Page 99 of Possession

“All right… Well, for starters, who, or what, is Jaegen?” When Henry doesn’t immediately answer, I feel the need to push. “I know this stuff is probably meant to stay secret, but I don’t need to know everything. Just something.”

“What do you want to know?” he hedges.

“The basics. I mean, this involves me now. He came after me.”

“I know,” Henry says quietly.

As we walk through the Institute, I notice the acolytes staring at us. At first, I think they’re looking at me, but then I see their eyes trained on Henry, expressions twinged with admiration.

“Jaegen is a powerful entity, similar to Aris,” Henry says, drawing back my attention. “No one knows what they want, but he has interacted with this world just as Aris has. But, while Aris’ interventions are typically… negative, the impact of Jaegen’s meddling is less clear.”

So Jaegen and Aris are on an even playing field, but Jaegen’s motives are unknown. I consider that for a moment. Aris the Dark is a being of chaos, so what is Jaegen—the opposite, a force of good?

But, if he was, wouldn’t it be obvious? He didn’t seem benevolent in our interaction. He doesn’t help people. So why is he here?

“Aris never wanted to talk about him,” I remark slowly.

“They don’t exactly get along—and, before you ask, I don’t know the story there.”

“Well, when Jaegen came to me, he asked where Aris was,” I say. “Why would he want to know that?”

“I’m not sure. It’s impossible to follow what something like him might want.”

“You’re telling me.” I hesitate, my most pressing question catching up with me. I’m scared to ask—what if he avoids it again? What would that mean?

Finally, I just say it. “Where is Aris?”

Henry spares me a glance, lips twisted almost apologetically. “If Jaegen wants to know, it’s probably best not to tell you,” he says.

He has a point—an excuse, sure, now, but why not tell me before? I find it strange. Almost suspicious. He’s keeping things from me and reporting to the Grand Mage. It’s like he’s completely forgotten the disdain he used to hold for this place.

Henry opens a door that leads to a tight, stone staircase and gestures for me to go before him. Once I begin climbing, I abandon thought of Aris and this mystery as claustrophobia sets in.

There is no railing, just cracks in the stone of the wall, some wide enough to wiggle my fingers in as I pull myself along. The only thing keeping me going is Henry’s reassuring presence at my back.

We must have gone up two flights before I spot a door on a narrow landing. If I thought my door was antique with its knob and lock, this is on a different level. It looks medieval with chipped wood and a wrought iron design—it even has a ring handle in the middle.

Henry wiggles past to pull it open and reveal his bedroom. I walk inside quietly, unable to see much at first. It’s dark, with no electricity, and Henry fumbles behind me to light a few candles.

More is revealed with the strike of each match, and I’m soon looking around in interest. The walls are covered in intricate, woven tapestries of wildlife, and each piece of furniture is dark wood with symbols and shapes carved into them. The room is clean, with little to no personal items; there are no socks on the floor, pictures, or plates of food scattered about. It’s tidy, as if no one lives here at all.

Even with shoes on, I can tell that the floor is cold. The air is frigid, too, almost unfriendly, like it’s urging me to leave. I can’t believe that he lives in this dreary place.

Henry finishes lighting his vast assortment of candles and gestures for me to join him by the fireplace. There are two lounge chairs, dusty with misuse, and I try to discreetly brush lint aside while Henry starts a desperately needed fire.

“So, what happened to Ryan?” I ask, studying his body language to see if he tenses in any way, but Henry only laughs.

“Should I be jealous? You only ask about other men.”

“I wouldn’t necessarily call them men.” I hesitate, considering his words. Jealous? I can never tell if he’s flirting or not. I don’t want to disillusion myself, but what else could he mean?

“Well, whatever they are, they aren’t me.” Henry glances back, meeting my eyes with a small tilt of his lips. “I like my name on your lips.”

I just sit there, stunned. There’s no other way to take that—he has to be flirting.

By now, the fire has caught, and Henry takes a seat by me, scooting his chair closer to my own. “When you were absent that month, Ryan, Aris, and I came to an agreement,” he says. “He was ordered to stay away from the Institute, and from the two of us.”

My head is still spinning from the heat of my own blush, and it’s hard to concentrate. I have to take a moment to remind myself of the importance of this; he’s giving me answers.

---