I release her wrist and step back. “No, it isn’t.”
Snow continues to fall around us, soft and silent, covering our footprints as if trying to erase the evidence of our confrontation.
“We’re done here,” I say.
“For tonight?” she asks.
I don’t answer as I walk away.
Twenty-Five
Rose
Without all the students and staff here, it’s blissfully quiet, dare I say, even peaceful. Jasmine’s not around, no Thorne with her minions, no parade of terrified students rushing between classes. Just empty halls, the occasional staff member who wasn’t lucky enough to leave, and me with my strange little found family. So I’m going to enjoy it as long as it lasts. Which, when the break is over and the trials start up again, might not be long.
I wake with Drake’s arm heavy across my waist. Actually heavy. Human-heavy. I turn to find him beside me, his chest rising and falling. Breathing. It’s impossible, but it’s happening.
“Morning,” he murmurs, eyes still closed, sensing that I’m awake.
I trail my fingers down his chest, marveling at how solid he feels. “You stayed all night.”
He opens his eyes, blue and bright, framed by thick black eyelashes. “Seems like it.”
“Not that I’m complaining, but I’m still amazed.”
Drake props himself up on one elbow, his brown hair falling across his forehead. He takes my hand, squeezing it. “It’s you. Your magic. It’s doing this.”
“So I’m your ball and chain?” I tease.
“More like my anchor.” He brings my hand to his lips. “Keeping me from drifting away.”
It’s more than that, though. He’s not just staying tethered to this world, he’s corporeal. He’s real, not a ghost anymore.
And I’m terrified that it won’t last.
We lie there for a few more minutes, just being together, like two normal people, before Drake sits up. “Come on. I want to take you somewhere today.”
Twenty minutes later, we’re crunching through fresh snow toward the small pond at the edge of the academy grounds. The morning is crisp and bright, and I take deep breaths, enjoying the feeling of the fresh air filling my lungs. Drake leads me by the hand, his fingers warm in mine.
“How have I never been out here before?” I ask, taking in the pristine scene. The pond sits in a small clearing, surrounded by tall, snow-tipped pines. The surface is smoothly frozen solid with a skim of snow.
Drake drops my hand to kneel by a fallen log, brushing away snow to reveal a hidden compartment. He pulls out two pairs of ice skates. The skates are nothing like the modern ones I’ve seen. They’re clearly antiques, with worn leather boots, the brown hide cracked with age but still supple. Delicate scalloped edges trim the tops and tarnished brass hooks line the sides wherethick laces crisscross. The blades are narrower, with an elegant curl at the front tip.
“We used to skate on this pond every winter.”
I turn the boot over in my hands, noticing the initials “D.W.” on the leather. Drake Winstead.
“These have been here since I was a student.”
That was over a century ago. Another impossibility, and we haven’t even had breakfast yet. “How are they not completely rusted?”
“Magic.” He grins. “Small preservation charm. One of the first spells I ever cast successfully.”
He sits on the log to put on his skates, and I sit beside him, pulling the skates onto my feet. They fit perfectly, like they were made for me, and I feel a brief flare of jealousy thinking of Drake skating with another woman, even if she lived a hundred years ago. “I’ve never ice skated before.”
Drake looks up, surprised. “Never?”
“Moving around all the time doesn’t exactly lend itself to winter sports.” I tighten the laces.
