Page 17 of Bonds of Blood
But every last one I’d met was a tiny metallic person wrapped around an actual heart of gold. The imps were good people. If Cutler said that he was looking forward to kicking my former father’s ass, I believed him.
It must have been early evening, certainly past dinner time. Sylvain and the others had retired for the night. I just wanted to drop by to check in on the library. I’d never seen the place so busy, and truly had never seen Alister Brittle so happy.
The student body really had rallied, and by this point the majority of the school — staff included — had dropped by to help with repairs or pay their respects. And that was why Mr. Brittle had made a rare exception for the open consumption of food and drinks in the library.
Everyone sort of knew that the real rule was making sure his back was turned. Only then would you shove a cookie in your mouth for that extra burst of sugary energy you’d need to finish your paper, or research, or finals prep. He never actually penalized anyone for sneaking a handful of nuts or whatever. The man clearly understood the value of snacking on the job.
And so did the kitchen imps, setting up a miniature buffet over at the counter — with Mr. Brittle’s blessing, of course. The table runner the imps had thrown along it made sure there’d be little need for cleanup after spills, though it didn’t help with the problem of Ember quite literally pacing a burnt, scorched line with his feet. He’d been stress-eating marshmallows, lips and fingers sticky from indulging.
Cutler clucked his tongue. “Poor kid. Must be worried sick. All the castle imps are, you know? At least those of us who’ve become Satchel’s clients.” He chuckled and held his fingers up, slashing them into air quotes. “Well, ‘clients,’ if you can call us that.”
I cocked an eyebrow. “I’m not sure where this is going, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want to find out.”
“Your familiar is a fantastic tailor, Locke. But he’s a terrible businessman. Worst I’ve ever seen. He kept saying he was only giving out free clothes to build word of mouth, but all that word of mouth got back to me. Satchel hasn’t made a single coin. He just likes dressing people up.” Cutler slapped his belly for emphasis. “People like us.”
My mouth fell open. That sweet little pipsqueak. All this time he was just making clothes for his buddies because he thought it was neat.
“I told him, didn’t I?” Ember sprinted into the conversation, feet no longer aflame, but his footsteps still leaving ashen marks on the table runner. “How many times did I tell him? He has no sense for bartering. But he wants to make people happy, and if that makes him happy, how can I deny him?”
“Satchel’s got a good heart,” I said, setting down my fork. “A great heart. And we’re going to get him back safe and sound. You’ll see.”
“I don’t know if I can sleep like this, Locke.” Ember raked his fingers through his hair, the melted marshmallow making it stick up in flaming tufts. “Aren’t you worried? Anything could be happening in there.”
“We’re making do with what we know, Ember. As soon as the headmasters figure something out, we’ll head on in and give my father the thrashing of a lifetime.”
Cutler patted him on the arm. “Satchel’s a fighter. We’re worried, too, but if Baylor thinks his old familiar is going to just take it lying down, he’s got another thing coming.”
Ember wrung his fingers together, then punched his fist into his open hand. “Okay. Okay, then. I’ll head back to our bedchambers and let Sylvain know you are coming. Good night, friend Cutler. Thank you for your reassurance. And for all the marshmallows I could fit in my body.”
“Any time, kiddo.” Cutler clapped him hard on the back. “Rest up. You’ll need your strength for when the time comes.”
I left the library not long after Ember did. Cutler stayed behind with the rest of the imps to clean up. I knew better than to offer to help. The imps took great pride in their work. Last time I tried, Cutler nearly stabbed through my hand with a butter knife.
Still, it felt terrible lying to Ember like that. Of course I was worried, and no, I wasn’t heading straight back to our bedchambers.Ourbedchambers, he said, because he was part of our family now, and it only hurt more knowing that one of our own was missing.
I hated the helplessness. I hated the hollow feeling in my gut. When I was sure no one was looking, I took a sharp turn down the corridor and made a beeline for the Spire of Radiance — only to stop dead in my tracks at the sight of something strange in the hallway.
A flowering bud peered out of a crack between the flagstones. I glanced around, looked up at the ceiling, checking for other signs of unusual growth. This was the Wispwood, where flowers bloomed in the oddest of places. But this was a well-worn corridor, and even the plants knew not to grow where they’d be trampled so readily underfoot.
And then the flower blossomed, petals parting to reveal a diminutive woman, only as tall as a hand.
“Fancy meeting you here — sapling, starling, little darling.”
I could barely stop myself from rolling my eyes. Very inconvenient for the goddess of love to insert herself into my day. Also, it always freaked me out a little when she appeared in her miniature guise, the form she lovingly referred to as Tiny Aphrodite.
“Bad timing right now, Aphrodite. Or good timing, depending on why you came to visit. Today, of all days. My world’s been turned completely upside down.”
She blinked up at me innocently. “And here I thought you’d be happy to see me. I come bearing gifts.”
Aphrodite hopped out of the flower, her body assuming its full humanoid size as soon as her foot struck the floor. I stepped back, almost yelping at the sight. I lived in a world where the magical and supernatural were so mundane, and yet Aphrodite constantly found unique and interesting ways to unsettle me.
“Yes. A perfect fit. This will do.” She flipped her hair, sighing as she stretched her limbs out, tugging on her skin as if to make sure it conformed properly over her flesh. “Oh, and your gift. Of course.”
The chains and jewels protecting her modesty jingled as she reached between her breasts. I glanced away hurriedly, taking a deep interest in the castle’s stone masonry, the gaps between the walls. She truly held the record for making me uncomfortable so many times in rapid succession. There was a loud pop. She squealed in triumph. I wasn’t sure what had made that pop, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to know.
“Here it is, sapling. As promised, a final gift, crafted by my good husband Hephaestus and thoroughly, lovingly, passionately blessed by me. This will go beautifully with the four elemental gemstones that you — hang on. Where is your medallion?”
“Long story,” I told her. Then I told her the long story. Aphrodite wasn’t the most satisfying of listeners, as it turned out. Her jaw didn’t drop at the right moments, no convincing gasps, almost as if she knew this was all going to happen. She cleared her throat when I finished, hand still clasped tightly around her unseen gift.
