“Hey, don’t worry about it,” Andy said, recovering himself. “It’ll be fine. Just listen carefully, try hard, and be really polite.”

I nodded.

“And don’t be afraid to ask questions,” Theo added. “Just, you know, skip the dumb ones.” He grinned at me, breaking the tension.

Still, it wasn’t the most auspicious start to the day. By the time we finished and Gwen walked me to Cordus’s office, I was scared. I felt like I was walking into the proverbial lion’s den, except this den belonged to some sicko rapist lion.

She knocked on the door, then opened it a crack. “Lord Cordus, I’ve brought Miss Ryder.”

“Thank you, Miss Hegstrom. You may go on to other duties, now.”

“Yes, sir.”

Gwen opened the door wider and nodded at me to go through. She even gave me an encouraging smile, which looked a little odd on her stern, weathered face.

My return smile felt more like a grimace. I blinked hard and took a deep breath. Then I headed in.

“Miss Ryder, your development is indeed anomalous.”

Cordus removed his fingertips from my arm and leaned back, studying me.

He and I were sitting in leather armchairs at one end of his office.

Actually, it was more like a library than an office — there was a desk at the other end, with several straight-backed chairs in front of it, but most of the room was given over to floor-to-ceiling shelving in some beautiful, dark wood. From what I could see, most of the books on the shelves looked old. Very old. Unlike in the dining room, there were few windows. The effect was cavelike.

It was the only room I’d seen on the estate that had any personality. I liked it. I wondered what it would be like in there on a winter night with a fire in the fireplace. Cozy. So long as Cordus wasn’t in there with you.

That said, once again, Cordus’s behavior hadn’t matched the horror of his reputation. He hadn’t tried anything inappropriate; in fact, he’d been polite.

I felt confused. Confused and fascinated. Fascinated and repulsed. It was hard not to stare at him, but when I did, I remembered that same stunning face impassively watching the green man tear itself apart.

At a loss, I’d retreated into the role of student. I was good at being a student, and I liked it. Good students didn’t think much about their teachers, and especially not their teachers’ looks. Instead, they thought about what they were studying.

He’d begun with exercises similar to what Graham had had me do at Rib Mountain — deep breathing and concentration. Then he’d asked if I could describe my sense of the worked-essence barrier he’d placed around us to keep our lesson private.

I’d told him I wasn’t aware of the barrier at all. That was when he’d touched me.