“Have you been reading Johannes’s playbook of pain?” I envied that she could look forward to arena time, while I dreaded it with every fiber of my being. It was like a never-ending video game where I kept getting stuck on the same level. Fortunately for my ego, I wasn’t the only one who floundered during those sessions, and Johannes didn’t dole out penalties for the lowest scorer, but I knew I could do better. No, I had to do better, even if that meant… ugh, I could hardly bring myself to think it. Running.
Genie snorted. “Where do you think he gets his ideas from? I’m the mastermind.”
“One day, when you’re done hunting in the outside world, I bet you’ll be teaching here, cracking the whip and terrifying the living daylights out of first years. You and Nathan, securing tenure here for the rest of your working lives.” I genuinely could picture it vividly, and thought she’d find it funny—but her face told a different story. Her eyes turned downward, her expression pinched. I guessed she didn’t know what the future might hold for her. Her father had made a few comments over the last several months about her finding a “suitable” husband—AKA an Atlantean—once she’d put in a couple years of hunting. It was a life she didn’t want, and the topic never failed to put her in a grim mood.
I decided to change the subject and ramble a little to distract her back to her grinning self. “I haven’t seen the pixies in a week, can you believe it? Poor things must be climbing the walls for a bit of fresh air. And mischief. You know, I really owe Nathan a huge favor for letting me take them out from time to time.”
They weren’t supposed to leave the Repository, but I liked to view those particular rules as guidelines. True, I’d promised Victoria that there would be a bond of absolute trust between us, after the Door debacle. But if she insisted on keeping my pixies locked up like criminals, then what choice did I have? They deserved more than that. All of my Purges deserved more than that, but the rest had all gone on to the Bestiary already: a few gargoyles, a minotaur, a couple of goblins, a satyr that had gotten me a bit flustered thanks to my childhood obsession with Mr. Tumnus, and another banshee that had taken me out of training for three days. There’d been a quartet of al-mi’raj, large hare-like critters with twisted horns, and an orthrus, a two-headed wolf that had padded over and licked my face after I’d Purged him. He’d whined like an abandoned puppy when I’d dropped treats into his orb before he was taken to the Bestiary, and it broke my heart every single time. That was only scratching the surface of what I’d created in the last six months, but Victoria had only allowed the pixies to remain.
And she only let the pixies stay because they’re small. Victoria had figured the Bestiary wouldn’t miss them, since they didn’t provide much in the way of fuel. It didn’t sit well with me, that living things could be categorized like that—valued for their size and power and what they could provide for the magical world. There was no consideration of their worth as sentient beings. When hunters brought back smaller captures, or I Purged something on the smaller scale, she always got this “oh well, I guess they’ll do” look on her face. But some battles were too big for a newbie to fight. Maybe, one day, I’d be able to make more of a difference, but I lacked the clout right now. As long as she didn’t find out I was taking the pixies out now and then, I’d be fine.
“Nathan’s smitten with them.” A ghost of a smile returned to Genie’s face. “And Boudicca has major love-heart eyes for him.”
I shook my head. “Poor Spartacus. He’s head over heels for her.” I thought of the pixie trio—Boudicca, Spartacus, Cynane—and my eagerness to see them ramped up a notch. They’d lost so many of their friends, but they were a surprisingly resilient species. Even through their grief, they could fill a room with babbling chatter and make a mess of strawberry punnets. With the destruction they left in their wake, you’d think there were still forty of them.
“I think everyone is a little bit in love with Boudie.” Genie brightened a little more. “Personally, I think Cynane has the je ne sais quoi of the bunch, but maybe I’m biased.” She was named after another badass historical female warrior, to match Boudicca, and both of them lived up to their namesakes.
I chuckled. “Because she’s not after your boyfriend?”
“Not my boyfriend. Not even close.” The electric bristle came back into her demeanor, and I knew her mind was already in the Repository. “And no, it’s because she always comes to sit on my shoulder and helps me make Nathan turn beet red.”
“You only have to walk into the room to make that happen,” I reminded her.
Genie beamed, her own cheeks flushing with a pretty bloom of pink. “Last time, she told me that he still whips around when he’s alone and asks if I’m there. I don’t think he’ll ever get over me using that invisibility spell.” I tried to imagine Cynane pantomiming to get the story across, and a bubble of laughter rose in my throat. Poor Nathan. Suddenly, Genie broke into a sprint, glancing over her shoulder with a pixie-esque look of mischief. “Come on, Pers! Training starts now! Pick up the pace!”
I took off after her, and immediately regretted the decision. My limbs ached like someone had replaced them with creaking logs and my arms pumped way faster than my legs could keep pace, which only made my awkward crab impression ten times worse. I was glad the halls were empty, because nobody needed to see this. Not unless they needed a lesson on how not to run.
Four
Nathan
“Someone looks a bit more chipper this evening. How are those mice sitting in that tummy of yours?” I sat cross-legged on the floor before Miss Bennet’s glass orb to watch her eat. Miss Bennet was a fiery-scaled naga: a seven-foot serpent with a cobra’s hood and carrot-colored eyes that, more often than not, held a withering glare. Her shining tail coiled beneath her like bronzed ropes. I knew I was growing on her because she’d stopped spitting venom at the glass every time I approached. Goodness, she was a beauty.
Miss Bennet swayed slightly, watching a white mouse scuttle across the floor of her orb. In one precise burst, she snapped the rodent up and swallowed it whole. Others might have found the gulping sounds grotesque, but I observed in awe as her muscles visibly constricted to urge the creature down her endless neck. Her tongue flicked as she reeled back again, her eyes bright with the thrill of the hunt.
I smiled. “Delicious, non? I have it on good authority that they’re gourmet.”
She dipped forward and nudged the glass with her flat nose. “Nose” wasn’t quite correct, anatomically speaking—she didn’t have a nose at all, just two nostril slits that flared with each inhale and exhale. But it was easier to just say “nose,” so everyone understood.
Now, I was no Dr. Dolittle (though that would have made my job infinitely simpler), but I took Miss Bennet’s gesture as a sign that she’d enjoyed her furry feast. I felt a touch sorry for the many mice that had been dropped through the hatch to their imminent doom, but carnivores would carnivore. Miss Bennet was usually fed a synthetic protein mix, but her stomach had been acting up in the past week or so. I’d noticed her languishing in her orb, the sheen of her scales dulled to a brassy hue. When one of my creatures was doing poorly, I did all I could to help, and that included, but was not limited to, a few sacrificial rodents. I’d come to learn that Purge beasts were typically sick for a few reasons: unsuitable diet, enclosure anxiety, or something in their environment. For sweet and spitty Miss Bennet, the diet change appeared to have done the trick.