Chapter 8

September 8th, 2018

Collège de St. Cyr

Serpens Hall

Moon in Leo - Waning Crescent

Well, I won't be able to sleep, now. Knowing he's upstairs, heartbroken and half-desperate with pain, needing a soothing hand, a bit of comfort, someone to stand by his side and listen, or just sit there with him. Knowing I'm reading way too much into this, exaggerating as I'm prone to. Oh, but the way he looked at me. The way his eyes travelled up my leg, pausing at those two nasty bruises I got at the indoor swimming pool. Because of Alec. No, I don't want to think of him. Her. What the fuck. I don't want to think of him in his trunks, swimming across the pool. I don't want to think of his body dripping water, of his eyes on me, I don't want to think of how he seems to affect me nearly as much as Mr King.

But I do.

Ever since I met Alec, I can't think of much else. Either in his male or female persona, I'm far too curious about who he or she is. When he's a she, when she's a he. Alec tends to tie his hair when he's in his male moods - It's what I call it, I think he'd hate me for it - and wears her hair loose when she's female. But always dresses the same way, and that can make it awkward and confusing, some days. Especially because she seems to take offence at everything I say, or how I say it. I mean, what's the problem in asking if she's a he or a she that particular day? How am I supposed to know? How am I supposed to address him? Or her. This is just too confusing, and every time I try to make it right, she lashes out. Acts as if offended by my very existence.

I think that's what's bothering me about Alec. I'm the kind of person who doesn't like conflict, I want people to get along with me. I don't want to be misjudged, and fear it's what Alec is doing. She doesn't even give me a chance, it's like I've been completely written off. And that annoys me. This past week has been hell. I was so eager for the start of this term, knowing I'd be thrown into Ezra King's way at all moments, only to realise he's MIA and no one knows when he's expected back. That put a damper on my mood, all right. Then this Alec person shows up, and everything about him attracts me, even when he's a she - which is so fucking uncanny, I don't do women; at all. I like men, I like manly men. But Alec turns me into a bit of a puddle, and I can't help flirting with him even when he's a she. The fact he takes offence and saunters off as if I don't deserve the time of day annoys the fuck out of me.

So in order to keep sane, I just dive into my studies. I think I've gone through all the recommended reading on Professor King's list for this semester. Some good books there, too, some more scientific works. Turns out he customised the list to each of us, and on mine I get books by Freud and Jung, and the Nonpareil father of psychiatry, Emmanuel Duchamp. Those were interesting, and already had me coming up with a set of novel ideas. I kind of know where I want to take this, should Ezra allow me to pursue this course of study. I can start my research here and take it further up if I decide to go for a Masters, or Doctorate. I'm sure he'd be willing to tutor me for it, despite all this... well, all this heat between us. It's not my fucking imagination, it's not. Man wants me as much as I want him. Let's see how much we last.

I've also read Alec's work on transmutation of gender, and although it is far from finished, it's a really interesting study. Especially because as far as I know, he's the only person who's able to do this, in the context he says he does. I've heard of Shifters taking on the form and the looks of another person, and not necessarily one of the same gender - although both Sashi and Ben claim that to be far more difficult to pull, because it demands a lot more use of energy - but I've never heard of a Shifter who can transmute into either the female or male version of themselves. I wonder what Ezra makes of this, and am so eager to start classes with him. Because this tucks in nicely with what I want to specialise in, what I want to study. I wish I could convince Alec of being my case study. The three of us, we could get so many advances on the theory of transmutation and the psychological effects of it. We could break so much ground.

A sudden noise brings me out of these musings, a door being closed softly, guarded footsteps walking down the corridor. I leave my desk, bare feet skidding on the polished floorboards, halt by the door, ears pried for what's outside. Whoever it is has stopped by my door. Sashi? Coming in from a wild night, eager to fill me in on what went down? Alec, come to apologise for being a wanker? Alec, coming to banter with me, unable to keep herself away?

Ezra, trying to leave the dorm unnoticed, making sure I'm unaware of his presence outside my room? Hand curling over the knob, I don't allow myself time to think, I snap it open.

And sure enough, here he is. Looking like a kid caught stealing the last of the biscuits, he runs a hand through his hair, smiling sheepishly, the dimples on his cheeks begging for me to kiss them. Steady, girl, this might ruin your future chances at academic excellence. I rein in my attraction to this man, try to act cool, but cock an eyebrow instead, and allow my robe to open down my legs.

"Professor, is something wrong? Can I help you with anything?"

He clears his throat, takes a look around as if afraid someone walks in on us. But the corridor is empty, as are the other rooms, no one's back from their outing, not even Alec. I momentarily wonder what he's doing, if he's snogging anyone, if he has a girlfriend, or a boyfriend at that. It's momentary, but tells me all I need to know about where I stand, concerning him. Her. Whatever.

