Page 103 of Possession

My face goes hot from a flush, and I tense with anticipation, wondering what he’ll do or say next.

But he stays in his seat, keeping his hands to himself. “Let’s talk about something else,” he offers.

I’m not sure that I want to just talk after having him so close; I have to sternly remind myself to behave. Talk. Just talk.

With a quiet sigh, I run through everything I know about Henry, and realize it isn’t much. “What did you mean when you said you grew up at the Institute?” I ask.

“I never had parents.” He pauses, but not from emotion like one would think after such a statement; he pauses to correct himself. “Well, of course, I had them at one point, but I was orphaned.”

“What?” I say, surprised by the tragedy. How hasn’t this come up before?

He shrugs, seeming almost embarrassed. “I was left as a baby and… I mean, I’d prefer not to talk about it. Point is, I grew up here. There wasn’t much else to do but study.”

“They let you learn magic as a kid?”

“I couldn’t get my wand until I was sixteen,” he says, “but there’s a lot to do beforehand: languages, technique, history. Most students come when they’re eighteen and learn everything at once, so I had a head start with the background information. It let me concentrate on magic alone, once I was able to use it.”

That sounds like an awful childhood—even worse than mine. Yes, my mother hated me, but at least I had one. Was he ever around anyone his own age, or just older students and even older mages?

It seems we’re both uncomfortable with the revelation, and we change subjects again. Before I know it, hours have passed, and we’ve talked about everything there is.

“I know that you’re worried about it—thinking about it, even though you shouldn’t,” Henry says at one point. “Aris is somewhere safe. Contained. I don’t know if it’s smart to tell you exactly where but…”

I sit up straighter. “Wait, he agreed to be contained?”

“Yes.”

I shake my head at that and look away, years of Aris’ insults and taunts running through my head. “It’s strange,” I say. “I know that he’s… himself, but he could have let me die. He could have freed himself, and he didn’t. I still don’t understand. I always thought he hated me.”

Henry is quiet for a few seconds. Finally, he says, “I think that certain levels of hate require so much commitment and motivation to nurture, that it’s basically love.”

You miss me.

“What are you saying?” I ask.

“I don’t know. It’s just a thought.”

Every conversation seems to circle back to Aris. Part of that is my fault—I’m encouraging it. I know that I need to let things go, but I’m still so… involved. He is imprinted on me.

“Just a thought,” I repeat with a smile.

Chapter twenty-three

Despite everything, I start to have some semblance of a life at the Institute. As days turn to weeks and weeks turn to months, the possibility of getting thrown about stops crossing my mind. Instead, I spend my energy learning the routine of things: when class breaks, when the cafeteria is at its least busy. I soon find myself encapsulated in the normalcy of it all, and roots start to grow.

I spend a lot of time in the courtyard, walking in nature as the weather warms. I wasn’t able to see the sky for so long that it feels wrong not to take advantage of it. Of course, it isn’t the real sky, but the clouds and stars are real enough.

Slowly, I feel like I’m coming alive. Freckles I’d almost forgotten have started to come out in the sun, and there’s color to my cheeks.

When Henry is busy, I have dinner with Simon and his friends. They’re friendly enough, but I mostly get on with Simon. There is a dynamic in their group that I don’t fit into, and I had to learn the hard way to stay quiet; the other day, Simon’s accent was getting ragged on, since he’s the only British one in the group. I tried to chime in with the rest of them, but nobody laughed at my spectacular joke. Crickets. I wanted to curl up and die.

I haven’t told Henry that I’m still looking for answers about Jaegen and Aris… or that I’m considering summoning Jaegen to ask for his help. I keep meaning to tell him later, but later never seems to come. What would be the use worrying him, anyway, when I haven’t found the means? The library goes on forever—I can never find the right book for summoning, and it’s not like I can ask anyone for help.

So, I keep looking.

And, before I know it, three months pass. Three months of freedom, of just being Mary: stolen kisses and not looking over my shoulder.

And then he comes. Once more, in a dream.

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