I fiddled with the cuff of my shirt to hold in the intense emotion that had coursed through me at the wee brother.
It’d sounded so like Glow. Yet it hadn’t been him.
Would I ever see Glow again?
Not-Glow noticed, catching my hand between his. "You're the first person to ever talk to me like...flay me, this is hard...to see me as more than an Omega and to care that I'm not free. I believe that you can rescue us, but for that, you have to survive. Damelza detests your hide."
I shrugged. "And there I was planning our wedding." I might've made myself hurl a little. I brushed one of Not-Glow's curls behind his ear, and he startled like he'd never experienced the tender gesture before. "I can continue thinking of you as Not-Glow, the Anti-Glow, Glow Mark Two, Glow II, or..."
"Snow," the werewolf previously known as Not-Glow said. He glanced around at the shadows between the trees like even here someone would overhear and punish him for using his name, rather than Om. "At the Omega Training Center, it was a reward to be allowed out to work on the gardens, even in winter, clearing the snow because the guards hated the cold and wouldn’t oversee us. Moon knows, I loved it because I missed the trees in the Wilds, where I'd been a cub, before..." He paled, and I knew that he was battling to break free of the memory: When he was taken from his home and locked away. It’d happened to me because of my magic, and I struggled too. "My brother and I wanted to sound alike. He was the one who glowed like it didn’t even matter how crappy our day was, he’d brighten it. I took the name snow to remind me of the fun moments we’d steal in the winter gardens, even when I was shut in the dark."
I squeezed his hand because I needed to remind him that he was no longer in the dark. Yet we were both still trapped. I had faith that with Magenta by my side, however, we could be freed.
"Not that I'd ever argue against saving my life," I stood, still holding onto Snow's warm hand, "but isn't hiding me in a cottage and chasing only Lysander sort of...just a little bit...cheating?"
Snow's smirk was devilish. "I'd say that it was sort of rebelling."
I hid behind the high yew hedge that surrounded the back of the Groundskeeper's cottage. It was like a secret garden with a high oak gate, which was overgrown with ivy.
I whined, scrabbling at my fluffy ears.
Was Emerick a fairy tale giant, luring animals in for his stew? Let's be honest, with a mage's luck in a coven-run academy, I had a good chance of my bones being ground for bread.
I waved my nose in the air defiantly, before pushing on the gate.
Locked.
When I'd skirted the lake, my lungs had burned. My breath had ghosted the cold air. I hadn’t dared to look behind me at the thrumming darkness of the wood.
Snow was risking his life to hide me and hunt Lysander. He hadn't admitted it, but the truth had screamed through my mind on every one of his panted breaths.
The cottage had lain in darkness. My heart had thudded painfully fast. How long would I have before Juni checked where I was?
Suddenly, footsteps crunched through the snow. I whimpered.
Horn and hoof, Great Pan, let it be Hagrid...
I screwed shut my eyes as the shadow loomed over me. "Poor thing, have you been waiting for me?"
That didn't sound like Hadrid, Britain's last giant Gogmagog (oh yeah, I knew my giant lore), or even the Jolly Green Giant. The voice was as smooth as honey.
Would licking Emerick be a polite greeting? In fox form, I appeared to have some of the same urges as the werewolves or perhaps, Emerick just had that effect on people.
I was about to open my eyes and test out the theory because I mustn't neglect my study of Science, when Emerick grabbed me by the neck and dropped me into a basket.
I yelped. Something pressed uncomfortably into my manly parts. I wriggled around, baring my fangs.
Why did everyone foxhandle me?
Then the basket lurched, as it was picked up.
My eyes snapped open in shock, and I stared up at Emerick. His skin was velvet ebony, and his dark hair was woven with feathers. He was dressed only slightly warmer than my whipping boy clothes, even though his job was based outdoors. He wore heavy boots and leather chocolate brown trousers and shirt that matched his eyes, as if to mark him out from the students.
Yet he was the same age as the Rebels.
His gaze softened, as he studied me. "Are you injured, fox? How about we get you inside and check you over?"
Who was he, witchy Dr Doolittle?
Sweet Pan, if Emerick could talk to the animals, then he'd better keep that trick well hidden, or he'd end up like me. Banished to a comfy cottage in the grounds would turn into banished to the dungeons.
Emerick stroked my head to calm me, as I scrabbled anxiously over the knobbly pears underneath me.
"Shh, you're okay." Emerick slipped a rusty key into the gate, and it squeaked open. "Once we're inside, it's charmed so that my family or the other professors can't see or hear us." So, that was why Snow had chosen this hiding spot. "You made a mistake hunting on these grounds."
That meant the academy wasn't set up to keep out animals, but I didn't expect that they survived long. Unless, Emerick had set himself the job of helping them.
I liked him already.
I peeked over the lip of the wicker basket at the garden. Then I gasped. The cottage was tiny, ancient, and thatched. It leaned to one side like it was too tired to keep standing. The garden was nothing but a wave of snow, which lapped at the cottage.
Apart from the ice sculptures.
My ears perked, and I balanced on the edge of the basket. A crowd of ice sculptures, which were the most beautiful things that I'd ever seen (apart from Magenta), lived in the garden like they were Emerick's silent family. An elephant blew water playfully at a snarling tiger. An elf climbed the branches of an ice tree, while a vampire waved to him. A sleeping dragon circled the entire garden, even as a family of wolf cubs played on his tail.
It was art, life, and freedom.
They sang truth with a piercing violin note that was so pure and perfect that I shivered. I'd never heard anything like it before. I ached inside like I needed to cry and I didn't understand why. But then, I'd never been to an art gallery before. My doodles were epic but nothing like this.
Emerick studied me, then he chuckled. "It's like revelation, isn't it? I'm never alone now. My friend makes them for me." His gaze glowed with such warmth that I couldn't help the twinge of jealousy. Who was this friend? Wait, did he mean Willoughby? "He's talented." As understatements went, that was up there with calling the Sistine Chapel pretty. "And being here with me and creating them makes him feel safe, the same as I'll keep you safe."
That was right, concentrate on the fox.
Emerick laughed, when I puffed out my chest and fell back on my ass amongst the pears.
I needed to leave the flirting to Bask, especially when I was in animal form.
When Emerick pushed open the door to the cottage, I glanced around at the shadowy kitchen. The room was plain, but it was also neat and well-cleaned. I knew what it was like to live a simple life because you were a son of witches.
When I shuddered, Emerick hushed me. He dropped the basket onto his oak kitchen table, before scooping me out and holding me against the hardness of his muscled chest. I sighed, snuggling against his warmth.