"Did I wake you?" Ezra asks, and I don't know if he means now or when he first came in. I consider inviting him into my room, but fear he may find it too forward. "Were you asleep?" His eyes fall on my laptop, and the crease on his forehead smooths.

"I was just finishing up," I say.

"I'd like to talk to you about your role in the A.A.S."

And now I'm officially worried. A role? I thought I was here to study. Rumour has it, back in Professor Whitford's days, his students had roles. You entered the A.A.S. and certain things were expected of you. Girls were supposed to supply beverages such as tea and juices, and food too. The boys were to bring in all the necessary equipment and supplies, which they had to share among the group. I hope Mr King is not considering doing the same. A smile flickers over my lips as I think of Alec's reaction were she to be asked to prepare the boys a tea.

"Care to come in?"

He blushes, but doesn't look shocked. On the contrary, he looks as if he might just accept, if it weren't for the impropriety of it all.

"Maybe we should take this up to the common room?" he replies, and gestures up and down, finger pointing at me. "Put some clothes on, will you?"

Ah, you're not going to get away with this. I fling the robe open and show off my pyjama set. Silk green shorts, silk green top. I'm fully clothed, so he can suck it.

"Be savage, not average," I say, and can't help grinning as his eyes widen slightly. There's a smile wanting to come out, but he won't give me this victory. Instead, he nods towards my laptop.

"Bring that along, we may need it."

I follow him to the common room, he's taken off the jacket he was wearing, and the boots too. Black socks on his feet, they look a little dirty and ripe, and I have to refrain from offering to help with his laundry. I'm not his mother, nor do I want him to start picturing me in that sort of capacity. The tee shirt he's wearing has also seen better days, and I wonder how affected he's been by the death of his friend. My heart melts at the thought, and I long to comfort him. But we came here to discuss my role inside his elite group, so maybe I'm the one who's gonna need comforting, afterwards. I suddenly wish Sashi comes home soon.

Taking a seat on the sofa, he immediately looks sorry for it. As I slide next to him, our knees touch, and it's like a jolt of electricity up my leg. Ezra looks as shocked as me. We avert each other's eyes, I open the laptop and turn it on.

"So, what did you wish to discuss?"

He seems to go back to himself, eyes blazing with a fire that has nothing to do with want. At least not a want for me. "Right. Your end-of-term paper on the psychological effects of Transmutation. I found it very insightful."

"Thank you," I'm lost for words other than platitudes.

"What do you intend to do after you leave St. Cyr, Miss Tremayne?"

'Marry you and have your children,' I almost say, but manage to clamp down my utter inappropriateness. "I'd love to further my studies on psychology. Duchamp was very interesting, but I fear he's a bit limited."

He nods, shifts on the sofa. As if he can't find a proper seat. His thigh brushes mine, and it's even worse than that knee touch. Good lord, he keeps it there, smack against my thigh, the heat of his body assaulting me.

"Then you must familiarise yourself with the work of Selena Davenport. She was groundbreaking in the field of Psyche Alchemy and Chaos Magic Systems. You should consider specialising in Alchemical Psychology for Year Four, if you're serious about working that field. And afterwards, where are you thinking of applying?"

I shrug. My parents would suggest anywhere in the UK. I'd be closer to home. London, Manchester, Oxford or Cambridge, perhaps. Any one of those would be lovely, really, from an academic standpoint. And in terms of the future, it would set me off better than attending a minor University elsewhere, only for the sake of travelling and living abroad. But I know there are better places for the course I want to follow. Neither Cambridge nor Oxford are great with Psychology, not where it comes to Alchemical correspondences. They're not breaking ground, just tagging along, and I'm not the kind of person who follows the herd. I'm the one who leads the pack, actually. Edinburgh would be a better choice.

"Have you considered Notre Dame?"

He must be joking, right? I could never afford Notre Dame. Isn't there where he worked, prior to coming to St. Cyr?

"Professor, I don't think that's an option. I'm already Year Three, and my entire curricula is wrong for Notre Dame."

"Log on to your student area, please," he says, with a smile.

I obey, and feel him slide even closer to me. Our legs are glued together, not just at the thigh, and I can't help shivering. My back is so straight it might snap, and my heart stampedes into a wild cavalcade, while my entire digestive system decides to wake up in a bad mood. Cramps strike my gut, my stomach, and sweat floods the palm of my hands.

"Can I see your current curricula?" he asks, his voice so close to my ear it raises the hair on my neck, my arms. I'm glad I kept the robe on.

I open the curricula, a list of the classes I attended the previous two years and their respective grades are followed by the classes I enrolled this year. Ezra points at two of them, Philosophy of Eastern Magical Systems and History of Nonpareil Art. His arm brushes against my breast, I recoil, he doesn't seem to notice.

