Chapter 104: The Fall Festival, Part Nineteen

Chapter 104: Chapter 104: The Fall Festival, Part Nineteen

Chapter 104: The Fall Festival, Part Nineteen

Two people sat without speaking on the examination bed.

The obsessive haze in Audra’s eyes receded slowly. When her thoughts finally cleared, shock replaced it.

She remembered enough.

She remembered locking the door, raising the glamourkin ring, and watching Cyrus lose control of his own body. She remembered pushing him down and crossing boundaries while he lay there unable to resist.

The memories returned without the distorted certainty that had driven her actions.

Audra lowered her head.

She did not need to look up to know how Cyrus was watching her. Confusion would be there, along with the unmistakable suspicion reserved for someone who had behaved like a complete predator.

The silence made the nurse’s office unbearable.

Now that her normal restraint had returned, embarrassment spread through her so intensely that she could barely remain seated.

Had she truly become that desperate?

The answer should have been impossible.

Her original intention had only been another stolen kiss. Everything beyond that had entered her mind as a passing impulse, something she could imagine without actually doing.

Then she had acted on it.

A small and deeply inappropriate flicker of disappointment surfaced beneath the shame.

She had already gone that far, yet Cyrus had stopped her before she succeeded.

Audra immediately shook her head, trying to throw the thought out before it settled.

That was not the issue.

Nothing about what happened could be reduced to whether she had succeeded. The glamourkin ring had taken every possessive idea she carried and stripped away the part of her that understood restraint.

At least, that was what she needed to believe.

Audra rose so abruptly that the examination bed shifted beneath her.

Cyrus had barely finished fastening the front of his uniform when she hurried toward the door. She removed the glamourkin ring from her finger as she went and threaded it back onto the thin chain around her neck.

The pink stone disappeared beneath her collar.

She would put it back in its box when she returned home.

This time, she would leave it there.

Audra unlocked the door and fled without giving Cyrus a chance to speak.

Cyrus watched it close behind her.

He had intended to demand an explanation, but his injured ankle made chasing her a poor option. Audra was already halfway down the hall by the time he stood, and putting weight on his foot sent a dull ache through the joint.

He sat down again.

The front of his uniform was secure, though the lingering discomfort left by Audra’s actions made his skin crawl. He adjusted his collar, checked every button, and made sure nothing looked unusual enough to attract questions when he left.

What had she been doing to him?

The question had several answers, none of them acceptable.

Had she treated him like a frozen dessert she could sample whenever she pleased?

Given what she had attempted, the comparison was unfortunately close.

Cyrus pressed two fingers to his temple.

The more important question was how she had gotten close enough to do any of it.

One instant, he had been sitting on the bed after sensing movement behind him. He had turned to see who entered.

The next clear memory began with him lying down, his uniform open, and a masked woman touching him while his body refused to react.

The missing space between those moments was not normal.

Cyrus could not remember Audra approaching him, pushing him down, or opening his clothes. His senses had simply stopped recording events until the cold from his ring dragged him back.

Only one detail stood out clearly.

The pink ring on Audra’s finger.

Cyrus studied the ring trapped around his own hand.

When he regained awareness, the metal had been cold enough to hurt. The same chill had appeared during other stretches of missing time, though he had never understood why.

Now the pieces fit together.

He had felt something similar during his earlier encounter with a glamourkin. Their abilities could cloud judgment, bend perception, and interfere with a victim’s ability to resist. Audra had not shown any signs of being glamourkin herself, but the artifact she wore could carry the same effect.

The pink stone had flashed when his strength weakened.

His own ring had cooled when Audra’s control began to break.

Cyrus turned his hand beneath the fluorescent light.

The ring he could not remove had protected him.

That conclusion should have been reassuring.

Instead, it raised several new problems.

If Audra’s artifact could control people, then she had probably used it before. She might have used it on him more than once. The unexplained gaps in his memory, the strange moments when drinks appeared in the wrong place, and the sensation of losing several minutes without understanding why no longer felt random.

Audra had been doing something.

Cyrus frowned.

Oddly, he did not feel much anger toward her.

The look in her eyes before he chilled her wrists had not been normal. She had appeared consumed by an impulse she could no longer manage, and the pink ring had continued glowing while she struggled against him.

The artifact might have been affecting its wearer as much as its target.

That did not excuse what she had done.

It did make the ring valuable.

