Bound (19 page)

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Authors: Erica O'Rourke

BOOK: Bound
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C
HAPTER
24
W
hen I arrived home, my father was waiting on the couch, the day’s
Trib
spread out in front of him. “It’s past curfew,” he said. “Your mother was worried.”
I checked my watch and winced. “Sorry. I meant to call, but I thought you’d already be in bed.”
He snorted. “Have a seat.”
“I’m kind of tired,” I said. More than kind of, actually. I was exhausted, desperate for the refuge of my bed. “Can we do this tomorrow?”
He pointed to the wing chair.
“Fine.” I thumped down, glanced down at the paper on the table. He’d left it open to Nick Petros’ column, and my stomach lurched.
“Where were you tonight?” he asked, settling back on the couch and inspecting me carefully.
“Out with a friend.”
“Not Donnelly.”
“Colin is not feeling very friendly toward me right now.”
“You tracked him down, huh? I told you that was a bad idea.” He rubbed his forehead. “This friend. Is he connected?”
“I didn’t say it was a he.”
My dad put his feet up on the coffee table—a sacrilege he could only get away with while my mother slept. “I saw him at the restaurant. Who does he work for?”
So much for keeping Luc secret. But it was proof my uncle hadn’t told him about the magic. I wondered briefly about Billy’s next move, how he’d try to convince me. My dad made an impatient noise, and I tuned back in. “Nobody. He’s not from around here.”
“You’re sure? People aren’t always what they tell you.”
“I’m aware of that. He’s not connected.”
“That’s something, anyway.” He laced his hands behind his neck. “You know, when I came home, I figured everything would pick up where it had left off. That I could have my old life back.”
“Oh, is that what you’ve been doing? Getting your old life back? I figured it was just garden-variety crime. I didn’t realize it was a sentimental thing.”
“That’s work,” he said. “I wanted my family again.”
“Have you considered that the two are mutually exclusive?”
“Have you considered that you don’t know everything?” he shot back. Then he softened. “Your mother and I ... it’s like I’d never left. Nothing’s changed. But you ... you’re different.”
“I was five. It was kind of inevitable.”
“Anger is one thing, Mo. This is bigger. Your mother sees it, and she worries. Your uncle sees it, and he thinks it’s an opportunity. But I see someone who’s older than she should be. Harder than she should be. I’m trying to give you something better now.”
I lifted a shoulder. The events of the last six months had transformed me, like a strange and wrenching alchemy. Inexplicable and irreversible. And not, in the end, my father’s fault. No one’s fault but my own.
“I didn’t ask you to,” I said, but there was no anger in the words this time.
“No. Just like Donnelly didn’t ask you to intercede for him with Billy, but you did it anyway. Sometimes you have to do something terrible to prevent something worse. Sometimes you have to let terrible things happen.” He slapped his knees and pushed himself off the couch. “Have a little faith in your old man, for once.”
“You haven’t given me any reason to.”
“Twelve years of nuns, and you haven’t figured this out yet? That’s why it’s faith, honey.” He headed up the staircase, his footsteps heavy, more tired than he’d let on. “Don’t stay up too late.”
 
