Chapter Twelve

Resting Brood Face

I stand corrected. This is the worst idea I’ve ever had.

Yet, here we are, strolling up to Soren Cain the middle of the night, after breaking out of the detention we got for having that last Worst Idea Ever.

I look around nervously. The suites of the bell tower are usually reserved for special guests—internationally acclaimed lecturers, High Council members, that kind of thing—and, as evidenced by tonight’s excursion, privileged bad boys like Soren Cain.

Guess nepotism pays off.

Soren stands there with his hands in his pockets, staring out the balcony at the moon, which is a ghoulish yellow tonight. He doesn’t turn at the sound of our approach. The moonlight casts long sprawling shadows across the stone as we stand behind him, waiting for him to grace us with his attention. Just above us, the bell tolls midnight.

Finally, Soren turns away from the panoramic view of Spellfall’s campus, frowning at our “sudden” presence, as if he’s not the only reason we’ve just climbed nine sets of stairs.

“You asked us to come, here we are,” I prompt when he doesn’t immediately say anything.

“Well, I specifically asked for her.” Soren’s eyes flicker to Sabbath, then insultingly find me again.

I glower at him, hating the way he makes me feel villainous. “You do know who I am, right?”

“Yes.” Soren stares at me in an utterly unreadable way. “It would be hard not to.”

Sabbath clears her throat indiscreetly. “Well, I’m here. Since I’m the one you want, get on with it.”

I would smirk at the might Sab’s rallied, but I’m too busy having a stare-off with Soren. Is he trying to intimidate me, or is he fascinated by my aliveness, and just facially handicapped by a severe case of Resting Brood Face?

Sab clears her throat a second time, louder, and his eyes finally snap off mine. I loosen a breath as his intensity leaves me.

“Tell me how to help Mika, and then we’ll talk about your spell.”

“In here,” he nods, leading us through double doors and into the tower. I try not to be too impressed that he bothers holding the door open for me. Probably, he just knows I’m handicapped by a severe case of wraithing.

We trail down the snaking hall after him, entering a salon with a door in the back that I assume leads to his bedroom. Like our room, it’s adorned with beautiful but aged crown molding, deep burgundy and cherrywood tones, and long windows. Unlike our room, Prince Soren’s has a fireplace and his very own lounge for entertaining peasants.

“So, what’s wrong with her?” Sabbath asks.

Settling lazily into an armchair by the fire, Soren lifts an appraising brow. Apparently, he’s got a running list of all the things that are wrong with me, but he manages to distill it to a single item. “Her soul. It’s not recognizing her physical form. It’s rare, but it does happen after resurrections.”

“I don’t understand,” Sabbath argues. “I’ve never heard anything about a resurrection requiring additional measures to seal a soul.”

“And how many resurrections have you performed?”

Sabbath hesitates. Somehow, I don’t think Soren Cain will count the hamsters.

He nods at her. “Everything you know, Winters, is theoretical. Books and instinct. Impressive as it is, it will only get you so far—though it does beg the question. How did a seventh-year necromancer, who routinely refuses to participate in class rituals, bring a whole witch back to life?”

A whole witch? Had bringing only half of me back been an option?!

Sabbath kind of cringes, lips pursing tetchily. Clearly, Amandine’s been whispering in Soren’s ear. She shakes her head at his question, as if it’s entirely impertinent. “I just did.”

Soren’s expression shifts; he’s impressed. “Perhaps there’s your problem. You don’t know how you raised her,” he says, thinking a moment as he stares at the flames. “You brought her back outside of normal protocol, using only your wakened magic. That makes this an abnormal resurrection. It’s anyone’s guess what could’ve gone wrong.”

I roll my hands over one another in the air. “So, does all this affect how you fix me, or...? I mean, don’t get me wrong. It’s a real turn on how all this talk of dark magic is going right over my head, but I’d love to get to the part where you make me a real girl again.”

“I know of magic that will help remind Mika’s soul where it belongs, regardless of what you did wrong,” Soren answers, talking to Sabbath instead of me.

Omens. I don’t think I want Soren Cain in charge of what happens to my soul.

“I’ll share it in exchange for your participation in a spell,” he finishes. His fingertips rap idly on the armrest.

“And what is this spell, exactly?”

“It’s soul magic, and it requires Plenam Potestatem.”

Plenam Potestatem is only executed by covens, or in the case of exceptionally dangerous spells. The kind that are so big and dangerous that they require a failsafe against corruption—the involvement of all five pillars of magic.

“You'll need all five Broods…” Sabbath whispers, processing his words. To perform Plenam Potestatem, a member of each Brood must directly and significantly influence the spell. “Let me get this right. You want a bunch of students to perform some of the most layered, complex magic out there—”

“Okay, but what does the spell do?” I press while Sabbath shifts uncomfortably next to me.

