She couldn’t keep sitting idly by in this library; she needed to do something.
“I’m losing my mind, Baz. All this studying won’t get me anywhere if I don’t start practicing. And I know you have this weird thing about using your own magic, but—”
“Shh.”
Baz’s eyes widened on a spot behind her, his face leeched of color. Emory turned to see a student in a nearby aisle, looking right at them.
Shit.
If he’d heard her…
But as the student neared, Emory noticed his glazed, distant look, the slow, methodical shuffle of his feet. He passed by without so much as a second glance their way, blood dripping from his palm. The poppy-and-crescent sigil of House Waning Moon on his hand had her breathing a sigh of relief. It was only a sleepwalking Dreamer, caught in the throes of whatever magic he’d accessed through bloodletting.
The color still hadn’t come back to Baz’s cheeks when he muttered, “Maybe we should find another place to study.”
“He didn’t hear anything.”
“He could have.”
“And you could have wound back time to make it so that he never did.” She took a sip of coffee, looking at him pointedly. “Because you’re allowed to use magic.”
He gave her a wry look and was about to say something when they heard, “Oh, Basil, there you are,” and nearly jumped out of their skin.
Someone else was here, almost completely hidden behind a lopsided pile of precariously stacked books. “Help me with these, will you?”
All tension left Baz’s shoulders. He leapt from his chair to grab the books from the person’s hands, and Emory instantly recognized the Eclipse professor. The Omnilinguist. Her eyes found Emory’s, and it was like the professor could pierce through her soul and sense the Eclipse magic in her veins.
“Who’s your lovely friend?” Professor Selandyn asked Baz with a familiarity that reminded Emory just how small House Eclipse was, how close-knit those within it must be. Her heart ached at the thought in a way she didn’t quite understand.
“Emory Ainsleif,” Baz said for her, and she couldn’t help but notice the way his ears went red. “She’s… She was Romie’s friend.”
“Oh.” The professor looked between the two of them and hummed, nodding her head sagely. “Good. Grief is too heavy to carry alone.” She gave Emory a sad smile, then patted Baz on the arm. “Could you help me bring these up to my office? I want to get an early start this morning. I’m feeling inspired.”
Professor Selandyn disappeared with a wink at Emory.
Baz shifted beneath the weight of all those books. “Sorry,” he said. “Maybe we can meet in Romie’s greenhouse later tonight?”
Emory wanted to grumble at the thought of the greenhouse full of dead plants, a reminder of what she still could not do. But she was adamant to try again before appearing in front of the Selenic Order.
She looked Baz over, a thought occurring to her.
The Eclipse professor had a point: grief was a heavy burden, and maybe she could use it to her advantage, leverage it to convince Baz to help her practice.
“All right,” she agreed, smiling despite the guilt that threatened to consume her. “See you tonight.”
* * *
Emory found a note had been slipped under her door after class, stating simply: Dress to the nines, Ains.—K
She stormed her closet in a panic, pulling every piece she had until, at last, she found a cream-colored satin dress she’d never gotten to wear, purchased in town with Romie at the start of their first term. An overlay of gauzy, bluish-gray material started at the waistline, giving it the impression of sea-foam kissing the shore, the delicate hues of a conch shell under the sun.
“You look like one of the Tides just emerged from the sea,” Romie had said to her in the shop, eyes wide with envy.
It was gorgeous—something she was starkly aware of as she entered the greenhouse. Baz was already there. He looked up from the book in his lap, gaze catching on her dress the way a few students had on her way here. Emory hadn’t felt out of place out there, though: with the meteor shower tonight, party preparations were already well under way across campus, the student body abuzz with anticipation, and more than a few people dressed just as fancy as she. But here, alone with Baz…
He made no comment, but as his eyes quickly slid back to his book, Emory saw the faint blush creeping over his neck and wondered if the torch he’d carried for her all those years ago still burned. If their working together might have rekindled it.
Her mind drew back to that time, to the boyish infatuation he’d had with her. It had flattered her, made her feel seen and wanted and important. He’d never acted on it, of course, but she’d always known. Might have even felt the same for the briefest moment. But everything had changed after the Collapsing incident. Not at first—she hadn’t cared then, not as she healed Baz’s wounds and thought how very cruel the students of Threnody could be.
It’s nice of you to stick by his side like that, Romie had said when she’d found out about Emory healing him. I always thought the two of you were meant for each other.
Emory felt ashamed of it now, how much that comment had bothered her. She didn’t think she was anything like Baz, so how could Romie suggest they were meant for each other? Baz had always been a bit quiet and reserved, but after his father’s Collapsing, he became a complete recluse, reminding her of everything she’d been trying so very hard not to be: someone who led the kind of unassuming life on the sidelines that her own father had settled for, that she never wanted for herself.
What Emory wanted was to be like Romie and Luce, not this nobody girl she’d been when she first got to Threnody Prep. She couldn’t go back to that sheltered life, didn’t want Romie thinking she wanted that either. So she pulled away from Baz after that. Started to seek the attention and approval of boys who weren’t such outsiders, the kind Romie had no trouble getting. Her first kiss was with one such boy, a student a grade above them who was always getting in trouble with the principal. I guess I had you figured out all wrong, Romie had laughed after that. She’d never mentioned Baz to her in that way again.
And now… Baz was still that recluse, but one Emory needed.
She sat next to him on the arrangement of blankets on the floor and cleared her throat. “I’m heading to some party later for the meteor shower,” she said by way of explanation, smoothing the folds of her dress. A half-truth, at least. “It’s supposed to be quite a show.” She gave him a sidelong glance. “Are you going?”
Baz snorted. “To a party? No. Besides, I can watch it here just fine.” He motioned to the ceiling, where some of the windowpanes were broken, unveiling the skies above.
Emory watched him for a beat. She was used to seeing him tense and on edge, a tightly wound bundle of nerves held up by a single thread, but here among the decaying leaves, he seemed different. More at ease. And she liked this version of him: it called to mind a younger Baz, the one from before his father’s Collapsing, whom she had seen then as an extension of her and Romie’s friendship.
She wasn’t sure if it made it easier to use that to her advantage—or tougher on her conscience. Ignoring that nagging pang of guilt, she rested her head back against the glass pane and looked up at the sky.