Page 25 of Blood Oath
To show him just how little I care that he’s made me the center of all his attention, I pull a notebook from thin air—a useful little enchanted book that anyone can buy at the university store. I open it and start skimming my notes.
He adjusts on his side of the desk to face me slightly more. “The first was a long-ass list of questions I have about you. Promise me you’ll answer at least five of them.”
“Not happening.”
“Awe, come on,” he pouts. Pouting is childish and unattractive, yet somehow, he pulls it off. He even makes it flirtatious as he leans over to catch my eye. “Little questions. Questions that don’t even matter, like your favorite flavor of ice cream or the three movies you’d take with you to a deserted island. I just want to get to know you, even the insignificant shit you think I’ll forget. I won’t pry or ask uncomfortable questions—cross my heart that now only beats for you.”
“Are all the Decimuses this annoying?”
“The word you’re looking for is charming. And nope. I’m one of a kind, and now I’m all yours.”
Could he be any more aggravating? I can feel his body warmth so close to mine, and I edge away, trying to focus back on my notes.
“I’m in class.”
“Yeah, but it doesn’t even look like you casters will be using magic today. Every legacy knows the shit this guy is covering.”
He jerks a thumb at the front of the room, where Professor Crowley points to five illustrations on the massive chalkboard as he summarizes the five planes of existence.
“At the top is Paradise,” he orates. “Home of the gods. Mortals aren’t admitted there, even after death. Below that is where we are now. Earth, also known as the Mortal Realm. The middle layer, which is easily forgotten much of the time, is Limbo—the plane of existence where only strong incubi can navigate while conscious, although every living thing’s subconscious dallies there when they’re fast asleep.”
At the reminder of Limbo, I abruptly wonder if Silas and Baelfire aren’t the only matches who’ve bothered me today. Is Crypt here somewhere, unseen but watching me?
Yes. I can’t describe how I can tell he’s nearby, but I suddenly know with certainty that he is. It’s a subconscious feeling I didn’t notice until this moment.
Gods, I really need to shake these guys.
“Come on,” Baelfire presses quietly. “Just five questions. You can pass any you don’t like.”
“Shh.”
The professor goes on. “As you all know, beneath Limbo is the Nether, the parasitic layer of existence that we legacies are in charge of keeping at bay to keep it from getting a foothold in the Mortal Realm. It’s a disturbing, lifeless void filled with the undead, shadows, monsters, and other unpleasantries, to put it lightly.”
He taps the board. “And finally, below the Nether is the Beyond. It’s where we all go after death, sent off to be sorted into our respective afterlives by Sachar, the judge and ruler of that unscalable realm. Souls don’t come back from the Beyond—not even the gods, according to my favorite theologian, Forner. Forner wrote extensively on the death of the goddess Reniah during the Great Wars when humans and legacies…”
The lesson continues, but I’m focused on the illustrations. Most legacies here grew up hearing about the five planes of existence. I heard about them, too, though my education growing up was different from my peers.
Finishing my notes, I glance at an empty row to my right and down a few steps.
It looks empty, anyway. But when I narrow my eyes in suspicion, the Nightmare Prince flickers into view for barely a fraction of a second. He’s sitting on the desk, looking half amused as he takes a drag from an odd-looking cigarette. And just before he disappears back into Limbo, he blows me a godsdamned kiss, leaving nothing but smoke behind.
It happens so fast that when Baelfire glances over to see what I’m glowering at, he misses Crypt altogether.
“Someone bothering you, baby?”
“You are. There. That’s one question answered. You have four left.”
He grins, looking pleased at my answer instead of frustrated as I’d hoped he would be. “What kind of caster are you?”
I pretend he never spoke, turning back to the front of the classroom.
Bael leans an elbow on the desk and rests his chin on his fist. “That’s fine. Didn’t expect you to answer that one anyway, Miss Mysterious. How about this instead: favorite ice cream flavor?”
“Pass.”
“Seriously? Why? It’s just ice cream. Okay, how about…favorite flower?”
That’s harmless enough. “Dead snapdragons.”
