Lustful Alchemy

28. CASSANDRA

If someone had told me that the Aesop who woke me up this morning, cuddling me in his arms and kissing my forehead, was the same one who barely tolerated me last August, I probably would have requested an emergency admission to St. Mungo's. Yet, it's really him. I am amazed every day by his evolution, the way he has started to open up to me, and the constant care he shows me. Abraham and Matilda were right: I had to grit my teeth and be very patient, but in the end, I managed to see his beauty. And now that I know what it's like, I don't intend to give it up.

The great thing about the magical world is that labels or conventions aren't necessary. For now, I'm too embarrassed to bring up the topic in public and to define my relationship with Aesop, while I know he's trying to get used to this new situation.

He hasn't told me much, but sometimes words aren't needed to describe certain situations. The fact that he was so reluctant to get to know me and that he constantly fears hurting me, yet at the same time shows me the most special attention, has generated a sad suspicion within me: that he, too, like me, experienced an intense and overwhelming love in the past that was taken away from him when he least expected it. When he hinted at how he injured his leg, I couldn't help but think that perhaps the person who lost their life in Scarborough was a woman he loved.

This thought has been buzzing in my head for days, but I've tried not to pay it any attention. I would be very curious to know this part of Aesop's life as well, to discover this piece that would complete the mosaic of his personality, but I realize that, if it were as I think, the topic is so delicate that it is right and necessary for him to tell me about it when he deems it appropriate.

For now, I enjoy his attentions, especially the smallest ones: when he gives me precedence to enter or exit a room; the fact that he is always careful to serve me a drink first; the way he looks at me in class. If his eyes could talk, I am sure they would recite an ode to passion, respect, and devotion – with a touch of eroticism. And it is with this same gaze, full of anticipation and desire to be together, that he approaches me at the end of the Alchemy lesson, when practically all the students have left for other classes, standing behind the desk. A voice behind him interrupts his courtship: «Professor Doyle?»

Aesop rolls his eyes to the ceiling and changes his path, focusing on tidying up the workstations, while Alisteir Rookwood looms in my view. Lately, though always arrogant and reluctant to obey my authority, he hasn't caused much trouble.

«Yes, Mr. Rookwood?»

«I wanted to know if you could authorize me to borrow this book to deepen my studies and expand my knowledge,» he says. He steps closer to me and continues, «From the Restricted Section.»

It's not an unusual request, and I usually try to accommodate the students, yet for some reason, his tone seems to conceal something different; a shadow of worry and anxiety creeps under my skin. «Let me have a look,» I allow, though staying alert. The expression on his face is disturbingly proud as he hands me the parchment on which the request for the book he desires is handwritten. «'Secrets of the Darkest Arts?'» I exclaim incredulously, as if I had been slapped in the face.

Alisteir keeps his gaze high and his expression smug as he says, in a conciliatory and accommodating tone that clashes with his personality: «Yes, Professor.»

I shake my head: «I'm sorry, Mr. Rookwood. I can't sign the permission.»

I hand the paper back to him, but he looks at it without showing any intention of taking it. «And why not?» he asks, as if I had told him he couldn't swim in the lake in the summer.

«Because I don't think it's a book you should be reading,» I reply, handing the piece of parchment back to him, the only thing dividing us. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Aesop watching us, his body immobile but reactive, as if ready to intervene at any moment.