Page 45 of Every Shade of Shadow

But there is something new in that expression I see. The Professor looks almost mournful, which triggers my curiosity, because Damien Darkwood doesn’t seem the type to get emotional, to show any kind of vulnerability, really.

“Drink,” he says, reaching over to refill my goblet.

But this man who’s joined me for dinner tonight is not acting like himself—not that I’m any expert.

He looks around the room, rubbing his hands together every so often and refusing to meet my gaze.

“Have I done something wrong?” I’m shaking as these words leave my mouth. I don’t want to provoke him.

“You said you had questions.” His baritone returns loud and clear as his eyes shoot up to meet mine. “Best not keep me waiting.”

I straighten myself, wiping at my mouth with a napkin.

I consider what to ask, how to do this subtly, but fuck it.

Into the fire I go.

“Did you have anything to do with the murder this morning?” I ask.

He stiffens but maintains his composure. “I’m a professor here, Ms. Fairchild. My job is to guide these students. Not murder them. I wouldn’t betray that trust to serve my own interests.”

Curious choice of words.

“I’m sorry,” I mutter, dragging my gaze away from him. “I didn’t mean to offend you.”

“Oh, but you have, and you’ll be punished, the penalty severe, but again, not tonight. No, tonight we mourn another young spirit lost.”

“Is that why you’re…” I falter, seeking the correct word in my mind. “Sulking?” which sounds childish and juvenile and not at all what I wanted, but it’s what comes out.

“Perhaps,” he confirms with a nod. “Death is final. Irreversible. Invincible. Even the most powerful sorcerers have not been able to defeat it.”

“Have you…” Damn my hesitation. Damn my fear. It’s not letting me phrase my sentences right.

“Say it,” he enthuses, “lest I double the punishment.”

“Have you ever killed anyone?” I blurt out, obviously failing to learn from my last question.

A dark smile forms on his face. He stands and moves behind me, his frame forcing a large shadow to climb the opposing wall.

“My past will always haunt me, my pet,” he claims, his slow, confident footfalls echoing around the room. “But that was the nature of my work, once.”

“Your work?” I ask, cocking an eyebrow, this narrative intriguing me more than his confession.

“I once worked for the Umbral Brotherhood. Assassination. Interrogation. Whatever they asked,” he reveals, his face stone-cold with conviction as he stops to face me, hands behind his back.

“Really?” I can’t keep the surprise out of my voice.

He nods. “A breakaway arm of the Brotherhood recruited me out of college. My job was to hunt down and punish the worst criminals in the magical world, those that slipped through the judicial cracks, so to speak. And yes, I see the irony in it.”

I can’t stop the questions. “What kind of criminals?”

He shrugs. “Human traffickers, serial killers, pedophiles…I dispatched them methodically, diligently. Still,” he sucks in a deep breath. “One finds little enjoyment in it after a time, in the physical act of taking a life.”

So he’s what? One the good guys? James Batman Bond out there in the middle of the night correcting wrongs and dishing out justice?

It makes sense in a fucked-up kind of way.

I almost go to pinch myself because surely this can’t be happening, that the Professor is revealing something about himself, opening up, getting personal with me? His fuckdoll? His pet?

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