Page 4 of Spark of Sorcery
“Sounds like they’re having some kind of party in there,” I say.
Dray cocks his head to one side. “It sounds more like a fucking orgy than a party.”
“Who the hell would want to sleep with those two?” I shake my head and knock my fist on the door.
Nothing happens. The rhythmic thudding and the revolting grunts and groans from the other side of the door continue. I bang again, this time harder and louder.
The noise stops. There is some whispering. What sounds like a female voice giggles.
Then one of the twins calls out. “Go away. We’re busy.”
“We’ll give you thirty seconds. Should be long enough to finish what you were, erm, doing,” Dray says, with a wicked grin.
“Who the hell is that?” one of the twins asks angrily.
“Beaufort Lincoln and Dray Eros,” I say. “We want to talk now.”
There’s some muttering from inside and then one of the twins opens the door, a towel that was once white wrapped tightly around his waist and not leaving a lot to the imagination. His body is covered in sweat and his face purple.
I have to force myself not to gag. Seriously, how are these dudes getting laid?
“What is it?” he says, obviously annoyed but trying his best to suppress it. Any other students, he’d probably be ripping them a new asshole, but he knows to keep on our good side.
“The trial today,” I say, “anything unusual happen?”
“Can this not wait until tomorrow?” he grunts as his twin joins him. He’s wrapped in a black silk dressing gown that gives off mega sleaze vibes.
“No,” I say simply.
The two twins look at each other, before the one in the towel says, “No.”
He goes to close the door, but Dray jams his foot in the way. “You sure about that?” he says, with his usual charming smile. “I know there were a lot of kids that went through the trial together. Everything was normal, nothing out of the ordinary for any of them.”
The one in the towel scratches the top of his head, the other looks about, as if trying to remember.
“I don’t think–”
“Because we could jog your memories, if you’d find thathelpful,” Dray purrs, his shadow magic weaving from his fingertips.
Mine unwinds to join his and lingers right in front of the twins.
“Do you think something unusual happened?” the one in the towel asks us, looking confused. I can’t tell if it’s genuine – whether they are in fact as stupid as the Hardies – or whether this is a ruse.
I give them the benefit of the doubt.
“The girl from Slate — the one who went last,” I say, attempting to jog his memory.
“Ahhh,” the one in the dressing gown says, “the last student to go. Yeah, that was strange.” He nods, looking at his twin.
“Strange how?” his brother asks.
“That was why I was late. She took fucking ages to come out of the trial. Probably was in there for two hours.”
Two hours. The time limit for the trial was one. All students, whether they were near the end or a million miles from it, should have been whisked out of the maze as soon as that one hour marker was hit.
“Did that happen to any of the other students?”
He scratches his head like his twin did earlier, the gesture identical.
