~ Sylas ~

"What's it do?" Jaxon asks, examining the spelloscope with obvious distaste. We're sitting in a secluded booth in a small pizza shop, waiting for our order, and I've just explained Edwards's strange gift.

"It reveals spells—makes them visible, even if they aren't active yet. Try it."

He raises the spelloscope to his eye and scans the shop. Shrugging, he hands it back to me. "I don't see anything."

I give it a try, too, but he'fs right. The shop remains dark.

"Well, spells aren't everywhere, even in Harbor City," I allow. "This shop isn't even owned by Crafters, right?"

Jaxon taps the center of his chest, where his protective amulet lies concealed beneath his shirt. "Look at me."

I obey, but he's right; my view remains dark.

"It worked perfectly in Edwards's office," I say, disappointed and chagrined. I'd been hoping the spelloscope would act as a positive counterpoint to the rest of what I meant to say.

"Well, it's not working now," Jaxon growls, and sips the beer he'd ordered while we wait.

He sets the glass on its coaster with care, like a delicate spacecraft touching down for a tricky landing, then stares at it unhappily.

"You're done working for that guy," he says. "I don't want you seeing him again."

If only he'd said it any other way, I'd have agreed; it's what I mean to do anyway, but his tone puts me off.

"Jaxon, I can—"

"What? Take care of yourself?" He raises his brows, and I shut up, stung into silence.

He rubs the back of his head and sighs. "Look. It's not just that he's a creep and I don't like him—although that's true. It's that... well, he's done this before."

"Done what before?"

He waves his hand at me impatiently. "You're not his first 'assistant.' He's had two others, and he spread the same rumors about them as he has about you."

"What rumors?" I know well enough, but I hadn't thought it went beyond his colleagues.

"You're gonna make me say it? Fine. That you let him fuck you for grades, or because you're easy, or desperate, or whatever."

"Jaxon—"

He waves at me again. "I know it's not true, and that's not what bothers me. It's the pattern, Sylas. Your predecessors were both shy, friendless young men. Edwards made sure they stayed that way, ostracized by their peers and looked down upon by the other professors. When he was done with them, they dropped out of college, disgraced, and disappeared."

"I don't follow," I say, crossing my arms.

Jaxon waits while a server passes our table with someone else's order. When she's out of earshot, he continues.

"I tried to look them up. Got their names from Student Services and had Aurelio run a check. They didn't just disappear. They're missing."

"Officially?"

"That's the sad part," he says. "They were both estranged from their families on account of their 'lifestyle choices,' and had come to Harbor City for a fresh start—got into the college on scholarships. They had no friends or connections here, and Edwards got to them before they had the chance to make any. When they disappeared, nobody reported them missing, because almost nobody noticed they were gone; those who did notice didn't care enough to find out where they went."

"So, what? You think Edwards is a serial killer now?"

Jaxon scowls at me. "I don't know what he is, but I don't want you hanging around him to find out."

"He's been helping us, though. He—"

"What has he given you, Sylas, besides a bad reputation, a useless book and a broken toy? And meanwhile, he monopolizes your time. Aren't there two other professors you're meant to investigate?"

I frown back at him. "You're forgetting he knows about us. If I stop cooperating—"

"Let me worry about that. Aurelio's still holds enough power, he could make life very difficult for Linden Edwards if he wanted to; he won't cross us if he knows what's good for him."

Let the big boys handle it, in other words.

I open my mouth to tell him what I think of that, but the server approaches with our order—in a box.

"I thought we were eating here," I say unhappily, as Jaxon downs the last of his beer and rises, pizza box in hand.

"Nah. I wanna get out of this city. Place is gettin' on my nerves."

He heads for the door I follow, now thoroughly pissed.

I can't even argue the point. I just wish Jaxon had let me have a say in the matter; or had listened to anything I had to say, for that matter.

It's how he's been acting, recently: like it hurts him to look at me, and like he can't bear to let me out of his sight.

With an uneasy feeling in my heart, I trail after him to the car.

