He’s never felt more like a sulking child than he does now, dragging his feet as he reaches into the side pocket of the bag to dig out the crow. It’s a cold weight in his palm, uncomfortable and heavier than something so small should be.
“Lovely. Let’s try again, shall we? This time, when you reach for your Time strand, pull it through the foci.”
Grayson will certainly not be doing that. “Sure.”
Despite his intentions to circumvent the magical object, in the second before he was expected to say the colors of the five bulbs and their locations, he feels a tingling in the back of his mind. At the same time, the crow burns hot, and The Plain surges from his core—a thoroughbred restrained by a skipping rope.
“Blue, A3. Black, F6. Green, K5. Yellow, M12. Red—” The truth pours from him, and a single bulb closest to his hand pops.
The sequence lights up on the board in the exact pattern he’d mentioned.
He tips the crow onto the table, his stomach revolting at his slip. That was entirely correct—and way more than he’d ever revealed before.
Why?
He’d had a good grip on The Plain. When he looks inward, it’s swirling red and yellow, splashing green light over its banks.
Something doesn’t feel right.
At least Professor Kirwan is pleased. Triumph flashes across her face before she reins it in. “Yes. Exactly that. I knew you were holding back. Well done.” She reaches into the sideboard and pulls out a replacement for the broken yellow bulb. “Let’s try again. Six this time. I have a good feeling about this.”
That sick feeling surges in his gut, making his skin crawl and his heart pound. He’s saved by his phone ringing in his bag. Despite the Guild’s strict rules, he would never silence the ringtone from his Pack Alpha. Never. Even if it had taken an official visit from Antonio Costas and the Were Rights lawyer to explain why his pack obligations superseded his magical ones.
“Sorry, Professor. That’s my Pack Alpha.” Digging the phone out on the fourth ring, Grayson finally answers. “Jay?”
“Are you okay? Nix is freaking out. Says you have to come home right away.”
He’s speaking loudly, and even with her human ears, there’s no doubt his teacher can hear him.
As soon as he lets The Plain slip free, he feels Nix’s bond snap tight—furious and flaring. That’s not good. In the background, growls and sharp snaps echo, like Nix’s fury is leaking onto everyone else at home.
“Now?” Grayson asks, shrugging at his tutor’s disappointed frown. “I’ll catch an Uber—”
“Gideon is already waiting at the gate. See you in twenty,” Jay says, and then, lowering his voice so it’s almost just a breath, “Be careful, Gray.”
The hair on the back of Grayson’s neck stands straight up in warning. What could warrant his Pack Alpha sending Gideon? Surely not their calmest envoy, but certainly the most determined and, when necessary, the most creatively vicious.
He holds back a growl and barely keeps sparks from his fingertips.
“See you in twenty.” He slips his phone into his back pocket and throws his jacket over his arm, his bag already over his head and across his chest. “Sorry, Professor. My mate is unwell. I’ll see you next week?”
“This is very disappointing, Grayson. I don’t know how you expect to improve and be of service if you are not taking this seriously.”
“I know, and I’m sorry. I’ll work extra hard next time. See you.” He escapes out the door with a sigh of relief, the foreboding and dread finally letting up.
“Grayson?” Dahlia calls when he’s no more than five steps away from the stairs and freedom.
“Professor?”
“You forgot your foci.” She gives him a small smile and tosses it to him across the distance.
He wants to let the gift fall to the floor with a thud, but he catches it by instinct, slipping it into his pocket.
Waving, he takes the stairs two at a time. When he looks back, he sees her standing, watching him—arms crossed and bird-like gaze like a cold caress.
Gideon
Gideon pulls to a stop on the shoulder, leaving the SUV to idle while he lets his frustration do the same. There’s a decrepit blue porta-potty standing alone and definitely empty, right in front of where Gideon knows the Guild to be. He wonders who thought the grand entrance to the heart of Tennessee’s magical prestige warranted a shitbox instead of a fountain.
