Another tense, awkward silence stretches on for far too long. Everyone is visibly tense and uncomfortable. Claudia gets up to leave, but Cassius gently catches her hand and says, “Wait.”
“Please don’t go yet,” Alistair says. “Not until you hear our plan.”
She eyes all of them and sits back in her seat without a word.
Marcherie clears her throat and brightens her smile, flashing her white teeth at everyone until their facial expressions match hers. She’s clearly the architect of this tableau. Claudia can almost hear her harsh direction she no doubt gave before Claudia arrived:Don’t slouch. Don’t snap. Smile big. Welcome her. Don’t push her away. Understand?That girl was made to direct.
“We want to invite you to do something special with us. You know, perk you up a bit. Get you back into the rhythm of being a person. Get that big mouth of yours working again.”
“What is it?” she asks without looking up.
Cassius says, “One could call it a ritual.”
“Where we pretend to be gods,” adds Marcherie.
“We’ll get to taste their magic,” Alistair says with the same inflection one would talk about a sweet treat. He knows just how to tempt her.
Little does he know that Claudia knows the taste of a god’s magic all too well. She doesn’t need any more. The memory on her tongue makes her sick. She can still feel the heavy weight of Sidarphion’s blood swirling in her stomach, staining her insides black.
Marcherie waits for a crowd of students to pass by. She’s quieter when she says, “We’ve tried it before, but it didn’t work, and we think we know why. For one, we didn’t have a Mathematica major with us.”
“Now I will be Caedisterra,” Angel says, looking at her with pleading eyes.
“And we now believe we also need a Sidarphion,” Cassius finishes.
“Sidarphion?” Claudia asks, and immediately regrets it. The name is thick and sour in her mouth. “Why would you need him for this? He’s gone.”
Marcherie nods vehemently. “Right. But the rules for the ritual are clear. There must be someone for every god. My current theory is that so long as the black candle holds strong in the chapel, Sidarphion likely isn’t dead, but asleep. That happens with idle gods, you know.” Those are Odette’s words. Claudia stiffens. Marcherie continues with, “And thus, we need someone to represent him in the ritual.”
“You may be the one who wakes him. You could be the first to speak to him in a century.” Lighter than a feather, Cassius places his hand over hers beneath the table. “Don’t you wonder what he would say?”
She scowls and rips her hand away from him. How little they know. Claudia would love nothing more than to go the rest of her days without ever hearing from Sidarphion again.
“I’m looking forward to it,” Angel says, disrupting her thoughts. “It’s the closest to ascension as I’ll ever get.” He laughs, clearly hoping to dispel the tension, but it doesn’t work.
Alistair glares at Angel. “Now is not the time to joke.”
Angel’s jaw tenses and he leans away.
Claudia hates seeing tension brew between them, especially knowing it’s her fault. She wishes she had never come over here.
Alistair shifts awkwardly and looks at her. “Please, Claud. Come with us.”
“It’ll be deliciously fun,” Marcherie says, nearly purring like a cat.
“I want you there,” Cassius adds, leaning in close. “Desperately.” His voice quavers at the end of the word.
“Where?” she murmurs, though she’s not considering it.
“I have a secret,” Cassius says. “A family manor connected to Cygnus.”
“You mean Starlake?”
The rest of them shoot glances across the table at one another until Cassius says, “How did you know that?”
Shit.It was from Odette’s diary. “I—I’ve overheard you say the word before.”
“Well, I suppose we’re not as good at keeping secrets as we thought. Yes, it’s Starlake. My ancestor used the last of the magic in his blood from the ascension to build it. Starlake is our haven. Our universe of dreams and tragedies. And I would love for you to see it.” Out of habit, he reaches for her hand but stops himself before their fingers touch. “Will you come?”
