The Devil Makes Three Page 18

  And he wasn’t even sure how he could say such a thing, because he’d done everything else in his life before this alone, and judging by the look on her face, Tess had too. He didn’t know how to give his fear, his anxiety, his worry to another person, but maybe he could take some of hers.

  “Okay,” Tess said.

  It was getting late in the afternoon, and Eliot glanced at his watch. He wanted her to ask him to stay, even though they both knew she wouldn’t.

  “Class?” she asked.

  “Unfortunately,” Eliot said, standing.

  Ask me to stay. Ask me to skip. I’ll do it. We can sit in this courtyard for the rest of the day, the rest of the night, forever.

  He had the terrible urge to tell her about his magic. He’d never considered telling anyone before; after all, that was the root of the destruction of his parents’ marriage. Before the affairs, before the illnesses, the truth was unavoidable: Caroline Birch had magic, and her husband could not understand.

  “I’ll walk with you,” Tess said quickly, surprising him. She pulled her sleeve down to cover her wrist and brushed the grass off her legs. Eliot reached a hand down and tugged her up.

  She was quiet as they crossed the park towards Forbes Avenue. He felt the compulsion to make small talk, but what was the point of that?

  “We should do some research,” he said instead. “To figure out what the devil is. Or demon. There has to be something, in folklore or religious texts or—”

  Tess snorted. “We’ll probably find some bullshit about witches or something. Nothing useful.”

  Eliot winced. “Tess, we accidentally summoned some demon by reading a book,” he said mildly. “It tried to kill you. Perhaps multiple times. You can’t tell me you don’t believe in that sort of stuff anymore. You’re living it.”

  It was the closest he could come to a confession. I’m a witch, he wanted to say. I could heal you, if you’d let me.

  But she just sighed. “Okay. Research. Do you think there would be anything in those books you requested?”

  Eliot considered it. There was some folklore there, a bit about demonic traditions, but it hadn’t been the intent of his borrowing spree to get books about the devil. “We could check,” he said anyway. “Maybe there’s something. A spell, or …”

  Tess nodded. “We can give them a look. Until then, call me if anything gets spooky, okay?”

  Eliot nodded. They reached his building and Tess looked away, over at the flagpole decorated with people walking to the sky. It was an art installation Eliot had never fully understood. It didn’t help that somebody was always stealing the figures.

  “I’ll see you later?” Eliot asked, readjusting the strap of his bag.

  “You bet,” Tess said. He wanted to take her hand or push the stray hair away from her face, but he could not. He settled for a half smile instead and watched her walk away.

  thirty six

  Tess

  MATHILDE AGREED TO WRITE A NOTE TO GET NAT OUT OF the dorms for dinner Friday, after Tess’s lesson. Earlier, after failed attempts and making a huge mess, Tess had realized that it was practically impossible to make a crepe in the microwave. Instead, she settled for store-bought crepes, spread them with Nutella, and decorated them with carefully cut strawberries. She was just scattering powdered sugar on top when Nat texted her to say she was there.

  Tess scrambled down to let her in. It was drizzling, and Nat’s shoulders were spotted with rain. “I hate walking in this,” she complained as she trudged up the stairs behind Tess.

  “I thought Mathilde was driving you down?”

  “She drove me to the corner and dropped me off,” Nat said. As soon as she was through the door, she wrung out her hair—an overreaction, Tess thought, hiding a smile. Though Tess loved her, Nat was something of a drama queen.

  “I pulled off crepes,” Tess said, grabbing the plates and bringing them over to the couch.

  Nat smiled. “Not really crepe night quality, but they’ll do.” Tess shoved Nat’s arm with her elbow. She fell giggling to the couch.

  This felt … maybe not normal, but like something that could be normal. The two of them again, just hanging out.

  Tess grabbed her laptop while Nat started on her crepe. She wished they could afford Netflix, but it wasn’t a necessary expense and she didn’t know anyone else who had an account they could mooch off of.

  Instead, she turned on a YouTube ballet series they both liked. Neither of them danced, but there was something about the drama of it that made it addictive.

