Chapter 18

ChapterEighteen

Alistair felt like he hadn’t breathed since they kissed. He’d come all the way back across the river from Danu and meandered home as though walking on clouds.

They’d kissed.

Even now, thinking those words made him feel a little silly. Of course, they had kissed. He’d desperately wanted to do that since the first moment she walked out of the fog like the witch from his dreams. He just hadn’t thought it would happen so soon. So early. He hadn’t realized that he even had it in him to ask.

And the next couple of days, he walked through his home as though he were a new man. Alistair held his shoulders a little straighter. He didn’t fear what his brothers would say or do to him in the halls. Some might even say that he held his chin a little higher because he was so certain that he was valuable.

She’d given him a gift with that kiss. It somehow felt as though she’d handed him his soul back.

His father passed him in the hall and turned his nose up. “Why do you look like that?”

Alistair didn’t know what his father meant. He wore the same clothes. He had done his hair the same as he always did. And yes, there was still dirt underneath his fingernails, but this time, he was rather proud of it. He would fit right in if he returned to Waterdown. Returned to her.

Clearing his throat, he lifted his chest and set his jaw. “I look the same as always, Father.”

“You look...” Balthazar made another face as though he’d smelled something disgusting. “Happy.”

Well, he was. For the first time in his life, he knew what happiness felt like and how that emotion could fill him up from the bottom of his soul to the top of his head.

What a magical thing to happen to him this late in his life.

He let out a little laugh and watched as his father recoiled from him in horror. He replied, “I suppose I am.”

“Change it, and quickly,” Balthazar snarled. “You know we have company coming over tonight and I won’t have you ruining the dinner with your laughter and... glee.” Again with that wrinkled expression.

Alistair wished he had enough confidence to refuse to change a thing about himself. He wished he could tell his father that there was nothing wrong with happiness, and this house might be a little more wholesome if there was more of it around. But he was not that man. Not yet.

Clearing his throat, he ducked his head as he saw his father’s hand glow with magic. “Understood.”

“Was it?” Balthazar looked down at him cruelly as though he intended to harm his youngest son even though the boy had agreed to do what he wanted. “You know who’s coming to dinner tonight, don’t you?”

He didn’t. Alistair wasn’t included in the plans, and if someone was coming to the house, most of the time, he was sent up to his room without an invitation at all.

“I do not, sir.”

“The Sphecidae elder and his son are joining us for dinner. I have big plans for them and for their interactions with our family in the coming months. You will not ruin this opportunity for our family. Do you hear me, boy?”

“Loud and clear, sir.”

His father flexed his hand and then let it loosen before walking away from Alistair. The tension that had built in his shoulders eased, and suddenly Alistair was leaning against the wall, breathing hard and unsure of what had happened.

Had his father cast some kind of spell while they were talking? Or was he so terrified of his father that he forgot to breathe in the man’s presence?

Pushing himself off the wall, he staggered down to his room to change for dinner. While he recognized the name, he thought he had only heard it from school. Sphecidae. It was a pretentious last name for a family of wasps. Quite literally. The head of the Sphecidae family had gotten his magic from that Latin-named class of creatures, and they’d used it to their advantage ever since.

Alistair thought he remembered the son talking about poison in their classes. Something about learning how to effectively use each one to their advantage, but he couldn’t quite remember the conversation. It wasn’t like he enjoyed himself at the Academy. Most of the time, Alistair kept his head down and looked for the faerie creatures who needed his help.

Sighing, he stripped out of the comfortable clothing he’d put on this morning. He enjoyed his matching vest and trousers with a pressed white linen shirt that he could roll up at the wrists. He’d caught Thea looking at the rolled sleeves quite a few times, and he wondered if she liked that on him as well.

He’d have to ask her the next time he wrote her a letter.

But tonight, he needed to look the part of an Orbweaver son. He took his time making sure every part of his suit was pressed, that the black tie he’d chosen wouldn’t move in the slightest, and that the starched jacket lay perfectly in place with matching ruby cufflinks. His father would be proud of how he looked rich without trying all that hard. That was, after all, how his father wanted all his sons to look.

Rich.

Effortless.

Deadly.

Alistair snorted and then made his way out of his room. Deadly wasn’t something Alistair would ever accomplish, but he’d never find it in himself to be disappointed about that. He didn’t want to be someone others feared.

Wandering down the cold halls, making sure his cufflinks were latched, he mused that he wouldn’t mind a life in Waterdown. His eldest brother would get this house, anyway. And the other would stick around or work at the Academy. Which left Alistair to do whatever he wanted whenever he wanted.

