Chapter 2: Bianca - Custom - Change

Bianca
Custom

“Who are you talking to?” Damen asked, trying to peer over my shoulder at my phone. “Is something wrong?”

I pressed the screen against my chest as I shot him my sternest look and walked past him. “You shouldn’t try to read other people’s messages,” I told him, leaving him to stare after me. You’d have thought he’d learned this by now, especially after everything that happened with his brother. “Come on, you’re going to be late for Dr. Stephens.”

“I’m not,” Damen said, although I wasn’t sure which of my statements he was addressing. “You just looked concerned, then you smiled…”

I stopped, studying his torn expression. Damen had been acting rather strange lately, and I couldn’t quite figure out why. There was something about his mannerisms that nagged at me, something that I’d never really expected from the handsome onmyoji.

Especially toward me.

The silent and brooding lurking, the foolish looks.

“Damen, are you…” It was almost embarrassing to ask, but I couldn’t imagine that it might be true. However, this was a safe place—mostly everyone had already left the building for the night. “You’re not jealous, are you?”

“What!” He jerked back, aghast. “I am not! Why would I be?” So he said, but really, he was acting like a sullen teenager. Where was the responsible adult that I knew him to be? “I don’t care if you talk to Miles,” he drawled, almost daring me to prove him wrong.

“Good.” I had no time for this nonsense, especially since he had no shame. He was the one who had a history of being an outrageous flirt. Besides, this entire setup had been his idea, so he should either say something or get over it. Besides, Miles had already replied, and I unlocked the screen of my phone to send him another message. “Because that’s exactly what I’m doing.”

Damen’s mouth dropped open, but I ignored him.

What game was Miles playing now? For someone who liked to go on about how much work he had to do, there was no way he’d been gone long enough to put a dent in it.

Which meant he was procrastinating again.

Still… I could give him some incentive. He seemed the type to thrive on rewards.

“Hey, Damen?” I put my phone back in my purse and resumed walking, knowing he’d follow.

He was still sulking as he fell into step beside me, but hummed in response to the sound of his name.

“What’s the most romantic restaurant around here?” I asked.

“Why?” Damen sounded almost hopeful, and he grabbed my arm, turning me to face him. His eyes were heavy as he gazed heatedly down at me. “Do you want to go out with me?”

Yes.

I stared up at him, unable to respond at first. There was always something about him I couldn’t resist when he got into one of these moods. But our last date had ended rather badly—considering he took me to Colette’s restaurant and I found out that they used to be an item—so I wasn’t sure this was a safe topic.

It was one thing for us to work, and be alone, together. We’d been doing that quite a lot these days. But usually that involved me trailing along after Damen in complete boredom as he ran around doing errands for Dr. Stephens. And while Damen taught in his mentor’s place—which was quite often, as the older fae rarely seemed to put any time and effort to maintain his tenure—I lurked at the library until it was time to go home again.

This job was surprisingly boring. No wonder Norman was so grouchy.

Although I would admit that things would probably be more exciting if Damen hadn’t been acting weird. The man hardly ever flirted with me anymore and he’d made no mention of the ‘arrangement’ between he and I.

Sometimes I felt like only a roommate, or employee. But then he’d do something like this—watching me as if he cared more than he normally let on—and I’d be left to wonder: Did I understand him as well as I thought?

But I couldn’t bother with any of that at the moment. Just because he’d decided to try to act seductive now didn’t mean I had to give in.

I was going to be nice to the one who treated me like I mattered all the time.

Besides, he wasn’t even asking me on a date. In fact, I wasn’t even sure what that was. A suggestion?

But, then again, neither was Miles, technically.

“No.” It didn’t matter. “I’m going to take Miles.”

Damen frowned as his eyes moved off my face, and I could tell that he was on the verge of some inane argument. I found myself holding my breath, waiting for it.

“But,” he began, leaning closer to me. I could smell his cologne, and a shiver shot down my spine as he spoke directly into my ear. “If you go out with me, I’ll be sure to make it worth your while.”

My heart fluttered in excitement despite myself, even though my logical side warned me not to fall for it.

After all, every attempt thus far had ended in disaster. Sure, we were one-for-one, but considering his record, I didn’t hold out much hope.

