Page 12 of The Ordeals
I may find it taxing to hold an illusion for more than a handful of moments, but I can sense the work of another or rather, see it. An illusion to me appears like glittering threads, or sometimes a pearlescence, and it’s saved me more than once in my work for the Collector. It’s unusual, the ability to see another wielder’s work, and something I hoped to keep secret for longer.
But there is no illusion I can sense. None of the furniture or objects have been manipulated by another illusionist in this parlour. I was hopeful that the brick at the window was just an illusion, but sadly no.
‘One minute,’ I say softly, trying not to give in to the panic, trying to remain cool and focused as I move to the wall with the unnatural fireplace. I frown at the flames, staring at the colour of them as they dance over logs and coal. If I squint, it almost appears as though … as though there are no flames at all. As though the air is simply glittering. ‘Can you see what’s in this fireplace?’
The man turns from a potted plant in the corner by the door, where he seems to have been trying to coax it to grow thin, seeking tendrils into the keyhole to unlock it. But the plant is too young, green and supple, the tendrils too fragile to pick a lock. He blows out a breath, scrutinising the fireplace. ‘Flames, coal, wood …’
‘And it all seems perfectly ordinary to you?’
‘Yes,’ he says with a note of exasperation. ‘What of it?’
‘It’s just … interesting,’ I murmur, stepping closer to the fireplace. ‘If this fire is created by an illusionist, it’s very complex. To appear ordinary to you and nearly trick me …’
There’s only one way to check. I weigh up my options, glancing at the clock on the mantelpiece. Thirty seconds. I crouch down, eyeing the flames, then the fireplace surrounding them. ‘I do wonder why they placed us together in this parlour. Why a botanist and an illusionist are trapped together. Don’t you think that’s a strange pairing? There must be a reason …’
‘So you’re an illusionist?’ he asks quietly. ‘And you can see another’s illusion as well? I’ve never met a wielder able to do both, only in textbooks …’
I bite my lip, realising my mistake at what I’ve confirmed, when possibly he only suspected. ‘Now you know my secret, too,’ I say grudgingly.
He shrugs. ‘We can discuss that later. Right now, what are you thinking?’
I swallow as I eye the flames, the wash of heat bathing my skin. It looks like an illusion; I hope I’m not wrong. But why else would they place us together in this room, other than to face challenges suited to our own magic? ‘If I scream, know we’ve lost. If not … we’re even.’
Then I grit my teeth, prepared for this to hurta lotand with less than twenty seconds, thrust my arm into the fire.
The flames instantly gutter out and I exhale in relief. All I feel is cool air beneath my fingers, as though the heat itself was also an illusion. A very clever manipulation indeed. A grating sound like gears and cogs clicking comes from behind the fireplace. I scramble back as the entire section of wall swings away, revealing a dark passageway beyond, and I instantly recoil.
I was right. This parlour, me being placed here with a botanist, it was all intentional. And I want to be pleased that I figured it out. But the maw of dark, the sound of the cogs turning and grating as the fireplace swung back … it’s all too triggering. Horribly similar to every moment just before I’ve been thrust into the bleak hopelessness of the vault, with no control over when I would be released. That feeling of being powerless, of being weak and at the mercy of another, threatens to overtake any rational thought. My stomach churns as I get to my feet, dust off my hands and hide my terror by winking at the man. ‘I guess now, you oweme. After you?’
His face breaks into a smile, something unguarded and filled with rays of sunshine. It’s so sudden, so natural that for a heartbeat, I’m swept back from the cliff edge of my fear of being powerless, as though a ray of that sunshine has stolen its way inside me. ‘Well played. I suspect I am going to enjoy this.’ He holds out his hand. ‘Alden Locke. But I think you’ll find we’re even.’
I take it, the feel of his warm, big hand enveloping my own slender fingers and I can’t help the answering smile that quirks my own lips. ‘Sophia DeWinter. And all right, we’ll call it even for now. I’m sure I’ll get the upper hand before long.’
He releases it, stepping past me to the passageway. ‘I hope you’re not afraid of the dark, DeWinter.’
I shake my head, ignoring the strange flare in my veins at the sound of my name on his tongue, the answer I want to give: that it’s not the dark we should be afraid of. I step over the threshold after him, and we leave the parlour with five full seconds to spare, into the unknown beyond.
The wall of the fireplace seals shut in my wake and my heart jolts against the cage of my ribs. I take a deep, cooling breath, fighting the nausea, the sparks dancing across my vision. Now there is no way out of this stuffy, airless passageway … but through it. My only hope is that there is a way out at the other end.
‘This would be an excellent time to pull out a light of some kind. A lamp? Perhaps a match?’ I say to Alden as I shuffle along, hands spread in front of me. My fingertips collide with the fabric of his suit jacket and I freeze. Suddenly I’m all too aware that it’s only me and him in this enclosed space.
‘Just keep your hands on me,’ Alden says, a hint of mirth in his voice. ‘It can’t be that far.’
My face heats in the dark at his tone but begrudgingly, I plant my palms more firmly on his back. I can feel the shift and ripple ofhis muscles under his suit jacket as he continues his own shuffling walk, and it’s a relief, not being alone here in the dark. I can almost trick my mind into believing I’m not afraid, that I’ve let go of this childhood terror of being in a place I have no control over, no way of escaping from if I’m trapped.
I cannot let Alden Locke, my rival, know how much this is costing me just to keep placing one foot in front of the other.
I catch the scent of his skin as the passageway veers to the left, different to last night, the silky velvane replaced with notes of woodland and citrus. It anchors me, masking the dank scent of the passageway for a moment, and I breathe him in. My hands fumble over his suit jacket as he turns, my fingertips grazing his chest, and I have a flashback to his thigh pressed against my own, his grin, then his mouth on mine. I swear he chuckles softly before we line up again, as if he’s picturing it too, before my hands rest once more on his back.
I swallow, nerves tingling far too close to the surface of my skin as we continue shuffling forward. ‘I suppose I will suffer it.’
‘I suppose you will.’
‘I’d rather not die in a tunnel though,’ I quip, trying to keep my voice light, trying to keep mythoughtslight.
‘That makes two of us, DeWinter.’
‘Tell me … tell me your favourite drinking game,’ I say, aware my voice sounds slightly strangled. But I need the distraction; I need to keep him talking.
