I don’t know what that means, but I don’t like the sound of it. Any more than I like the fact that, once again, Jaxon took off without so much as a goodbye.
How does he do it? I wonder as I reluctantly follow my uncle. How does he just disappear without my even hearing or sensing him moving? Is it a vampire thing? Or a Jaxon thing? I’m pretty sure it’s a Jaxon thing, but as I walk toward the dining hall doors, I realize every other member of the Order is gone, too. They all left, and I didn’t have a freaking clue.
Which only backs up what I was telling Jaxon before my uncle showed up. I’m just a harmless human—why on earth would anyone here think I’m dangerous enough to try to kill me?
I mean, Jaxon, sure. I’m surprised they aren’t lined up around the castle to take a shot at him—everything about the guy screams total, complete, absolute power. I’m pretty sure the only thing keeping him safe is that those same things also scream dangerous af. I can’t imagine anyone here being foolish enough to challenge him—even Flint backed down right after the snowball fight.
Which is why dropping a chandelier on Jaxon makes sense. But dropping one on me? Come on. One bad spell, wolf attack, or even earthquake, and I’m a goner. Why go through the trouble of bringing an entire chandelier down on top of my head when a broken window nearly did me in all on its own?
Uncle Finn doesn’t say anything as we walk to his office and neither do I. I have to admit I am surprised, though, when he turns down what has to be the least-ornate corridor in this entire place and then stops in front of the most boring-looking door. Doesn’t exactly jive with my idea of any headmaster’s office, let alone the headmaster of a school that’s taken on the responsibility of educating students from a wide range of paranormal backgrounds.
That impression is only reinforced when he opens his door and ushers me inside the most boring room in existence. Gray carpet, gray walls, gray chairs. The only spot of brightness in the room—if you can even call it that—is the heavy cherrywood desk loaded down with piles of papers, files, and an open laptop.
Basically, it looks like every other principal’s office I’ve ever seen—except the window coverings are sturdier and the gray carpet is a little more plush.
He catches me staring and grins. “Surprised?”
“A little bit. I thought it would be more…”
“More?” His brows go up.
“Just more. No offense, Uncle Finn, but this has to be the most utilitarian room I’ve ever seen. I guess I expected a witch to have more flair.”
“Good thing I’m not a witch, then, huh?”
“What?” My mind boggles. “I thought— Macy said— I don’t—”
“Relax, Grace,” my uncle says with a laugh. “I was just trying to lighten the mood. Macy told me she spilled all the tea.”
“No offense, but it’s kind of hard to keep the tea in the pot when I have fang marks in my neck.”
“Touché.” He inclines his head, gestures to one of the plain gray chairs in front of the desk as he walks around to the back of it. “Have a seat.
“I am sorry you had to find out that way,” he continues when we’re both seated. “It’s not what I wanted for you.”
He looks so miserable, I want to tell him it’s okay, except it really isn’t. “Why didn’t you tell me? Or my dad? Why didn’t he ever admit that he was a—” I break off, still having a hard time wrapping my head around the fact that my dad was a real-life witch. Or at least he’d been born one.
“I believe the word you’re looking for is warlock,” my uncle tells me, filling in the word I’m having such a hard time saying—and believing—with a sympathetic smile. “And yes, your father was a warlock—and very powerful at one point.”
“Before he gave it up for my mother.”
“It’s a little more complicated than that.” My uncle makes a face, kind of wobbles his head back and forth. “No warlock gives up his power willingly, but some, like your father, are willing to risk everything for the greater good.”
That’s not how Macy described it, which makes me wonder just what my cousin doesn’t know about my father. And what my uncle does. “What—what do you mean?” I ask as my heart skips a beat. “What did he do?’
For a second, my uncle looks far away, but his eyes clear at my question. “It’s a long story,” he tells me. “One for another day, considering you’ve got more than enough going on for this morning.”