Is he joking? She laughs just in case. “Mostly.”
Amusement flickers in his eyes. “It’s my best offer,” he says, extending his hand to her. “Come by my room in three days’ time and we’ll make a trade. Yes?”
She laces her fingers with his, sliding into his grip like a lock and key, perfectly aligned. “Yes.”
When Claudia arrives for her next lesson with Lamour, he’s not in the observatory. She leans back against the edge of the curved desk for a few minutes before accepting that her professor is going to be very late. Alone, she paces around the room and takes in the beautiful light from above. With the back of her hand, she dusts off the books she can reach on the tall shelves. This place is still in such a state. This must be how Mrs. Schottstaedt felt taking over the Wanderer’s Wonders back in Kulden. How is the old woman doing? How is everyone in Kulden doing? What of Lord Wexford? Lord Jolicoeur’s debt to him will never be settled now. She wonders how Lord Fournier reacted when he woke up to find both her and her father missing, and her room soaked in fresh blood.
If he woke up at all.
If the house didn’t burn to the ground and take him with it. She doesn’t know if the flames from the Doorway disappeared as soon as she went through it, or if they blazed until there was nothing left to burn. That would mean there were two lives taken that night, and both, in one way or another, were her fault.
Her train of thought leads her to the conclusion that she can never, ever return.
She comes to the center of the room and looks through the telescope, the lens freezing against her eye. It’s focused on Dracoemagyl, the fallen dragon, representing dreams and tragedies. Claudia counts those twenty-three stars—one for every year she’s lived. The reminder of her age sends a shiver down her spine. Twenty-three isn’t old—really, no age isold, and when the options are either age or die, Claudia would so much rather be old than dead—but it’s the capstone of the early twenties. It’s the last year where the excuse of youth is valid:How could I have known better? I’m simply so young!And everyone nods, laughing in agreement.But she’s on a steep on-ramp to adulthood, to responsibility, to a fixed character she can’t change no matter how hard she fights against the wounds of adolescence that made her this way.
Time moves too fast here.
She steps away from the telescope and meanders around the room.
To her surprise, when she slinks past Lamour’s desk, the grimoire is open and glistening. There’s a hum throughout the room as if there are bees buzzing in the walls, beneath the floors, in between books. The air is so thick with magic it’s hard to breathe it in, like sucking sticky snow into her lungs.
On the blackboard, there are mad musings of theoretical spells in Lamour’s handwriting. He’s drawn a circular chart with the constellation Crater, which represents vices. The rest of the chart is filled with empty space and chalk dust from erased attempts. Beside the chart are multiple crossed-out phrases.
TO KEEP FROM
TO STOP YOURSELF FROM
TO INHIBIT YOUR
TO CEASE THE
She traces Crater with her finger while reading Lamour’s strike-throughs. To her left, on his desk, is his flask. When she picks it up, it’s empty. Maybe he’s trying to stop drinking. She wonders what other constellations he tried for this combination. Hercules maybe? That constellation represents strength and overcoming challenges. Though, it’s possible that it would have an adverse effect paired with Crater, strengthening vices rather than curbing them.
She glances at the door, and it remains firmly shut. She probably has time to flip through the grimoire before Lamour returns. Cautiously, she sits in his chair and pulls the book toward her. It’s just like what she used to do at the Wanderer’s Wonders. It’s not snooping; it’s learning.
On the first page is Crater, Virgo: To Make a Perfect Poison. She recognizes Virgo from Odette’s signature.
She gasps when the door handle twists.
Lamour stumbles in and growls, “What are you doing?”
Her wide-eyed gaze snaps up to him. “I was just reading.”
“I told you not to touch the grimoire.” He storms over to her and rips it from beneath her eyes.
She flashes her palms innocently. “It was open and calling to me.”
He pauses, clutching the grimoire to his chest. “Calling to you? You heard it?”
Stammering, she says, “I—I heard something. A vibration. A deep, resonant—”
“Hum,” they say in unison, and for the first time, Claudia sees Professor Lamour smile. Usually during their studies, he can barely see straight on account of the liquor. But tonight, he’s skirting the edge of sober, and she has his attention. She’s done something right.
“That’s impressive, Claudia. It normally takes months, even years, for a celestial witch to hear the call of the grimoire.”
“My mother could hear the stars. She taught me to listen, too.” She almost asks if Lamour could explain more of her mother’s death, but she doesn’t.
“You knew of your power from a very young age, then?”
