Page 105 of The Black Table
“It’s…different,” I say. If I’m being honest, I don’t want to think too hard about it—the proximity of all of them, the considerable upgrade to my living space, the catered meals and entire wardrobe of replacement clothes. Like if I stare at it too closely, it’ll vanish.
Fortunately, Morgan doesn’t push. I squint into the glimmering hollow of the geode and change the subject. “Should I get this for my room?”
She, too, squints at it. “Depends. Does it meet the Camlann House rules? Can’t be bringing bad vibes around the perfect swordsmen.” She laughs.
I replace the geode on the shelf, letting my fingers linger on its bumpy surface. There really is something about this place—the Oracular Curio in particular, with its jewel-green walls and moody vibes, but Sarrasford in general, and certainly Caliburn—that’s…unusual.
“Is it just me, or is everyone around here kind of obsessed with, like, relics and rituals and magical shit?”
Morgan doesn’t turn around from wherever she’s rummaging. “Are they?”
“Aren’tthey?” I glance up at the pressed-tin ceiling, which has a series of suncatchers in the shape of the evil eye dangling from tiny hooks.
Morgan just shrugs, still fixed intently on a vial of essential oils. “Who knows? Academically intense schools attract nerds.”
“Yeah,” I agree. Although, this stuff, and to be honest, a lot of the stuff at Camlann House, goes beyond sheer geeking out.
Besides, I wouldn’t really call Morgan a nerd. Or Kingston. Or any of them for that matter.
“You really thinkyou’rea nerd?” I say, eyeing her up and down, “let alone, like, Kingston or Kai?”
Morgan sighs. “Yeah, well, they’re a special case. Luther’s obsessed with excellence, so I guess an ordinary Ivy League wasn’t going to cut it. That plus the whole fencing legacy thing.” She rolls her eyes. “I mean, he wasn’t satisfied with one kid being a prodigy. He had to literally go acquire one to, I don’t know, double his odds or something.”
I frown. “What do you mean?”
“Kai,” she says. “You didn’t know?”
I shake my head.
“He was straight-up a foster kid. Luther was doing some kind of charity fencing clinic and saw this kid with a terrible attitude and a wicked talent for swords—or so I’ve been told. I was off at the South Salem School for Girls by then.” She shrugs again. “From then on it was a fast track to the Pendragon townhouse and all training all the time.”
“Oh,” I say. That certainly explains more of it. Certainly why he and Kingston look and act absolutelynothingalike. “So Kai was just naturally good at fencing and…just like that, he’s adopted into one of the most wealthy and powerful families on the East Coast, if not the country?”
“Yep,” Morgan says. “Some of us snuck under the velvet rope with our gold-digging mothers, and others just had dumb luck, I guess.”
I laugh, even though it still doesn’t quite add up to me. I mean, good to be talented at fencing, I guess, but so much so that you actually recruit someone to be in your own family? No wonder Kai’s not so crazy about Kingston or the rest of them.
“Okay,” Morgan chirps, “stop me now or else I’ll max out my entire credit line.”
I blink and look down at her basket, which is suddenly filled to the brim and visibly dragging her arm away from her body. “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” I whisper. “Is there anything youdidn’tbuy?”
“Like I said, I’m starting from scratch.” She moves it to the counter, not without some difficulty, and the red-haired woman starts gingerly taking it out piece by piece and punching the prices into an adding machine. Old-school here too, I see.
“And with these, Morgan dear?” She holds up a black candle with a black wick. “Do be careful that?—”
“I know, I know,” Morgan says, cutting her off—a bit harshly, I think. “You don’t need to lecture me aboutfire safety, Lucinda.”
The heaviness in the last two words must be some kind of hint for the woman to back off, which she does. I’m silently grateful for it.
She produces a black credit card with a flourish and hands it to the woman, who painstakingly transcribes the card number by hand.
“Thank you, stepfather,” Morgan whispers, pressing two fingers to her lips and blowing a kiss to an invisible Luther before taking the card back. “And thankyou, Lucinda.”
“Anytime,” the woman burbles. “Oh, and this is a lovely choice,” she adds, holding up a small rectangular box—a tarot deck, I realize. “The last one we had, too.”
Now it’s Morgan’s turn to frown. “I donotremember putting that in there,” she says. “And God knows I have plenty. You can just put that back.”
But the woman shakes her head, waggling a finger in the air. “Ah, ah, ah, my dear, you know the rules. If a deck finds you, then you desperately need it.” She pops it into the tote bag with the rest of Morgan’s loot. “No charge.”
