Page 60 of First Ritual
Sven held up his hand for a high-five. “Nice!”
I ignored his hovering hand. “Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit.”
“I thought it was puns.”
We walked into the center together, and I led the way down the stairs. “You think? That would be a shame. I like a good pun. Especially if I put together a new one on the spot. That really makes my day.”
He hummed behind me. “Me too, actually. They deserve a place in joke culture.”
“Now that you’ve both discovered a mutual like of puns,” Wild gritted out from where he waited below.
I smirked, hoping he could feel the imprint of my curved lips on his back. I joined him at the bottom of the stairs. This area held all the working benches, greenhouses, and mining shaft in the apothecary learning center. I inhaled and took in the plants covering the cave walls. I loved this place. “Where are Hux and Moody?”
Sven snorted.
“Was it Hux or Moody that got you?”
“Hux,” he clarified. “He’ll hate that.”
Sure hoped so. I liked getting under that kid’s skin.
“Some of us have extra meetings that you didn’t consider when you didn’t show earlier.” Wild paced over the cobbled ground between empty seedling trays and what appeared to be compost tea.
He stopped before me. “Did it ever occur to you that I wanted them here to help protect you?”
I blinked. Nope. Why would it? “Did it ever occur to you that I can protect myself?”
He cast me a level look. “Of course. That doesn’t mean a Plan B isn’t smart.”
Unexpected reply. “What are we doing today?”
Wild widened his stance and folded his arms. “Our magicks meeting triggered whatever this is. We want to return there to see what’s going on.”
Ugh. Blood entered my cheeks. I hated this magic meeting crap.
Sven appeared right beside me, far too close. He squinted at my cheeks. “You’re embarrassed.” He whipped out Huxley’s notebook and a pen.
Such an asshole.
I rubbed my bare arm though the temperature in the caves was balmy. “Look, I’m getting used to the magic meeting stuff. I haven’t done it a lot.”
Wild rumbled. That was the only way to describe the deep, guttural sound.
Sven considered his friend, then spoke as he wrote, “Wild likes when Bronte hasn’t done stuff a lot.”
“Cut it out,” Wild shot back. To me, he said, “You grew up with your sister, grandmother, and mother. No other magus?” When I nodded, he asked, “Why?”
“No idea. They never said why they left. Maybe Caves. Unsure.”
Wild shot me a look. “Do you know what a legend Rowaness was in the game?”
“My grandmother?”
“And mother,” Sven put in, still writing.
I wasn’t sure what to feel about that. “I didn’t know. Guess that wasn’t why they left then.”
“Make a note for us to investigate their departure,” Wild said to the hulking magus as he closed the distance. “Get your magic out, Tempest. We don’t have time for you to fuck around.”