"If you drop these two," he goes on, inching closer so he can reach the keyboard.

My eyes are no longer on the screen, instead they've latched to the blond stubble on his chin, the curve of his mouth, the tip of his tongue as it alights on his lips. Oh, were it to alight on someone else's lips. Namely mine. This man makes me want to moan.

"You could take up Principles of Genetics 1 this semester, Genetics 2 the next one, and Advanced Genetic Alchemy on your fourth year. That would land you the necessary curricula so you can apply to Notre Dame. And if you take History of Middle Eastern Alchemy as well, then you're all set."

His enthusiasm is catching, but I fear I might not be up to his expectations. Genetics? I was never very good at those Regular scientific things. And my parents would still not be able to afford Notre Dame. I'd have to move to Paris, get a flat, pay the tuition fees.

"It won't work," I say, and my voice is flat, devoid of emotion. Were I to allow any, I might break up in tears. This was a fine, lovely dream. "Notre Dame is beyond my capacity."

He lifts his eyes up to mine, and I notice just how weird they are. One is green, and very light, while the other is dark blue. There's no speck of other colour inside. Both vivid and striking, they kind of remind me of Alec - and I hate myself that this person keeps crossing my mind.

"You're clever and hard-working, Cassandra." The way he says my name is like a satiny caress. Or an aphrodisiac. My innards are about to explode, there's a lump in my throat that pertains to the world's loudest moan. This man drives me crazy, for fuck's sake, I need to get a hold on myself. "I can tutor you, help with your application, I know people at Notre Dame. Showed your essay to the head of the Psychology Department, and she was rather impressed."

Showed my essay. To the head of the department. She was impressed. She. His girlfriend? Sudden jealousy ties knots around my head and clamps my heart. A fury, nameless and unnecessary, wakes up inside me, and I suddenly want to lash out, leave the room, tell him I don't need his help for I have no intention of applying to Notre Dame.

But he said he'd tutor me. That would bring us even closer together. And I do want to be closer, don't I? I also really want to go for this. Notre Dame's Nonpareil Psychology course was the first thing I looked into, when I started studying for my Grade Exams. Back then, it was way out of my league, but I fell in love with the curricula, the courses, the subjects. St. Cyr was the next best thing, and the only one where I got offered a fulltime scholarship. But St. Cyr is generic, and if you want to specialise in one area of studies, you need to move on to other, better places. Like Ezra did. I wonder why he left Notre Dame to come teach here.

"All right," I hear myself say.

It's like my brain disconnects from my mouth, at certain, specific times. Have I thought this through? Not at all. Am I sure of it? Of course not. Am I still going to do it? Hell, yes, if only so I can indulge in his presence a little longer.

"Good!" He leans over again, now tapping the keys in rapid succession. It takes him all of two minutes to pull me out of the classes he mentioned and enrol me in the ones he feels I must take, and set himself down as my thesis advisor with an application to Notre Dame attached. "I hope you're ready for hard work."

My hand, which has developed a life of its own, coils around his arm, fingers twitching. His eyes alight over it, then fly up to mine.

"What if I'm not good enough?" I ask. The hint of cold on his face smooths away, he smirks and smiles. "What if I let you down?"

"Cassandra, you could never let me down," he whispers, and I know this is it.

I know we're no longer talking about the course, the academic pursuits, my results as his student. We're no longer talking about me as his student and him as my teacher. This is about the man and the woman, the real people behind the roles ascribed by society. This is about what he wants and what I fear; this is about what we feel. This is about all the risks we'd be taking if we allowed ourselves to be swept into this. What if I'm not worth the risks? What if I'm not good enough to justify him taking them? What if he ends up fucking his whole life and career for something that's just not good enough?

'Cassandra, you could never let me down,' he said. Is he willing to go that far, then?

My eyes alight on his lips, linger there, the tip of his tongue back to wet them. They look dry, and I could moisten them up real nice, like he moistens me up just thinking about him. Oh, bloody hell, I want this man so much. I've been daydreaming of him for the past two years, despite knowing this could never be. Despite knowing this should never be. But I know he's been thinking of me too, for there's no denying the way he looks at me. The very same way he's staring now, flushed and bothered, just as I am. My hand hasn't left his arm, and now his curls over it, takes the fingers and pries them loose, only to entwine his through mine. I shudder, lean closer, he leans in on me. Our faces are so near I can smell his breath and count the pores on his skin. I can feel the warmth of him breathing against my lips. Our mouths are that close.

I can't quite believe this is happening, I can't quite believe I'm sitting here, on this sofa, with Ezra King, and he's about to kiss me.

Before he has time to do it, the door snaps open and someone walks in, letting out an 'Oh' of surprise. I recognise the voice instantly, have no need to turn round to see who it is.

I do so, anyway, and my eyes meet Alec's.

He doesn't look happy.