Dark apprentice, p.38
Dark Apprentice, page 38
He needed Medea. No doubt she wanted him to kiss her ass, apologize profusely for doubting her skill, and beg for forgiveness. Fine. Whatever it took to get his face back.
Knocking on Medea’s door was easy. Not slamming his fist against the wood—that was difficult.
“Wait at the bottom of the stairs,” said a voice through the door. He descended the narrow staircase and watched Medea’s door with fire in his eyes.
Medea hid in her room. Doors had been opening and closing downstairs all day, but she dared not go down. Nikolai would be angry at what she’d done, and it was best to give him space. That’s what people needed when they were emotional—space. She’d been tempted to leave the island but had stayed on the off-chance he might need help finding something in the library. The healing section, after all, was immense.
Still, she was no fool—the boy had a temper. Last night she’d placed wards all over the house to alert her if he attempted to destroy her possessions. So far, all had been quiet. Maybe he was taking it better than she thought. Then again, he probably hadn’t realized yet how hard the task would be.
Without fleshweaving, a true reconstruction would take years of study. The practical form would be easy enough to fix, but the fine tuning, the detail which made the human face so distinct to other humans—that would be much harder to replicate.
Long ago, she had a client seeking a similar reconstruction. The man was adept at healing and had successfully removed battle scars all over his body, but his face remained a problem. The closer he got to perfection, the worse people reacted. They thought him a changeling or some other malicious creature in disguise, and he was under constant attack. Prior to seeking her help, he’d scarred his face a second time in an effort to look more human. Perfect might be the enemy of good, but for faces, the opposite appeared to be true.
The stairs creaked and she braced herself for a dramatic pummeling on the door, but he knocked politely, putting her at ease. She rose and asked him to wait downstairs. Apprentices were always trying to catch a glimpse of her room for some reason. After a moment, she exited and peered over the landing, hoping to see progress, however slight.
Nikolai had never looked this slovenly, not even in the early days when he was in the throes of the curse. His hair stuck up at odd angles and his shirt was partially untucked. Dried blood streaked his chin and chest, and there was a trail of it between his room and the kitchen. A wide gash crossed his face. Good. He’d figured out how to enlarge the opening and keep it from filling in.
“Yes?” she said. Maybe he needed help finding a book.
“You —in. I can’t do this —y —ysel—.”
Oh dear. She hadn’t counted on that. The lack of lips made him impossible to understand. Maybe it would be easier if she were closer.
“I can’t understand you. Hold on, I’ll come down.” She stopped two steps from the bottom so they were roughly the same height. “Again.”
Nikolai repeated himself, but the results were no better. This was untenable.
“I’m going to restore some of the tissue you removed. Try not to cut it off again.” She weaved the flesh back into place—not pretty, but functional lips.
His hand leapt to his face. Excitement turned to disappointment as he explored her work. “I said, you win. I can’t do this by myself. Can you please fix my face now?” There was polite deference in his tone.
“I thought I made myself clear in the letter. You are to fix this yourself. It’s the only way you’ll learn.”
“I’ve learned. You’re better than me and healing magic is necessary. I understand now.”
She sighed. “No, you don’t.” Half a day and already he’d given up. “Nikolai, this is something you must learn to fix yourself. If you cannot, then the scars will serve as a reminder—”
“I don’t need a fucking reminder. I need my face.” The sudden vitriol was startling. His next words came out clipped. “People judge based on looks. I can’t go through life looking like this.”
“You can always craft an illusion in the meantime. No one would know.”
“Fuck illusions!” he spat. “I’d know! You think I want to see this shit every time I look in the mirror?”
So stop looking in mirrors, she wanted to say, but that would have been rude and he was already on edge. As difficult as his face was to read, there was no mistaking the magic building inside him. He was losing control. Such a thing was more common in teenagers who lacked a firm grasp of their magic. In so many ways, he was still just a boy. What could she say to reassure him?
“I’m sure your personality can more than make up for—”
“ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?”
