Page 79 of Foresyth Conservatory
“Tunnels?”
“Cut the mysterious act—I know about them. And I almost got eaten by one of the Marie Curie experiments down there,” I said, taking the chair across from him and placing my pack and half-eaten biscuit on the table. His eyes raked distastefully over my belongings, clearly not appreciating the proximity of my crumbs to his work.
“I might know something about them. But I haven’t been down there myself,” he said, his tone almost peevish. “Making a map without navigating a place takes a kind of magick neither of us can afford.”
“I’m not asking you to conjure a map from thin air,” I replied, though the sharpness of my tone surprised even me. I quickly softened. “There has to be an original blueprint of the tunnels from when this place was built.” I recalled the maps that Nina and I had poured over to find the barren circle, but those were only of the House and the external grounds.
“Not to my knowledge,” he muttered, clearly hoping to end the conversation. But I wasn’t giving up so easily. Without a map, I’d be at a serious disadvantage, possibly even risking my life if I wandered down there again alone.
“Let’s say Ididwant the magickal kind,” I ventured. “What would you need to make that happen?”
“That kind of divination would require calling on multiple cards,” he replied. “And even then, it would demand a substantial sacrifice. It would take a full semester to gather the magick needed.”
The weight of realization cut through me like a sword: Leone believed in magick. And if someone as rational as him could, then maybe I could, too. I had witnessed inexplicable things with my own eyes where the only possible explanation was otherworldly. I didn’t know exactly what type of sacrifice Leone needed, but maybe I’d try. If it meant getting a map, then surely it would be worth it.
“I don’t have that kind of time,” I snapped, frustration coiling tight in my chest. “Symposium is in three weeks. I need it by then.”
The image of Al-Ahmar’s bloodshot eyes flashed through my mind, her urgency mirroring mine. The weight of the red envelope was still fresh in my hands; the unspoken threat curled between the lines.
Leone studied me, unmoving, his gaze steady in that way that always made me feel like he saw past my words, past my face, straight into the hollow space where my uncertainty lived.
“Then you’re going to have to be the one to bring the magick,” he said simply. “I can’t afford it.”
I froze.
“Magick?” I echoed, the word a shape in my mouth, something tangible and heavy and ridiculous all at once.
I didn’t know where to begin with that request. It felt like stepping off solid ground into the abyss. Like all the things I had dismissed as illusions or side effects were suddenly clawing their way back into my reality, demanding acknowledgment.
I swallowed hard. “I don’t know how to do that.”
“Yes, you do,” Leone said, his pitch rising in annoyance. “Somethingimbuedwill work.”
My mind turned, gears grinding. If Aspen had his sculptures, and Sequoia had her song, then surely I could create something, too.
I let out a slow, measured breath. “Fine,” I said, the word tasting like surrender. “I’ll do it.”
Leone smiled, a rare sight, and one that sent a chill through me. He wasn’t like Aspen or Sequoia, who wore their power on their sleeves, who reveled in their own performances. No, he wore his intellect like armor, like a sellsword—calculating and careful. And he was going to ensure he got something out of his work.
“I’ll help you make the map,” he said. “But you’ll need to bring the magickandmy payment.”
“I thought we were friends,” I said.
“The best friendships are built on mutual understanding,” he replied evenly. “And I understand that you need something. So do I.”
His expression barely shifted, but something flickered behind his eyes. He looked momentarily unsettled, almost vulnerable. “I want my Herbin. It was stolen from me.”
I frowned. “Is that . . . a book?”
“No.” His jaw tightened slightly. “It’s a glass pen. One of the Trees has it, and they need to give it back. It was a rare instance of me losing a sabre match with Aspen last year . . .”
I blinked. “You want a pen?”
“I want what’s mine,” he replied, his voice edged with something sharper than frustration. “That’s my price. And don’t forget, you’re also bringing the magick.”
I hesitated. Something about the way he said it—the weight in his voice—felt off. This wasn’t just a pen to him.
I could argue—tell him I’d find another way. But I knew Leone. He wouldn’t be offering this deal unless it was exactly what he needed. And deep down, I already knew the truth: I’d do whatever it took.
