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“Stop looking for fae drugs,” a creaking voice says and I yelp, spinning around. “The prince has run out of them. And that is not why the closet showed you those images.”
“The desk speaks again,” I mutter, trying to ignore my racing heart. “So honored you deigned to open your mouth.”
“I have no mouth,” it creaks.
I struggle for calm. “Why did the closet show me those images?”
“The closet records the moments during which its owner has strong feelings. Moments of revelation.”
“But—”
“In the first instance, the prince realized he was in love with you. In the second, he realized that he had lost you.”
“But he hasn’t lost me. I’m trying to—”
“—save him. Yes. Closets aren’t much good for coming up with plans, I’m afraid.”
“But desks are?”
“We work with books. We absorb more wisdom over the years than a piece of furniture only interested in clothing.”
I grin in spite of myself. “And can you help me?”
“Of course. I…” There’s another creaking sound. “You need to link your magic to that of the boys.”
“I know.”
“Physicality is important. Elemental magic is all about the physical.”
“Meaning?”
“I don’t have to spell it out for you young people, do I? Gather your magic. Link to them.”
“I will try,” I whisper. “Was I supposed to know how? My memory is a bit mangled at the moment.”
“You will figure it out when the time is right. Your power is inside of you. It comes from both sides of your family, making you stronger than most Queens have ever been. It only needs to be activated.”
“Activated how, I don’t—”
“And you may have your father to thank for that.”
“My father? I have no idea who he is.”
“Mirror,” the desk says with what sounds like a sigh. “Show her.”
“You know him?” I turn and find myself looking at my startled reflection. “It’s not working,” I say, “sorry, desk, the mirror won’t listen—”
The image in the glass ripples and distorts, changing around my wide eyes—they remain almost the same, it seems, but the face morphs into that of a man, stern and square-jawed, gray hair swept back.
Those familiar eyes…
“No way,” I whisper. “No way, it’s impossible.”
“Why is it impossible?” asks the desk.
“My father can’t be the Academy Headmaster. What are the odds of that? Besides… He’s a demon.”
“And?”
