I close the journal and carry it to the desk in the corner of the classroom. And I’m looking down, slipping my notebook into my briefcase, when from the corner of my eye I see a palehand with black-painted nails slide a folded piece of parchment across the desk.
Given the scent swirling around me, I know who it is without looking up. I school my expression into one of detached professionalism before meeting her eyes.
Her expression is composed, but what I see in her stormy eyes unsettles me in a way I can’t quite put my finger on.
“Professor,” she says, and I have to fight not to recall the ways she’s said it in the past. Like when she was in my office working on her fellowship application essay, her academy skirt bunched up around her thighs—
I clear my throat and subtly grit my teeth. “Miss Vandermere.”
“I have a few ideas for my final essay topic. Would you mind looking over them and giving me your opinion on which I should pursue?”
Final essay topic? Already?
I glance down at her hand, then meet her eyes again.
A smirk tugs on one side of her mouth, and I realize that whatever’s on that piece of parchment, it probably has nothing to do with Dangerous Magic Across Time. But students are still hovering around us, and two witches are approaching my desk, looking like they have their own questions to ask.
So I reach out and place my fingertips on the parchment, barely brushing Maeve’s as I slide it out of her grip. At the brief touch, Maeve’s lips twitch, and her gaze flicks quickly to my mouth.
“I’ll review them,” I tell her, keeping my tone neutral. “Good day, Miss Vandermere.”
She gives me a small nod and an almost-imperceptiblesmile. Then she turns away from my desk, sending that delicious scent swirling around me, and walks to the door without looking back.
Immediately, the other two fourth-year witches step up to my desk. “Professor D’Arques, we wanted to ask about—”
The witch keeps talking, and though I act like I’m listening, my entire focus is on the folded parchment in my hand. What does it say? I want to open it, but with all these students, I can’t. And my next class period starts shortly.
I’ll need to wait until later, when I can read it in private.
Slowly, I slide the letter into a small pocket inside my briefcase. But just knowing it’s there keeps me on edge for the rest of the day.
BY THE TIME I’VE FINISHED my teaching for the day and am finally back in my staff apartment, the rain has intensified outside, tapping against the windows, turning the world on the other side of the glass into a blurred wash of gray.
I go about my routine slowly and deliberately: removing my jacket and hanging it on the coatrack, setting my briefcase onto my desk, pouring myself a glass of blood with a splash of whiskey to help ease my stress from the day. But with each mundane action, I think of Maeve, and I think of the parchment waiting for me.
The apartment is cold, and I start a fire in the hearth, using the flint and steel on the mantel to send sparks dancing across the kindling. When the flames are going, I stand slowly, then glance over my shoulder at my briefcase.
Finally, it’s time.
I go to retrieve it. When I open my briefcase and pull the parchment free, I note a skip in my chest, a lurch of what feels like a mixture of excitement and dread.
Maeve isn’t one to be coy or dance around the things she wants to say, which makes me even more curious about her choice of communication. What could she want to say to me that’s best done in writing?
Parchment in one hand and my glass in the other, I move to my armchair beside the fire and sink into it slowly. The parchment has nothing written on the outside, no hearts inked into the corners. I smirk at the thought of it.
After taking a swig from my glass, I set it down, then take the parchment in both my hands. And with no further hesitation, I open it.
Maeve’s handwriting stares up at me.
Severin,
You told me that want and desire are dangerous for a vampire. I’ve been trying to determine if they’re just as dangerous for me.
But when I think of you, I don’t feel afraid. You don’t scare me. Though I know you wish that weren’t the case.
You said you would consider it. And now I’m asking you. Not out of impulse, but because I’ve thought carefully about what it would mean. For both of us. And I’m not afraid of it.
I’m ready.
