By allying with such a well-respected Luminary, they are announcing to anyone who cares to look that Grayson is admired, valued, and trusted. It is a subtle power play for sure, but one Blair Shepard had counseled would not go unnoticed even in these proceedings.
“Thank you.” She takes his arm and pats the hand he folds over it. “I admit that I am somewhat nervous.”
He agrees with the sentiment wholeheartedly, and he squeezes his friend’s hand in solidarity.
He’d have preferred a moment to settle in the foyer before he had to face Headmaster Percival or Kirwan, but they’re already exiting an elevator at the far end of the room in ceremonial robes. Percival moves like he owns the building, broad-shouldered and heavy in voluminous fabric, and the man tucked close behind him almost disappears in his wake, tablet held to his chest like a shield.
Professor Kirwan’s robes are the deepest black and swallow the light, and her eyes are bright and watchful as they move from Grayson to Jay and then to Nimue. She arranges her mouth into a smug smirk as if this is something she has remembered, relished, and never quite outgrown.
“Nimue Wyrd,” Kirwan says, and the name lands with a sting. “You haven’t changed a bit.”
Nimue stiffens so slightly that it would pass for nothing if Grayson weren’t holding her arm. He feels the quick betrayal of nerves, and then he feels her steady herself and stand taller. Now, he sees the woman who faced an unknown, powerful magic user bent on destroying the university archive when they first met, confident in the strength she’d earned through time and practice of her craft.
Pride in his friend lifts him with her, and he sets his shoulders back.
“I’m sorry,” Nimue says, voice smooth, “have we met?”
Kirwan blinks, jaw dropping slightly as if she could hardly imagine not being memorable to someone she’d tried to affect so thoroughly during their formative years.
“I usually have a good memory for faces,” Nimue continues, the faintest shrug accompanying it, “but…”
Luca snorts behind them, and Kirwan’s smugness slips, replaced by anger that looks like an old, familiar friend. “Why you—”
Headmaster Percival steps forward, annoyance written plain on his face for the briefest moment before it smooths into something polished. “I am Headmaster Percival, Luminary Wyrd.” His smile turns smarmy as he offers Nimue his hand. “Thank you for attending today. You honor us with your—”
“Of course we would attend,” Nimue interrupts, avoiding his hand. “Grayson is a trusted friend and a valued member of our pack. When you call into question his integrity, you question us all.” She lets that sink in, and Grayson enjoys the nervous swallow it forces from the headmaster. “You have, of course, met our Alpha, James Rhodes?”
Jay places a claiming hand on Grayson’s shoulder, and Percival and Kirwan flinch anyway, the instinctive reaction of people used to being the biggest presence in the room who have just realized they are not.
“Rhodes,” Percival says, tucking his hands into the sleeves of his robe. His attention snaps back to Nimue, looking for anything that puts him back in his role as ruler of his domain.
“Where are we doing this?” Jay demands, annoyance evident in his tone. “You’ve wasted enough of my pack’s time with this farce already.”
“Now listen here, you…you…Rhodes,” Percival sputters, standing to his full height. “Farce? We are here because your…your ma—” He stutters over the wordmatelike it’s distasteful. “You should show me respect.”
There’s a scuffle at the back of their group, and Grayson can only imagine Rowan taking umbrage with Percival’s tone and his refusal to use even the most basic of courtesies with someone like Jay.
Luca scoffs, managing to escape Finn’s restraining hand and pushing his way to the front of their group. “If you want respect, you should earn it, you overblown, pompous blowhard.”
“Well, I never—”
“I doubt that,” Luca says. “Someone like you probably hears that a lot.”
“Sir? They’re ready for you in the hall.”
The blond assistant steps out from Percival’s side like he’s been unfolded from the headmaster’s shadow. Cheerful blue eyes, pleasant expression, with a tablet angled up and ready to intervene on his employer’s behalf. He gives Grayson a quick wink, and it’s gone before Grayson can think too long about it.
Percival seizes on the interruption, his spine going rigid with authority again, and his voice drops into that polished, public tone that is meant to make everyone forget he was a sputtering buffoon a second ago.
“Good,” he says, sharp. “Then we will proceed.”
He turns without waiting for agreement. Kirwan falls into step beside him, too eager for Grayson’s peace of mind, her gaze darting back once toward Nimue with a small, satisfied curl at the corner of her mouth.
There’s a gentle hand at the back of Grayson’s blazer, followed by another on his spine, and another on his arm, then the back of his neck, and fingers sliding into his hair, until he can feel the touch of his entire pack.
Nix leans in, voice low and bright. “Let’s go ruin their day.”
The man with the tablet holds back a chuckle and gestures them forward. “Shall we?”
