“Master Isaac.”
Sel appears at my elbow, hands in his pockets as if he’s just finished a casual stroll. He’s in black on black, of course; black suit, black shirt, and black tie. If Nick is a secret agent, Sel is the assassin fighting for the other side.
I’ll never be so thankful for an assassin.
Isaac’s eyes slide to Sel. “One of my favorite pupils.”
A lead weight drops in my stomach; this Merlin taught Sel?
Sel bends his head in a slight bow, but not before I catch the muscles working in his jaw. “I didn’t think I’d see you here tonight. I assumed any available Masters would be at the Northern Chapter. I hear they experienced another attack just last evening.”
“I go where the Regents direct me,” Isaac responds neutrally. “As you will, when you graduate from this post and continue on in service to the Order.”
“If only we could predict the future,” Sel says smoothly. “In the meantime”—he turns to me, eyes sparkling with mischief—“I’d like to speak with our Onceborn visitor.” He extends his right arm to me just as the band’s tempo slows down. It’s a clear dismissal of Isaac and one I’m eager to encourage, so I take his elbow.
The fine lines around the older man’s eyes go tight even as he smiles. “Enjoy the evening.” Isaac inclines his head to us both and turns to walk toward the antechamber door.
I let Sel lead us through the crowd of slow dancers in the opposite direction until we reach the backmost part of the floor. I’d assumed he’d only intervened to help me escape Isaac’s attentions, but when I go to pull my hand away, his fingers tighten around mine, sending a sharp zip up my elbow. Before I can protest, he slips his free hand around my waist and tugs me into his arms.
His eyes gleam, like he knows exactly what his skin contact just did to me and thinks it’s highly amusing. I roll my eyes and let him lead us into a slow, swaying dance. “A bit of advice. Never look a Master Merlin directly in the eye. At his age, Master Isaac’s mesmer is far more powerful than mine, and works much faster.”
“I thought you were the most powerful Merlin in a generation?”
“I am the most powerful Merlin of my generation.” He watches me for a moment, and I try not to squirm under his scrutiny. “After the way you left things, I’m surprised you came tonight.” A pause. A frown down at our legs. “Almost as surprised as I am that you’re letting me lead right now.”
I scowl and fix my gaze on something over his shoulder. “I wasn’t going to.”
“Come to the gala or let me lead?”
“Both.”
He laughs. “What changed your mind about the gala?”
“Disney movies,” I mutter.
“Ah yes. The unsubtle propaganda of ball gowns and charming princes.” The slight scorn in his voice draws my eyes back to his. He swallows it away, a small, resigned smile crossing his face, but he can’t hide his feelings about Nick. He never could. “When I saw you enter, I thought you’d come to say goodbye.”
“I did.”
“If that’s your wish.”
I tilt my head and examine his face for humor but find none. “You should be happy. You’ve spent every waking second here trying to get me to leave.”
He holds my gaze for a long moment. “Not every second.”
It’s suddenly hard to breathe. I look away. “I have a question.”
Sel dips me without warning, sending my stomach into my throat. “I’m listening,” he purrs, then pulls me back up with ease. Once I’m upright, I glare at him, but he just smirks.
“Can you use aether to manipulate existing objects?”
His dark eyebrows rise into his hairline. “Have a sudden interest in aether theory, do you?”
“Indulge me.”
“Ask nicely.”
I roll my eyes. “Please.”
He spins me once before he responds, mouth quirked while he makes me wait.
“Theoretically, one could attach an aether construct to an existing material object, or cover the object like a cloak with raw, unformed mage flame, but this would only last temporarily. As with my constructs in the scavenger hunt, the caster would need to maintain the attachment with ongoing attention.”
“And how long can a caster keep their attention on an object?”
“Anything more than five, maybe six hours results in a splitting headache, even for a Master. Would not recommend. Why?”
Six hours isn’t the answer I was looking for. I didn’t have the Sight before my mother died, so for all I know, the aether attached to her bracelet had always been there, hidden from me until her death gave me the ability to See it.
Sel squeezes my fingers to bring my attention back to him. “Why…?”
“What would you say if I told you I have something of my mother’s that has aether attached to it, and that that aether had been on that object or in it for… several months at least? Maybe longer. Maybe years. And when I touched that object, it unlocked a memory.”
Sel blinks. “I would say that’s impossible. That any Merlin sustaining a single casting for that long would die from the effort. To ‘lock’ a memory so that it requires an aether key to open…? That’s precision mesmerwork I’ve never heard of.” The warm pinprick of his gaze dances over my cheeks, mouth, throat. “But then… I would say that everything about you seems to defy reason as a matter of course.”
I nod absentmindedly. The charm bracelet has been in my thoughts since I found it. Manipulating objects with aether feels like the Order’s practice, and the vision had felt sort of like a mesmered memory surfacing from somewhere deep inside me. But the bracelet had been activated by touch, which feels more like Rootcraft, and the experience of it—being inside the memory as my current self and as my past self—felt like a memory walk. Is my mother’s bracelet a Rootcraft item or an Order one? And who was the woman with her?
“I know that look,” Sel says with a sigh. “Tell me, will you always be the mystery girl?”
I smile. “Probably.”
“May I assist with this quest?” Something harsh and tight in his voice makes me look up. “Or will Nicholas feel left out again?”
“That’s not fair.”
He shrugs. “It’s a limited-time offer.” His next words are strained and only whispered. “I may not be here much longer myself.”
I stiffen. “Are you really getting replaced? Is that still on the table?”
“It hasn’t been taken off the table.”
“But you’re not…” I struggle for the right word.
“A raging, feral demon?” His smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “After what we learned about my mother, it would be foolish to not keep an eye on myself.”
I look away so that he doesn’t see how much his last words pain me and because I don’t think he’d appreciate pity. I wish he didn’t have to carry the knowledge of his mother’s actions and worry that he’s capable of them too. I wish he didn’t have to be scared of himself or live knowing that others were scared of what he’d become. I realize now that his drive to hunt me down must have, on some level, been about a desperate need to prove to the chapter that he was trustworthy. Now that I know his family history and what that could mean about his sanity and when he might lose it…