Page 61 of Academy of the Wicked, Year One

I nod, understanding her concern.

"Go with Grim first. We'll catch up."

She looks for the being of darkness whose already behind her. All she has to do is look up to acknowledge his presence before she smiles excitingly.

"I'll be quick," she promises, then slips out of the room with Grim trailing behind her like a particularly deadly shadow.

As the door closes behind her, I find myself staring at the roses still blooming impossibly throughout the room. Each petal seems to pulse with combined Fae magic and vampire essence — a physical manifestation of what just passed between us.

What exactly have we started here?

"We need to figure this shit out," Damien declares, running a hand through his perfectly styled hair in frustration. "When are we telling her what the fuck that mark is? Because I'm tired of feeling the pulsating power between her and Cassius."

A smirk tugs at my lips, unable to resist the opening he's given me.

"Meaning you're jealous," I drawl, watching as his expression darkens.

"I amnotjealous!" His fangs flash as he snarls the words, the vehemence of his denial only making it more suspicious.

"Sure, whatever you say," I respond with deliberate casualness, though I can't quite hide my amusement. Then, more seriously, "We intend to tell her on the way to the trials, which we should head to sooner rather than later. Time isn't exactly on our side."

The reminder of our approaching deadline seems to sober everyone. Even the roses, still somehow blooming throughout the room, appear to dim slightly as if sensing the gravity of our situation.

My gaze shifts to Mortimer, the question forming carefully.

"Are you truly comfortable with this arrangement? Being part of our group despite your position among the Seven?"

The Reaper's pale eyes gleam with something that might be amusement.

"It promises to be a rather peculiar experience," he muses, his voice carrying that particular tone that always makes me wonder just how much he can see that we can't. "At the very least, it won't be boring." His gaze drifts toward the door where Gwenivere disappeared. "She's an intriguing addition. It would be...beneficial for me to remain close."

Something in his phrasing catches my attention.

"You've been improvising," I observe, studying his expression more carefully.

He inclines his head slightly, acknowledging the observation.

"She needs additional protection," he explains. "Something that can serve as a backup for her glamour. The trials are notorious for their time distortions. What feels like hours inside could be days passing outside, or vice versa." His expression grows more serious. "If we return before sunrise and she's depleted her energy..."

He doesn't need to finish the thought.

We all understand the implications.

"What do you have in mind?" I ask, already appreciating the wisdom of his concern. The mark on her neck may offer some protection, but having redundancies could mean the difference between life and death.

Mortimer's lips curve into a slight smile.

"I can craft something suitable before the trials begin," he assures us. "A failsafe, if you will."

"Can you really prepare it that quickly?" Damien asks, skepticism clear in his voice.

The look Mortimer gives him could freeze hellfire.

"I am one of the Seven," he reminds us quietly. "There are certain advantages to that position."

His power ripples through the air, as if to remind us of what we’ve obviously forgotten in power dynamics. It's easy to forget sometimes, when he's playing at being our advisor, just how dangerous Mortimer truly is.

"We should move soon," Cassius speaks up, his first words since Gwenivere left. His shadows seem more agitated than usual, coiling around him in restless patterns. "The sooner we begin, the sooner we can address...everything."

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