The Rise of Ren Crown (39 page)

However, the anticipation thrumming in him meant that wasn't a remote possibility.

“Do I want to know?” I asked.

“Do you want to know how many people are staring at us right now?” He said, lifting a bread wedge. “Probably not.”

He smiled, still practically
draped
across the back of the chair, body angled toward me, and ate the piece.

I ignored the urge to look around the room. “I was
going
to thank you for those awesome roses.”

“I have no idea what you are talking about,” he said, lifting another wedge. But I could feel his pleasure, and I could see his lips curve the slightest bit as he ate.

“You realize Axer did this a few weeks ago? Ruined mealtime for weeks.”

“Please, darling, everyone was watching this table long before you sat down. And people aren't even bothering to hide their plebeian gawking now. It will take months to go back to anything resembling normal for you.”

I met Delia's gaze and she gave a short nod, not without a little uncharacteristic sympathy.

“Lovely,” I said. “And you sitting here? What prompted this little injection of future gossip?”

“What? I can't sit with my favorite?”

“Ren?” Mike asked, looking like he was willing to perform some sort of “eject” spell, if I asked. He had been the one most likely to get rid of unwanted “Axer Dare” questioners in the last few weeks. He looked far more concerned about Constantine than he did most mages, though.

Delia touched Mike's arm and minutely shook her head. Mike's gaze didn't move from us, and his frown didn't lift, but he said nothing more.

Will reached toward his eavesdropping device.

“Don't bother, Tasky.” Constantine tapped a long finger against the tabletop, which shimmered for a moment when he did so. The table had never done that before, so this was obviously the result of something he had wiped on it with that initial finger motion. I was far too used to Constantine's materials and created concoctions to be surprised that whatever he had done had invisibly spread so quickly.

“Nothing beyond three feet gets through this,” Constantine said. “And even then, the surrounding tables will only hear a truly entertaining conversation.”

I sighed, used to his antics. “Are we all complimenting you?”

“You are doing a magnificent job at flirting, darling.”

I put a hand to my forehead, rested my elbow on the table, and closed my eyes as I chewed another bite. “Just...just wake me up when this is over.”

He gave a low chuckle and ate another wedge.

“So?” Delia asked, gaze sharp. “What
are
you doing here?”

“Planting some seeds.”

“What? Why did you sit here, Leandred?” Delia demanded, gaze sharp, eyeliner drawing itself to thick kohl.

“To build some delightful tales, or at least the foundation for them.”

Her eyes narrowed. “The foundation? With what happened on the Eighteenth...people are already talking.”

There was something audacious about discussing anything in the press of people around us, even with layered eavesdropping spells.

“
You
don't even know what happened on the Eighteenth, Peoples,” he said dispassionately, eating another wedge.

A slashing smile took her lips.

“Didn't realize that the Alpha scarves had a little more juice, did you, Leandred? You got Bryant's. He was a Beta. We didn't hear the conversation, no, but our scarves picked up a few things.” Her lips pressed tightly together. “That there was a conversation with Vincent Godfrey at all, is peculiar. Interesting pieces of a jagged puzzle.”

Constantine's eyes narrowed, and there was a glint there that made me concerned for everyone at the table for a moment, then the creases at the edges of his eyes smoothed. “The Alpha scarves just encompass those at this table.” He gave the table top another tap with his finger. “A non-event. And no one else remembers the events anymore.”

“Are you sure?” I frowned, interrupting their pressurized spat. “Maybe they're just holding onto it for a better time.”

Someone had recorded footage of the fight under Raphael's dome—Asafa and Patrick had used a portion of it in the firework. And Bellacia had made it apparent that there were no secrets she couldn't find. I'd assumed that just meant everything would come out eventually, including my little world ending moment and Constantine's duplicity.

“Positive.” His lips curled again.

“How?”

“How should I know why people forget things of import, darling?”

I sighed. I had an idea of how he might have changed people's memories. He had manipulated Origin Magic after I'd let him leech me to fix his wounds. He could have used it for a number of spells in that moment—like for spreading a memory enchantment to anyone close enough to see us.

