Page 48 of Reluctant Wizard

“I love you, too,” he said, quickly pulling her down into a kiss to cover the impulsive words. He’d promised himself he wouldn’t pressure her. She resisted only a moment, flattening her hand on his chest and releasing a little mew of pleasure. So sweet, his Alise, her tongue caressing his, soft and sensual, not sharp at all.

They divested themselves and each other of their clothes, taking their time and sharing long, lingering kisses and caresses in the process. The mood had turned between them, somber with the release of Alise’s intense grief, joyful in their shared intimacy. In the muted darkness, with the snow muffling all sound from outside, he slid into the welcoming embrace of her body with the final and finite sense of coming home at last.

~22~

Fortified by one of Cillian’s homemade cinnamon rolls, on top of a full breakfast, Alise nearly rolled her way through the busy halls on her way to Professor Morghana Seraphiel’s office. She wisely restrained any complaints about her overly full belly, lest she elicit another lecture from him on the necessity of blah blah blah.

He was so adorable. And her body sang from her toes to her giddy heart from his devoted attention, in bed and out. She wouldn’t want to have to swear to it, but she suspected this effervescent sensation was actual happiness. Maybe even love.

They didn’t hold hands, of course. They still hadn’t discussed how to handle their new affair, not in so many words. Over breakfast, Alise had tiptoed around bringing up the topic, meeting with Cillian’s cheerfully steadfast refusal to take up the conversational bait. She’d been left with no choice but to broach the question baldly. Call her a coward, she’d been too at peace eating his delicious food and enjoying the casual affection he showered upon on her at every opportunity. She didn’t want to ruin things, especially since that seemed to be one of her particular talents.

So, they walked along, occasionally brushing against each other when more boisterous students or determined faculty crowded them. The bottle of spirits bumped against her thigh and several more scouted ahead, making sure no one lurked, watching for her. She’d thought Cillian might be annoyed when she suggested that having a couple of scouts to spy out her path might be helpful, since he seemed so bent on protecting her personally, but he’d happily agreed. He still insisted on escorting her, in part to make sure she had backup—and as a witness—should anything occur, but also to show Alise the way to the dark arts wing, as she’d never had occasion to go there in the vast labyrinth that was Convocation Academy.

She’d rather imagined a gothic tower or a dismal dungeon. Instead, Cillian guided her to a glass-ceilinged hall with earth instead of stones for the floor. At her puzzled look, he gestured to the view of the heavily overcast sky. The glass must have been enchanted to shed snow, as none lay piled on that part of the roof as it did on the other crenellations. “The dark arts wizards need access to earth and sky,” he said, as if that explained anything.

Alise nodded sagely, having no clue why that would be the case. They reached Professor Seraphiel’s office, Cillian knocking with the back of his knuckles on the half-ajar door.

“Come in,” Professor Seraphiel called in a silky voice, the first time Alise had heard her speak in all the times she’d glimpsed the woman in the archives. “Archivist Harahel,” she commented as they stepped in, surveying them both with interest. “We missed you on your usual shift last night.”

Alise started guiltily, having been so absorbed in her own woes that she’d clean forgotten that the rest day would have ended at the onset of Cillian’s night shift. He gave her a half-smile and a slight head-shake. “I had other duties,” he said to Professor Seraphiel. “I trust you received notice of our visit?”

“I wouldn’t be here in my office, still awake, instead of in my bed, would I, if not?” She turned wizard-black eyes on Alise. Morghana Seraphiel looked the quintessential dark arts master, with her corpse-pale skin, skeletal frame, and sleek cap of iron-gray hair. Incongruously, her feet were bare and dirt-encrusted, her long, bone-white toes digging into the soil beneath her chair. Snowy light poured in from the wall of windows and arched atrium-style roof. An enchanted waterfall sheeted down one of the interior walls, while the other was occupied by a large fireplace with a real fire burning wood, not an elemental.

“I don’t recall having you in any of my classes, Alise Elal,” Professor Seraphiel said.

“My father wished otherwise,” Alise replied politely, not correcting the professor on her preferred house affiliation.

The steely wizard-woman snorted indelicately. “Piers Elal can kiss my narrow ass. He always was jealous of House Seraphiel—and acquisitive. We know about his espionage and the attempts to steal some of our proprietary techniques. Ah, I see you’re genuinely surprised by that. I can easily read that in your thoughts. You’ll want to work on both your transparent expressions and your psychic shielding if you want to be Lady Elal.”

“With all due respect, Professor, I don’t want that.”

“No? Then you’re either a fool or smarter than you look. Which is it?”

Alise opened her mouth to answer and realized she’d been trapped into picking one of two unwelcome and untrue, options. “Bitter,” she replied instead.

“Interesting. Bitter I can work with. Archivist Harahel, why are you still standing here? I won’t eat the girl and surely you have better things to do.”

“Nothing better to do, by any stretch, but duty calls,” Cillian agreed cheerfully, giving the wizard a little bow. He cast a quick look at Alise, something in his expression telling her he’d like to kiss her goodbye, along with his deliberate step back, as if he didn’t trust himself not to. “Be good for the nice professor,” he told her with a wink. “And be careful.”

“Also interesting,” Professor Seraphiel said, watching Cillian leave. “The famously unattainable beautiful librarian boy falls at last. About time he got over Szarina, but does Tandiya know?”

It took Alise a moment to put together that Tandiya was Provost Uriel’s given name. She had no idea who Szarina might be, except that perhaps that was the name of the person Cillian hadn’t wanted to allow into their bed by discussing her. “It’s not the provost’s business. I’m an adult,” she answered stiffly, “and doing nothing wrong.”

The wizard snorted again, tapping blunt, gray-enameled nails on her desk. “Correction: you’re a student at this academy and not a very good one at that.”

“I’ve had extenuating circumstances,” Alise said, wrestling her immediate ire.

“Not interested. Life is an extenuating circumstance. You either handle your shit so you can get done what you need and want to accomplish, or you succumb to every little thing. Which do you plan to do, Alise Elal?”

“I claim House Phel as my affiliation now,” Alise replied, stung enough to say so.

“How whimsical of you. Does Daddy know?”

“Lord Elal and I are not on speaking terms at the moment.”

“I’ll just bet you’re not. Still you’re an Elal whether you wish to claim that particular albatross or not. It seems I am graced with the opportunity to teach you something more useful to do with your wizardry than twiddling about with ghosties. Shall I teach you how to summon a demon? Far more potent than any of your typical non-corporeals.”

Alise wasn’t quite sure what to make of this rather bizarre interview. “I was given to understand that Healer Jonathan Refoel sent a referral for me to learn psychic defenses from you.”

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