Page 91 of Liminal
I can’t physically suffer a headache, but the books I’ve been poring over for hours have certainly worn me down. So I’mnotsecretly glad for his presence after a heavy day of sifting through ensorcellment texts and star charts. I obviously just needed the break.
“Sorry,” he whispers. “I just thought since no one was here?—”
“Rules still apply,” I mutter, shuffling the papers on my desk to avoid his too-sweet stare.
It’s a ridiculous lie at this point. I’ve been granting so many exemptions to the five of them that it’s clear the rules have gone out of the window. Only for them, of course. Only because it would be tiresome to issue all of the strikes they’d otherwise earn on a daily basis.
Lambert’s the second to find me since what I’ve come to think of as ‘the incident.’ After a day hidden away working on theruneforms for Leo’s curse, I’d hoped perhaps the others would get the hint and not turn up for tutoring tonight.
Jasper dropped off a box of origami book roses earlier, murmuring a quiet, uncertain apology and hasn’t approached me since. Dakari and North also seem to have honoured my silent demand for space. Unfortunately, Lambert is like a puppy with a bone. ‘Leave it’ just isn’t in his vocabulary.
He’s wearing his magiball uniform, and there are enough dirty smudges and scrapes on his body that I can tell he’s spent the day in practice. If I try really hard, I can catch the faintest scent of masculine sweat, but smell has never come easily to me as a ghost, so perhaps it’s simply my over-eager imagination.
He’s holding both hands awkwardly behind his back, like he’s hiding something, but I refuse to play into his hands and ask what it is.
I drop my focus back to the damaged index cards. A patron spilled one of those ridiculous newfangled inept water bottles all over the drawer today, and now they have to be fixed one by one.
A first strike offence, but my fingers itched to banish the moron.
“Soo, Boss?” he ventures. “I got you something.”
He…did?
I glance up again and freeze.
“Lambert Winthrop, is that a…”
“A Shrieking Spine plant.” He grins, poking at one of the cactus-like arms of the shrub, causing it to emit a shrill screaming sound that makes me wish I could cover my ears to block the sound. “I even got you this fancy book-themed pot for it too! And a book that?—”
A book that the pot is restingon top of. I hiss in panic, snatching both from him and examining the dirty ring left on the cover with dismay.
The Arcanaeum can fix it, but stars! Why would anyone do that in the first place?
It’s a hand-written field guide to the proper care of magical desert plants, and it’s in remarkably good condition—pot ring notwithstanding.
“Oh, and the shopkeeper wanted to get rid of this one as well.” He pulls out his other hand. “Apparently, it’s called Muddlevein or something? He seemed keen to be rid of it, to be honest. Something about a bargain he made in a bar…”
The second plant is a little underwhelming in comparison to the swollen, spiky limbs of the shrieking spine. It’s little more than a wilted shrub.
I take it as well, grimacing as I feel the brush of magic that doesn’t belong to any arcanist.
Only Lambert could go plant shopping and come back with something from another realm.
Putting the poor abused plant to one side, I let the Arcanaeum claim the book with a sigh. It rifles through the pages with grateful glee that’s tempered slightly by the knowledge that I’m still mad with it for allowing last night to happen in the first place.
“So,” Lambert drawls. “In case it wasn’t already obvious, I’m really sorry that I saw something you didn’t want us to see. I’m more sorry that you have to go through that in the first place. It sounded—Shit. Boss, you shouldn’t have died like that. I hate that one of my relatives was responsible. Can I… Can I stop it? Help with whatever Leo’s doing? I know I’m not smart, but?—”
“Lambert Winthrop,” I interrupt, ignoring the imagined heart flutters taking up residence in my chest. “You are incredibly smart. Don’t try to make me believe otherwise.”
“But I failed?—”
Oh, for magic’s sake.
“Academia is not capable of measuring intelligence. It’s only there to weed out students who struggle with standardised tests. Some of the smartest arcanists to pass through these doors have never passed a single exam.”
His gaze drops to his feet, blond hair swinging down to hide his reddening cheeks.
“Yeah, well, my grades?—”
