I grimace at him, but we’ve got more important things to cover here instead of squabbling over what’s already done.
Byron nudges me toward a wooden chair with a padded seat that’s worn but clean, probably the most comfortable seat in the bunch. He ends up in a plastic folding chair at my left while Salvatore nabs the lawn chair at my right.
Asher sinks onto the other lawn chair next to Salvatore’s, but Cole remains on his feet, looming over the scuffed stool that’s the only chair left. I half expect him to start ranting about the disrespect of us leaving him with the least appealing seat.
His hardened eyes fix on me. I can sense, in a quiverthrough the connection between us and the slight flare of his pupils, that he’s taken a dose of kavish to sharpen his senses.
I cringe inwardly, his expression stirring all the insecurities it used to in his class in the years before he became my match.
His voice turns harder too, cool and flat as polished granite. “I wasn’t sure I’d need to take this step today, but it’s obvious you’re getting bolder and more careless. Not a combination I’m willing to risk when Asher and I can’t help being involved. We’re going to need some answers.”
I stare at him, my honest bewilderment mixed with a trickle of dread that winds through my stomach. “Answers about what? What are you even?—”
I try to lift my arm to gesture my confusion alongside my words, and my limb jars against an invisible barrier. With a flare of panic, I push against my seat, struggling to stand.
Strands of gathered ephemera hold me in place, wrapped tight around my body. I can barely wiggle my arms against my torso. My ankles are clamped against the chair legs.
Salvatore springs up, proving the restraints are only on me.
“What the fuck are you doing to her?” he demands, flexing the muscles that bulk out his massive frame. Cole has a couple of inches on him in height, but there’s no mistaking who’s the real heavyweight here.
The mafia heir takes a threatening step toward the professor, and Cole holds up a hand to stop him. “I can bind you too if I have to. She’s been lying to us. Hiding things. Pretending to know less than she does. Don’t you want to know why?”
Shit on a shunoban. Is this because I let him tag along on Wednesday’s scouting mission?
What exactly has he figured out?
All of my matches are on their feet now, where I’d like to be too if I could move.
Byron frowns at Cole, his stance nearly as imposing as Salvatore’s. He might not have gone the fighting club route, but he’s no slouch on the mats. “You can’t treat her like this. If you have questions about something Elodie’s done, we can talk it out without tying her up.”
Asher’s face pales as he gapes at his brother. “Cole, let her go.”
The professor shakes his head. “You have to understand. We’ve spent all this time worrying about how dangerous the people after Elodie might be, but not enough time wondering whether she’s dangerous too.”
Salvatore lets out a growl of frustration. “You’re the one who’s in danger right now.”
He throws himself forward without warning—but Cole was smart enough to prepare. The mafia heir slams into a magical barrier a few feet before he could even touch the man he meant to tackle.
He might be the best in the academy at magical combat, but Cole has eight years more experience and wunderkind levels of general skill.
Cole obviously doesn’t trust his magic to hold up against an intensive barrage for long. He speaks in a swift, clipped tone. “There’s been a significant shift in her ephemera for weeks now. She’s shown new abilities—in combat, in shielding—that seem to have come out of nowhere. Sherecognizedthat she was poisoned and took steps to throw up before the toxin fully took hold. She’s chasing leads around the city that obviously mean more to her than she’s letting on, and she’s activating glims without caring about the consequences.”
His list of oddities draws even Salvatore up short. “What’s that supposed to mean, what you said about the poison?”
Cole spares him a chilly glance. “I read the ephemera she left behind after it happened. She didn’t throw up becausethe poison made her sick—she shoved her finger down her throat to make herself vomit. How could she have realized what was happening to her? Why would Elodie Devine ever imagine she’d been poisoned?”
Byron’s brow knits. “What are you trying to say? It’s agoodthing if she’s taking steps to protect herself.”
He knows I was worried that someone was after me before the poisoning even happened. It must be easy for him to justify all the evidence as pointing to the same initial problem, one that still paints me as the victim.
Cole scoffs. “Only if she’s being honest about why she needs protection. I think the Devines have gotten messed up in something much darker than their typical business interests. Increased Elodie’s training so she can keep up with their new alliances. Except those alliances turned sour, and they weren’t ready for just how bad the backlash would be. And Elodie’s still protecting her family’s interests while pushing us into the line of fire.”
His theory is so absurdly far from the truth that I can’t hold back a sputter of laughter.
I’ve been stretching myself to the limit trying to protecthim—and the other men around us. I have no idea who my enemies are, and Dad and Aunt Daphne clearly don’t have a clue either. Most of the “proof” he’s noticed is the result of my experiences in a totally different reality.
I should probably be glad he hasn’t stumbled on my real story, but his claims might sound valid to the others. They’re certainly a lot more believable than what I’ve actually been through.
