I pause and turn back to him, immediate anxiety twisting my insides.

“S-sure.” Taking a deep breath, I walk over to sit on the desk facing his.

“Oh, don’t worry, you’re not in any kind of trouble,” says Professor Rhoric, leaning forward just a bit with coffee mug in hand and lowering his voice. “But I can’t help but smell that you’ve fed on fresh Crimson blood recently, and there are some things I think you should know.”

My cheeks burn—I don’t know why it’s so embarrassing that he knows, but it is.

“We’ll cover this a little later in the semester in Physiology and Dynamics. In my experience it takes a little longer before new Umbrans begin to form these sorts of relationships—not that you’ve done anything wrong,” he says hastily. Seeing the distress on my face he puts his coffee down, bringing his hands up in the air as if he can wave it away.

“You’re just a little ahead of the curve, it seems.” He clears his throat. “That being said—you do need to be careful. In many ways, Crimsons and Reapers are two sides of the same coin, and it can be very easy for them to form codependent relationships with one another through mutual feeding. And I do mean dependent, there have been issues in the past with addiction.”

A bitter taste rises in the back of my throat as he speaks. Does Lore know all this?

“What’s more, as a Stormstruck, you are bound to have Crimsons flocking to you in droves. And I don’t mean to say that all of them are only there for your Umbra, but...well, there will likely be some who are.”

My mind’s gone into that state it sometimes does where it’s processing new and unpleasant information in the background as my conscious self goes more-or-less blank. I swallow and nod.

Professor Rhoric studies my face a moment, one corner of his lips tugs downwards. Then he leans back once more. “So, I suppose that’s all, really. Carry on as you choose—but please, practice caution. And moderation.”

“I will,” I say. “Thank you, Professor.”

“Well and good, Ms. Fleetwood. Well and good. Enjoy the rest of your day.”

“You too,” I reply automatically before hurrying out of the classroom. Behind Professor Rhoric, the bear-man skeleton waves.

~*~

I walk into the dining hall to find it crowded, the energy amongst the other students high and chaotic. Beatrice is sitting at a table over near the open end and chatting happily with Lore, another Viridian, and two more Crimsons. Thankfully, she hasn’t noticed me yet. I miss her, but not enough to deal with all of that. Not right now.

Charting a path through the crowd that I hope will keep me out of Bee and Lore’s view, I make my way to the kitchen to get my lunch to go again, along with some more food for Mittens. When I get back to my room, the rabbit-fox bounds immediately up to me—chattering indignantly.

“No need to scold, food’s here,” I assure her. She follows at my ankles as I go out onto the balcony and unpack everything. Out there, the shade is just enough to shelter us from what I hope will be summer’s last dying flare of heat before the rains of autumn begin. The sky’s almost entirely clear, save a few cottony tufts of cloud.

Once I’ve finished eating, I close my eyes—relaxing back in my seat as I try to clear my head. I’m excited for Advanced Sigilcraft, and I want to go into it in a good mindset...or at least, the closest thing I can get to it, given the circumstances. But about three heartbeats into my meditation, someone knocks at my bedroom door, snapping my awareness back to my immediate surroundings. I recognize her ember even before I notice her scent.

E.J.

Jumping up from the balcony chair, I rush into my room to the door and snatch it open, freezing in the next instant as I see the expression on E.J’s face.

She’s got one arm resting against the doorframe, leaning as if the weight of her fury is too much to bear without it. Her pupils are narrowed to pinpricks, hair falling forward over her face.

“You fed on Lore.”

“I...yes.”

Her lips pull back to bare her canines—abnormally sharp and long even in human form. For a moment, I think she’s going to growl at me. But then she clears her throat.

“May I come in?”

I blink, stepping aside. “Of course.”

She strides past me and straight to one of the two chairs in the corner of my room, falling into it with her face in her hands.

The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

“Ash,” she says, voice strained, and for half a heartbeat her shoulders actually shake. Then she goes decidedly rigid. Takes a deep breath.

“I should have warned you sooner. But Rhoric told you.”

“Yes,” I say as I sit down beside her. “He did, but—“

Her hands drop to her knees, and she meets my eyes with equal parts pain and fury.

“It can be amazing, when it’s done right—the bond between a Reaper and a Crimson. Safe and even healthy when done with caution. It’s unlike anything else. I wanted that with you. To be the first one you...but you weren’t ready when we were together before. And now—” her free hand goes up to her hair, her expression wild. Eyes far away.

“I’ve missed you so much, Ash,” she goes on after a few moments, voice just above a whisper. “I’ve wanted you back so much it hurts. It literally hurts, Ash.” She shakes her head, looking so lost it breaks my heart. I reach out to squeeze her hand.

“But the one skill I most need in order to be with you—the one most Crimsons master in their first years...I can’t even...” she looks away from me, shoulders heaving again. “I feel broken. Deficient. Inadequate.”

And that’s when I start to laugh. So hard I snort. So hard I almost choke. She turns to look down at me as though afraid for my sanity, eyebrows shooting upward.