If Cyrus could get his hands on it, he would have another weapon when the woman from his past eventually found him. Isolde had strength, Frostborn abilities, years of experience, and enough patience to wait until he had nowhere left to run.

A mind-altering artifact could change those odds.

Cyrus sat straighter.

He needed to trick Audra into giving him the ring.

The thought sounded dishonest, so he corrected it.

He needed to have a serious discussion with Audra about temporarily transferring ownership of the artifact for research and mutual safety.

That phrasing was much better.

Cyrus glanced through the nurse’s office window. Students continued moving across the courtyard, unaware that anything had happened behind the locked door. Music carried from the athletic field, mixed with cheers from a game booth somewhere below.

His hand rested over the ring he still could not remove.

The metal had protected him today, but Cyrus doubted protection was its only purpose. Isolde had placed too much importance on it. A harmless defensive charm would not need to remain fixed to his hand, carry old claims, or react whenever other rare-blood abilities came close.

Until he learned what it truly did, the pressure from the woman he had escaped would remain.

Audra’s glamourkin ring offered a possible answer.

At the very least, it offered another way to fight back.

Outside the nurse’s office, Audra rushed around the corner and nearly collided with a woman in a white medical coat.

The woman stepped aside just in time, keeping a paper cup of creamy chowder from spilling over the rim.

"Watch where you are going," she called after Audra. "These hallways have corners for a reason."

Audra did not slow down.

The woman watched her disappear toward the stairs, then took another spoonful from the cup.

Her voice carried the relaxed maturity of someone who had seen enough emergencies to recognize that a flustered student running through a hallway probably did not qualify as one.

A small smile touched her face.

St. Alder during the Fall Festival was far more entertaining than a hospital department.

Students hurried between activities in costumes, music played from the courtyard, and every hallway smelled like a different food booth. Even a near collision had more life in it than another afternoon under fluorescent lights while patients complained about wait times.

Vera Sable finished the last spoonful of chowder and dropped the empty cup into a nearby trash bin.

Then she continued toward the nurse’s office.

The door was unlocked when she arrived.

A student sat alone on the examination bed near the window. His dark hair covered most of his face, and his posture was so subdued that someone with poorer vision might have overlooked him against the pale wall.

Cyrus turned when Vera entered.

Recognition appeared on both sides.

"Dr. Sable?" Cyrus asked. "Why are you working at St. Alder?"

Vera tilted her head.

The student looked familiar, though his school appearance made the memory take a few seconds to surface.

Then she remembered him.

He was the young man from Grayhaven General Hospital whose prescription had been required to control what his medical file described as a severe and unusually persistent biological drive. The paperwork had been vague, the dosage unusual, and his discomfort obvious enough that she had chosen not to embarrass him with unnecessary questions.

She had also noticed the St. Alder crest on his uniform.

That detail had influenced her decision to accept temporary medical coverage at the academy. Her regular hospital assignment had become painfully dull, and helping cover the school during a major festival sounded far more interesting.

Vera had been correct.

Campus life suited her.

The energy in the building made her feel younger, and the festival gave her an excuse to wander between booths whenever the nurse’s office stayed empty. Compared with the hospital, St. Alder offered fewer fluorescent corridors and much better snacks.

Vera entered fully and let the door close behind her.

"Did you hurt yourself?" she asked. "Have you been waiting long?"

"I twisted my ankle during a sprint."

"Give me a minute, and I will check it."

Vera straightened the front of her medical coat, then retrieved a topical pain reliever and a fresh elastic wrap from the supply cabinet. She pulled a rolling chair toward the examination bed and sat in front of Cyrus.

A faint medicinal scent clung to her clothes, clean and understated beneath the trace of chowder and outdoor air.

"Let me see the injured ankle," Vera said.

Cyrus leaned forward and raised the leg of his pants.

The swollen area came into view.

Vera’s attention paused before reaching the injury.

The skin above his ankle was much paler than she expected. His low-profile school disguise made him appear forgettable, yet the uncovered portion of his leg carried none of that dullness. The contrast between his skin and the bruising made the sprain look almost too clearly defined.

Her professional focus returned.

Vera placed two fingers near the swollen joint and pressed lightly, checking where the pain began.

Cyrus did not flinch.

A faint itch moved across his skin where her fingertips passed, but he remained seated and allowed her to continue the examination.

Vera tested the joint again, then adjusted the angle of his foot with practiced care.

The contact confirmed her first impression.

This boy’s skin might actually be better than hers.