And they’ve given me exactly the kind of opening I was hoping for.
I tilt my head to one side, all innocence. “Did I really not tell you I was at least thinking about experimenting? I feel like I mentioned it tosomeonerecently…” I knit my brow. “Who else have I even been talking to?”
I ask the question as if to myself in an attempt to remember, but my friends can’t help taking the bait.
Mia hums with a Yorkie-like scrunching of her nose. “Are you still hanging out with Monica at all?”
The classmate we chummed up to for inside knowledge about that Chanel launch. I doubt she had anything to do with Other Elodie’s dark secrets. I shake my head.
Stella offers a wry smile. “It didn’t look like your conversation with Byron during the bloom practicum yesterday was that friendly.”
Cadance snaps her fingers. “Simone Palenti, when you were working with her in Divination?” She makes a face. “Please tell me you wouldn’t have dished withherbefore us. Or… You did seem kind of interested in Grady Tadros a little while back, asking if we knew much about him.” Her eyebrows arch. “Did the two of you have some fun?”
Grady Tadros? My thoughtful expression becomes genuine.
I don’t remember much about the guy from my own reality. The Tadroses are another upper-crust family that wouldn’t have wanted anything to do with Elodie Singh. But he was noteworthy enough that I can picture him—tall, dark-haired, with a prominent Grecian nose—and his name was on the 16thyear list near mine on the 15th. He’s ranked third in his class.
Why would Other Elodie have been asking her friends about him?
I can’t prod them about exactly what I said without them wondering if I’ve been possessed, so I just laugh and motion forus to walk toward the school buildings. “If I had, I’d definitely let you know. Maybe I just thought about telling you guys and forgot that I hadn’t.”
That’s one more lead to follow up on. Between the photos and the notes, I’ve got a whole new set to help me crack this puzzle wide open.
The rest of my investigating has to wait until classes are over, but my sense of purpose buoys me down the hall to combat class.
The uniform we change into for sparring keeps up the Luminary indigo-and-gold color scheme, form-fitting but designed to reduce all risk of skin-to-skin contact. The long-sleeved leotard includes a high neck and straps around our thumbs so the sleeves won’t pull out from beneath our gloves, and the leggings feature stirrups to give the same protection to our ankles.
No unexpected match-sparking will be happening under Professor Kwong’s watch, thank Aphrodite.
I leave my silk undershirt on while I change so no one glimpses the scars Other Elodiedefinitelywasn’t sporting. Living with three lovers has given me a lot of practice at hiding them. When I got intimate with my real matches, I insisted on always keeping on some kind of shirt out of not-entirely-pretended self-consciousness. Not even they ever spotted the marks.
And it’s going to stay that way.
For once, I know what to expect from the class. Kwong grins at all of us as we emerge from the change rooms. “Wednesday free sparring! Let’s get right into it.”
Once a week, he has all the senior students face off. No rules other than you can only aim to hurt, not kill, and your opponent has to agree to the fight first—no flinging magic at someone across the room without warning.
A couple of the school nurses are always posted here on Wednesdays to patch up anyone who needs particularly urgent treatment. But by our second-last year of training, most of us are adept enough to avoid any life-threatening damage.
I pace the mats with a spring in my step, deciding who to partner with. I don’t really want to pummel any of Other Elodie’s friends while I need to stay in their good graces for information-gathering purposes.
Simone strides by. It wouldn’t look too odd for me to work with her one more time this week, would it?
But she’s making a beeline for Salvatore, who’s just swaggered out of the boys’ change room, his masses of sculpted brawn filling out that uniform way too well. With a flex of his shoulders, he swipes his messy hair away from his eyes. The ruddy undertones flare amid the black under the harsh training room lights.
I jerk my gaze away before he can catch me looking.
Before I’m speared through by his bright blue eyes with another tug of my heart.
“Salvatore,” Simone says in a simpering voice. “I was thinking we could?—”
He brushes right past his second-or-whatever cousin. At the edge of my vision, I can see him sauntering straight toward me.
Shitting sarpas. I spin around in search of someone to quickly glom onto, but his gloved hand lands on my shoulder. “Hey, a stóirín. You’ve been upping your game lately. I want to see what you can do when there’s magic in the mix.”
I pull myself away from him and keep my tone as careless as possible. “No, thanks. Didn’t you get enough on Monday? I think I prefer fresh blood.”
“Don’t run for the hills now.” His eyes gleam with a wicked blue heat. “I bet we could make all kinds of magic. There’s no way the great Elodie Devine is scared of a fair fight, is there?”