Finally, Soren’s eyes flicker briefly to mine. They’re ice. That’s fine, I can make mine fire.

“First rule,” he says, “no questions. This requires the utmost discretion.”

“No questions?” I scoff. “You’re out of your mind!”

“What’s your second rule,” Sabbath asks tersely.

Soren lifts and drops his shoulders indolently. “I’m mostly focused on the one rule right now, but I’ll let you know if I come up with others.”

“Come on Sabbath. We’re not playing this game with him—” I turn for the door, trying to bring her with me. Despite having taken her hand in an attempt to usher her out of this psycho’s presence, she doesn’t budge.

“So, we gather five witches for you, and you help Mika,” she states.

“Yes.”

“If that’s all we’re doing for you, why don’t you just gather the scream team yourself?” I demand.

“I don’t know who at Spellfall is capable, or trustworthy—”

My mirthful laugh is already upon him. “Well, the first step to building trust is obviously to extort an undead girl.” I nod. “So, good job starting off on the right foot.” I give him a little thumbs up for emphasis.

“Support for my family’s leadership has always been minimal at best when it comes to Spellfall,” Soren continues, undeterred by my commentary. “And obviously, I wouldn’t just require your help gathering them. I would require your participation, Winters.”

“You can just call me Sabbath,” she says, sounding uneasy.

I shrug. “I really don’t get the problem here—other than my problem, of course. You have Amandine LeFevre. That’s like the keys to the kingdom right there. Go recruit her if you need a necromancer who can both win you a popularity contest and is willing to do your evil bidding.”

His inspection moves between us, gelid and astute. He finally sets his eyes on Sabbath, the room so quiet that I can hear the spit and sizzle of flames roaring in the fireplace. “Amandine’s not powerful enough.”

I exhale sharply. Soren’s gaze is fixed on Sabbath, full of understanding at the card he’s just played. She studies him, her kind honey eyes tapering with suspicion. “And why are you so sure I can?”

“Carrow’s alive, isn’t she? Even if she’s a bit off.” He gestures at me and I feel like a prop in the corner—I am definitely the side character in tonight’s negotiation. “It’s more than most necromancers can do after years of training. You have a rare gift.”

Sabbath’s jaw tightens. Soren is right. Most necromancers don’t even specialize in resurrection. Sabbath is a next level witch, whether or not she—or God—likes it.

“What are the risks of this spell?” Her voice has taken on a new tone. Shame, paired with resignation.

“What, we trust him now because he complimented your skills? Raise your standards, Sab!” I hiss through clenched teeth.

Soren watches our exchange, with a vague look of amusement unfolding across his face. “It’s your choice, of course,” he affirms. “Though, I’d venture a guess that whatever got you into this mess was black magic. Séances are forbidden unless supervised for anyone under tenth year, correct?”

The threat is obvious. Honestly, I can’t believe the nephew of the High Chancellor has sunk so low. He must really need Sabbath. Unfortunately for him, he’s yet to learn the depth of her morality complex. It’s a comfort.

“Well, that’s really mature.” I glare at him. “You’re going to blackmail us? Really?”

I think about Cecily and all the dramatic and totally accurate threats I’d recently sputtered at her face. I need to work on my character consistency.

“You didn’t answer my question,” Sabbath says, her tone steely now.

“Sabbath, no,” I plead, taking her hand.

“What are the risks to this spell?” she repeats.

A calculated smile emerges on Soren’s face. “Botched sacrifice, soul snatching, conspiring against the High Council.”

“Conspiring against the High Council?!” I stammer.

“We’d be breaking not only school rules but witching law.”

Sabbath wears a straight face. “So, safe to say expulsion as well?”

“Definitely expulsion.”

“Okay, but what about death?” I ask slowly, thinking about his last necromancer. “Cause, I think we’ve both got to draw the line at dead bodies.”

“Death was implied, yes. I need a resurrectionist.”

I open my mouth to retort, but Sabbath beats me to it. “Is it evil? The soul spell?”

“Not specifically.”

“I’m being specific. Evil, or not?”

Soren gives her a long look, and for the first time, I see something other than cold resilience flicker into his pale eyes. It’s a look I know well because I’ve seen it reflected in Sabbath’s eyes a lot in the last handful of days: fear.

“Not what I intend to accomplish, no,” he finally says. “It’s transactional.”

I chew the inside of my cheek, looking between the two of them.

“You can think on it,” Soren says slowly, observing the way Sabbath is already doing this very thing. “But don’t take too long.”

When his eyes land on me, I swallow.

Hmmm do we trust Soren, or nah? Would you make a deal with him if you were Mika?

xx Jessa

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