Page 27

“And you?” I tilt the end of the feather towards Bellamy, eyebrow raised.

The young man grimaces like he hates the question. “God, you sound like my father. I can’t say it suits you, Cass.”

“Just answer.”

“Uh, Scholar, probably. I used to think Artificer, but the tech involved… well, it never quite called to me.”

“And books do?” I prompt, eyes narrowed. I’d never pegged him for Scholar.

At my cynicism, Bellamy peers between his legs and yanks another red-covered volume out from the shelf. “Do they really only have Latin books here? Arabic’s a classic too, you know, and it is a hell of a lot more useful than a language that’s dead.”

Fred and Silas exchange a withering, silent glance, but Bellamy continues unbothered, replacing the book in the open slot on the shelf.

“All that to say, yes, books, you bastard. I thought you would have declared Scholar, too.”

“No,” I tell him with all the conviction I can muster. “Hunter is my calling.”

It’s not exactly a lie, but I turn before I can be interrogated. “My darling xenos.” I spin on my heel to face Leo and stand.

“Oh, I’m to decide my fate now, is that right?”

My gaze softens. “As best you can.” I lean the quill forward until the edge of its feather brushes over Leo’s jaw. Leo doesn’t break with my gaze as he plucks it from the air.

Bellamy clears his throat. “Want a rundown of what they do?”

“If I’m writing down my future, that might be the best.”

“Hm,” Bellamy says. The noise tells me he doesn’t like Leo’s tone. The bench creaks as Bellamy stands. He walks to me and plucks the cig from his lips—really, a bastard—and takes two quick drags before he hands it back to me. Then, arms folded, he walks over and taps one of the pages with the point of his toe.

“I’d say that one’s obvious.” He nods down towards the Hunter page. “You go and you kill the things that hunt humanity. Very heroic, always lauded.” Bellamy claps his hands towards me. “But they can’t do this alone.”

“There’s Artificers,” Bellamy continues. “Useful for when Hunters inevitably lose a limb or three. I’m sure you’ve seen some wealthy weasel in the Great Hall with a prosthetic limb.”

“Made of marble,” Leo murmurs.

“Made of whatever you can pay for,” I tell him, between another drag. “Hunters get commission for whatever teras they kill. Sometimes wealthy Londoners buy a trophy, sometimes the fee is drawn from the grand sum left by the University’s benefactors. Either way, the Hunter gets paid.”

Leo frowns. “You know that just made me have more questions, don’t you?”

“Plenty of time for those later,” I say. “No need to rush a friendship. Bellamy?”

“Healers are self-explanatory, I think,” he says. “They need the same training as a Hunter, because they get deployed just as often. But the focus there is defence. Of both the Hunter they’re assigned to, and themselves.”

“They move in pairs?” Fred asks. Silas’ eyes shift towards her.

I nod. “They can do. Sometimes a larger group. A lot of Healers head to other cities. Sometimes they head to towns.”

“Is that right?” Fred says. A fat lot of cynicism climbs back over her words. “I’ve never seen one.”

What can I say to that? I have no proof. So I shrug and tell her, “Well, what would I know? I’m no Healer.”

“What would you know indeed?” Fred flashes me a winning smile and folds her arms.

She really doesn’t like me.

“Alright, alright,” Bellamy grumbles over the top of us. His voice is low and full. It seems to ground the room. “Enough griping. Give me the cig, Cass.”

Bellamy reaches for the dying end of my cigarette and moves to the last sheet. He taps his foot twice. “Last one. Scholars. The people who learn the stuff that Hunters use to take teras down.”