“The faculty residence hall? You've got to be shitting me.”

  “I assure you I'm not,” the volunteer yelled as she looked down at the paper in front of her, “look, right here.” she pointed next to Eve's name, then Nisha's.

  Eve covered her ears as she leaned in to see. Sure enough, there it was.

  Eve BISHOP — Baudelaire Hall (F)

  NISHA BISHOP — Baudelaire Hall (F)

  “Looks like you're the predesignated teacher’s pet,” the volunteer continued, “good luck with that.”

  I was thinking more like ‘known liability’ but what do I know?

  The spring semester had seen record admissions, hence the sea of people crashing against the walls of the Communing Hall.

  The war must be going poorly.

  Her stomach did flips at the thought of war. The thrill of combat. Castigan's flames on her fingertips, Sennar’ lightning falling from the sky at her whim – nothing quite matched it.

  She'd never fought against an elementalist though…sure, some of the souls she'd bound were ancient members of their order. Castigan, as an example. She'd borrowed his powers…but never had to fight against them.

  I wonder what he'd think about the war.

  Of course she'd never thought to tell him about the war. How his Homeland threatened her own with extinction. “The end of Necromancy as we know it,” is what the politicians had said.

  “You okay?” Nisha asked. She hadn't stopped compulsively checking on Eve since the day she'd been discharged from the hospital.

  “I'm fine,” she lowered her hands from her ears, “it's just…really fucking loud in here.”

  Nisha pointed up at the ornately decorated ceiling. “We're in the Communing hall. It's meant to amplify noise. The whispers of the dead.”

  She smirked, “I bet if you listen close you can even here some talking now.”

  Eve gave her a light shove, “I'm not a kid you know, the ghost stories don't scare me anymore, I'm a ‘Practitioner of the Mortuary Arts’.” She said with her pinky held high.

  Laughter escaped from both of them. It sounded unnatural in the hall.

  “Oh, there's Jace! I'll catch up to you!”

  The two shared a brief embrace before Nisha ran off.

  Eve couldn't help but listen a little more closely to the din. Maybe Nisha was right…maybe –

  “Eve.”

  “FUCK – damnit, Arric. Don't sneak up on a girl like that.”

  “We need to get out of here.” He whispered urgently.

  “What? What's wrong?”

  He held out his palm. Castigan's flames were burning blue across it. Flickering as if they couldn't decide whether to burst forth or go out.

  He pulled his collar down, revealing the same effect along the bone.

  Eve pushed him towards the exit.

  “Let's go.”

  Arric's mind raced as he walked alongside Eve.

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  What do you mean you don't know? He thought to Castigan.

  I said that I don't fucking know, didn't I? If I knew, I don't think we'd be getting closer to combusting with every passing moment. Just get us outside!

  “Arric, are you okay?”

  “Keep moving.”

  Why'd you bring the girl, moron? Now we're gonna blow her up too.

  We're not going to blow up. We'll get outside. Shoot flames off somewhere safe.

  Then hurry! Look at our fucking hand!

  Arric hadn't noticed the increase in the flames' temperature. In fact, he couldn't feel it at all anymore. He looked at his hand, blisters rose around deep burns. The skin was smooth, but blackened and charred.

  “Shit.”

  The doors gave way to a powerful shove, reverberating off the stops as they exited the building. Eve was close behind.

  “Eve, stay back.” He cautioned.

  “What’s going –”

  “Fucking listen and stay back!” Castigan shouted, “we can't control my flames!” As he said it, a jet of blue fire pushed its way out of his palm, scorching the ground beneath them.

  Eve stepped in front of him, flames broke around her feet.

  “Arric –”

  “I'M CASTIGAN.” He screamed at her. “STOP CALLING ME THAT FUCKING NAME. I'M CASTIGAN OF THE BOILING SEAS. CASTIGAN OF RED DAWN. CASTIGAN OF THE FUCKING ISLES OF AMBER.

  “Castigan…” she reached and hand towards him.

  “REDUCED TO A PALTRY PASSENGER IN A FALSE BODY. PLAYING THE OBSERVER TO THE REMAINDER OF A FORCED DESTINY – A LIFE NOT MY OWN.”

  She stepped closer to him.

  “No.” He shook. His voice softened. “You're going to burn yourself. Stop it. Step away and let me end us.”

  “Like I've never felt your flames before Castigan.” She grinned at him.