  Tess settled back with Nat on the couch. For once, there was quiet in her head. She didn’t have to think about the devil, or Eliot, or work. Some vague part of her knew she could share her troubles with Nat, but that wasn’t her place, really. Tess was the one who shouldered everything, who listened to Nat’s problems.

  She wouldn’t make it a two-way street.

  Nat watched one of the dancers spin. A bit of Nutella was smeared on her chin. “If you could do anything, what would it be?”

  “Like a superpower?”

  “Nah, like a talent. And don’t say cello. You already do that.”

  Tess snorted. “Um. Probably something practical. Like accounting or coding.” If she was good at that, then she could get a well-paying job or freelance to keep herself afloat while navigating the professional musician situation.

  “You’re so boring,” Nat groaned.

  Tess elbowed her again. “Why is it boring to be practical? What would you do?”

  Nat put her empty plate on the ground and flopped back on the couch. “I don’t know. Maybe I’d be a good painter.” Tess didn’t think too deeply into that, because to think of painting would be to think of the empty studio, and she was not going to let the devil ruin this moment of peace.

  “You could be good at painting,” Tess said. She fought the urge to ruffle Nat’s hair. “If you practiced.”

  “Practicing is boring. I just want to be good.”

  Tess rolled her eyes. “The world doesn’t work like that.”

  Or does it? There was the ebony cello in her hands, the crowds in front of her. There was the devil and his bargain.

  Tess squeezed her eyes shut. No. The devil had killed Regina—any bargain he offered, even if it allowed her to succeed, was just a preamble to death.

  She needed to talk about something else. “What do they have planned for you this weekend? Is there still that soccer tournament?”

  “That finished last week,” Nat said. She wiped her hands on her jean shorts and pulled out her phone. “The arts festival is downtown this weekend.”

  “Are they taking you?”

  Nat smirked. “Sort of.”

  Tess didn’t like the sound of that. “What do you mean, ‘sort of’?”

  Nat’s grin widened. “Pinky promise you won’t tell anyone?” She held her hand out to Tess, pinky extended. Tess hated agreeing to something before she knew exactly what she was agreeing to, but she wasn’t going to figure out what Nat was up to unless she did. Begrudgingly, she linked her pinky with Nat’s.

  “Okay, so. They’re taking us to the Warhol and the Point in small groups, then four of us are signed out to go meet Nya’s mom and we’ll be dropped back at campus before 11:00.”

  “Okay…so you’re hanging out with Nya and her mom?”

  Nat’s eyes shone with glee. “No, of course not. Nya’s mom lives in Toronto. But her older sister lives in the city and got us all signed out! So we get a full day of freedom downtown.”

  Tess stared at her. She didn’t like this, not only because it was a horrible idea and ridiculous, but because it broke at least six rules. “Nat. Dude. You’re thirteen.”

  Her smile faltered. “So?”

  Tess threw a pillow at her. “Natalie. You cannot go roaming around a strange city by yourself. Do you even know how to get back?”

  “I won’t be by myself. I’ll be with Nya and Alexa and Haylee.”

  “Who are also thirteen
,” Tess muttered.

  “And we’ll take the bus back,” Nat finished. “Also, Haylee and Alexa are fourteen. So.”

  Tess’s head fell back against the back cushion. “Whatever. You should absolutely not be going around by yourself. This isn’t the mall in fucking Lancaster. This is a city with like drunk people and creepy men and predators, and you don’t know your way around. What bus do you take back? Do you even know that?”

  “Google maps is a thing.”

  She needed a moment so she didn’t say anything awful, so she didn’t snap. Tess grabbed the plates and took them to the sink.

  It didn’t matter that someone had signed them out or that they were going in a group. Besides the danger level of what Nat was doing—and Tess was pretty sure she wasn’t just being overprotective; Nat was a young thirteen and Tess was just looking out for her—there were other factors to worry about.

  Nat looked sullen when Tess came back in and down beside her. “What if Falk finds out?”

  Nat rolled her eyes. “They won’t.”