✧ ✧ ✧

The art exhibit is scheduled for Saturday evening, and over the intervening days, I stay home, pretending to have come down with a cold as an excuse to avoid Edwards. I use the time to re-read Agatha's book and to study Volodchenko's notes, but I fail to discover anything new.

Meanwhile, Jaxon leaves early every day and comes home late. In the evenings, he goes for his long, exhausting runs, only returning when he's worn himself out and is too tired to do anything but shower and fall into bed at my side. It leaves me feeling isolated and alone, angry at him for refusing to explain to me what's wrong, and angry at myself for not knowing how to ask. I find myself looking forward to the exhibit; at least Aurelio will be there, and I'll have someone to talk to.

Saturday afternoon, I dress in the shirt Aurelio had bought me to wear to the Spire, and which he'd refused to take back afterwards. It's the nicest thing I own.

Jaxon frowns when he sees me wearing it.

"Maybe you should stay here, after all" he says. "I got a bad feeling about this."

I blink in surprise and annoyance. "Are you kidding me? Jaxon, this is what we've been waiting for! It's our chance to search for Solemnity's tomb undetected!"

"Undetected? The exhibit's a high-society event, Sylas. The place will be crawling with Crafters."

"Yes—and that means the college's anti-spell restrictions will be lifted. You can't expect that crowd to leave their beauty charms at home. If we find anything, I'll be able to use magic without setting off alarms. Jaxon, please—don't try to cut me out now. I need to do this."

He looks at me unhappily, brows pinched and a pained look in his eyes, as if there's something more he wants to say, but can't.

"Fine," he sighs. "Just... be careful, okay?"

"Of course I'll be careful."

"Promise."

He says it with such solemnity—no pun intended—that I'm forced to answer in kind.

"All right. I promise."

He nods, apparently satisfied, if not pleased.

"Come on then. Let's get this over with."

✧ ✧ ✧

As usual, Jaxon drops me a few blocks from the college, leaving me to walk the rest of the way alone.

It's a pleasant evening, and the campus has a relaxed, weekend atmosphere that I that haven't experienced before. There's some kind of multicultural event going on near the student union, and a live band plays in the little amphitheater behind the music hall.

I watch with envy as I pass groups of students walking together, headed to the cafeterias or the dorms, or out into the city for a night of fun.

If things had gone differently, that might have been me, I think wistfully. Then I laugh at the thought; that would never have been me. I'd have been up in my room, alone, reading a book or studying.

Absorbed with these unkind thoughts, I adjust the strap of my backpack and walk on. I've brought Agatha's book and the notes, and I have my Sign as well—the silver pen tucked up inside the sleeve of my shirt, just in case.

As I approach the center of campus and the library, I pause and take in the scene. The grand doors are thrown wide, and a velvet rope extends across the entrance. A long line of people waits to be let in. Several ushers stand at the ready, taking tickets and lifting the rope aside.

I stop, brought to a halt. Jaxon hadn't mentioned anything about tickets. Being literally part of the show, I suppose he wouldn't need one, and it probably hadn't crossed his mind that I would.

Then again, maybe it had.

I stand there, contemplating what to do, and then I startle as someone touches my arm.

"Lovecraft," Aurelio greets me quietly. "Forgive me. I called your name, but it seems you were lost in thought."

"Aurelio! Yes." I smile, finding I'm genuinely glad to see him. "I was just wondering how I would get in without a ticket."

"What? Did Jaxon fail to provide you one?" He lifts his arched brows. Today he wears a white linen summer suit over a turquoise blue shirt. He looks suave yet dangerous, and I can almost imagine the James Bond theme will start playing as he walks.

"He did. I think he forgot."

"Well then, I shall just have to make you mine." He extends his arm.

I blink at him, not understanding.

"My plus-one, that is," he amends quickly. "If you'd do me the honor."

"Oh! Yes—thanks."

Taking his arm, I let him lead me towards the back of the line. To my surprise, he bypasses it and walks right up to the entrance, earning a number of muttered invectives and affronted glares.

"Aurelio... there's a line," I whisper, though it seems unlikely he's unaware.