  The memory of the cave returned to him. She'd demanded flames and provided. And then some, when Maeve made her feel it.

  “I CAN'T STOP THIS.”

  “I think you can.” Flames licked her fingertips, turning them bright red.

  “I told you I'd burn you to cinder if I ever got the chance.”

  She rushed him, flames engulfed the both of them as her head reached his shoulder.

  “Then take it.”

  The flames went out.

  “Look, I'm just telling you what the monkey says.”

  Jace stood in the doorway of Eve and Nisha's suite at Baudelaire. Busy faculty members bustled behind him, preparing for tomorrow’s first day of classes.

  This sounds dangerous, Eve thought. She brought a bandaged hand to her face, running her thumb along the minor burns that lingered near her ear. Letting Castigan take the wheel for hours? Days?

  She stared into the back of his head as she stood behind him. She had a sudden urge to run her hands through the black curls.

  “He says that if you want to avoid another ‘flameout’, then Castigan needs to be the one in control sometimes. Regularly, even.”

  “I don't think Castigan will agree. He's been…despondent since the incident.”

  “I couldn't be any less interested in that,” Jace said, “but that means he's probably gonna make those pretty blue flames again before long. If he must, just…do it somewhere that's not our dormitory, please.”

  There was a brief pause. Eve assumed some internal battle was taking place on the couch.

  “But do call if they go off, I didn’t get to see them the first ti–”

  “Fine. I'll do it.” Came the response, clearly Castigan now. “So what is this, weekends at mom's house, schooldays with dad?”

  “Please stop talking before I die of boredom. Where's Nisha?” Jace said from the doorway.

  “What are you a vampire? You can come in, you know.”

  He smiled at Eve and winked, “thank you, my dear.”

  “She's upstairs. I think I heard her knees hit the floor which probably means she heard your voice.”

  “That,” he said as he moved quickly towards the stairs, “sounds decidedly, not boring.”

  The auditory void created by his absence assaulted Eve's ears. She stared into the back of Castigan’s head. Heat seemed to emanate from him. She found herself wondering what he would have looked like if he’d been the one to make their body.

  I bet he’s got blonde hair. Wavy, medium length. Very pullable.

  “Were you ever going to tell me?”

  His question pulled her from her thoughts. She didn't know what to say. She wished he hadn't asked.

  Was I?

  She let the question hang in the air. Maybe he'd move on from it, maybe he –

  “I know you're still there. I can smell your hair.”

  Eve sat on the circular stool behind her.

  Castigan rose from the couch – “what a fucking waste of –”

  “No.” Eve said, finally.

  He turned and stared at her. She could almost see flames inside his pupils.

  “No? Really? That’s all?

  She continued to hold his gaze.

  “So…what, just an inconvenient little truth for your undead Elementalist, hmmm? Just a small slice of reality that he need not see?”

  “You were dead, Cas–”

  “DO I LOOK DEAD TO YOU?”

  The wound in Eve's chest ached. “Where's Arric, I –”

  “No.” He shook his head, “No, you don't get to run to him after asking me to take a turn.”

  Eve felt the tears on her cheeks before she knew they were falling.

  “How long?” He asked.

  She shook her head, she almost couldn't see him through her bleary eyes.

  “HOW LONG?”

  “Ten years,” she choked, “the war started ten years ago.”

  “Where's the fighting? Territories lost? Held? The Isles of Amber, are they still held by Elementalists?”

  “I don't know.”

  He sneered at her, “of course you don't. You're just a petty soul dealer, barely good enough for Veilward Academy. Re-admitted on a fucking technicality.”

  She covered her face with her hands.

  The door opened and slammed.

  Eve sat in the silence, disturbed only by the occasional sound of Jace and Nisha’s loving satisfaction.

  That was like a twisted knife in an already open wound.

  Eve?

  It was Rose.

  Eve, what’s wrong? Are you hurt? I don’t feel a wound.

  Of course she didn’t. There was nothing physically wrong with Eve – not beyond the still-healing burns. She sniffled, the sound making her feel even more pathetic than she already did. She dropped her guard. Flooding Rose with her tears, her emotions, the fight and the flames.

  I’m sorry, Rose. I fucked up.

  They were both silent for a moment. A fresh wave of sobs threatened to engulf Eve.

  He’ll come back…he’s just mad that he let you see him.