Besides, he still wasn’t even asking.

“Can you feel this thing between us?” Damen said, running his finger down my arm until he reached the tip of my finger. He grabbed my hand, placing it over his chest as he continued, “I already told you that you had me. Let me show you what that means.”

Well, I would—let him, that was—if he would stop being so moody.

“Mr. Damen, I’ve asked you to stop bringing your conquests here.” Dr. Stephens’s stern voice drifted toward us. The elder opened his door as he frowned at the onmyoji disapprovingly.

“Why can’t you…” His words trailed off as he spotted me, and his eyebrow raised curiously. “Oh, it’s you. Sorry then, for interrupting. I must have misunderstood the conversation. After all, there’s no way Mr. Damen would be propositioning my great-niece in front of my office. He isn’t that reckless.”

Conquests?

I glared at the younger man, but he didn’t seem to notice. He was gaping at Dr. Stephens.

I should have known. Upon our first meeting, Dr. Stephens did assume that I was looking for Damen. How could I have forgotten?

How many women did he ravage against this very wall?

Dr. Stephens was right, this was not the time nor place. We were in an institute of learning. And to know that Damen had been desecrating it…

“Bianca!” Damen reached for me, but he was too slow as I slipped out from under his arm and moved toward the older fae. “Baby, don’t listen to him,” Damen protested, flustered. “He’s only trying to mess with me!”

He wouldn’t resort to such tactics! Dr. Stephens was only ever proper and very stern. I didn’t think he had a mischievous bone in his body.

The man in question shifted his weight to the side, studying Damen with a critical expression. “I’m very disappointed you’d think that of me,” he said finally, sounding quite-so. “And after everything I’ve done for you.”

“Well.” Damen’s composure was slowly returning. “That’s not to say… I do appreciate that, but—”

“Good.” Dr. Stephens pet Damen’s shoulder. “So, now that we’ve cleared that up, you can go to the teacher’s lounge and pick up some scantrons.”

Damen pouted, looking between us before settling on Dr. Stephens. “We don’t even have class until tomorrow afternoon! Why do you need them now?”

“Goodbye!”

It happened so fast that I didn’t even realize what was going on until after Dr. Stephens ushered me into the room and shut Damen out. “That boy needs a good, long walk,” Dr Stephens muttered, glaring behind him. “And maybe a few good hits to the head.”

Now I knew I was hallucinating.

“But…” I stared at the closed door. “What just happened?”

“Just another Abernathy learning to live here, amongst us normal folks. You’ll get used to it,” Dr. Stephens said, and I, belatedly, realized I’d spoken out loud. “Don’t worry, learning a little bit of humility will be good for him,” he continued, walking around his desk and dropping heavily into his seat. “And it’ll keep Declan off my case.”

Dr. Stephens had begun to glare angrily at his desk, and my skin began to prickle.

Why was he mad?

“Dr. Stephens…” I began, waiting for him to look at me. “Are you okay?”

I didn’t expect him to answer—it’d be strange that he would confide in me at all—but I was surprised when he sighed, gesturing toward the only empty seat in the room.

“That’s my fault,” he said after I sat and tucked my feet under my chair. “I thought I’d gotten used to the feeling, but it’s been a long time since one of our quintet members died. It’s always a shock.”

Kathleen.

My breath caught at this sudden opportunity. It hadn’t been three weeks since Kathleen had died and Miles and I were left to bury her; and I carried the ring she’d given me in my pocket. Even though she’d left it for Dr. Stephens, I still hadn’t been able to work up the courage to speak to him alone.

Well, that wasn’t entirely true. I could have gone to him at any time.

But I was a coward.

“I’m sorry.” I focused my attention on the blue tin of cookies that lay open on his desk. “Kathleen asked me to give you something.”

“I know,” he replied. Our eyes met and his expression turned from mild curiosity to something that seemed almost… expectant?

He did know, though I wasn’t sure how. Why didn’t he say something earlier?

“I’m sorry….” I curled my fingers around the object in question. It seemed to burn against me. “I’ve been avoiding you.”

“That much is quite obvious,” he replied, tilting his head. “Are you ready now?”