He'd manipulated the minds of the men who had attacked us in the First Layer, and he was a lightning-fast learner. Once he had done something, repeating and adding to it was simple for him.

I was surrounded by quick and powerful mages—attracted to them, obviously.

“Remove it,” Delia said suddenly and succinctly.

Constantine smiled and ate another wedge.

“What?” I asked, looking around the table. “Remove what?”

“Mind trap.” Will looked enthused. “Did you lace that in your eavesdropping potion? Those are tremendously difficult to coordinate. When Professor—”

“Will.” Mike rubbed his eyes tiredly as if he was just done with
everything.
“It's an eavesdropping anti-charm, Ren. That witchy piece of magic Leandred did when he sat down also contained something that would contain knowledge in anyone who touched the table. All those shiving finger taps he keeps doing likely activate different parts of the magic and the brain. I swear to Magic, if you make me incontinent, Leandred, I will make sure they never find your body.”

Constantine spread his fingers on the table with an expression of innocence.

I frowned. “I didn't feel anything.”

Constantine's finger was suddenly drawing beneath my chin. “I would never bespell you like that, darling,” he said, gaze slowly roaming my face as his finger drew a path along my skin. “I'd save yours for something far more delicious.”

“Son of a—” someone said, but I couldn't make out who was speaking. I could only stare at Constantine.

He sat back again and resumed eating.

“Price is going to love this,” Mike muttered, and took a page from Delia's book and stabbed his food.

“Forget Price. Axer Dare is going to commit murder,” Delia said, stabbing her fork at Constantine. “And I'm going to be an unhelpful bystander.”

“What is going on?” I asked, dazed.

Constantine smiled. He looked
very
pleased. “It's rather simple. The populace will think you've succumbed to my charms. And that I picked you as my latest conquest based on your power, or wanting to one-up my beloved roommate. Simple and it will easily give us hours uninterrupted to do...whatever needs to be done.”

My mouth opened, but nothing emerged. “You want...you want people to think we are going back to your room to...what?”

He raised a brow.

“To do...science?” I said halfheartedly.

“Yes.” He looked suddenly quizzical. “What else would I mean?”

He reached out and curled his fingers around the back of my neck, tilting my head just enough to put us at a very interesting angle. “Lots and lots of science,” he said, voice low, gaze hooded and hypnotic.

Nothing emerged from my mouth, which was trying, and
failing
, to form words.

His other hand touched my chin, urging it downward, gaze tracing the movements of my lips.

Delia cursed, leaned forward, and yanked his arm down and away from me. “Leandred, I swear—”

Interestingly, he didn't curse her for touching him. He just leaned back in his chair and smirked. “Don't be overhasty, Peoples. You might find yourself forgetting how to apply your makeup in the morning.”

It was a definite threat.

Constantine finished his meal and pushed back his chair. He reached forward, turned over my fingers, and dropped something into my palm. I looked down at it. It was a key. Made of the astrophene Axer had given him.

“What is this?”

“Don't be thick, darling.”

He lifted my bag and slung it around his shoulder, then strode up the steps of the cafeteria tier.

I stared after him, lips parted.

“Okay. I have a question,” Will said, as we watched Constantine walk away.

“Just one?” Mike said, and stabbed his food repeatedly.

Chapter Twenty-eight: Justice, the gift that keeps giving

By my second rotation of Justice Squad duty, I was mentally resolved to the inextricable realization that I would be committing murder by nightfall. The Department didn't need to send a Shadow Mage to torment me, a portion of the student body had it well in hand.

I had created and used two dozen more roses—once again with Greyskull strangely appearing again exactly as I began constructing the first one and handing me a ward, then continuing on his way through the Medical corridor.

The calls that used roses were fine. Or, not so much fine, but bearable. Helpful, in a way—with me being able to offer a moment to
share
the Justice Offender's grief, lessening their burden.