At least, that’s what he hoped. The future without Balthazar Orbweaver in it looked rather bright.

He rounded a corner and headed into the dining room, where his family waited for him. It was a cold room, the same as the rest of the house. But a maid had lit the fire behind the table, throwing off waves of heat that were hard for even the magic of this house to suppress. Surprising. He’d never seen a flame in that fireplace.

The wooden table stretched too large and was covered with a black tablecloth. Food was already on the table, as though they were expecting their guests soon, and Alistair knew he was late. Especially as his father and two brothers stood, then rolled their eyes as they realized it was not their guests that had walked through the door.

“Alistair,” Balthazar hissed. “Sit. Down.”

Right. He had his spot, and it was the one farthest down the table. At the end of his family. They all sat on the same side, his father at the head and the three brothers to his left. Guests would sit to Balthazar’s right when they arrived.

Alistair had only a few minutes after sitting to muse that someone must have put a spell on the food to keep it warm when the doorbell rang. His father instantly straightened, and Alistair saw both of his brothers twitch.

Nerves?

Why would any of them be nervous because they were entertaining? They’d done this far too many times before for anyone to be nervous. Hadn’t they?

The head butler entered the room with two people walking behind him. The head of the Sphecidae family was much older than his father, or at least looked like it. His head was entirely white, with long white eyelashes that blinked like spider legs around his eyes. The man was all too pale and wore clothing in the faintest hint of yellow. Almost as though the suit had aged rather than been dyed. He stood with a straight spine, though, and confidence in his eyes that made Alistair twitch.

The young man behind him didn’t look a thing like his father. Alistair remembered him now. He’d been in Lysander’s year, so only one ahead of Alistair. Which meant the young man had graduated with his brother. Although neither of them were looking for work just yet, the hungry look in their eyes suggested that they both wanted to take their family’s power from whoever stood in their way.

Alistair noted that the Sphecidae’s son had darker hair, though still a hay-colored blonde. Not white, like his father. His suit was perfectly starched as well, though his was white as snow. Why did he have a better suit than his father? It didn’t make any sense at all. Both of them were ungodly pale, though. Like their skin had never seen the touch of the sun.

“Balthazar,” the Sphecidae elder said.

His father stood and extended his hand for the other man to take. “Corpious, it is good to see you, old friend.”

Friend? Alistair should have heard the name before now if his father had considered this strange man a friend. He might not be privy to his father’s innermost thoughts, but Alistair knew what was going on in this house. He snuck through the halls like a mouse, and no one ever knew he was listening. But no one had ever said this man’s name before.

It was hard to forget a name so similar to a corpse.

They shook hands as Corpious’s son sat down on the opposite side of Lysander. They nodded to each other, the recognition in their eyes less one of friendship and more of hatred.

“Shall we?” His father said, sweeping out his arm to gesture at the food. “As you can see, we have spared no expense.”

Corpious’s eyes cast over the food and clearly found it all lacking. Even though there was a roast peacock, three different kinds of fish, and more vegetables and fruit than any man could want. It was a feast fit for a king and the fact that this man was picking it apart with his eyes? The look made even Alistair’s hackles rise. A man should be thankful for what he was offered. What he was freely given.

If he’d been a better son, he might have mentioned it. Maybe he would have stood up for his father’s honor.

Such loyalty would require a better father, he mused. Alistair waited until their guests took their seats and reluctantly picked at the food before he allowed his own father and brothers to serve themselves as well. It made him even more hungry, waiting for everyone to have their own food at the ready. Even worse, to see Corpious’s son tucking into the food without waiting for any of them at all.

Lysander sipped his wine before speaking across the table. “Well, Marren. I thought you were shipping off for the continent to learn more magic from the elders.”

Their guest swallowed his food before brandishing a grin on his face. He’d eaten beets first, Alistair thought, because for some strange reason, it looked as though his teeth were covered in blood. “I decided to stay behind and help my father with the house.”

“A house like that couldn’t require much work.” Again Lysander sipped his wine. “It’s rather small, wouldn’t you agree?”

The way Marren wrapped his fingers around the handle of the knife beside his plate said otherwise. But the young man didn’t respond in the slightest. Instead, he turned his attention to their fathers, who were quietly speaking at the end of the table.

His father didn’t waste any time getting down to business. Alistair couldn’t hear a thing that was being said, but Cassius had leaned in whenever his father twitched his fingers. Was his eldest brother involved as well?

