INFINITY | the infernal devices

𝟐: 𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐀𝐌 𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐎𝐍𝐃𝐀𝐋𝐄, 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐀 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐂𝐔𝐎𝐔𝐒 𝐁𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐃

"No matter, we will get cake," Elizabeth said determinedly.

A noise behind her made her whirl. The knob of the bedroom door was turning, twisting back and forth as if the person on the other side were having difficulty getting it open.

"Shit." Elizabeth cursed. Her sister glared at her as if ready to pour burning hot oil into her mouth.

Elizabeth hurried across the room, seized the porcelain jug from the washstand, and then scuttled to the side of the door, the jug gripped hard in her whitened fist.

The knob turned; the door opened. In the dimness, all Elizabeth could see was shadows as someone stepped into the room. She lunged forward, swinging the jug with all her strength—

The shadowy figure moved, as quick as a whip, but not quite quick enough; the jug slammed into the figure's outstretched arm before flying from Elizabeth's grasp to crash into the far wall. Broken crockery rained down onto the floor as the stranger yelled.

The yell was undeniably a masculine one. So was the flood of cursing that followed.

She stood with her hand on her hip releasing a torrent of colourful words back at the stranger.

There was a choked laugh, deep and throaty.

Bright light blazed through the room as if the sun had risen. Her sister was near the door and spun around, blinking.

A boy was standing in front of Elizabeth. He couldn't have been much older than she was—seventeen or possibly eighteen. He was dressed in what looked like workman's clothes—a frayed black jacket, trousers, and tough-looking boots. He wore no waistcoat, and thick leather straps crisscrossed his waist and chest. Attached to the straps were weapons—daggers and folding knives and things that looked like blades of ice. In his right hand, he held a sort of glowing stone—it was shining, providing the light in the room that had nearly blinded Tessa. His other hand—slim and long-fingered—was bleeding where she had gashed the back of it with her pitcher.

But that wasn't what made her stare. He had the most beautiful face she had ever seen. Tangled black hair and eyes like blue glass. Elegant cheekbones, a full mouth, and long, thick lashes. Even the curve of his throat was perfect. He looked like every fictional hero she'd ever painted. Although she'd never imagined one of them cursing at her while shaking his bleeding hand in an accusing fashion.

"You cut me," he said. His voice was pleasant. British. Very ordinary. He looked at his hand with critical interest. "It might be fatal."

"Well how fortunate, I can get rid of you as soon as possible then," Elizabeth said smiling a little.

Tessa looked at him with wide eyes. "Are you the Magister?"

He tilted his hand to the side. Blood ran down it, spattering the floor. "Dear me, massive blood loss. Death could be imminent."

"Wonderful!" Elizabeth said cheerfully, resisting the urge to clap her hands.

He gave her a burning glare, Elizabeth only wanted to laugh at his anger. She barely knew this man, yet she felt a strong emotion toward him. Probably hate. It ought to be hate.

Odd for someone she barely knew but she'll take it.

"Are you the Magister?" Tessa said again, sending a glare to Elizabeth, who in turn held her hands up sheepishly.

"Magister?" He looked mildly surprised by her vehemence. "That means 'master' in Latin, doesn't it?"

"I ...I suppose it does," Tessa said.