Page 44 of Veil of Night & Flames

“Right.” Riley’s I’m in charge of the lecture voice is completely gone. She looks around the room at all of us. “So we pretty much need to figure this shit out fast.”

And that, I think, is one hell of an understatement.

Chapter

Fourteen

The walkway beside the Science Center is quieter at sundown than I expected, at least as far as students are concerned. The cicadas, however, are filling the gap nicely. Mr. Griffin is already here, waiting for us at the same spot where Chase and Whistler rescued me and Tia, back when all this was new and strange.

Chase’s hand tightens around mine as we move closer to Mr. Griffin, right at the place where Whistler—the creature I’d been terrified of in that moment—threw a silver dagger past my ear and into the creature that was about to attack me from behind. A nightmare creature called Vexarin.

Tia and Riley hurry toward us, muttering apologies for being late even though they’re right on time. Mr. Griffin glances around, silently acknowledging that we’re all here, then he sets the candle on the stone path and strikes a match. As he lights the candle, the rest of us stand in a loose circle, our hands twined together to form a solid ring.

“He didn’t believe in long speeches,” Mr. Griffin says after a moment. “And he’d probably eschew the idea of a memorial. Whistler thought ceremony was for people who needed to feel important. And yet here we are. So no fancy words. No overt sadness. Just one good story in his honor. Because Whistler did love a good tale.”

He turns to Chase, as if passing an invisible microphone, and I see a tiny flicker of amusement on Chase’s face as he glances around the circle, saying, “Whistler was on a job in Marseille about two centuries ago. An escapee from Mordhal, the prison in the Realm of Retribution, managed to land in a basement and was trying to claw its way to a family upstairs. Whistler sidled in and handled it before the family even had a clue. But he went back four more times.” He glanced around at all of us. “Honestly, that irritated me. We had limited time and a lot of hunting on our plate. And he was keeping silent about what he was stalking there.”

“A mare he couldn’t kill or trap?” I ask.

Chase shakes his head, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “Turns out that basement had a cat, too. Half-feral, very thin, scratched up from its fights with the escapee. He’d been going back to try and find the thing a home. He did, too. That wounded, angry kitty ended up being the best friend of the littlest girl in the family who took him in. I know, because Whistler checked in once a year. The cat lived for three years after the child got married.”

He pauses, smiling. “A black cat with a white moustache. And Whistler kept the picture in his coat. Showed it to me once when he was drunk. Probably would have denied it if I mentioned it again. But that’s the Whistler I knew. A good man. And a good friend who loved a cat named Princess.”

I nod, wiping away tears. Then we each light our own candle off the larger one that Mr. Griffin had already lit.

“Goodbye, dear friend,” Chase says. “You will be missed.”

Tia makes a small, wet sound, and I hold back sniffles.

“To Whistler,” Mr. Griffin says.

“To Whistler,” we all respond. And then, as one, we blow out our candles.

I watch the thin strand of smoke rise from mine and imagine Whistler traveling off to the afterlife as beside me Mr. Griffin packs up his things, and Tia wipes her eyes on her sleeve.

“The coffee place by Whitehall is open till nine,” Riley says softly. “Anyone want to go?”

“I’m in,” Tia says, her voice heavy. “I’ll literally cry into a latte. Cora?”

I open my mouth to say yes—and then I look at Chase.

He’s standing beside me, his palm against my lower back, and though he’s holding up well, I know he must be on the verge of coming apart. After all, Whistler was his friend longer than anyone alive, and tonight Chase buried his own grief to help me live with mine. The cost of that is written in his overly stiff posture and the tightness in his jaw.

“You guys go ahead,” I say, squeezing his hand. “We’ll see you tomorrow.”

Tia whips off a salute, clearly understanding, and Riley moves in to hug me. Then Mr. Griffin nods once, and they’re off to the coffee stand—Tia leaning into Riley’s shoulder as they walk.

I turn to Chase. “Your place?”

He doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t even nod. He just slips his hand into mine as we head toward the path that leads to the southern edge of campus and Chase’s apartment just a few blocks beyond.

We’re silent for the entire walk through the blur of dark streets, but whenever his hand tightens around mine, I squeeze right back.

The wooden steps leading to his apartment creak as we climb them. Then he unlocks the door, and I step into the room I know so well. It’s barely been a minute since I was here, but when you factor in the unexpected travel to the Nightmare Realm, the betrothal, and all the rest, it feels like years since I’ve seen the place.

I glance around, letting the familiar setting ground me. The exposed beams hung with dried herbs and chimes of silver and iron. A curved blade on the kitchen counter, right where another man might leave his keys. The newspaper clippings and colored string that match various breach points and mare sightings. Conspiracy theory chic, Tia called it.

“What?” I ask, realizing that although he’s closed the door, he’s now leaning back against it, his arms crossed, and those golden eyes on me. “Is something wrong?”