"Yes, I know." He smiles and hands his ticket to the usher, who takes it with a slight bow and lets him through. "Not many things tempt me to abuse my position and power, but cutting a line is one of them."

Inside, the library has transformed from a place of quiet study to a place to host a fancy ball. Round tables covered in white cloths and set for a full course meal fill the center gallery, while a temporary stage has been erected at the far end beneath the cupola.

On the upper balconies, paintings hang from the walls and sculptures rest on pedestals—too many to be from a single artist, it seems. Meanwhile, people mill about, talking and laughing with drinks in hand. Some are students or faculty, but most appear to but cut from the upper crust.

I see low-cut evening gowns, tuxedos, diamonds and gold, and the usual high-end brands.

Noting my stare, Aurelio casts me an understanding look. "Did Jaxon also fail to explain the exact nature of this event?"

"It's a... an art exhibit, isn't it?"

Executing a practiced move, Aurelio snags a pair of champagne flutes from a passing server and hands me one.

"Yes. But it's also the college's most important fund-raising event of the year. First, there's the open exhibit," he gestures at the pieces on display, "followed by the dinner. Then, once everyone's a had nice, inhibition-relaxing dose of alcohol, there's the auction. Finally, there's the main event: Ava Blackwell presents. Tickets alone cost over $1,000. That's Dom Pérignon, by the way," he adds, nodding at the champagne.

I choke on it and he pats me unhelpfully on the back.

"Steady on, Lovecraft. That's very expensive spit you're spewing."

I choke again, on a laugh this time. Aurelio's sense of humor is as dry as the champagne. It's also, I realize, the first time I've laughed in days.

"Come on. Let's tour the galleries," he says. "You can do... whatever it is you've come here to do, and I'll cover for any apparent oddities in your behavior, shall I?"

Nodding my agreement and wiping my mouth on the back of my hand, I link my arm through his and let him lead the way.

✧ ✧ ✧

"So, Linden is still as charmless as a wet turd, is he?" Aurelio comments.

"Just about," I agree.

Somehow, as we strolled back and forth before the pieces on display, and I scanned every centimeter for any sign of a clue, I'd told Aurelio just about everything there was to tell.

"And yet he's had some success, it seems. I had no idea his inventions had practical, medical applications."

"Medical?" I repeat, perplexed.

Aurelio pauses in front of a small statue of a rather muscular and disturbingly well-endowed stallion.

"Yes," he says, eying the statue with distaste. "Did Jaxon fail to pass along that tidbit of information as well?"

"I... suppose he did, as I've no idea what you're talking about."

He casts me a half-pitying look. "Well, the man isn't known for his communication skills, I suppose. Anyway—yes. A little over three years ago, the dean of the college—George Forsythe—put out a plea to all Crafters. His little girl was dying of a heart condition, and he'd been told there was no hope. It was like a fairy tale in a way: a king, desperate for a solution, asking his kingdom for help."

He shakes his head.

"Many came forward—the usual charlatans, the sincere by talentless, the hopeful but naive. And then, when it seemed all hope was lost, Linden Edwards presented an ingenious solution: a machine to replace a heart."

"A mechanical heart?" I ask. I'd read about such things in the Mundane science magazines, but the idea seemed to have had limited success, so far.

"Indeed. But powered by magic."

I say nothing for a moment, absorbing this. The implications are startling, and exactly what Edwards had said he was aiming for: a synthesis of magic and science—of Crafter and Mundane—that would change the world. But he'd never hinted to me that he'd already achieved such a success.

"The girl... She's still alive?" I ask.

Aurelio nods. "Alive and well, as far as I know. Home-schooled, and closely monitored, but thriving, apparently."

"Apparently," I echo. "When was the last time anyone saw her?"

Aurelio quirks a brow at me. "Interesting line of thought, Lovecraft. I suppose... not for quite a while, now that you mention it."

I take a sip of champagne and manage not to choke this time.

"Interesting indeed," I say, and attempt to mimic Aurelio's perennially disinterested expression.

To my surprise, the hint of a smile appears at the corner of his mouth.

"Indeed, Lovecraft," he agrees. "Indeed."