???
My whole morning block is taken up with one of my new Elite-track classes, and to my joy, it’s one which Donovan, Wes and Max are in too.
“Come in, come in,” Professor Smithfield says. He’s a gray-haired, tall and skinny man, a tuft of goatee on his chin, and dandruff on his black suit shoulders. “Welcome to Sigil & Syntax. You’ll have to work extra hard, young lady, as you’ve weeks of material to catch up on. Any questions, you can go to Mr. Quinlin in the library.”
Donovan is waving a hand from the back of the class. “She can sit near me, sir. I’ll happily work on her…progress.”
How he can make the word ‘progress’ sound dirty is beyond me, but my Donovan manages it.
“Sit next to Wes Hart,” Smithfield instructs me. “You might actually learn something from him.”
“Yes, sir.”
Excellent. I’ve been looking for a way to get physically closer to Wes again.
I move to the back row and shift into a seat. “Hi.”
“Hello, Theo,” he replies. The sweat on his upper lip beads and his eyes are bloodshot.
“You look a little peaky," I whisper, leaning in close under the guise of peering at his textbook. “Do you need to see a healer?”
Wes doesn't reply. He keeps his gaze fixed on the whiteboard where Smithfield is sketching a series of interlocking runes. “I'm fine. I just had a late night studying. You should concentrate on your work now.”
Hmm. Sliding down on the chair, I manage to touch my ankle boot against his loafer. Flesh on flesh would be way better, but at least this is something.
OK, Lumina. Go get him.
But it’s not that simple.
I can maybe push a spark or two his way, but barely anything. It’s not just the physical block of leather, it’s the sludge inside Wes. It’s almost like it’s…hardening.
Could that account for how crappy he looks?
“Wes,” I murmur. “Can you move your book closer?”
He does as I ask, and I smell an underlying sour scent clinging to his skin. “Thanks, would you…”
“Mr. Hart! Miss... whatever-your-name-is!" Smithfield’s voice snaps me back to attention. “If you've finished discussing the symbolic systems of your social lives, perhaps you’d like to tell the class what you know of Rongorongo glyphs?"
Uh, what?
I give him the 'Ditzy Theo' smile.
“Rongorongo?" I say, my voice becoming airy and clueless. “My Aunt Nancy is a big fan of their music. They have this one hit called ‘Weird Science’, which is also a real funny movie from the eighties.”
Smithfield’s goatee twitches with irritation. “I believe you are thinking of the rock band Oingo Boingo.”
"Ohhh," I breathe, nodding slowly like the information is physically struggling to enter my brain. "Right, that makes sense. Music isn’t really part of this class, or is it?”
Dono lets out a snort, while Max buries his face in his hands, body shaking.
—I love you so much— Donovan thinks to me, his mental voice full of laughter. Professor Smithfield rolls his eyes. “What about you, Mr. Hart? I can usually rely on you for some sense, unlike your brother.”
“You’re referring to a series of glyphs discovered on the Easter Islands,” Wes monotones. “They’re deemed to be undecipherable as the script evolved separately to the language of every other nation.”
“Correct. Thank Gods.”
Huh, it occurs to me that Alexis, in his Gryphon form, could probably decode the ancient Easter Island text with one blink of his eagle eye.
