Rolan froze, staring.
The fang glowed faintly blue for a moment before fading again.
He might have imagined the whole thing.
To be sure, Rolan swallowed his revulsion and reached into the chest, nudging the fang with his finger. And at once, it flared with blue, misty light.
With a yelp, Rolan withdrew his hands, letting the lid clack shut. He stared at it a moment longer, then slowly eased it open again.
Just to beextrasure he wasn’t losing his mind.
Sure enough, the fang was still glowing.
“Well, this is weird,” Rolan said to the goat. It peered over his shoulder, probably wondering if the stuff in the chest was edible.
Drawing a deep breath, trying not to think about how icky this was, Rolan swiped his hands through the gruesome collection of Cryptic parts. He was rewarded with a sudden, vibrant glow, and blue mist rose in the chest and spilled over the sides, oozing across the floor. Rolan leaned in, eyes wide, staring at each item. Every tooth and claw, scale and feather, was shimmering with more blue mist, the way some mushrooms seemed to smoke if you kicked them open. The light was mesmerizing, swirling and thick, viscous enough that when Rolan drew his hand through it, he could feel something oily slide over his skin.
Crash!
The big oak door slammed open at the same moment a massive crack of thunder broke, and Rolan nearly died of fright then and there. He jerked his hand from the box and spun around, all excuses dying on his lips at the sight of the Arcanist in the doorway.
“What,” the Arcanist growled, “have you done?”
CHAPTER 7SECRETS AND SUPPER
Rolan shut his eyes and waited for death. Or a beating. Or at the very least, a scalding tongue-lashing.
But Luc did none of these things.
Instead, the big man strode across the room, his heavy boots thunderous, and sank into the armchair with a weary sigh. The fire crackled. The rain drummed on the roof. The goat’s hooves tip-tapped as it walked around the house.
After several shivering breaths, Rolan peeled his eyes open one at a time.
The Arcanist was staring at the fire, his cloak draped over the arm of the chair. The wet cloth dripped onto the wood floor, but Luc didn’t seem to care. Rain soaked his long, dark hair, which he wore ina knot at the back of his head, but wet, bedraggled locks had escaped to hang loose around his stony face. His eyes were hooded as if he were falling asleep, but Rolan wasn’t fooled.
“If you’re going to hit me,” he mumbled, “can you just get it over with? The waiting is worse than the actual punishment.”
Luc blinked, turning to stare at him. He opened his mouth, then shut it. Then opened it again.
“I’m not going to hit you, boy.”
Rolan drew his knees under his chin, wrapping his arms around his legs. “But I opened your secret, creepy chest full of secret, creepy, magical monster bits.”
“So you did.” The Arcanist sighed and heaved forward to rest his elbows on his knees. His head hung down, giving off such an air of defeat and exhaustion that Rolan was momentarily struck speechless.
Rolan waited another long moment before asking, “What are they? The things in the chest?”
Luc lifted his head only slightly, staring at the fire. “Secrets.”
Rolan looked at the chest again. The light was fading, the mist melting away.
“Come here, boy.”
For a moment Rolan considerednotobeying. It was instinctive, the urge to rebel, revolt, run. It had been a rare occasion indeed that an adult told him tocome hereand then rewarded him with anything other than a scolding or a cuff on the ear.
But where would Rolan run, in the dark, in the storm?
He walked to stand in front of Luc’s armchair. Thrusting his hands in his pockets, he rocked on his feet, his head cocked defiantly, daring the man to punish him.
