Page 3 of Blood on the Ice

I want to help her let go of that burden.

Shaking my head, I turn back to the cleaning sink to wash the items I used to make her food. I have to be out of my mind to think a woman like that has any need for an introverted music nerd like me. I’ve been in school most of my life and I’m likely to eventually work here when I finally finish my thesis. The crusty old bat who runs the music department now needed to retire half a century ago, and when one of the other professors ascends toher throne, there will be a permanent spot on staff I can apply for. Lifelong academic is going to be my fate.

The buzz of my phone vibrating on the counter makes me jump a little and I grab the towel, drying my hands so I can pick it up. Walking into the back room so I don’t disturb the dean as she eats and zones out, I swipe to answer. “Hello, Iggy. Need me to prep your usual?”

Ignatius Briarton, head of the illustrious State U Witchcraft & Wizardry program, snorts at me through the line. “I have you so well trained, Slade.”

“I’m not a dog, Iggy. Don’t be a dick. I was trying to be nice. What the hell do you want?”

I’m not mad at him; I’m frustrated with his inscrutable flirtations that never seem to come to fruition. Iggy and I have been thick as thieves since he was my TA my freshman year. He’s only a decade older than me, but his family has connections and his rise to the top of the magic studies department was almost a foregone conclusion.

“Intel, my musical mate. The word is that you have our infamous boss in your humble shop.”

Ignoring the whole ‘mate’ thing, I look around the room with narrowed eyes. Morgana is the only person here, and the shop is on the opposite side of campus from Iggy’s office. While I don’t doubt people are watching the new dean, gossip didn’t spread that far this fast. He’s got some sort of scrying object hidden in here, and I’m going to find it and shove it up his ass. His incessant need to keep tabs on me is borderline obsessive for someone who claims to only be my ‘roommate.’

“You’ll never find it,” he sings into the speaker when I don’t respond.

“I’m going to murder you.” Seething, I walk out behind the counter and start searching the cafe.

“Your new friend can advise you, I’m sure. Now tell me about the woman who holds our future in her talons.” The note of concern in his voice almost makes me laugh. He was never part of Corona’s inner circle because Iggy actually has a moral code, but who knows what the rest of his family might have been up to. Even his promotion to department head could fall into question, and he’s desperate to get a bead on Morgana.

Walking back into the prep area, I whisper, “Morgana seems a little aloof, but she also seems sad. I don’t think she’s anything like the news is reporting.”

“Morgana? You’re calling her by her name? Did you sing or something? Spill it, Slade!”

“Iggy, she’s not deaf and I have no idea how good her supe hearing is. I’m not having this conversation while the woman is twenty feet away, sipping a triple espresso.”

His sigh is filled with irritation, but he finally relents. “Okay, okay. But don’t sit behind the counter like a wallflower. Chat her up or something—I need to know if she’s planning to gut the entire staff and start new. Our apartment doesn’t pay for itself, you know, and the stain of even being at this place during the scandal will make finding another job a nightmare.”

No pressure or anything.

“I’ll do what I can, Iggy. But turn this spy bullshit off. I know you just like to see what’s going on, but it creeps me the hell out.”

“If I must,” he grumbles. “But don’t blame me if you lose control and I don’t know to come running.”

“Bye, Iggy.”

Hanging up the phone, I lean against the fridge and close my eyes. I shouldn’t be upset that he cares enough to watch over me, but his mixed signals are driving me up the wall. Paired with his newfound paranoia about the Dean, it makes my anxiety ramp into oblivion. That’s thelastthing I need with Morgana perched at one of my tables.

Thanks, buddy.

By the timeI get off shift and head home, I’m beat. Morgana was in the coffeehouse for another hour and, as promised, I attempted to talk with her as she drank a few more espressos. I got a little out of her, but then, I’m not a fucking interrogation expert.

I push open the gate in front of our townhouse and latch it behind me carefully. Iggy isn’t worried about intruders because he’s confident in his abilities, but I grew up in a part of Bay City that wasn’t nearly as nice as the State U campus. Old habits die hard and being the heir to the leader of the Sons of the Seven Seas—gang that runs the docks in Bay City—taught me to keep a close eye on my surroundings. My parents always had enemies looking for a way into our community, and they weren’t hoping to join the HOA.

“Slade, is that you? Get in here and spill your guts! I have Thai food and ice cream.”

As much as Iggy pisses me off, this is the shit that makes it worthwhile. I could afford anything I want without him, but he acts like my lack of gilded family heritage makes me his responsibility. He’s always making sure I don’t forget to eat or finding reasons to check in on me during the day. Rarely does a month go by when I don’t come home to some random purchase he made online that he knew I couldn’t live without.

Like I said… mixed. fucking. signals.

“I’m coming,” I mutter as I trudge into the living room. “You wouldn’t believe how crazy it got in there after the theater program auditions let out. I was up to my ass in freshman reciting lines and beltingLes Mis.”

Iggy grins at me from his usual spot on the couch. His dark hair is tousled, and he’s shirtless, clothed only in a low slung pair of jogging pants as he reclines against the fat cushions. “I don’t know why you even work in that hellhole. You don’t need to.”

“You know exactly why, Briarton.” I huff as I drop my messenger bag and flop down on my spot to kick off my shoes. “Part of my requirements for work study are hours in one of the campus businesses and I prefer slinging bean juice to shelving books or picking up sweaty gym towels.”

His full lips pout at me and his brow furrows. “Come on, Slade. I could convince that harpy in the office to waive your req and you know it. Besides, you don’t evenneedwork-study money.”

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