“Okay…” I pulled out the ring and dropped it on the top of his desk. “Kathleen asked me to give this to you.”

“It’s interesting how fate works,” Dr. Stephens replied. “I’d given it to her for safekeeping years ago. And, before knowing you, I knew how it’d come back to me. Michael was never wrong.”

My embarrassment fled and I blinked at him. This was the person Kathleen had spoken about too, but she hadn’t gone into great detail. “Who is Michael?”

“Michael Abernathy. He was my best friend and a very talented seer,” Dr. Stephens responded. “We worked together too, and he died during a mission. He was also the onmyoji in my quintet.”

“The onmyoji…” That made sense—the larger picture of that generation was beginning to click into place. “Is that why you mentor Damen?”

Dr. Stephens’s lips pressed together as he tapped on the desk. A tense second passed, and my blood rushed to my head as I wondered if I’d, perhaps, been insensitive.

An apology sat on the tip of my tongue when Dr. Stephens finally responded. “That’s why,” he said, a thread of longing in his voice. For a moment, his expression seemed to crumble. He suddenly seemed less intimidating.

But then he spoke once more, shaking himself out of his reverie. “On a related topic, thank you for bringing this back to me.” Dr. Stephens picked up the ring. He held it up and twisted it, and the red stone sparkled under the green-tinted lights. “I’ve been waiting a long time for this. Did Kathleen mention that it’s part of a set? These sorts of heirlooms are embedded with fae magic.”

I’d kept my left hand in my other pocket, and the ring Bryce had given me—which I’d taken to wearing since our return—suddenly felt heavier than before.

It would be a huge coincidence—but as I was learning there was no such thing.

My mouth felt dry when I asked, “Bryce—”

“Your ring is from the Dubois line,” he said, and his attention flickered down to my lap. “Didn’t Bryce tell you anything about fae marriages?”

I flustered, filled with shame at the reminder of how little I knew of my own culture. Annoyance too, because Bryce had failed once again.

“No,” I answered, and my shoulders slumped as he raised his eyebrow curiously. “I don’t know. I’m sorry.”

“What are you sorry for? Stop apologizing all the time.” Dr. Stephens tilted his head and lowered his hands back to his desk, placing the ring in the center of the table. “I’m going to let you in on a little-known secret: shifters aren’t the only ones who have mates.”

I blinked, and he leaned back, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I cannot believe he didn’t tell you this. Fae have mates,” he explained. “But unlike shifters, our bonds can be non-gender specific, and are not always limited by number. Though each group usually contains one woman.”

Heat rushed through me and my hands shook. “W-what does this have to do with my ring?”

“Bryce must really trust you,” Dr. Stephens said suddenly, and, at first, I wasn’t sure it was relevant. “These rings are highly sought after in our family lines—and there’s not so many of them while there’s many fae sons. They’re forged from a specific sort of fae gold that will bless the relationship of those who have them. That’s why it’s so important to win; it’s one way to reassure your mate that you’re worthy.”

My eyebrows drew together, and I leaned forward slightly. “What do you mean… win?”

He grinned slightly, the edges of his teeth showing in excitement. “Only the strongest males have the honor of going through the ritual.” His shoulders squared as he said this, and, if I wasn’t mistaken, it seemed as though Dr. Stephens might have been proud of himself.

I still didn’t get it. Wasn’t the very definition of ‘heirloom’ that an item was to be passed directly to relatives?

His phrasing was odd, and a little bit alarming. I was almost afraid to ask for more information.

But it was too late to back out now.

“What ‘ritual’?” I asked, biting my lip as he raised his eyebrow.

“The coliseum.” Dr. Stephens crossed his arms as he leaned back in his seat with a smirk. “It is a humbling, yet thrilling, rite of passage.”

The coliseum? “You mean like… Roman gladiators?”

“Yes, they may have elaborated on the idea in order to suit their purposes. But rest assured, the fae came up with it first.”

“Came up with what?” I stared at the innocent looking ring laying in the middle of Dr. Stephens’s desk. “How exactly do you win the right to this ring?”

“I’m glad you asked.” Dr. Stephens did sound genuinely pleased. He stroked his chin, attention drifting past my shoulder in contemplative pride. “It’s good to show interest in your own culture.”

