Page 85 of Possession

Yet Aris was happy to leave. That he was bored. He abandoned any future plans he had for me, all he felt was owed, and left.

Left me.

Could he really have gone for Henry, who Aris wanted to kill many times over? It makes no sense.

The older man clears his throat, drawing my attention to his scowl. My tongue halts in my throat and I purse my lips, looking away.

Maybe I’m just paranoid. Maybe Aris really is gone. But if he is, then where is he? Why won’t anyone tell me?

The doors of the Grand Mage’s office suddenly swing open. I sit and blink at them, waiting for the wizard to materialize and beckon me inside, but they stay just as they are.

“Well?” snaps the man. “Go on in!”

I frown at him, and he frowns right back, raising a hand to shoo me away. Finally, I stride for the doors.

Inside is an unorganized, unmodern office. From floor to ceiling, the room is surrounded by bookcases, all in varying states of disorder. On the shelves are papers with jars of eyes, chicken feet on the lids, half-empty beakers with suspicious liquids of different textures and colors, and gems large enough to choke a small dog. The highest of the shelves has books covered in cobwebs and debris, likely with critters living between the pages.

I feel like I’ve stepped back in time. There’s no sign of a computer or even a fax machine. Tell the truth, I wouldn’t be surprised if everything is still written with a quill pen.

The Grand Mage sits in the middle of the room, behind a desk somehow even more chaotic than the floor and bookshelves. On it are stacks upon stacks of books, papers with bizarre shapes and symbols, jewelry, and ledgers. Insects, live and dead, are in small jars, some dust-coated, some clean as if admired daily, and jars stacked on top of one another like they dare gravity to intervene.

He needs to get on one of those hoarding shows.

I shake my attention from the mess and look at the maker of the amulet. He seems older, almost like it’s been years since we last met. His eyes are milky, hooded. Something has gone wrong.

Though still wearing his signature red robe, his ornate hat and diamond amulet are missing. That otherworldly presence he emulated just weeks ago has also vanished, swept under the papers of his office, impossible to place again.

“Miss Dessen,” he rasps. “Sit.”

So shocked by the sight of him, I shut the door behind me, unable to do anything but obey as I pull out a chair set before the desk. There’s junk littering the cushion, and the Grand Mage watches while I carefully set his trinkets and papers on the ground. He looks half aware all the while, like he’s somewhere else.

Maybe the spell is finally catching up to him mentally.

“I have some paperwork to file,” he begins once I finally take my seat. “It requires your signature. You’re entitled to read it, of course, but they merely state that you’re welcome in our facility and may leave when you wish. It’s for our own records.”

At that, the Grand Mage stops to cough—a nasty, wet sound. I act busy inspecting the room while he has his moment, drumming my fingers on my thigh and feigning interest in the art on the walls—weavings with dust that has burrowed into the threads. He eventually wipes his mouth with his sleeve, and a beam of light catches off of one of his many rings, hitting the stone on my amulet. It still hasn’t returned to its original red color, and I don’t know if it ever will.

Another reminder that I still don’t know the long-term consequences of Cera’s work.

After clearing his throat, the Grand Mage starts shuffling through the many papers in front of him. The first pile is apparently the wrong one, and he moves to the next with knitted brows. The second is wrong as well, and he now mutters, “It’s in here somewhere…”

As he digs about, I’m helpless but to watch, unable to believe that this is the same man I met with not too long ago. He was completely different then. Old, yes, but competent. Now he’s… slow.

Did Aris do this?

The thought of him reminds me of my questions. With the Grand Mage in this state, now might be the time to ask. It’s taking advantage of him, sure, but he’s done the same to me. “Where is Aris?” I ask.

If anyone besides Henry knows, it’s him. He has to.

His hands halt abruptly in their task, and he looks up, eyes a little sharper than before. “He’s gone,” he says. “It isn’t your concern any longer.”

“I know that he’s gone.” I can’t help but sound impatient. “But where? I’m not going to track him down or anything. It’s just a question.”

“One that I cannot answer.” He looks back down to continue his work, gnarled, liver-spotted hands shaking like the paper is heavy.

My fingers curl in my lap. The same response, again and again. I know I’m not supposed to look a gift horse in the mouth, but this is just ridiculous. Why not tell me? Let’s say I disagree with whatever they did, what could I even do about it—realistically?

Through gritted teeth, I let it go. The Grand Mage won’t give me an answer on that, fine, but maybe he’ll tell me something else. “What deal did you want to make with Aris?” I say. The question has been stewing in me for weeks, and I don’t know if I’ll get another chance to ask.

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