Angelfire | The Whispering Wall #3

Twenty Two: A Social Visit

"This is incredibly awkward, isn't it?"

Jordan grunted. Jeorge sat across from him, cross-legged like he was on Yddris's floor, his wings hunched up around him like a bulky overcoat. For once, the Angel had lost his haughty composure and sat shivering and miserable, a pile of documents untouched before him. Jordan's own work, a reading of the Firebull section in his Guide to Demons, also lay untouched. For a minute, the only sound was Ren's claws scrabbling on the floorboards as she chased a string ball around.

"Are you going to faint?" Jordan finally asked, probably with all the tact of a farting demon, but Jeorge did look ghastly when he raised his head and the light streaming through the window illuminated his face.

"No." Jeorge rubbed his temple, almost like a nervous tic. "I can't promise I won't scream, though."

"Yeah." Jordan felt a twinge of sympathy. "Gets like that sometimes."

"I'm just...very uncertain that I'll actually be able to...to turn it down." Jeorge's voice wobbled. "I have no control over it at all. What makes this any different?"

Jordan had long experience of having no control over things, but his magic was one thing he was starting to feel he had some agency with. He thought about how loud the current had been when he'd first manifested, even with Yddris helping him, and winced at the idea of never being able to tune that out.

"Perhaps it'll fade when the wound heals," he suggested, though he wasn't so sure of that. Nictaven didn't tend to retract its offers.

"It's getting worse as the wound heals," Jeorge said plaintively, and to that Jordan didn't have an answer.

The front door opened and closed, letting in a gust of cool air. A familiar crackle preceded Yddris, who stood for a moment in the hallway entrance and then grunted. "You two look happy."

"Wonder why that could be," Jeorge said bitingly.

Jordan couldn't help scowling either, though he rarely found his own sentiments echoing Jeorge's. The whole business with the strange blade seemed to have knocked a few of Nerahardt's edges off, but he got along with Yddris as badly as ever. And right now, Jordan wasn't feeling much more warmly.

"A word, boy." Yddris beckoned, and then swept through the room. His footsteps sounded on the attic stairs.

Jordan set his book aside and got up, trying to rein in the surge of frustration that welled up. It had become quickly apparent that Jeorge had no idea what was going on between Nova and Grace, so pestering him had been fruitless. Instead, Yddris had left Jordan to stew for the afternoon in his own desperation, Nova's words having plunged his thoughts into the worst kind of spirals. What had Grace done that upset Nova so much? His sister was so hot-headed that it could be any number of things; he could only hope it wasn't as bad as he was starting to think.

Contrary to all his discussion with Jeorge about how the Gift worked and how to control it – the Angel seemed so anxious about it he hadn't had the heart to refuse – his own magic was boiling at the surface by the time he reached the top of the stairs.

"If you're not going to tell me what the fuck is going on, I don't want to hear it," he muttered, kicking the trapdoor shut behind him and facing his tutor across the room. There was already a cloud of blackweed from his tutor's pipe; Jordan's palms set up such a distracting itch at the smell that he growled and pulled out his own pouch.

"Boy..."

"No." He knew that tone. Nika used it all the time when he was about to dodge a conversation he didn't want to have. Or didn't think Jordan should hear. "You tell me, or I go back down."