Page 153 of Fallacies

The next task…the magic…it feels insurmountable.

“There it is again.”

Glaring up at him, I grit out, “Stop. Smelling. Me.”

The Hound smirks, and it makes me want to stomp like a petulant child. But I am far too mature for that, so instead, I stomp down the odd twinge of guilt in my chest and dive headfirst into the magic sitting dormant inside of me.

Both beasts sit like oil and water, a clear division between Rogue and Sol. I’ve no idea what that means or if it’s normal or not. Who am I supposed to ask? What am I supposed to compare it to? Having the power to wield both is uncharted territory—for everyone, as far as I know. I’m in this alone. Painfully, alone.

Sinking into the dark void at the bottom, my father’s magic bursts through my veins. A chill sweeps through my body, like ice-cold water is being poured through my bones, and it takes me more than a few deep breaths to settle it. To get used to the sensation.

When I finally open my eyes, the Hound looks pleased. “See?” he mocks. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

I raise my middle finger, fighting the desire to hold the other one up too.

His smile spreads. “That’s the spirit.”

Pushing the door open, he gestures me through, and I step out into the Estate with my head down.

Surprisingly, it takes less focus to hold Rogue magic in my bloodstream than it does to maintain an illusion—it’s not an image I’m having to focus on, but a feeling. One that is significantly more familiar, and I hadn’t realized how accustomed to it I’d become.

As we walk, I gain more confidence in my posture. The yellow eyes help, but blending in is a lot easier when there is someone far more interesting walking beside me—I might as well not exist.

Those that pass us keep their eyes low, but crane their necks at Salem as he walks by. They clearly fear him, but not enough to look away. They’re almost mesmerized by him. Drawn to his appearance despite what they know lurks beneath it.

We make it to his rooms without issue, crossing into the west wing of the Estate a few minutes later. It’s nice to simply walk here instead of being tossed through time and space, waking up with all my organs rearranged and a pounding through my head so violent the only cure is ripping my brain out of my skull.

I slip inside the door he holds open, the darkness of the hall giving way to a grey-lit room. The heavy curtains are pulled back, revealing the clouded sky over Streatham as the smothered sun tries desperately to break through.

“Over here,” he says, crossing the room to an alcove along the far wall. There’s a long reading bench tucked beneath the window, and a bunch of decorative cushions have been tossed to the ground beside it.

Before I can question him, Salem pulls on the seat of the bench, lifting it on hinges I hadn’t seen.

“Holy shit,” I mutter, peering over the side of the wood. There’s a staircase leading to gods know where—all I can see is the first ten steps or so. “How the hell did you find this?” I ask him.

“I had a hunch,” he shrugs, still holding up the bench seat.

“You had a hunch that there was a secret tunnel inside this bench?”

Staring blankly back at me, he nods. “Yup.”

Looking down through the tunnel, I decide I’ve been in worse places, and quite frankly, my curiosity is eating me alive. “Well, this should be fun.” I swing one leg over, barely hitting the concrete on the other side before I’m grabbed by the collar of my robe that I’m officially deeming a curtain.

Dipping his head to my height, I swallow. “You’re a bit reckless,” he tells me. “Has anyone told you that?”

“Says the man who snapped the neck of a guard then insisted I burn a body in the⁠—”

“We aren’t talking about me. We’re talking about you.” His voice is steady, calm, and altogether too close to my ear. There isn’t a single inch of wiggle room in his grip, but I am tempted to try and shrug out of my curtain robe anyway. “You were about to just march right down there, weren’t you?” A rhetorical question. That’s absolutely what I was going to do. “Without asking me what I’d found or what to be careful of?”

I take a steadying breath, forcing down my frustration enough to grit out, “What did you find?”

Keeping his hold on the fabric, Salem explains, “The first two tunnels on your right have been used recently. Avoid them. If you go down far enough, there will be an exit, but if you go through it, you won’t be able to get back in. It will lock behind you.”

I’m guessing he learned that the hard way.

“Anything else?” I ask.

His hold loosens a fraction. “No.”