“Ash, wha—“

“You? Inadequate? For me?” And then I’m laughing again as E.J. frowns down at me, eyes narrowed, suddenly seeming more like her normal self.

“So,” she says after a moment, tone carefully leveled. “Is she your Domedra, now?”

I suck in a sudden sharp breath of air. “No.” I say through my teeth, the word practically a hiss. “She wanted to help me with my self-control, so I gave her a chance. But it was strictly non-sexual, non-romantic. Just an exchange to an end. My energy for her help. But I don’t think I’ll be doing that again,” I scowl at the wall as Lore’s smirking face comes to mind.

“So you don’t...crave her, then?”

I smile up at E.J. as her eyes search mine, looking for the truth. I’m all too happy to give it. “No, I don’t. Ever since I fed from her, I’ve been fine.”

E.J. sighs. “It hasn’t been long, though. Once it wears off—“

My hands travels up her arm. “It doesn’t matter what happens once it wears off. I don’t want anything more to do with her or her blood. But you? I’ve never stopped craving you.”

At that her free hand flies up again—this time to tug at her tie, revealing the Umbra-suppressant collar. My eyes flick from the collar up to meet hers—burning violet like Umbral lightning. My lips part.

“E.J, may I—“

“Yes.” We fall into each other, lips coming together with the ravening thirst of the parched. She presses forward, downward, forcing me back onto my own chair as her weight settles between my legs, hands resting on the back of the chair to cage me in at the sides.

Then Boon chirps, bobbing awkwardly into view over E.J’s shoulder.”

“Ashwyn, your next class starts in fifteen minutes.”

E.J.growls, pressing her body even closer to mine.

“Who was it who said I needed to focus on school, now?” I tease, hand going up to brush her hair out of her face. She relents, grumbling, and steps back to give me a hand up.

“Come to my place tonight?”

I grin up at her as her hands busy themselves with her tie, her shirt, her hair—smoothing away the signs of our entanglement.

“Alright,” I say, trying not to sound too enthused. Or not enthused enough.

“Did you, um, bring any of your prototypes with you?”

Her gaze skirts away from mine. “A few.”

My cheeks warm, and now I’m the one having a hard time with eye contact.

“Oh. Good. Well, I’ll see you tonight, then. After dinner?”

“Before, if you don’t mind,” says E.J. “I want to cook for you. And for dessert—“ her hand moves from her tie to the exposed skin of her neck, above the collar. “Maybe something special.”

I swallow, legs going a little wobbly.

So much for going to class with a clear head.

~*~

Like Reaper Life Basics, the classroom for Advanced Sigilcraft is set back into the lower, windowless reaches of the Lodge. Unlike it, though, all save the forward wall are carved directly from the stone of the mountain. Sigils etched in blue chalk adorn the rough stone, arranged in flowing patterns. The Professor—a Petran woman with a strong but narrow build and a spray of wild slate-gray hair—waits for us and watches as we enter, on her feet with arms crossed. She has no desk.

Last to trail in of all the students are Beatrice and Lore. Naturally, they make a beeline straight for me—taking the open spots to either side of our shared middle-row table.

“Good afternoon, newborns,” she greets us once the whole class—some twenty-five or so of us—have gathered. A few give her odd looks at that.

“I’m Professor Burstrom. The first thing I’d like to address is the exact nature of this class. In spite of its name, what you will be learning with me are the foundational basics of working with sigils as an Umbran. They are only ‘advanced’ in comparison to what you’ve learned and been capable of thus far. It will help if you consider yourselves absolute newcomers to the field, and approach it as such.”

There’s some grumbling at that, but most of us keep our composure.

“That being said, I haven’t been just human in some time, so perhaps I’m out of touch with what they’re teaching you these days. Let’s gauge that, shall we? You there,” she points to a gorgeous Viridian with night-black skin and a riot of auburn-and-honey curls. “Why do you think it is that I, a Petran, am the one teaching you Sigilcraft? Why most master Sigilcrafters are Petrans?”

“Because you can make the most use of it,” answers the Viridian immediately. “Because a Petran’s stone skin falls away and is replaced, you can use sigils directly on your bodies in ways other people can’t, and with a much smaller degree of risk and inconvenience.”

Burstrom nods curtly. “That’s a large part of it, certainly. Another being that—“

A Petran man with an eyepatch and dark, swept-back hair raises his hand. She points at him.

“That Petrans are the ones who craft the physical side of most Umbral technologies, which utilize sigils,” he says, an authoritative air to his voice. Again, the professor’s chin cuts downward in a shallow nod.

“Correct. That being said, sigils are useful to all—as long as you know how best to use them for your type. And as long as you know and obey the first rule of Sigilcraft: do not mark yourself with a sigil unless it’s a part of your body you intend to separate from.”

I catch myself fidgeting anxiously, and force my limbs and mind alike to still before I can get too worked up and begin to flare. My spirit’s not a part of my body, so I should be fine, right?

Knowing us? Responds the cynical, honest side of myself that hangs out in the shadowy fringes of my mind. Probably not.