He turned the knob on a door that stood alone on the landing just below the dormitories, pushing it open to reveal a massive, bright space. His office was easily the size of the entire bottom floor of the house I’d shared with my mother and Ash, with three floor-to-ceiling arched windows that came to a point at the top to fill a single one of the walls. They overlooked the cliffs, the faint, misty image of the ocean outside sparkling in the distance.
There was a seating area in front of them, a camel-colored sofa and an oversized chair framing a coffee table. Books remained stacked on the table, despite the shelves that lined the wall behind his desk, which was off to the other side. His chair was a bright red, the back arched and severe as he approached it. The door to his bedroom remained open, as if he cared very little for the fact that anyone could see into his private space.
“You live here?” I asked, following him toward his desk and prying my gaze off the dark gray paneled walls in there and the fourposter bed that was elaborately crafted from iron and entwined with gold filigree detailing.
“I have a house in the village, but I remain here when the school is in session,” he answered smoothly, leaning against his desk and gesturing to the single chair that waited in front of it.
I stood beside it, refusing to sit and feel as if I were a chastised student. Whatever had made him summon me here, I highly doubted it had anything to do with my coursework.
“What did you need to speak to me about?” I asked, folding my hands in front of me. The bag hanging over my shoulder was weighed down with books. I wanted nothing more than to set it down.
But until I could figure out exactly what Gray’s story was, I suspected it may be better to bide my time until I had more answers about what may drive him.
“Are you really going to stand? You cannot even do what you’re told when it is as simple as sitting in a rather comfortable chair?” he asked, raising a brow at me incredulously.
I returned the look, not bothering to voice my answer. He didn’t need the words as his eyes drifted closed in frustration, his hand raising to pinch his brow as if I gave him the worst kind of migraine.
“Impossible,” he muttered.
“I take that as a compliment,” I mumbled, looking away from him and taking in the rest of his office. I ignored the luxury that seemed so unfair, focusing on the smaller items in the room and allowing that twinge of magic within me to sweep out… looking for the bones.
“You shouldn’t,” he barked, distracting me from my endeavor.
“What’s your name?” I asked.
His head jerked back, eyes widening as a stunned smile curved up the edges of his lips.“Alaric Thorne. You truly do not remember my name?” he asked, scoffing as if it was totally believable I would forget such a thing. That was quite stupid of him, as I remembered everything.
“Not that one,” I said, rolling my eyes to the ceiling. “Your true name.”
“That,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest as a scowl claimed his face. “Is a very rude question.”
“It’s only a name,” I answered, lifting the bag from my shoulder and placing it on the chair he was determined for me to take.
“Names have power. Names are how demons are summoned by witches, and I have no intention of being summoned anywhere,” he said, his voice dropping low with warning.
“It would still work? Even with you in a Vessel?” I asked, considering what I knew of the creation.
The demons had been granted an immortal form that needed blood to continue functioning, but their soul had been bound to it. They couldn’t come and go freely as they once had, inhabiting people and burning through their bodies.
These lasted, but they were a prison.
“Would it pull your soul from the Vessel?” I asked, my head tilting to the side in curiosity. The idea had merit. If Vessels could be torn from their Vessels, they could be sent back to Hell.
“No,” he said, his lips curving up into the slightest of smiles, as if he could read the path my thoughts had taken. “I would be forced to answer, but I would have to travel the long way.”
“Interesting,” I murmured, trying to quell my disappointment. The Vessels weren’t my priority, but if I happened to manage to rid the world of them in the process, I wouldn’t be mad about it.
“I brought you here to discuss a truce between us, and you stand there plotting my demise,” he muttered, but the twitch of his lips was more amused than angry.
“A truce?” I asked, watching as he stepped around his desk and took his chair.
He gestured toward the one waiting for me once he was settled, seeming to realize that if he was sitting, it would put us on even footing. I sighed, lifting my bag out of the chair and depositing it on the floor as I waved my arms dramatically.
I might do it, but I’d make it clear I thought it was stupid.
“There is no reason we need to be at odds during our time here,” he said, answering my question.
“Of course there is. You are a Vessel, and I am a witch,” I said.
Simply put, our kinds had hated one another for centuries. The Vessels had never forgiven the Covenant for what they’d done to Charlotte Hecate, and I couldn’t blame them in the end. She’d given them life, been as holy to them as the devil was.
“Are you really, though?” he asked, steepling his hands on the table in front of him. He leaned toward me; his steely gaze intense on mine as he continued with the one thing that would always remain true. “You have magic flowing through your veins. There can be no doubt about that, but you are as much a part of this Coven as I am an angel.”
“I’ve only been here a few days,” I said, sinking my teeth into my bottom lip. I’d never intended to hide my hatred for the Coven, so I didn’t know why his words disarmed me so much. But they did, making it feel as if he’d stripped me down and revealed every last vulnerability.
I’d be alone. For the rest of my life, whether it was here or in another place after I fled, I would do so with nothing but the clothing on my back and hopefully a bag of Hecate bones.
The life of the necromancer was a lonely one. The pulse of death was far too much for most to tolerate being near.
“You have no intention of joining the Coven in truth. You use magic they’ve forbidden—magic that you and I both know needs to be restored in order for the world to come back into balance,” he said, leaning back in his chair.
The motion dragged my attention up to the portrait at his back. The morbid image of Lucifer’s fall from grace stared me in the face. Where the feathered wings of an angel had once been, there was only the open, gaping wounds where they’d been torn from his flesh.
A single tear dropped down the figure’s face, his stunningly beautiful features twisted in pain. His eyes glowed bright gold, the harsh set to his features betraying every moment of his rage.
He was like nothing I’d ever seen before, emitting such power from a painting that the breath caught in my throat. That was who I risked the wrath of if I somehow managed to undo the Coven and the Vessels. Sending Lucifer’s minions back to Hell if He didn’t desire it would bring untold danger upon myself.