Trying to act the friend was only making things worse. Very well, she’d keep things professional. She straightened herself. “I have already set you a task. Do not ask me to help you with this again. I swear this to you—I will never remove your scars, not while they serve to—”
The dreaded words, so often spoken by strangers, erupted from Nikolai’s mouth. “I challenge you to a Servi—”
Before he could finish, she closed off his throat and launched herself at him with a hiss. “Shut your mouth! Shut your mouth, you stupid boy!”
Nikolai’s eyes widened. His mouth worked convulsively, trying to issue the challenge at the behest of her spell. Realization passed over his face, and the eyes that locked on to hers burned. His wand hand reflexively twitched in a gesture that would have called the wand from its holster, had it been there. The other hand rested on his hip pouch.
If only she could let him pass out from lack of oxygen and hide in her room, she could pretend this whole conversation never happened, but then their working relationship would be over. She couldn’t lose another apprentice. Not this one. He was too valuable, magic like she hadn’t seen in centuries. But if he was unteachable, if he wanted to kill her, then there was nothing to be done.
Nikolai made no move to attack, but there was no mistaking the look he gave her, even as his face turned crimson from lack of air. Good, he still had that much control. He was just angry. Murderously angry, but then she had poked him in a soft spot, not realizing how deep his desire to be handsome ran. She bit the inside of her cheek and sealed off Nikolai’s mouth before opening his throat.
She couldn’t stay now. Her presence was only making things worse and she couldn’t risk triggering a Servitus aut Mors challenge.
“You need time to cool down. You can fix this yourself. Everything you need is in the library. Will it take time? Certainly. But I have the utmost confidence in your abilities.” She tried to give him an encouraging smile. “I will give you two weeks here alone. Then I’ll come and check up on you, see if you have any questions. How’s that?”
The look he gave her wasn’t encouraging, but he nodded.
35
PRIORITIES
“Greetings, Mr. Lewis,” said the attendant. “How was the show?”
“Excellent as always,” said Harper, beaming as he stepped into the lift.
“And will your manager be joining you for a business meeting tonight?”
“I’m afraid not. Seems to have taken ill, poor chap. I’m sure it’s just something he ate.”
Jonathan was sick through both shows. Harper hoped it wasn’t anything serious. He’d tried to insist on bringing Jonathan home, but the man wouldn’t hear of it. Too stoic for his own good. One of these days he’d convince Jonathan to move in with him. There was nothing suspicious about having a flatmate in a two-bedroom place.
“Your floor, Mr. Lewis.”
Harper thanked the lift attendant and stepped out. His mood faltered as he rounded the corner and caught sight of his neighbor.
“Greetings, Mrs. Perkins.” He nodded and forced a smile.
The old woman glared at him and closed her door with a snap. Last week she’d grilled him over his “parade of male visitors,” as Nikolai had called it. As much as he hated to deny his friends a safe place to rendezvous, he might have to.
Maybe Nikolai could have a chat with her. Mrs. Perkins liked him, though he showed up every other week with a new woman on his arm. Harper shook his head at that.
He was so preoccupied, he almost missed the tie on the doorknob. The place was dark and no noise came from the spare bedroom. Had his guests left and forgotten to remove the tie?
“I need a powerful illusion.”
Harper nearly jumped out of his skin. The voice came from the shadows—familiar, but strangely distorted. Pale light filtered in through the shutters. He could just make out a figure in one of his chairs.
“Wh-who’s there?” Harper tugged the lamp chain next to the door, but it didn’t come on.
“Nikolai.”
“Nikolai? Why on earth are you sitting in the dark?”
“I didn’t want you to see me—yet.”
Harper laughed nervously. “I’m supposed to be the dramatic one, remember? What’s going on? Why don’t you want me to see you? And since when do you want anything to do with illusions?”
“I need to disguise something. Glamor won’t do. It needs to be strong enough to fool all but the most powerful Magi.”
Harper approached the chair. “Sure. Anything you need. Can I ask what it’s for?”