  “But what if they do? You don’t know they won’t.” Tess tucked a knee to her chest and locked her hands around it. “If someone says something or if one of the other girls on the floor finds out. If someone posts on social media. Do you know what happens if Falk finds out you all snuck out?”

  Nat didn’t answer. Tess recognized her own stubbornness on her sister’s face: the line of the mouth, the set of the chin, the look in her eyes.

  “You’ll get kicked out of Falk,” Tess finished, since clearly Nat wasn’t going to answer. She struggled to keep her voice level. “No scholarship. You’ll go back home. None of this will matter.” Control. Tess had to remain in control of herself, of this. “Is that what you want?”

  Again, silence. Nat pulled at the frayed edge of her shorts, breaking off blue-white threads of denim.

  “Is it?”

  “You do what you want, all the time. And they haven’t kicked you out.”

  Tess rolled her eyes. “I submit my work schedule to the dorm sisters every month. They know when I’m coming and going, and I’m here before curfew when I’m not working. Besides, I’m not thirteen.”

  “You’re not an adult, either.”

  “Maybe not, but at least I can take care of myself.”

  Nat got up without a word and started for the door. Tess scrambled after her. She couldn’t risk this. If Nat got caught and got herself thrown out of Falk, there was nothing more Mathilde could do, and it wasn’t like Tess had a reason to be here without her, and she couldn’t just go back with their parents.

  She couldn’t. And she wouldn’t watch Nat risk everything.

  “I’ll tell Mathilde.”

  Nat stopped, one hand on the door. “You wouldn’t.”

  Would she? Maybe. It was a violation of Nat’s trust, but this was a situation Tess couldn’t afford. Maybe they wouldn’t kick her out, but …

  “If you don’t promise me you’ll come back with your group tomorrow and you won’t violate rules, I will tell Mathilde.”

  Nat glared at her. Her eyes welled with tears, because Nat’s emotions were hardwired to her tear ducts and Tess knew she hated it.

  “You’re not my parent,” Nat seethed.

  No, she wasn’t. But at the same time, she had to be. Tess crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m sorry,” she said. “But you know I can’t let you do this. Promise me.”

  Her eyes were awful, burning things. “Fine. I promise.”

  Tess nodded. The fight drained out of her. She just felt empty. This wasn’t a battle she was supposed to be having, not one she’d prepared for. She wanted someone else to tell her what to do, what to say.

  “I hate you,” Nat said simply. She’d said it before, yelled it during fights over trivial things like hoodies and favorite blankets, but she’d never spoken it like this. Level. Honest.

  As if it was true.

  Tess couldn’t stop her as Nat left, slamming the door behind her. She groaned, rubbing her eyes. Nat wouldn’t go through with it, but it sucked all the same. Tess sat on the couch a few minutes longer, thumb on her left hand rubbing a callus on her right.

  It wasn’t fair. She hated making choices Nat didn’t like, even if it was better for both of them. But if her parents wouldn’t take care of Nat, then it fell to Tess, and she was not going to sacrifice her sister’s future for anything. Not even for her love.

  thirty seven

  Eliot

  AFTER ELIOT LEFT THE LIBRARY ON FRIDAY AFTERNOON, HE went to his usual spot where he met Brooks, the security guard who ensured Eliot could get where he wanted. It was on Pitt’s campus, on one of the benches in the shadows of the trees that lined the walk between the Cathedral and the chapel.

  He stopped at a food stand to grab two orders of dumplings, General Tso’s chicken, and an order of fried rice.

  Brooks was waiting, as he always was, with a Diet Coke and two sticks of string cheese. He handed one to Eliot.

  “Weather’s nice,” Brooks said.

  Well, this was a topic Eliot excelled at. He could talk about the weather endlessly. “It is. Looks like we’re due for a warm weekend.”

  “Good time for a barbecue,” Brooks remarked. He took the General Tso’s from the bag Eliot handed him. Eliot ripped open a soy sauce packet and doused his dumplings.

  Though this lunch was a regular occurrence, Eliot had a particular topic to bring up with Brooks today. He’d been a security guard at Falk for nearly fifty years, since before the school acquired Jessop. And he was a talker. If Eliot could just get him onto the subject, he’d open up easily.

