Page 58 of Prey It By Ear

After that, there’s a leather satchel, dark with age, and tied with a thong that smells faintly of myrrh. It contains a bundle of vellum scrolls, the oldest of which dates to a time before the Treaty. I have not read all of them, but the one I opened bled a little when I nicked the seal. The script is red, but I do not think it is ink. That is something I have a small group of very skilled mages working on.

The glass reliquary shines in the low light. It’s sealed at the edges with something that looks like silver but feels like quicksilver if you touch it too long. Inside it is a brooch shaped like a sylvan crest. It is chipped at one edge, as if someone once tried to snap it in two and failed. The rumors say it belonged to a queen, but no royals save me were caught on this side of the Veil when it closed. It is not of my family’s court, and I am working on researching its powers. I have not found the information, but I have a very good idea of where it may be hiding.

Walking to the table, I unwrap the book of magical enchantments and knowledge I’ve gathered over my patient wait. It is the largest book in the room, stamped with iron so black it eats the light. After I put on the gloves needed to handle it safely, I break the bespelled wax seal on the side and flip to the page I marked last night. The script is angular and thick, designed to be read in moonlight or not at all. It’s why I keep my little room so dark, and in order to see it better, I mutter the plea to our goddess that will help me read it.

My invocation is not showy. It requires no blood and no dramatic gestures. Just a finger pressed to the ink, a breath out, and a single word whispered on the inhale. The magic feels like a drop of cold water running down the inside of my spine. A small amount of magically manufactured moonlight fills the room, and I can see as clearly as I do at night.

Perfect.

There is a ripple at the far end of the corridor. For a second, the green moss light flickers, and then two slivers of shadow detach from the wall and compress themselves into the air. They stand at attention—if you can call what they do standing—and wait for my command. I close the codex with the deliberate motion you would use to put a loaded gun back in its holster. The runes along the spine warm briefly under my touch, and then go cold again. I wrap it, tie the cord twice, and return it to the pile.

Looking at the intruders, I wait for a report.

“Dupree stairwell, east side. Candle-smoke. Watch the observer—tall, left-handed, leather and studs. Return if he signals. Otherwise, remain.”

Apparently, the spies I’ve turned to our cause have found something interesting. I nod at the shadowkin, accepting their report. “I will be there. Continue with your reconnaissance.”

They fade into nothingness without a word, and I turn back to the shelf. My hands are shaking, but it is not fear. It is adrenaline and anticipation. I force a slow breath to calm my excitement and look around my lair. Everything is moving according to plan, and even the small unplanned occurrences have not thrown us off track. If it continues this way, within the next year, the Society will taste defeat, and the Veil will open once more.

I tuck the iron token inside my shirt and close my eyes for a second, bracing myself for the climb out and the long trek through the crawlspace to the next blind. I need to be in place before the second period ends, or the window for the next move will close.

This is how wars are won—not with brute force, but with a hundred careful, invisible actions no one thinks to notice until it is too late.

I exhale, open my eyes, and step back into the dark.

It is our time, and they will not see us coming until it is too late.

* In iron life, in iron death.

Lights

Delores

The ache that comes from holding a plié past the point of no return is zinging through me as I make my way out of my rehearsal studio. My gym bag is slung over one shoulder, and I have my toe shoes dangling over my shoulder to air out. The echo of early morning practice and then my work in the studio is in every tendon and ligament; my whole body screams for rest, and though I’m listening, I’m only half-way through day one of the nightmare that is my junior year schedule.

Moving down the corridor with mirrored walls on both sides, I note the floor is still slippery from the cleaning. Dangerous, especially on the dance floor, and I walk carefully until the door at the far end flies open. Fitz is here, waiting like the world’s most attentive stalker. He’s still looking crazy with his hoodie unzipped, hair somewhere between genius and human lightning rod, and his laptop bag slung across his chest. He falls into step beside me, grinning madly as he wraps an arm around my waist.

“See, Baby Girl? You made it through the bad shit earlier, and the rest of the day has been pretty quiet. I told you it would be okay.”

I nod, blow my hair off my forehead, and will the sting of sweat out of my eyes. “Barely, but I’m pretty sure that’s because Raina brought a crossbow. That woman is a treasure, Fitz. We can’t let anyone fuck with her or the crew… ever.”

“I’m pretty sure Emo Boy makes sure of that already.” He squeezes me close, dropping a kiss on the crown of my head as we move to the elevator. “People probably harass them occasionally, though, because rich kids are assholes. I should know.”

I laugh as he bobs his brows and then shake my head. “They don’t do it in the presence of live witnesses, or Rennie would make sure they suffered,” I say firmly. “But you’re right, Rockland mostly behaved today, though she gave me the look. You know the one—like she’s picturing me as a small, defenseless rodent she can snatch up in her claws, eventually. But Raina kept smiling and clicking the safety off the crossbow. It was very soothing.”

Fitz’s lips twitch, but he’s distracted, already toggling through mental tabs. “Good. Hopefully, the bitch won’t try anything for a while if the Captain’s crew rotates on the schedule. The assignment order is random, so she can’t predict it, and it will keep her off-balance. That’s what my bro said, at least. But I’m keeping tabs on things; you don’t have to worry.”

I can’t tell if he means the rainbow-dyed circus clown or someone else on his mental shit list that he’s planning revenge on. With Fitz, it could be both, or another unstated target that he’s latched onto in his manic state. He’s deep into an ADHD manic swing since Rockland came at me, and unlike everyone else, I let him do what he needs to in order to re-surface without making a big deal about it. My tiger is brilliant in so many ways, and his creativity is highest when he’s off-the-charts, so he can cook all he wants as long as he’s not hurting himself.

We all need space to be ourselves, even the least palatable version, without being forced into a box.

The quad is thick with students converging after lunch when we get out of the Shird. The new ones are leaking anxiety and tension into the air like an oil spill. For a brief second, I remember what it was like to be one of them—a new face, trying to figure out if you could get from one end of campus to the other without being noticed by predators with a thirst for freshman meat. It feels like a different universe, even though it’s only been three years. Luckily for these newbies, they aren’t being targeted as food; that adds a completely different dimension to the entire experience.

Fitzy keeps himself between me and the oncoming foot traffic. It’s not obvious—he’s mastered the art of running interference without appearing overbearing—but any time there’s a potential collision, he angles his body so I’m not close to the other preds. I want to scold him for it, but I also kinda never want him to stop. My fiercely independent brain and my lady bits are conflicted when the guys are like this, and I bet that also will never end.

We’re nearing the entrance to the building where my private piano is hosted this year when he launches into a rant. “Your next class is Piano with the whale again. Was she okay during voice? I didn’t get to see you afterward because the skunk picked you up while I was in the lab.”

“She likes to demonstrate vibrato by holding a B-flat for a stupid amount of time. It eats up my time and pisses me off, but she didn’t act like a jerk because I’m me. It’s because she’s a snooty ex-star or whatever and she got shipped here.” I frown, tilting my head. “Do we know why an Alexandré was exiled despite her big opera career?”