Later in the afternoon, once Irene had finished attending to her Ascended duties—assisting in various corporeal and defensive classes, given Birdie’s and Russo’s continued absence—she received a letter.
Or, rather, a letter nearly smacked her right across the face.
She’d been walking down one of the winding corridors of the Ascended Quarters when the golden envelope had quite literally materialized out of thin air, darting toward her with lightning precision. She’d barely raised her hand in time, snatching the letter out of the air before it could hit her. She’d blinked, stunned, watching as the letter writhed in her hands, as though attempting to yank itself free from her grip. Even when she’d finally managed to rip the envelope open, it continued to flutter in agitation, desperate to be free of her grasp.
The handwriting was thin and elegant, in bloodred ink.
Irene Manette Bamford,
Please meet me promptly in the Opal Chamber.
Sincerely,
Housemaster Marigold
P.S. Apologies for the letter. It can be a bit…enthusiastic.
Now, standing beneath the watchful eyes of the gargoyles and grotesques lurking in the upper corners of the Opal Chamber, Irene found her patience dwindling. She was in no mood to deal with Samira’s incessant rambling, nor was she particularly interested in enduring Everly’s pathetic attempts at intimidation.
“Where the hell is she?” Everly grumbled, tapping her foot against the marble floors. The sound of her maroon Mary Janes echoed throughout the rather empty hall, resounding like a rhythmic drum.
Samira yawned into her palm, glancing up at the ceiling with a dazed look. The whites of her eyes were glassy and red, a strange webbing of veins. Irene leaned in closer, inspecting the girl carefully.
“Are youhigh?”
Samira’s eyes widened a fraction. She bit back a smile. “No?”
Irene rolled her eyes. “Christ…” She let out a scoff. “How you got chosen as a candidate is beyond me.”
The smile dropped from Samira’s lips. She leaned in closer, and their sudden proximity sent a jolt of tension through Irene’s limbs.
“You really shouldn’t underestimate your competition, Irene.”
There was something about her words…something painfully familiar. Irene could hear a faint chuckle drifting in her mind. A familiar rumble of laughter. The pungent smell of brine. The Ether’s intoxicating property. Masika’s amber eyes beaming in amusement.
“You’re doing it again.”
“Doing what?”
“Underestimating everyone else.”
Irene blinked, yanking herself out of the memory. Samira wasstill staring at her, but more with curiosity than hostility. As if she were eager to carve Irene open and see what she might find inside.
“What?” Samira chuckled. “What the hell is that face for?”
“Nothing.” Irene swallowed her panic, pushing back the unwanted memories of Masika with it. Luckily, the doors to the Opal Chamber swung open before Samira could utter another word.
Housemaster Marigold entered the room, a long, billowing cloak splayed over her shoulders and cascading to the floor. She offered them a tight-lipped smile as she approached, gesturing for them to follow.
“Come on, girls. I’ve got something to show you.”
They followed after her, silent but watchful as Marigold led them to the back of the Opal Chamber. A particularly strange-looking statue stood against the southern wall—a half-lion, half-dragon creature with glowing yellow eyes. It was there that Marigold came to a halt, spinning to face them.
“Everyone ready?”
“For what?” Everly snapped, annoyed.
Marigold beamed. “I’m glad you asked.”