  Eliot cleared his throat. “So. I’ve been spending a lot of time in Jessop, and at night especially, it’s creepy. My friend Henri said it’s haunted. Have you ever heard that?”

  Brooks frowned. “I don’t like to go in Jessop at night. Don’t know how you spend so much time there.”

  “Why don’t you like it? Have you seen something?”

  Brooks shrugged. He wasn’t being his usual talkative self, which meant … Well, Eliot wasn’t sure what it meant, as he wasn’t a detective and also was not generally great when it came to people. He pushed the dumplings around with his chopsticks.

  “I think it’s cursed,” Eliot decided on.

  “That would explain the fire,” Brooks agreed.

  Eliot frowned. He thought he’d heard of a fire at one point, but he wasn’t sure. It reminded him of the first time with the book, and the sensation in his office he’d fought to forget. The certainty that he was burning, watching Tess’s flesh blacken and flake away from her bones.

  They’d both been on fire. But what did that say about Jessop?

  “When was there a fire?” Eliot asked.

  Brooks sighed, like he still wasn’t entirely happy with this conversation. “Oh, probably … thirty years ago? Give or take.” The corner of his mouth lifted, which Eliot recognized as something he did when he had a particularly good piece of gossip. “Right after Ms. Matheson started working there. She lived through it. Creepy, isn’t it?”

  Something about this jarred Eliot. “Was she involved at all?”

  Brooks shrugged. “Doubt it,” he said through a mouthful of chicken. “Unlucky, though. But not as unlucky as the guy who died in it.”

  Now this was a surprise: someone had died in Jessop. “Do you, uh, happen to know anything about that?”

  Brooks shrugged, putting his empty containers back in the plastic bag. “It was a long time ago. And none of my business. You know I don’t like that library.”

  Eliot nodded. “No one really does,” he said. No one but him, and maybe Tess. But she probably bore a sense of duty rather than any real affection. He sighed. It was impossible to explain how magic felt stronger in Jessop, how he felt more himself. But it was also impossible to forget that within its walls, he, too, had burned.

  That night, Eliot forced himself to return to Jessop. If it hasn’t invaded your mind yet, maybe it can’
t, he convinced himself as he keyed himself into the library.

  He climbed the stairs to the third floor, muscles tense to aching. While he walked, he ran through spells. He was not strong enough to cast many without artifacts to compel the magic, like his mother was. He needed all manner of herbs and blood and earth and runes in order to get his magic working properly. His mother, on the other hand, could say a few words and hum a tune and set everything right again.

  Magic was fickle that way. Eliot tried not to let it bother him too much. Instead, he made a study of it. By analyzing his own magic, he could understand it a little better.

  He paused in front of his office. He couldn’t shake the image of the body on his carpet. When he’d spoken to Tess, he’d tried to brush it off, to make it seem like nothing, but it wasn’t nothing. This was a fixture from his daily life, a girl he’d seen in classes for years, even if he hadn’t really known her. And now something had happened to her, something terrible, something that he couldn’t understand yet.

  And it was all his fault.

  Eliot sunk to his knees in front of his office door, trying to control his breathing. He took his chalk from his pocket and drew a few quick marks. Sliced his thumb with one of the multitudes of small pocketknives he kept perpetually in his bag or in his desk or in his wallet, just in case. Ignored the brush of pain and smeared some blood in the middle. A few more lines and the spell was done. Magic thrummed in his veins. It was a protection charm. Perhaps not strong enough to stand up against the devil, but it was something.

  He went into his office. All was as he’d left it, which was to say, all was a mess. He sighed, dropping his bag onto one of the chairs, and went to the carrel of books.

  He’d requested every book that could hold spells. Then, his devotion had been single-minded: find something to heal his mother. Now, when he skimmed the titles, he found them lacking. There were history books mixed in, ones that told of dark magic rather than gave him instructions for it. About two dozen of them, scattered amongst the more instructive grimoires. Eliot pulled them and stacked them on his desk.