Page 73 of Demon of Dreams

At one point, we passed the arched entrance to a hallway where the wood was worked in intricately scrolling designs of cups and water, flowers and flowing streams. Shining stones of blue, green, and glorious summer sunrise yellow were inlaid on either side of the archway.

On the far side of the archway, potted topiaries and other herbs lined the hallway, which was filled with windows that must have brought in winter sun from both sides in the daylight. The floor on that side of the arch was worked in tile rather than wood, and over and over I saw the repeated motif of chalice and teardrop painted on the tiles. The tiles were bright, using all the colors of the rainbow, but a cheerful yellow predominated.

“What’s down there”? I asked Professor Romero.

“Where?” He glanced over his shoulder absentmindedly. “Oh—that’s Heal Haven. Their headquarters.”

I gaped. “Do all the havens have their headquarters in the manor?”

If they did, that meant the place was even vaster than I thought.

Romero shook his head. “No, only Hex, Hunt, and Heal. They claimed pride of place as the three oldest havens. The rest have their quarters elsewhere on campus.”

I was still staring back at the entrance to Heal Haven after we walked past it. After a moment, I saw a student exit the hallway and turn left. She was holding a small bowl with a sprig of herbs inside it.

“Do all students live in their haven’s quarters, after they apply?”

“They’re not large enough, unfortunately. Well, none except Horizon. Most havens only house about half their student body, as well as faculty, within their quarters.”

“Where does everyone else live?”

“Elsewhere in the manor, for the most part,” Romero said. “As students rise in seniority, they’re more likely to earn a room within their haven’s quarters.”

We walked on, and I tried my hardest not to trip over my feet while staring at everything. The only good thing about being so overwhelmed was that it helped take my mind off the pit of worry in my stomach. But that only lasted until we reached a heavy wooden door with the tree and moon of Vesperwood’s seal carved into it.

“This is us,” Romero said, putting his hand on the knob.

“What haven are you a part of?” I asked, looking around. I hadn’t noticed us passing through an entrance as grand as Heal Haven’s had been.

“History,” Romero said. “Our Haven is housed in another building on the grounds, but there are only three suites of rooms for faculty there. I drew the short straw, which is why I live here.”

He opened the door and ushered me through. My jaw dropped as I walked in.Thiswas the consolation prize?

The first room we stepped into was all heavy wood, with dark green velvet curtains and an old-fashioned sofa with rolled arms, upholstered in a similar color. One entire wall was devoted to windows, the center of which was stained glass with another tree motif. It was probably stunning in sunlight, but even in the dark, I could tell it was beautiful.

Two wingback chairs covered in deep blue fabric faced the sofa across a coffee table stacked high with books, a cup of tea perched precariously on the edge. A massive desk sat behind the sofa, facing the window. It was covered in more books, and in the center sat a curious-looking wooden box, carved with sinuous lines. The room appeared to be Romero’s study-cum-living room.

There were towering built-in bookshelves on the right-hand wall, lined with cloth and leather-bound tomes, with flowing gold script that still managed to gleam in the dim light. Across from them, on the far wall, two doors led into other rooms. I caught the edge of a four-poster bed through one. The other room seemed like it might be a library, if the additional bookshelves I spied were any indication.

The room smelled faintly of sandalwood and cinnamon, and in total, Romero’s quarters had a deeply restful, soothing feel. A little formal for a man who seemed so easy-going, but suffused with his calm presence. I just wished it had some effect on my jangling nerves. The tug in my core was growing stronger, that pull towards a place I couldn’t see.

Down some far corridor, the bell that tolled Vesperwood’s schedule rang out the start of Fifth Hour. Despite the fact that it was 7:45, the bell pealed sixteen times. Vesperwood was its own little world, I was learning, and it didn’t exactly encourage much connection to the rest of the planet.

According to Felix, Fifth Hour was an empty class period for freshmen, who were expected to use it for homework or research. According to Ash, most freshmen actually used it for hanging out and trading gossip.

Romero gestured to his sofa. “Why don’t you have a seat?”

I did as I was told, sitting on the edge of the sofa next to an end table where a soft globe of light hovered, casting a pale yellow glow on the polished wood. Romero sat in one of the wingback chairs opposite me, laced his fingers together, and gave me a long look.

“I imagine you have some questions, but why don’t I get the obvious out of the way first?”

“Um. Okay.” I wasn’t sure what the obvious was, but I was more than willing to let him take the lead.

“For starters, yes, I know you’re an incubus. As far as I know, no one else does. Aside from Dean Mansur, of course. He thinks it advisable that we keep your true nature under wraps for now, and I tend to agree. With the reputation incubi have, it’s probably best for your safety.”

He paused for a moment. My stomach clenched even tighter—how lovely to have the worst of my suspicions confirmed—but when I didn’t say anything, he continued.

“The dean has asked that I teach you to control your powers. Not being an incubus, I’m not entirely sure that I can. But I will do my best.” He smiled. “There will be some awkward moments in these lessons, no doubt, but I won’t tell anyone about what happens in our lessons without your permission. Not even Dean Mansur.”

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