Page 130 of Spark of Sorcery
“You don’t think having their thrall expelled would piss the Hardies off?” he says with sarcasm.
“It doesn’t exactly seem like a just punishment for what they did, though.”
“How about if she were expelled and sent to Slate Quarter?”
Dray bursts out laughing. “Can you imagine the look on that little bitch’s face?” He turns to me again. “Could you make it happen?”
“Fuck,” I mutter.
Could I? Probably. If I say the right things, make the right promises. I’d also have to reveal information I’d rather keep to myself.
Then again, there doesn’t seem to be an alternative. Not one that prevents a war between shadow weaver factions.
“Yeah,” I say with very little enthusiasm. “Yeah, probably.” I scrub at my face. “I’m still going to beat the shit out of Kratos though.” The professor goes to argue with me. “I’ll make sure he keeps his ball sack and his throat. But I am going to make him hurt for this.”
“Hurting his fragile pride,” Tudor says, “will always be more painful to Kratos than anything you can do with your fists.”
Dray spends the next hour fidgeting like a toddler on a sugar high, climbing across furniture, raiding a vending machine and interrogating any passing member of staff. After a while I can’t take it any longer and send him off on a mission to find out more information about last night, who was involved and how they were persuaded to take part.
He bounds off eagerly, leaving just me and the professor behind.
“He is … a lot,” the professor mutters, rubbing at his eye sockets.
“He’s my bond brother,” I growl.
“Congratulations,” the professor says, showing his fangs off as he pulls a fake smile.
We sit in silence for another hour, both eyeing each other, until the doctor arrives accompanied by two nurses.
Immediately, we both spring to our feet.
“Is there a problem, doctor?” Tudor asks, beating me to it.
“No,” she says. “I’m just going to check in on my patient and give her another dose of treatment.”
“Will this heal her completely? Will she need more? Was there any permanent damage?” I word vomit.
“Beaufort Lincoln?” she says, staring at me with surprise.
“She’s our thrall,” I say, answering her obvious question: why the hell are you interested in this girl from Slate?
“How about I finish this treatment and then come back to update you?”
“I’d like to observe the treatment.”
The doctor hesitates, obviously unsure whether she can refuse me.
“Come on, Lincoln,” the professor says, slamming his cold hand on my shoulder. “Let’s leave the doctor to do what she needs to do in peace.”
I consider arguing the point but I want Briony healed – the sooner the better.
The doctor nods hesitantly and then ducks inside the room with the two nurses. I sit back in the chair, watching the minutes tick past on my wristwatch, wondering how long this could take.
Her injuries must be bad if it’s taking this long, if they’re keeping her in the clinic like this.
I rub at my cheeks with my hands and peer at the professor.
He’s still here, unwilling to leave her side.
