Page 112 of Malcroix Bones Academy

In our first week of school, several professors outlined detailed schedules for the sheds, listing which hours and days we should try, if we wanted to reserve a slot. For regular students, you needed a group of four or more to make a reservation, unless it was a highly unusual circumstance, and those required special permission.

Professors, obviously, had use privileges students didn’t.

So did doctorate and mastery students, particularly those working as student teachers. A number of time slots were blacked out for those groups’ sole use.

I’d been told smaller sheds existed in the city of Bonescastle that could be rented out, as well, but those were also in high demand, and expensive to boot.

I’d also heard a few professors had their own, private, much smaller sheds.

Which all went to say that it figuredCaelum Bonescould reserve a shed compartment for his own personal use on a weekend morning and no one would bat an eye.

As I approached the southernmost of the buildings, it struck me again that “shed” was an odd thing to call them. Made almost entirely of stone, all but the sides of the gabled roofs, which consisted of bronze metal plates laid in dragon-like scales, the structures were probably eighty feet long and twenty wide. They made me think more of airplane hangars or Native American longhouses than anything I would call a shed.

I’d never been in the fourth building until now. The stones were darker here, maybe from proximity to the lake, or maybe because it had been built earlier. The sides and roof shimmered with faint blue and gold from all the layers of protective magic.

The first compartment was the furthest from the gravel path, and when I reached the door, I lifted my hand to knock. Then, hearing students approaching through the trees, laughing and talking loudly, I tried the handle, found it open, and slipped inside. I locked the door behind me, without really thinking about why I did that, either.

Only then did I look around the dim space.

He was already there.

He hadn’t turned on the overhead lights, but chose instead to surround himself with floating lanterns filled with green and yellow flames, conjured by his own hand.

He gave me a bare glance, then went back to staring at the papers spread out in front of where he sat cross-legged on the floor. I walked over to him and folded my arms.

He glanced up at me finally, frowned, then returned his gaze to the open file in front of him.

“Sit,” he said absently. He glanced to his right, and my eyes followed his to a basket laying on the floor. “I brought food. And coffee. There are cushions over there,” he added, motioning at a few towers of thick pillows stacked along one wall.

I frowned back at him, partly in frustration, but eventually walked over and retrieved a green cushion from one of the stacks. I returned to where he sat, found a clear space to his right, tossed the cushion to the floor, and sank down on top of it.

I pulled my legs into a cross-legged position and waited.

“You don’t want coffee?” He didn’t look up from the file. “I thought you drank it.”

I stared at him. “I do,” I said. “Why would you know that?”

He ignored the question. “Well, have some, then. I’ll be with you in a minute.”

I felt my jaw slowly clench. I reached for the file in front of me. He shocked me by smacking my wrist. Lightly, but sharply enough I jumped.

“Ow.” I glared at him.

“Just give me a bloody minute, will you?” He looked actually annoyed. “I have it all organized. I was going to give you an overview, but Ijustgot this report I’d requested. It’s the latest Praecuri filing.”

I kept my hand on the file a second longer, then slowly withdrew it as my mind ran over what he’d said. The Praecuri were still filing reports on my parents’ death? It had been nearly ten years. That had to be odd, didn’t it?

After the faintest pause, I leaned to my right. I opened the basket, found a large thermos with two mugs, placed both mugs on the stone floor, and unscrewed the thermos’ top.

“You want some?” I asked.

“Yes,” he said, without looking up.

Biting back a sarcastic comment that was at least partly nerves, I poured us each full mugs. I had to admit, the coffeesmelled divine. He’d already added milk and sugar, so I simply took one mug and placed it by his hand.

I sipped mine while I waited for him, and it tasted even better than it smelled.

I was about a third of the way into my cup, and had nearly lost patience again, when he placed that last paper on a stack to his left, and picked up his own mug. He took a long couple of swallows, then cleared his throat.