He kept his head down while they all ate dinner. Alistair didn’t move a muscle when the butlers came in to clear their plates and then took the rest of the food away. But he kept his eyes on his father and the pale man who radiated dark energy. He didn’t like it. Something was wrong. As though static electricity filled the air, and he couldn’t escape from it.

Marren stared at Lysander over a particularly large cake cut into the shape of the Academy. “How long do you think you’ll be riding on daddy’s coattails?”

“Excuse me?” his brother asked.

“Well, we all knew at school that you aren’t as talented as Cassius. You certainly aren’t as deadly as your father. So I wanted to know if you were going to continue being a burden to your family or if you planned to do something about that.” This time Marren sipped at his glass of red wine as though he had somehow won the chess game in front of them.

Cassius spun away from their father to defend his brother. Their argument didn’t disturb the two older men, who were still very deeply in talk with each other.

The cake moved.

Alistair blinked a few times to clear his vision, but he was correct. Where the front door of the school was supposed to be, there was movement from deep inside the cake. As though something was inside of it, trying to burst out.

The frosting shifted again until the tiny mouse-like face of a brownie poked through. What was it doing? They might not be able to see her, but they could see the cake moving! They’d cast spells before they even realized there was a fae in there.

“Excuse me,” Alistair muttered, then leapt forward with a knife in his hand.

Marren hissed, lifting his own knife as though Alistair were going to attack him. Everyone at the table stopped talking and looked at him as though he’d lost his mind.

Alistair tried a sheepish half smile and then pointed to the cake. “I thought it looked so delicious we might as well cut into it.”

If looks could kill, then Balthazar would have murdered his son. “We have people to do that, boy.”

He was going to be in so much trouble for doing this. “I know. I just didn’t want to wait. Sweet tooth.”

He carefully sliced around the brownie, ignoring the glares from all the members of his family as he lifted the slice onto his own plate and then sat back down. All it would take was a single wave of his father’s hand, and he’d be on the floor in pain. But the business was more important than punishing his idiotic youngest son.

When everyone returned to their own conversations, he used his fork to lift the cake off the brownie. She was covered in frosting, dripping with it really. Then she sat up and scrubbed her face with her hands.

Alistair tried to gesture for her to move with his fork, but she refused to do so. Instead, she pointed to his father and squeaked.

“What is it?” he whispered, trying to hear what she was saying over the sound of other people’s conversations.

But then he heard it.

“Poison.”

Alistair lifted his eyebrows, but then he saw it. Corpious put his finger in his father’s drink for a split second and then continued the conversation as though nothing had happened at all. Balthazar lifted the glass casually, still talking with the man while he lifted it to his lips.

He had a moment where he considered letting his father die. All the fear and terror in his life would disappear. It would be all right if his father was simply... gone.

But then he stood and growled, “That bastard.”

Everyone paused again, looking at the youngest son, who had lost his mind.

Balthazar’s face wrinkled with fury. “Son. Sit down.”

“He poisoned your drink,” Alistair said. “I saw him put his finger in it. And isn’t his gift poison?”

His father looked down at the glass, then back to his son—only a few heartbeats. But Alistair felt as though his father had seen him for the first time before all hell broke loose in the dining room.

Corpious and Marren tried their best. The eldest son of the Sphecidae family could fling poison out of his mouth like he was spitting it upon the world. One such glob landed on Lysander’s hand, who howled with rage.

But it was Balthazar who would have the last say. His father let out a roar, and the shadows in the room clung together, then stretched out like giant spider legs. They clamped around both the intruders to their home, twisting the darkness around them—squeezing tightly—until Corpious’s pale face turned purple.

“Did you think you could kill me in my own home?” Balthazar hissed. “I long thought it was time for a new head of the Sphecidae family. It’s a shame that means you must lose yours.”

His father lifted his hand, then twisted it in the air. His movement brought along a sickening crack as Corpious’s head turned and then snapped.

Blood leaked out of the pale man’s nose, and then the shadows dropped him onto the floor.

Dead.

Alistair wheezed out a small breath. So much madness had happened in a split second. And it wouldn’t have happened if he had said nothing.

He watched as his father approached young Marren, who still struggled in the bonds of shadows. His father touched a fingertip to Marren’s chin and forced the young man to look at him. “You and I are going to have a talk about how our families will work together from now on. What do you think?”

There was no other option but for Marren to nod. The shadows carried him from the room while Alistair’s brothers scurried after their father.

He held out his hand for the trembling brownie to sit in and lifted her to his cheek. He breathed with her, slowly, in and out, in and out.

What had he done?