In answer, the lamp next to the chair sprang to life.
Harper gasped. Nikolai’s nose was misshapen, the skin on his face an angry red. His lips, once so enticing, were a mockery, as if a child had worked in clay to create something they thought passed for realistic. Nikolai gazed at him levelly, daring him to voice his opinion.
“Oh, my goodness! Nikolai, what happened to you?”
Cold fury tinged Nikolai’s voice. “Medea decided to punish me. It’s not something I can fix.” He gestured to his face. “This was the best I could do.”
That was his attempt to fix it?
“Nikolai, this can’t go on. No apprenticeship is worth what she’s doing to you.”
“I’m dealing with it.”
Harper wanted to ask how, but Nikolai cut him off.
“I need your help. Can you hide my face?”
Harper knelt beside the chair, examining the wreckage. “Can I touch it?”
“You can do whatever it takes to fix this mess.” His friend had never sounded so bitter.
“Okay, okay.” Harper traced the outline of scar tissue, turning Nikolai’s face this way and that. The skin was raised—definitely noticeable to the touch, even if it was concealed.
He took a breath to ask the delicate question. “This illusion—I’m assuming you want it to feel real? For kissing, and er . . .”
Nikolai’s face blanched. “Yes. Can you do that?”
“You came to the best for a reason!” Harper flashed his most confident smile, even as his stomach tied itself in knots. The face wasn’t some extraneous body part like a toe or arm. People paid attention to it.
An invasive tickle ran up the base of Harper’s skull, and Nikolai sagged in the chair. “You don’t think you can do it.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You were thinking it. Sorry for prying. I had to know. If you can’t fix this, I don’t know what I’ll—”
“Hey!” Harper tugged Nikolai’s chin to face him. “If anyone can fix it, I can. Have a little faith in me.”
They worked for hours, Harper testing out different strategies and Nikolai applying them. His friend grew frustrated at the slow pace. Nikolai lacked even a basic understanding of illusion, owing to his staunch refusal to learn it at the Academy. He wanted an illusion that plastered a sense of handsomeness on his face. Harper patiently explained it wouldn’t work for day-to-day interactions. Beauty was subjective. What if the illusion showed someone two different faces on two different days? The illusion had to be objective and stable.
Harper worked to help Nikolai create an image of his old face, imposing it over the scarred area. People’s perspective of their own appearance was rarely accurate. Nikolai dipped in and out of Harper’s mind, looking at his face through Harper’s eyes, modifying the image until it was perfect.
“Now remember,” Harper warned his friend, “you have to work to maintain the illusion. Practice daily. Hold it as long as you can. It doesn’t take much mana to maintain, but make sure you keep some in reserve. If you get too distracted, it may drop.”
Nikolai rubbed absently at his face while staring into the hallway mirror. “It still feels wrong.”
“That’s because you cast the illusion and know the truth of what it hides.” Harper ran a finger over Nikolai’s lips. “Feels fine to me.”
“There’s only one way to make sure.”
Without warning, Nikolai’s hand shot out and pulled Harper’s face to his, their bodies pressing together. Nikolai’s kiss was rough and hungry. Better than he’d ever imagined. Throughout their Academy years, he’d had a bit of a crush on his friend, but Nikolai wasn’t like him, and Harper had pushed past it. No sense pursuing someone who didn’t feel the same way. The kiss was gasoline on a fire, igniting all his old passions.
When at last Nikolai pulled away, Harper was left breathless. He sagged against the wall.
Nikolai lounged next to him with a devilish grin, sexier than any man had a right to be. “How did it feel? Real enough?”
Did he know how he set Harper’s body afire? Surely not, or he would never have done that.
“I’m sorry, Nikolai. I wasn’t paying attention.”
Nikolai laughed. “Excellent! As long as you felt nothing amiss. Of course, we could try again to be sure . . .” He reached a hand behind Harper’s head.