But that wasn’t why I was asking—I couldn’t care less about ‘culture’ at the moment. I only wanted to know why this normally expressionless man was so very moved at this very odd topic.

“When the youngest male of a generation reaches the age of maturity, that is, eleven cycles on this earth, every ancient family of renown joins together in a Right to Inheritance ritual.”

What in the world…

“As men, we prepare our whole lives for this moment, and when we enter the coliseum, we are no longer standing amongst our cousins and brothers. With the jewelry as our prize, everyone is an enemy.” Dr. Stephens was still gazing into the distance. “Once the winner is chosen, the ring is returned to the family estate’s treasury for safekeeping until we’ve met the one worthy of it, and we can then carry on the tradition.”

What the heck?

I blinked at him—he still seemed unmoved by my stunned silence. There was no way I was understanding this correctly, because if I was, then…

“Are you saying that your family throws your children into a pit so they can fight to the death for a stupid ring?” It was so idiotic. And pointless. Hadn’t the fae ever heard of a jewelry store?

Dr. Stephens frowned at me—I’d clearly offended him. “It’s not a pit, it’s a coliseum. And stop worrying, no one usually dies. It’s all in good fun. I won my year, and your father, his. Bryce as well.” He narrowed his eyes at my finger now. “Although, you know he’ll need that back if he ever wants to get married, right? It’s passed on through every generation.”

“No, it’s mine now.” I pulled my sleeve down over my hand. “He said so. He gave it to me.”

Maybe this wasn’t as horrible as I’d first imagined. If no one died, and it wasn’t that serious, then some competitive play wasn’t all that bad.

It was completely normal to wrestle over beautiful jewelry. Such activities tended to build character and might even be good training. In nature, too, battle was a way for the male to show prowess for potential partners. Having a ring was a nice touch—I always believed in encouraging excellence.

Would some people think it extreme to give youngsters magical items that would determine the course of their entire future? Maybe. Logically, though, what was the harm? After all, why shouldn’t the strongest little bugger reap the reward of a secure and prosperous future?

“Accidents do happen sometimes, though, and long-time grudges are born. Caleb lost his pinky toe; even in death, he’s still bitter,” Dr. Stephens said nonchalantly as he dipped one of the yellow cookies into his coffee mug. “Then your father tore off a piece of your uncle’s ear, but that might have been an accident. Sometimes things can get rather heated and chaotic.”

“What?” My previous sense of foreboding returned. “You’re losing body parts for this ritual? That’s not roughhousing! What in the world is the point?”

And how did you accidentally tear off part of an ear?

Dr. Stephens frowned at me, openly sad that I did not approve. He set down the cookie and linked his hands on the desk in front of him. “You, dear, have so much to learn about our people. We’re not men, we’re fae. We can handle some everyday, surface-level maiming. We’re made to be resilient, and fae have a higher pain tolerance.”

I sucked in a breath—long-healed, but never forgotten, echoes of pain, shot through me.

He’d said something like that once. An offhand comment about my resilience.

It could have been a coincidence, but… there was no such thing these days.

Was it possible that Mr. Richards knew who I was?

“You’re talking about the b-boys, right? B-but w-what about g-girls…” I stared at Dr. Stephens’s hands. The muscles in his fingers went taunt as I spoke. “Are they strong, or…”

“The female fae—” he said, and there was something about the tone in his voice that pulled my focus. His eyes were sharp and angry. “—are outnumbered in our culture, at least five to one. The disparity is larger within the ruling families. Women are not placed in harm’s way under any circumstances, and they absolutely do not fight.”

That did not answer my question.

“But…” I twisted the ring around my finger. “I… What about—”

“You’re different.” Dr. Stephens seemed to grow older, and the room darker, as he spoke. “You were raised as a human. It would be useless to isolate you now, but had you been raised at Whisperwind, you would never have left the home until you were eleven.”

“Julian mentioned Whisperwind before.” I bit my lip. “When he dived into my memories. I thought it was the name of a hospital.”

“It’s your mother’s birthplace, and where she grew up. It is also where you were born,” Dr. Stephens answered.

