Page 84 of Possession

His eyes flit to the door behind me, a peculiar look on his face. My vision is blurry—I don’t understand what it might mean. “That’s not my kind of party,” he says. “Did you make some friends?”

“I’m not sure,” I admit.

Henry grins and leans closer, to where I can smell him. After hours marinating in onion, his clean aftershave is a welcome jolt. I find myself leaning closer, jumping slightly when his lips brush my ear.

“I’m still your favorite, right?” he says.

My head swims. I was hot before, but now I could pass out, and I’ve no idea if this is from the alcohol or not.

The way he speaks is intense, almost possessive, and it’s… familiar. For a moment, I wonder. I think of Aris’ and Henry’s secrecy, how Henry won’t tell me where Aris is. Could it be that Aris is inside of Henry?

But that makes no sense. Why would Aris, or Henry, for that matter, agree to that?

I pull away slowly, stumbling on my feet in the process and have to lean against the wall for support. This time, Henry doesn’t reach out to steady me; he just watches me with an unreadable expression.

I stare back, not quite certain if my thought was drunken idiocy or a moment of absolute clarity. Frustratingly, Henry’s face tells me nothing.

If Aris is there, is he reading my mind right now? Wouldn’t he be reacting to my thoughts, or is he locked away?

Henry takes a few steps towards me, getting closer again, and our eyes are soon level. He is inches from me. “I’m sorry that I missed you today,” he says softly.

He raises a hand while I stay completely still, frozen and terrified that if I blink, I’ll miss something indicative. With slow, purposeful movements, he brushes strands of hair behind my ear, somewhat contemplative as he does this.

His touch is gentle, like I am delicate. His skin is warm. He couldn’t be Aris.

Right?

Henry’s gaze drifts to my lips, but he doesn’t move forward again. Relenting, he leans back, again staring at me as if in true thought. “Until next time,” he finally says, and leaves.

Chapter eighteen

The grandfather clock ticks, each click like a hammer to my skull. Its dong on the hour mark has passed twice now, and it will chime again in another ten minutes.

I sit up, my back cracking, shoes sliding on the floor. There’s a terrible squeak from my soles, which earns me a look from the stern man who informed me to wait. I want to glare back, but I just look away. His irritation only fuels my own; I think I have more reason to be annoyed.

Why tell me to meet if he just planned to keep me waiting? Is the Grand Mage really that busy, or is this a power-play?

I’ve no idea why he summoned me. I was roused at seven in the morning, half-awake when escorted by the man who keeps sending me looks. He’s absolutely ancient, almost as old as the Grand Mage looks. I settle again on the cushioned bench, turning away from him.

I feel like a kid waiting for a visit with the school principal. I’m nervous, even. Hopefully, this is just him welcoming me to the Institute. I’ve been telling myself that this meeting is a good thing, as I do need to speak to him about getting a sigil, but I’m anxious about that, too.

I’ve been rehearsing what I’ll say and how I’ll phrase my it, but I can’t come up with anything concrete; I don’t know how to justify my curiosity. Women aren’t allowed to practice magic, and he might think that that’s my intention.

My thoughts drift to Henry when I glance at the length of the bench I’m on. There’s more than enough room for him. Where is he?

Though I just saw him last night, it feels like forever ago. I’d gotten used to spending a lot of time with him at the house, and now it seems that the dynamic has shifted entirely. He left me alone yesterday and showed up just to touch my hair. He wasn’t here to escort me this morning, though he told me that the Grand Mage wanted a meeting, so he was aware that it might happen soon.

I know that, to him, I’ve been gone for a month. He might not know how to act around me now. Maybe he’s not quite himself. I don’t know what to think, just that I’m disappointed. And scared.

The thought from last night has run in my head nonstop. I hardly slept.

It feels impossible that Aris would agree to go into someone else. The things he used to say were beyond territorial—that I was his and he owned me. He told me outright that he wouldn’t leave me, even if he could. Even if there was no amulet.

I think of how he practically begged me to take control after my first disappearance. He seemed agitated, maybe even scared. And then he saved me when he could’ve watched me die, his justification that he wanted to choose my death himself.

Tick, tick, tick.

I sigh and start to click my tongue along with the clock.

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