Page 15 of Bonds of Blood
Out stepped Headmaster Cornelius Butterworth, his eyes, his hands, his very being suffused with radiance, as if his body contained the sun itself. He pointed one crooked finger, the tip of it pulsing with brilliant yellow fire. Not a single word had left the headmaster’s lips, but Baylor Wilde retreated even further.
Dr. Euclidea Fang came racing out of the room, last but not least, click-clacking on her high heels. “I always knew you were a dirty son of a bitch, Baylor.”
Her eyes flitted this way and that, seemingly erratic to a casual observer, but I knew better. She was assessing the situation, calculating probabilities in her head, selecting the best eidolon for the occasion. If any summoner could work out the logistics of how to responsibly call a fire-breathing dragon into a library, it was Dr. Fang.
But Baylor made his move first. He brought his fist down with a muttered curse, unclenching his fingers to release his spell. A flash of eldritch light covered his summoning, the glare so blinding it left a painful afterimage of searing green. I blinked, and suddenly he was on the back of a serpentine winged creature.
It wasn’t a dragon, and yet it had just as many teeth, and about the same concentration of ferocity. Was it a wyvern? A drake? Another old summoning lesson, identifying a creature to best learn how to fight it. But it screeched horribly, lashing out with its long, muscular tail, smashing furniture, sending books flying every which way.
Whatever its name, this monster was powerful. And tremendously agile, too. Baylor didn’t have to speak a single command. With a beat of its enormous wings the creature flew them straight out of the library. Scrolls and parchment went scattering, books sliding off tables, tumbling from the shelves. Mr. Brittle was going to have a heart attack.
I ran toward the door, as if I had anything planned. Where was my asshole former father going? Was he fleeing the Wispwood entirely?
“He couldn’t have gotten far,” Sylvain said, fingers kneading at his temples as he climbed unsteadily to his feet.
Alister Brittle clutched at his hair, white tufts of it sticking out between his fingers. “It’s ruined. No. The library. Oh, gods.”
Mom shifted out of her watery form, approaching to calm him. Ember flew in a dizzy spiral toward us, still dazed from the attack. Fucking Baylor. Where did he go?
But it was Belladonna Praxis who knew, peering beyond the walls of reality, her eyes pitch black.
“Baylor is ascending through the castle. He’s headed for the Spire of Radiance.”
8
On busier days,the Spire of Radiance might be filled with the nervous chatter of younger students entering the oriels for the very first time. Its stone walls might echo with the laughter of the Wispwood’s more experienced hunters, strolling into the elemental planes to harvest more of that precious and very profitable essence.
Today was different. Today the voices muttering in the chamber belonged to the three headmasters, who had gathered to attend to a very unusual and very unpleasant predicament. Chains made of emerald energy crackled across the entrance to one of the oriels, the stained-glass depiction of an ancient sentient tree tinged even greener by Baylor’s tainted magic.
Headmaster Cornelius Butterworth had mostly returned to his human appearance, no longer so angry, no longer surging with power. I’d never seen him brimming with magic like that, nearly bursting from the skin with arcane potential.
Then again, no one had ever attacked the Wispwood so brazenly from within, endangering so many of the things that Cornelius Butterworth cared deeply about: the school, the students, and our rare and fragile collection of books. Kind of funny, then, that it was specifically Baylor’s financial donations that had kept those books safe during the attack.
I knew in my heart of hearts that he’d only donated so much to the library to keep his legacy alive, and so very, very visible, that huge, obnoxious painting hanging above the main counter. But Alister Brittle had budgeted very sensibly, dedicating those funds to specialty shelves and cover treatments that kept his beloved books safe from moisture and flame.
Mom, at least, was very apologetic about reverting to her undine body, even though she was instrumental in getting Baylor to leave. I didn’t like imagining how much uglier that confrontation could have gone. My friends injured, and all that collateral damage in the library.
And Satchel was missing, too.
It felt as though a fragment of me had been snatched away, but I had to believe that he was going to be fine. I couldn’t bear considering the alternative. Baylor Wilde was an extinction-level asshole, but he was a summoner to his bitter core, someone who collected creatures and people as if they were trinkets and trophies for his cabinet.
My mind defaulted to keeping itself busy, because I knew that dwelling on Satchel’s absence otherwise would drive me to anger, if not despair. Ember was affected most of all, but even he knew that immediately pursuing Baylor Wilde would be a fool’s errand. He’d already tried something and gotten smacked down for the effort.
I’d lingered with Sylvain and the others to help out with cleanup, but Dr. Fang had very pointedly ushered me out, telling me to follow the headmasters as they hurriedly left the library to check on the Spire of Radiance.
And so that was where I ended up, somehow without noticing that Ember and his jingling jewelry had been following us from a safe distance. I couldn’t blame him. He had every right to be worried, too. We watched in tense silence as the headmasters huddled, strategized, flung a spell at the oriel, huddled again.
Headmaster Belladonna pulled up her sleeves and thrust one hand out, clenching her fingers until they resembled the wicked talons of an eagle. The bands of energy wrapped over the oriel clanged and sparked, as if the chains had been struck by metal. She cursed under her breath, shook her head, and turned back to the others.
“This is much more serious than we thought,” said Headmaster Shivers. “We need to sequester the oriels for now, ban all access to the Spire of Radiance. It doesn’t matter that only one of them has been seized by the grand summoner. He may yet attempt to usurp the others as well.”
“We must keep watch,” said Cornelius, looking around the room, his gaze settling on the portrait of himself and the other two headmasters hanging from a nearby wall. He tapped his temple with one finger, his eyes flashing a momentary sunny yellow. “Which shouldn’t be an issue, considering all the portraits. We should watch in shifts.”
Many of these exact same paintings were scattered throughout the academy, triptychs of the three headmasters that served as security cameras. That was how Belladonna had managed to track Baylor’s flight so quickly, checking in on strategically placed portraits of herself, looking through their eyes.
“You’re being too generous.” Headmaster Shivers placed a hand on Butterworth’s shoulder and squeezed it. “A casual reminder that I do not sleep, Cornelius. Let me handle this.”
Belladonna raised her hand. “It’s only fair, Shivers. And one of us might perceive what the others do not. We must see to it that all access to the oriels is blocked off. The staircase, for a start. And — oh. Mr. Wilde. Was there something you needed?”