No, those weren't the calls that were going to end in murder. The imbeciles with far too much money in their trust fund accounts—that was the only explanation for how they had gotten into one of the most prestigious universities in the magic world—were the ones happy to torment me for free.

“Guys, she's here.” The guy looked at me and leaned against the doorframe. It was such a similar action to the one Constantine had undertaken when I'd first met him, that I blinked. However, time and affection had softened my view of that memory. This guy and this situation didn't have that advantage.

Nor was he even close to being as hot or as smooth. I'd been ruined for normal assholes.

“Name,” I asked in a bored tone.

“Anything you want it to be, precious.”

Ugh.

“Bolton Haynes. Level One. Substance abuse,” I said, reading from Justice Toad. It didn't increase the punishment if I had to look up the offender's name, but Justice Toad gave a happy croak, sensing another productive visit to stretch out the kinks he still had from being nearly fried the day before.

Haynes leaned forward in the doorway. “I'd be happy to up that to a Level I Do You.”

I pushed the button on Justice Toad and the guy turned into a toad.

The guy behind him narrowed his eyes at his friend, then at me. He took an aggressive step toward me. “No one likes it when uppity mages get—”

He turned into a salamander. A slender salamander. Easily misplaced.

“Anyone else?” I asked the others behind him.

The rest held their arms at fifteen degree angles and pointed their hands down to the ground, fingers spread, in the surrendering gesture mages used. Seeing as people frequently blasted magic from their palms, the First Layer “hands up” surrender was still a gesture I was trying to break. Hands up gestures earned magic bolts to the face.

Not that I was going to be bolting anyone with magic anytime today. Slipping in with greased palms, or not, Excelsine did have standards, and I was easy pickings at the moment, for even the lowest of the low here, if they possessed any degree of cleverness.

But I didn't need my own magic with a Justice Tablet in hand. I just needed justice on my side.

And maybe some sort of Justice Holster on my belt.

The crowd of guys stood, tense, in surrender.

I tapped my finger against Justice Toad and waited for the amphibious spells to wear off.

The toad morphed upward and an idiot human stood in place once more. He wiped at his mouth with both hands. The salamander followed suit a few seconds later.

“You—”

One of the guys in the back grabbed salamander guy and wrestled him into the room. Bolton stepped hastily into the hallway and the door slammed behind him.

“You didn't need to come out here,” I said, flipping through punishments. I had far better places to be. Like at the new grief call that was blinking in Justice Toad's corner—it was becoming increasingly easy to identify the grief calls, and I'd bet anything they would be automated by the next day. “I could assign your punishment just as easily with you insi—”

“Would you go on a date with me?”

I squinted up at him. “What?”

He shrugged, and ran an uneasy hand through his hair. “I saw you with Leandred, and my father said that having an Ori—”

“Yeah. No. Clean the common area and let's call it a day.” Justice Toad beeped in agreement.

“But—”

“I can find something else, sure.” I shrugged. “Like cleaning the toi—”

“I'll clean the common area, by my magic, I so do vow.”

The magic registered.

“Great.” I tucked Justice Toad under my arm and turned.

“Wait, I—”

“Nope.”

The next ten calls contained six that hit the “grief punishment” response, and four that had to have been on purpose, like Bolton Haynes's call—either doing something so that I'd show up and they could make some skeazy political alliance, or verbally—and once,
physically
—assault me for imagined crimes. The latter had gone very poorly for the girl doing the assaulting. Justice tablets
really
didn't like such things.

Justice Toad croaked happily, working out his own kinks.

Word had gotten out about my stint on the Justice Squad, and today it wasn't only the delinquents who were trying to get me to their door.

Anyone who truly wanted to talk—and there were a few social scientific types who had approached me in the halls in between calls to talk about current events or about the
fascinating
subject of Origin Magic or Origin Domes—didn't get sketchy groups together to stage an assault.

I felt no guilt turning the other kinds into amphibians of all varieties.

Like the ones who were plotting in a common area of Dorm Nineteen. Just my luck to be tucked around the corner filling out a report from a call on the eighth floor—a grief call.