“Oh.” I couldn’t help but to feel that pressing forward on this topic was opening myself up to a discussion I wasn’t quite ready to have—at least with him.

“They were upset, you know,” Dr. Stephens continued. “Damen and Titus.”

It was his softened tone, and the lack of honorifics in their names, that pulled at my attention this time. He was watching me with the most peculiar expression as he rested his chin on his fist, and the air between us seemed to grow thick with something I couldn’t quite place.

“What do you mean?”

“Bailey,” he replied, deep-green eyes cautiously taking in my reaction. But I’d grown almost numb to the mention of the other me by this point. I didn’t mean to be insensitive, or even evil, but Bailey—the other me—almost didn’t feel like something that was alive.

Nor ever had been.

But that was probably because I hadn’t been there, so he was only a name. And one that took my place, while I was taken from where I was meant to be.

“I’m sorry they were,” was the only response I could think of. Since I’d never grown up in this world—at least that I’d been aware—the entire concept of our bond and feeling each other was foreign to me sometimes. While I admitted that it felt right to be around the boys, and that not seeing them did have a profound effect on me, I couldn’t imagine the difference if one of us perished.

“What do you make of ‘Bailey’?” There was something about the way he said the name of my doppelganger that made me draw my brows together in suspicion.

Besides, what kind of question was that?

“Nothing much,” I replied honestly. “I don’t like to think about it.” Since we were on the topic of rude questions, maybe it was time for one for him. “How does it feel?”

“How does what feel?”

There was no way to ask this kindly though—even though he didn’t really deserve it by this point—but there was a morbid part of me that needed to know. “When, um…” I glanced toward the ring as I chewed on my bottom lip. “Kathleen…”

Darn it, I’d wanted to be heartless, but now I just felt mean.

But also, I really was curious.

“How does it feel when a quintet member dies?” Dr. Stephens was able to interpret my fragmented, and not at all concise, question.

I touched my knees together. “I’m sorry,” I breathed. I shouldn’t have asked—I was the worst person ever. “Don’t answer. I’m super rude.”

“I told you to stop apologizing,” Dr. Stephens said.

“Sorry.” I wasn’t able to stop myself before the word slipped out again, and I covered my mouth with my fingers. I blinked at him, apologizing with my eyes instead.

Dr. Stephens rolled his eyes but let my slip-up pass without mention. Then he leaned forward on his desk, lowering his eyebrows as his voice deepened in seriousness. “When a quintet member dies, a part of you is literally being stripped away. It’s a feeling you’ll carry for the rest of your life,” he said, his words almost a warning. “It’s extremely unpleasant. It also depends on how close you were, because we have our normal, non-quintet connection too. Michael was my best friend, and his death affected me very much even though I’d expected it. I was stunned for weeks before being able to function again. By then it was too late.”

Too late for what? But he didn’t clarify, moving on before I could ask.

“The situation is different in your case.” His tone had taken on a stern authority that he’d never really applied to me before. “I’m an officer and was on the Council. I’m also not an idiot. I know very well the relationship Mu had with his quintet—it’s the same relationship you’ve carried on in every life. Plus, I know exactly what Mr. Damen was up to out there in the hallway.”

Which would be what? He was only acting foolish. Again.

Dr. Stephens groaned, hiding his hand in his face. “Just don’t let your guard down—at least make him suffer a little bit. Besides, I need you to be aware that your relationship, whatever it might be, with your quintet is unique on a number of levels. The five of you have shared countless lives together, and each time your bonds grow stronger. A quintet death, in your case, would be far worse than anything I could imagine.”

I hid my shaking hands in my lap. “What do you mean?”

“You cannot die.” There was a warning in his statement, and his sage eyes held mine with the utmost seriousness. “They’ll never recover if you do.”

I wanted to laugh, but only managed a short breathy exhale. “That’s silly.” I tried to wave off my increasing unease. “They thought I was dead, as Bailey, and everything was fine. It wouldn’t be a big deal.”

Dr. Stephens frowned, and something in the way he looked at me in response made me want to crawl out of my chair and hide.

I wanted to ask another question, but this time I wasn’t nearly so brave.

Still, it replayed over and over again in my thoughts.

Who, or what, was Bailey?