I’d thought that nothing could be worse than Friday’s ride to school—that by Monday morning, Colin would have thawed slightly. He’d had all weekend to think about what I’d done, and he would realize my intentions were good. He’d forgive me—or start to forgive me—and we’d find a way forward, even if the path was rocky.
I was, as usual, wrong.
He didn’t look at me. He didn’t even seem angry, just ... impenetrable. I could beat my fists against the wall he’d put up, but there wasn’t any point in it. I’d only end up bruised.
I folded my hands in my lap and waited. The longer the silence went on, the harder it was to break. Soon it would be impossible. I wanted to weep, but didn’t. If we were going to get through this, it couldn’t be a result of Colin feeling sorry for me. We had to be equals. So I matched his silence, setting my teeth against the urge to plead my case.
When we pulled up to school, I reached for the door. “See you later.”
“I never lied,” he said.
My fingers tightened on the strap of my bag. “What?”
He stared straight ahead. “I never lied to you. Not once.”
“I know.” I swallowed. “You just refused to tell me the truth.”
Without waiting for his response, I slung my bag over my shoulder and headed into school.
The hallways were the same chaotic sea of people as always, and it was old habit to let myself get swept into it, relying on the drama of a thousand other people to hide my own. I kept my head down, threw my stuff in my locker, and made my way to first period. I could anesthetize myself with boredom here. Even if it was only for the day, it would be a relief not to hurt, or to want, or to feel responsible.
Except when I walked in, Niobe was talking to the teacher, managing to look both bored and imperious. They broke off as I approached my desk.
“What did you do this time?” Lena murmured.
“I’ve kind of lost track,” I replied.
With a tilt of her head, Niobe indicated I should come with her. I gathered my books and followed her out.
“First of all,” she said, “if you’re going to cut school, do me the courtesy of telling me so I can devise an explanation. Every time you disappear, Sister Donna feels compelled to visit me and discuss your progress. It’s irritating.”
“Sorry to be such an inconvenience,” I said, not meaning a word of it. Judging from the arch look she gave me, Niobe didn’t fall for it, either. “What else? I’m guessing you heard about the Succession ceremony.”
“I did.” She gave a small, satisfied smile. “Anton must be incensed.”
“Do you think he’ll come after me again?”
“You’re well guarded. The concealment hides you from the Darklings. His best chance would come during the second half of the ceremony, but he may not have enough support to attack you in such a public fashion.”
I was not reassured. “He’s done it before.”
“Yes. But your display at the ceremony has changed people’s perception of you.”
“How’s that?”
“Before, you were a Flat who had stumbled into someone else’s destiny. You’d stopped the Torrent, but your work was done. In most people’s eyes, you were disposable. Now you’re a force to be reckoned with. They don’t know if they should fear you or worship you.”
Both choices made me uncomfortable. “Leaving me alone isn’t an option?”
Niobe’s laugh echoed through the hallway like windchimes. “I don’t believe it ever was. But certainly not now.” She ushered me into an empty classroom.
“They won’t choose me. I only did it to make Anton angry.” I crossed the room and peered out the window, as if I could see him coming. The nausea wouldn’t go away, the terror I’d felt during the attack at Morgan’s returning in icy waves.
“How comforting to know you’ve succeeded.” She began to trace symbols on the board, and the magic responded by calming slightly.
A moment later, Constance appeared in the doorway. “I got a note?” Her expression was puzzled until she spotted me, and then it shifted to annoyed. “What now?”
“Training,” said Niobe. “This classroom is empty for the next two hours. You need more time, but—”
“I can’t keep skipping class,” I said. “Even if you’re running interference with the school.”
“Perhaps you should have considered that before you disappeared with Luc the other day.”
“Luc?” said Constance, closing the door behind her and locking it with a quick spell. “You cut class to hang out with
Luc?
What’s your boyfriend say about that?”
Colin wasn’t saying anything, and I doubted he was my boyfriend anymore, but Constance didn’t need to know that. I stood and twisted my hair back into a knot, hands jittery. “Can we get started, please?”
Niobe finished drawing the symbols on the board, and I reached out, my fingers hovering over the dusty writing. They didn’t carry the same power as the ones carved into the table at the Assembly, but I could still feel a faint charge flickering within them, and my hands tingled as if they’d fallen asleep. Something about the glyphs felt ... wrong. Off.
“What’s today’s lesson?”
“The castings you’ll use during the second half of the ceremony. These are specific to the candidates.”
“A candidate?” Constance echoed, her brows drawing together. “You never said you were going to declare.”
“It was a spur-of-the-moment thing.”
“You’re trying to take Evangeline’s place?” There was something sharp and nasty in her voice. “Not really a surprise, I guess. That’s kind of your thing, isn’t it?”
“My ‘thing’? What’s that supposed to mean?” I rounded on her, finally fed up with the snotty comments and dirty looks.
Maybe that’s all I’d needed to do this whole time, because she stepped back, face smoothing out. “Nothing. But I won’t be at the ceremony. Why do I need to practice?”
Niobe answered, “Because unless there’s something you’ve failed to mention, you are not a seer. You may attend a Succession someday, and have cause to know these spells.”
Constance flushed. “Not if the Seraphim win. They’ll get rid of the Houses.”
“Then it’s a good thing they won’t win,” Niobe said, her voice dangerously cheerful. “I’d hate to waste your time.”
“We’re going to stop them,” I said. Niobe was as reassuring as a cobra sometimes, and Constance was still adjusting to the Arcs, still reeling from Verity’s death. It made sense that she viewed the world as one giant worst-case scenario. “I promise. Me, and Luc, and the Quartoren, too. We won’t let them win.”
She bobbed her head and gave me a half smile. “You’ll try.”
“Better than try, Constance.” I touched her shoulder. “I swear it.”
Niobe tapped the pointer against the blackboard, and I jerked my gaze back to the front of the room. “You’ve opened yourself to raw magic before, but during this ceremony you’ll be dealing with a single elemental line—water—that has been tempered.”
“So it should be easy.” That was a nice change of pace. I could use easy, for once. I’d
earned
easy.
“I wouldn’t put it that way. It’s a test, after all. If you can’t wield the magic, you’ll fail.”
“The only way I fail is if Anton wins.” My stomach twisted painfully, and I grabbed at the lectern standing nearby as my legs gave out.
Niobe started toward me and then stopped again, cocking her head like she was listening to music I couldn’t hear. Her gaze snapped back to me, and she was at my side in an instant. “Hold on,” she said, and there was real fear in her voice as she took my arm.
Instantly, my skin turned slick, jagged panic racing through me. “What’s wrong?”
“You and the magic are linked,” she said. “Constance, help me get her to a chair.”
“I can walk.” But I closed my eyes for an instant and memories sprang up—Anton’s fingers at my neck, the slash of a Darkling talon through metal, Verity’s scream, the fetid smell of death—and the magic thrashed in pain, deep within me. My legs crumpled. “Or not.”
Niobe caught me before I hit the ground. “Give me your sweater,” she ordered Constance.
I started to tremble—full body shakes, slamming into the floor. “What—”
She slid the sweater beneath my head, kept her hands on my shoulders to hold me still. “If you’re hurt, so is the magic. But it works both ways. Try to relax. Breathe through it.”
Easy for her to say. I tried to curl up, protecting my stomach, my breath coming too fast and shallow to stay conscious for much longer. “Can they stop it?”
“They’re doing everything they can,” Niobe said, voice echoing.
Constance dropped to her knees and took my hand. “What’s happening to her?”
“They’re killing it,” I whispered, barely able to force the words out. The magic sent me a relentless parade of images. Darklings, breaking through the walls of the Assembly, shattering the black table, the shifting symbols falling still. Swarming over the beautiful grove of trees and white marble stage of the Allée, cracking open the massive lines surrounding it, sucking out the magic like marrow from a bone.
Marrow from my bones,
just like Anton had said, and I screamed.
Niobe grabbed my hands and began to chant. The pain eased somewhat, and then her words were swallowed up by a great rushing sound, a fresh round of attacks. I begged the magic to please hold on, to fight, to live, my throat raw from shouting. I fought back against the pain, drawing as much of the magic inside me as I could, sheltering it from further assaults.

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