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I nod as Hardin says, “classic just means old.”
I frown. “It was one of my dad’s favorite movies. We watched it together all the time.” There’s a zap of power between my finger and the carving, followed by a click, and then the shelf pops forward just slightly.
I let out a pleased sound, and then turn to face them. The men look uncomfortable. Like they aren’t sure how to respond to the mention of my father. I guess since it was them having the knowledge that my father nearly killed me when I was ten is what finally got me to leave Septem Stellae last semester, they’re a little uncomfortable about it.
Fielder won’t meet my eyes, keeping his gaze on the bottles of spray in front of him like it’s the most interesting thing in the world. That also makes sense since he was the one that told Morgan about the whole thing and threatened to give her the go ahead to tell everyone about it.
Merritt’s swinging her head around in confusion, the one person who isn’t aware of the situation. “Am I missing something?”
“I’ll tell you later,” I mutter, turning back to the shelf and curling my fingers around the side of it, tugging. It swings forward easily, and I peer into the tunnel. There aren’t any stairs like the entrance in Goodwin, just a stretch of black. “I didn’t bring my phone. I don’t have a flashlight.”
Hardin finally pushes to the front of the group, stepping up next to me to press a kiss to my temple. “Sorry, love,” he mutters. “I didn’t realize.”
I lift a shoulder in a shrug. “How could you have? Look, I love my dad a lot. But I know what he did was fucked up.”
I can feel his eyes on me, scanning the side of my face, but I keep my gaze forward. After a second, light flares to life and he holds up a hand wreathed in flames. “Shall we?”
He steps into the tunnel and starts down it. Merritt follows, casting me a concerned look as she goes. I shake my head and say softly, “later” and she nods. I follow, but Fielder’s fingers on my forearm stop me.
“A moment?” So very polite of him. I wait while Ezra and Gideon follow Hardin and Merritt.
When they’ve gone a bit further in, to where Hardins’ fire is just a faint flicker, Fielder swallows hard. “Sweeney, I want to apologize.”
I cross my arms over my chest. “You want to apologize? Or youareapologizing?”
His lips twitch. “Iamapologizing. I’m sorry. About what happened last quarter.” He runs a frustrated hand through his hair and it occurs to me he doesn’t have a lot of experience with this. Guilt. Feeling regret. Being sorry. Apologizing. None of it. “I know that it’ll take time for you to forgive me for telling Morgan. And frankly, I wouldn’t blame you if you never did. But I did what I thought was right to keep you safe. Especially since you seem completely incapable of doing it yourself. You wouldn’t heed any of our other warnings. You kept creeping around and learning things you shouldn’t.” He motions at the tunnels as if they’re proof. “I had to take drastic measures to make sure my father couldn’t get to you.”
I shake my head, tsking. “Man, Harris, you are bad at apologizing.” I step toward him and place my hand on his chest. His fingers curl around mine, holding them there, over his heart. “Here’s a tip. When apologizing, don’t blame the person you’re apologizing to. Also, just say ‘I’m sorry for x’. Don’t try to justify the action.”
His lips twitch again in a way that I now know means he’s trying not to laugh, and he leans down until his lips are hovering just over mine. “Rosalind, I’m sorry for telling Morgan about your father. It was unconscionable and there is no excuse.”
My fingers pat him. “Much better, Harris. Good to know you take instruction.”
He kisses me softly. “Just tell me what you want, Sweeney, and I’ll happily comply.”
Heat rushes through me because the tone of his voice definitely implies that he’s talking about sexy things in the bedroom, like he wants me to tell him how to pleasure me. My breath hitches. A slow smile spreads over his face. “No come back, Sweeney?”
Instead of answering, I push up on my toes and press my lips firmly to his. His hand releases mine, slides up my arm and around my shoulders to pull me tighter against him.
A throat clears from behind us. “Are you two coming?”Gideon.
“Well, not yet, since you so rudely interrupted us,” I mumble before I can stop myself.
Fielder chokes out a laugh and releases me, taking my hand in his and guiding me down the tunnel. The door slides shut behind us as if by magic, because, duh, itismagic. And we move toward the flickering flames that belong to Hardin.
“Finally,” he mutters, sounding annoyed, but he’s smirking in a sneaky way, like he knows exactly what we were doing.
I clear my throat, ignoring Hardin’s sly looks. “So, what are we looking at?”
They take me to the room under Proctor, while Merritt informs me that each building has one and that they are called sacrariums. It’s like the one under Goodwin, old heavy wooden furniture, drippy candles, bookshelves full of leather-bound books. But instead of the imagery of the chalice and the crescent moon, here there are snakes and bee hives everywhere and any fabric is green and gold, instead of white and gold.
“Who’s the head of Proctor?” I ask, running a hand over the spines of the books on the shelf.
“Serpent and hive,” Ezra offers. I give him a curious look and he elaborates. “The sects aren’t called by their building. It wouldn’t make sense once we leave the university. So this sect of the coven is called Serpent and Hive.”
I blow out my cheeks in a heavy breath. “Okay, so who is the head of Serpent and Hive?”
He exchanges a look with the other boys. “Gabe Verver.”
