Abaddon's Gift

Chapter Thirteen

Bo glanced at Naena, seated on her bed with her back against the wall, staring off at nothing in particular. She had a rough day, from what he had heard of the snickering in the halls. He remembered once being the center of attention when it came to the jeers and comments. Sometimes he had just needed to be alone.

He took his key with him, locked the door behind him, and left. Outside the dorm building, he looked around, tugging his sweater tighter around him as the scaling began to ache. It was bitterly cold outside, but he didn't want to go back up to the room for a sweater and bother Naena.

Instead, he ducked his head into the wind that was picking up and hurried along the stone path toward the main building. The walk was not long, a few minutes at most, but by the time he made it through the doors, his hands were turning blue around the scaling, accentuating the scarring.

He headed for the third floor immediately, nodding to the servant standing at the bottom of the steps, dusting the handrailing. On the third floor, he turned and headed for the Hellfire club's room and slipped into the cozy warmth of leather and rugs and a fire in the hearth.

"Bo!" Nillon called out, approaching him with a steaming mug. "I thought that was you trailing after me, what are you doing out in this cold?"

Nillon was a third-year who had already been earmarked to return and claim a spot in the war mage magehood class. Magehood was only meant to describe the second round of classes attended by fifth to eighth-year students to train in the discipline of their choices.

The Seven called it discipline. Mages used the two interchangeably.

Nillon only ever used the term magehood, that had always worried Bo, but nothing else Nillon ever caused Bo alarm. He had been the first to bring Bo to Hellfire, was always there to greet him with a smile and a hot mug of something on a cold night.

"Naena had a bad day," Bo said. "I didn't want to disturb her again."

"Girl's got to develop a thick skin," Nillion said. "No worries, though, Trathor says she won't be around long."

Trathor was the faculty sponsor for Hellfire. While attending Amos, some fifty years previous, Trathor had been a member. Having the dean as their faculty sponsor gave Hellfire a leg up on the other clubs. They almost always have the best supplies for their parties and spells.

"Trathor said the same about me," Bo offered up after what he knew would be a noted extended silence.

"True," Nillon said with a nod.

Nillon held out the steaming mug, which Bo took gratefully, wrapping his long fingers around the heated ceramic. He brought the mug up to his nose, inhaling the spicy scent of apple cider as he looked over the club room.

Many of the others were already there, having made themselves comfortable in the rich leather sofas and chairs made available for them. Each had a steaming mug in front of them.

Except for the Mud Club member standing in the corner, speaking with Hellfire's masked leader.

He was always hidden, but the older students knew who he was. They just didn't mutter his name out loud. The leader in Hellfire was always masked, and the story went that Trathor, the dean of the university, had been leader in his day.

"What's a Mud Club doing in Hellfire's room?" Bo whispered to Nillon.

Who turned and looked at their leader and the other student. He shrugged as he turned back to Bo.

"We can't fight over everything," Nillon said. "Instead, we trade sometimes. A spell to summon a demon in exchange for some closely guarded family secrets about permanent magic."