Page 37 of A Taste of Torment
We head back to the speakeasy, which is still fairly empty. I watch as Jarron makes me another piping hot beverage, followed by something dark red and topped with cinnamon for himself.
We sit on a red velvet bench in front of the low flickering fireplace.
Silence stretches awkwardly, and I’m now a bit disappointed I didn’t choose to explore the library. Here, we’re alone. Which is kind of what I wanted but also… not. I don’t know what to talk to Jarron about. We were friends once. Really close friends.
But it was during that weird time between childhood and adolescence. We’ve changed in foundational ways.
“I have something for you,” Jarron mutters after several minutes of strained quiet.
“Oh?”
He pulls his hand from his pocket and reveals a small stone. His eyes shine with amusement, and joy? A very un-demonic expression, to say the least.
I frown and lean in to examine the stone between his fingers. It’s an uneven glossy silver. “Mithril?” I whisper.
He nods, lips twitching.
We used to go searching for the legendary metal on Myre Island as kids. We never found any, but it was fun to pretend. “Where did you find it?”
“There’s a tunnel through the mountains to the south of here, where dwarves used to roam and occasionally weld. The mines are abandoned now, but there’s a few tiny remnants of their treasure.”
That’s the kind of thing that Elizabeth would have been fascinated by too. Is that how he lured her into the Forest of Nails? The promise of rare, shiny objects?
“Do you want it?”
“No,” I say quickly but immediately regret it. Maybe it’s the right choice—don’t let him know I have an interest in something he can use against me later. Not that I’d let him. But I do also really want to check out the metal. It’s spelled and nearly indestructible.
I shouldn’t even be surprised that the next morning, that same stone, inside a pretty black box, was delivered to my bedroom in Minor Hall.
18
Jarron isn’t the Only Demon I’ve Got to Confront
I clingto the handwritten note delivered to me mid-potions class.
Request for meeting.Mr. Vandozer’s office, 12 p.m. Today.
I bitethe inside of my lip as I stand outside of the headmaster’s office. Yep, the headmaster I blackmailed into admitting me to his school for supernaturals. I’ve had meetings with principles in the past, but I usually knew the reason before I walked in and had a plan in place. Using magic potions at a human school was pretty easy since I could always just claim ignorance.Wow, I can’t believe that happened! What do you think could have caused all of Brenda’s hair to fall out over night?
I couldn’t get away with any of those things here.
But I haven’t used any potions. I haven’t done anything against the rules. So, I don’t even know what to expect. I knock on the door.
“Come in,” a deep voice bellows.
I push open the thick mahogany door and force my chin up. I will not show any weakness. Demon royalty my age are one thing, but a demon with the same power, many years older? There’s nothing I’d trust this man with.
If I can even call him a man.
He does look like one, though. The man behind the desk has a sharp jaw and generally handsome features, despite the whisper of a beard. I don’t know how old he is, exactly—he could be a hundred, he could be thirty. Demons live to be a few hundred years old, so the fact that he looks to be in his early twenties is pretty meaningless.
His gaze is sharp as he takes me in. I resist the very strong urge to curl my lip.
“Hello, Candice.” Mr. Vandozer says smoothly. His voice has a gravelly quality to it and an overall sense of authority that sends a chill down my spine.It’s a common tactic used against beings of strong magic, to keep them reminded of his power. To keep them in their place.
I’m not even close to a threat, so the weight of his magic on me is more than unnerving.
“You don’t have to magically influence me,” I mutter. “I’m human.”