God, he wanted it, but Nikolai wasn’t like that, and anyway he was with Jonathan. “No, no. That’s quite alright.” Harper tried to inch away.
Nikolai’s eyes followed him greedily. What was he—
“What’s going on?”
Jonathan stood in the hallway. Though he was pale and trembling from his illness, his bright eyes were full of hurt.
Heat rose in Harper’s cheeks. “Jonathan, this isn’t what it looks like—”
Nikolai swept toward Jonathan and clasped his hand. “Jonathan! So good to finally meet you! You handle Harper’s mundane affairs, is that right?” Nikolai glanced over his shoulder at Harper, the question clear.
“That’s right,” said Harper. Jonathan was Mundane, and though they were dating, he was unaware that Harper’s shows involved real magic.
“Harper was just helping me with a little problem,” Nikolai continued. “Tell me, does my mouth feel real?” He grabbed Jonathan’s hand and brought it up to his face. What was he doing? Playing the mentally unbalanced friend angle?
“What?” asked Jonathan, confused by Nikolai’s bizarre behavior.
“My mouth, does it feel real?” Jonathan tried to tug his hand free, but Nikolai held it fast, rubbing it over his lips. “We’ve only just fixed it. I’d kiss you too, only I can smell vomit on your breath and we hardly know each other.”
Jonathan shot Harper a pleading glance.
“Uh, Nikolai, Jonathan has been sick all evening. I think he needs to lie down and rest. Maybe you should be going.”
“Certainly. My apologies.” Nikolai released Jonathan, who fled to Harper’s side. “Pleasure to meet you, Jonathan. Oh, and Harper—I’ll take care of that neighbor on my way out.” He winked and was gone.
Nikolai knocked on Mrs. Perkins’ door. Already the high he’d gotten with Harper was fading. Watching the conflicting emotions play across his friend’s face was exactly what he’d needed. Scarred and hideous he might be, he could still make people desire him with hopeless abandon. He would have liked to play longer, winding Harper’s longing and loyalty even tighter, but Jonathan’s arrival had spoiled the game.
Unlike some of Harper’s previous lovers, Jonathan didn’t have enough backbone to pose a threat to his relationship with Nikolai. Harper seemed enamored with the man, worrying about him all night while trying not to burden Nikolai with his own problems. Not wanting to destroy his friend’s budding relationship, Nikolai had salvaged the situation as best he could. Tonight they’d laugh over Harper’s strange old classmate and later, when they did other things, Harper would taste Nikolai while kissing Jonathan.
A bent old woman with grey curls answered the door. Her face announced her displeasure at the late call but brightened when she saw who it was. The illusion was holding.
“Good evening, Mrs. Perkins. I wonder if I could come in and trouble you for a moment?” The nosy woman had intruded on Harper’s mind all night. This was a problem he could solve.
“Oh, yes. Please come in, young man.”
Mrs. Perkins led him into the sitting room. The place stank of mothballs and cat. Several felines lounged on the sofa. She shooed them away and asked him to sit.
“I can’t stay long, Mrs. Perkins. I just needed to have a quick word.”
“What is it? It’s not about that filthy man down on the end, is it?”
“Harper, and yes.”
“Do you know what he does in there? Well, I do!” She jabbed her finger toward the wall bordering the hallway. “Men coming and going at all hours. He says they’re in show biz, like him, but I know what’s really going on. It’s unnatural!”
He raised an eyebrow. “As opposed to what I do in there?”
“You?” She blushed. “Oh, well—you’re a strapping young man. It’s quite normal for young men to . . . but then of course I can’t say the same for the girls you’re with . . .”
“It takes two to tango, Mrs. Perkins.”
Perception was everything. Who you were, what you cared about, whether or not you were a good person—none of that mattered if people’s perception of you didn’t match. Nikolai had honed his social mask over the years. He rarely dropped it in front of others, for when he did, they invariably became unnerved, if not downright terrified. He couldn’t fathom why. It was the same face, albeit devoid of any feigned emotion.
