A red fog of rage rolled across Cadan’s vision and he charged. The force of his blow took Warren to the floor in a tangle of limbs. The feel of flesh and bone beneath his fists was as satisfying as whiskey down his throat.
“Stay the fuck away from her.” He punctuated the words with blows that made his fists ache.
Warren hit back and they rolled in a tangle of flailing fists and limbs across the black mat. As Warren whaled on his midsection, the red haze of rage dissipated behind Cadan’s eyes. With a great shove, he heaved Warren off him and they lay panting, side by side, on the mat.
“Sorry, mate, dinna realize you were no’ over her.”
“I am over her, damn it.”
“Okay, sure thing. I hear you, she needs some time to adjust.” Warren pushed his hair off his forehead, then paused, as if he was unsure how to phrase what he had to say next, but barreled on regardless. “It’s a good thing you’re over her. Apparently, since you and Boudica were fucking in your past life, doing so again could be a trigger. Something about intimacy
and trust—you could be a catalyst for her memory. In fact, we’re countin’ on it, since no one believes you can keep your hands off her.”
What the hell? Sleeping with her could help her recall her past? Diana was fated to die as a result of her task, and they thought he’d sleep with her when it meant she’d remember her identity and set out on the path to her early death? Like hell he would. He took a deep breath and tried to speak nonchalantly. “You’ll lose that bet, mate. But I doona want you or anyone else near her.”
It was now clear that if she was to survive, she couldn’t be allowed to discover her past identity, at least not until her fated task was accomplished. And there was no need for her to face her task, not when he’d take care of it for her. She finally had a second chance at life. The least he could do was make sure she got to live it.
Diana’s heart pounded in her ears as she looked around the room into which she’d just been pushed. A bit of the panic bubbling up within her dissipated as she absorbed her surroundings.
In...heaven. Books lined the six walls of the hexagonal room all the way to the ceiling, which was easily twenty-five feet above her head. Paintings and trinkets were propped against some of the shelves, obscuring titles that she was desperate to see. Light, trilling music drifted from the far corner where a petite figure was fiddling with an old Berliner Gramophone. Dumbledore would walk around the corner any second now.
Or maybe it wasn’t the room that was calming her. Perhaps she’d gone as crazy as a bag of cats and this was all seeming pretty normal.
She looked more closely at the small woman in the corner. A woman that she hadn’t seen properly because she was partially transparent. Most of the calm that she’d gained disappeared.
“Where am I?” Diana asked.
“I’ll be with you in a moment.” The woman waved a hand at her, but didn’t turn. Her voice was as musical as wind chimes, but not so sweet as to be silly. “Have a look about. Entertain yourself.”
Diana glanced around. Entertain herself? Where should she start? She settled on examining the bookshelf full of old marble busts. Books were stacked behind them and she peered through a gap between one of an old man and another of a young woman. The History of the Immortal University: From Warriors to Scholars, a large, leather-bound tome sat next to Great Mytheans of Our Time.
Though her fingers itched to pull one out and learn more about this place, she was too polite a scholar to touch such an old-looking book without asking. Bad form and all that.
Diana shifted her gaze to the bust of the young woman. She wasn’t beautiful, precisely. Nothing so bland as that. She was striking, with a noble profile that spoke of wisdom. Diana read the small inscription below the bust.
Emily the Wise, founder of the Immortal University, created a haven for those who were persecuted by mortals for their supernatural powers and abilities. Her dedication and bravery have created a home for us all. May her soul rest in her afterworld, for she died too young.
Very impressive and very weird. Impressive for such a young woman to create something so grand, presumably far in the past, yet downright freaky that this place was supposedly filled with supernatural beings like the transparent Gramophone fan who was puttering around on the other side of the room.
Her gaze shifted to the bust of the older man, but rather than focus on his face, her gaze was dragged down to the plaque beneath.
Benjamin Tuckaway, inventor of the spell that would cloak the Immortal University from the eyes of mortals and remove it from their consciousness. Mytheans everywhere owe him a debt of gratitude for the freedom that concealment from mortals brings us all.
Huh, that must be why the car had been able to drive through a tree onto a road she hadn’t seen until they were actually on it. It was all an illusion created by the clever Mr. Tuckaway.
But Mytheans were what, exactly? Probably the same supernatural beings that Emily’s bust referenced, but what did that mean beyond the monsters she’d seen? Witches, warlocks? Ghosts?
“All right, sorry for the delay.”
Diana whirled at the sound of the other woman’s voice. She’d come to stand behind the large, cluttered desk that stood between them. Despite the woman’s near translucence, or perhaps because of it, she had an ethereal beauty, with her silver blond hair and flowing moss-green robes. The sharp green eyes peering out from behind gilt-framed glasses were the only truly bright color to her.
“Are you a ghost?” Diana asked. She couldn’t believe she could be so rude as to blurt it out, but she couldn’t help but ask.
“No.” The woman smiled.
Had she become slightly less transparent? Diana squinted. Yes, she was definitely more opaque now. “But why are you...” Diana gestured to her.
“Don’t you know it’s not polite to comment on someone’s opacity?”