came a knock at the door.
It was early November and Lily was in her pyjamas, engaging in the careful process of painting her toenails when the first loud rap hit the door. It wasn’t the kind of knock that belonged to anyone in Wellesley Dorm; it sounded more like that of a security guard. Jazzy gave her a weird look as Lily rose and padded carefully over to the door, so as not to get her hot pink polish on the carpet. She swung the door open, frozen to the spot as it revealed him. She took in the deep navy blue suit first, her eyes trailing up from his pinstriped trousers to his waistcoat and pocketwatch-chain, before they finally settled on his face. It was mercifully make-up free and had that softer, more human look. Unfortunately, the same could not be said for the vicious, irritated expression that was slowly fading from his face.
“I must speak to you,” Novel said in a flat, low tone.
When Lily said nothing, Jazzy made a shift somewhere behind her.
“Who is it?” she pressed.
“I, um,” Lily began, her eyes fixed on the illusionist and his patient face. “I’m just going down to the common room. Be right back.”
“Okay.”
Going to a public place was far more sensible than letting him into their room, but Lily soon remembered that it was past ten at night when she arrived at the empty common room with Novel in tow. The others were either in bed or out drinking at this hour, but she settled as confidently as she could into an armchair, hugging her arms around her chest as the wintery chill made her wish she’d worn thicker pyjamas. She kept her eyes on her own half-painted nails as Novel’s polished shoes came into view. She could see her own terrified face in them as he sat down opposite her, trying desperately to calm her expression enough to meet his eyes again.
“I’m sorry I frightened you.”
It wasn’t what she’d expected to hear. She looked up at the conjurer to find him leaning on one fist, staring at a spot on the floor between his knees. He ran a long-fingered hand up into his pure white hair, that wayward curl escaping just a little down into his face.
“It’s just I’ve never had to do this before,” he rambled with agitation. “I’ve never met a shade who didn’t know they were a shade.”
That creepy sensation that she was talking to a madman slowly forced Lily’s heart-rate up, but she cleared her throat as calmly as she could.
“I don’t understand you, I’m sorry.”
Novel looked up at her, one side of his mouth curling downwards as he bit the inside of his lip. He suddenly put his hands on his knees and reclined in the chair, letting out a short breath.
“Do you ever dream about being buried alive?” he asked.
“Well yeah,” Lily answered, her fingertips quivering where they gripped her own shoulders, “but it’s a very common fear.”
“It’s one hundred percent common among shades,” Novel replied.
That word again.
“And tell me,” he continued, “do you have much luck getting electronic things to work for you?”
“Not really,” Lily mumbled.
“Neither do I.”
Lily could hardly imagine the man before her ever having picked up a mobile phone. The malevolent insistence he’d had at the theatre wasn’t present now as they sat together in the empty room, there was just a quiet authority to Novel that reminded Lily of the first time you meet a new librarian. He leaned forward again and held out his hand, his palm pointing up to the ceiling. In the blink of an eye, tiny flickers of fire began to grow just above his skin, slowly transforming and twisting until they formed a full sphere of little dancing flames. Lily studied his hand carefully, looking for an indication of where they had been generated.
“This isn’t an illusion,” Novel explained quietly. “Put your hand out.”
Lily obeyed before she had even really thought about it. She was about to snatch her hand back again when Novel flicked his wrist. The ball of fire lifted
It was early November and Lily was in her pyjamas, engaging in the careful process of painting her toenails when the first loud rap hit the door. It wasn’t the kind of knock that belonged to anyone in Wellesley Dorm; it sounded more like that of a security guard. Jazzy gave her a weird look as Lily rose and padded carefully over to the door, so as not to get her hot pink polish on the carpet. She swung the door open, frozen to the spot as it revealed him. She took in the deep navy blue suit first, her eyes trailing up from his pinstriped trousers to his waistcoat and pocketwatch-chain, before they finally settled on his face. It was mercifully make-up free and had that softer, more human look. Unfortunately, the same could not be said for the vicious, irritated expression that was slowly fading from his face.
“I must speak to you,” Novel said in a flat, low tone.
When Lily said nothing, Jazzy made a shift somewhere behind her.
“Who is it?” she pressed.
“I, um,” Lily began, her eyes fixed on the illusionist and his patient face. “I’m just going down to the common room. Be right back.”
“Okay.”
Going to a public place was far more sensible than letting him into their room, but Lily soon remembered that it was past ten at night when she arrived at the empty common room with Novel in tow. The others were either in bed or out drinking at this hour, but she settled as confidently as she could into an armchair, hugging her arms around her chest as the wintery chill made her wish she’d worn thicker pyjamas. She kept her eyes on her own half-painted nails as Novel’s polished shoes came into view. She could see her own terrified face in them as he sat down opposite her, trying desperately to calm her expression enough to meet his eyes again.
“I’m sorry I frightened you.”
It wasn’t what she’d expected to hear. She looked up at the conjurer to find him leaning on one fist, staring at a spot on the floor between his knees. He ran a long-fingered hand up into his pure white hair, that wayward curl escaping just a little down into his face.
“It’s just I’ve never had to do this before,” he rambled with agitation. “I’ve never met a shade who didn’t know they were a shade.”
That creepy sensation that she was talking to a madman slowly forced Lily’s heart-rate up, but she cleared her throat as calmly as she could.
“I don’t understand you, I’m sorry.”
Novel looked up at her, one side of his mouth curling downwards as he bit the inside of his lip. He suddenly put his hands on his knees and reclined in the chair, letting out a short breath.
“Do you ever dream about being buried alive?” he asked.
“Well yeah,” Lily answered, her fingertips quivering where they gripped her own shoulders, “but it’s a very common fear.”
“It’s one hundred percent common among shades,” Novel replied.
That word again.
“And tell me,” he continued, “do you have much luck getting electronic things to work for you?”
“Not really,” Lily mumbled.
“Neither do I.”
Lily could hardly imagine the man before her ever having picked up a mobile phone. The malevolent insistence he’d had at the theatre wasn’t present now as they sat together in the empty room, there was just a quiet authority to Novel that reminded Lily of the first time you meet a new librarian. He leaned forward again and held out his hand, his palm pointing up to the ceiling. In the blink of an eye, tiny flickers of fire began to grow just above his skin, slowly transforming and twisting until they formed a full sphere of little dancing flames. Lily studied his hand carefully, looking for an indication of where they had been generated.
“This isn’t an illusion,” Novel explained quietly. “Put your hand out.”
Lily obeyed before she had even really thought about it. She was about to snatch her hand back again when Novel flicked his wrist. The ball of fire lifted
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