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20
I turn to see Elodie slink into the room, her gait languid and assured. She wears an orange strapless mini dress, sparkly blue ankle boots, and a tiara perched on her head as casually as she once wore a New York Yankees cap.
“Natasha,” she says, her face pulling into a grin.
With a clenched jaw and a furious gaze, I watch as she comes to stand beside Braxton. The way she presses her shoulder to his reminds me of a dog pissing on a fire hydrant, marking its territory.
My teeth grind, my fingers curl into fists, as a flurry of accusations storms through my brain, but the hail ofHow could you—how dare you—why me—melts on my tongue the moment she steps forward to hug me.
“It’s so good to see you,” she says, her lips pressing somewhere north of my ear.
I remain fixed in place, stone-faced and silent. My only real consolation is that I don’t hug her back.
Pretending not to notice, she says, “I knew from the start you wouldn’t be easy.”
I have no idea what that means. No idea what any of this means.
Why do the chairs hang like swings? Why is Elodie dressed like royalty? Why is everyone so unsettled by me? Why was I chosen to be here with them? But most of all, where the hell am I?
But while I may not have answers to any of those questions, I still have my suspicions.
“You framed me. Both of you, you set me up.” My gaze jumps between Elodie and Braxton. But now that I’ve found my voice, it’s left me feeling exhausted, silly, and small.
Braxton turns his focus to a large, bright canvas dominating the far wall.
Elodie dips her mouth open, about to explain, when another voice breaks in.
“I’m sure you have many questions.”
I glance up to find the legend has joined us.
My first impression is that he’s a big brick of a man, but a second glance tells me that’s not at all true. It’s more an expectation shaped by newspaper articles, magazine profiles, and pictures taken with a camera tilted skyward.
In person he’s actually pretty average, with the sort of rangy body and coiled energy of a long-distance runner. His features are appealing with just enough character to keep from being bland. The chin is assertive, the jaw sharp, the nose slightly hawkish, while the lips, not too thin or too wide, are framed by a set of deep smile lines sunk like parentheses on each side.
In his faded jeans, designer loafers, and blue sweater, Arthur Blackstone gives off a casual, easy vibe I’d be tempted to believe—if it weren’t for his eyes.
Dark and glinting, his gaze reminds me of something I learned about obsidian that one time Elodie dragged me into a shop that sold crystals.
“It’s not a stone for amateurs,” the salesperson told me as I reached for the shiny black rock. “It’s powerful, merciless, allows nothing to remain hidden. It explodes the truth right into the open and can prove overwhelming to a beginner.”
I immediately swapped it for a small, polished citrine instead. “A stone of abundance,” Elodie claimed, which mostly drove the decision to buy the smallest, cheapest piece I could find and stash it inside my bra.
Sadly, the stone’s magick didn’t take.
Or maybe it did. Maybe it’s how my mom got a fancy new ride and home renovation, and I ended up here.
But now, contemplating Arthur’s gaze, I realize that, like obsidian, it’s where his truth lies.
I also understand that where he’s concerned, there will be no way to hide mine.
“Natasha, welcome.” His voice is commanding, his handshake firm. “I apologize for the journey. But I’m afraid you can expect similar winds any time you venture past the academy walls.”
“Is that all you apologize for? The weather?”
I force my gaze to meet his.Let the truth telling begin.
Braxton shifts uneasily. Elodie inhales a breath so sharp, it sucks the air right out of the room. Jago, Oliver, Finn, and Song lean forward in their seats, everyone waiting to see if I can get away with talking to Mr. Blackstone so disrespectfully.
I watch as his lips pinch at the corners, feel the sting of his gaze as it slices right through my display of bravado to the uncertain girl quaking beneath. After a few measured beats, Arthur says, “Tomorrow, your questions will be answered and your concerns addressed. For now, Elodie will show you to your room. I’m sure you’re in need of some rest.”
His tone is pleasantly nonnegotiable, and luckily for me, I’m smart enough to know when to quit. Besides, Arthur is right—I’m definitely in need of some rest. If for no other reason than a good night’s sleep will help clear my head, so I can wake up tomorrow and start working on a plan for getting out of this mess.
