Difference is, my dear Eel, that I was asked by the good professor to come to his office, and I’m willing to bet that you were not so get explaining before I grow bored.” There’s a moment of silence and then he heaves a frustrated sigh. “Are you even listening to me?”
I push to my feet holding the paper with my name on it. I turn it toward him. “What is this?”
Wilder goes still, and I look down to see that there are two or three papers of a similar parchment held in his hand. I squint back down at the paper and gasp. “This is your handwriting!”
Wilder pales even though I had not thought it possible for his pallor to increase, but it seems I was mistaken.
I step around the desk, clenching my jaw. “Wilder Zubkov, why is my name on this paper? Why is my father’s name on this paper?” I shake it in his face. “Justwhatare you up to?”
