“I will give you something to fear…” As he spoke, his teeth grew to fangs, tearing through the corners of his lips to spill more blood on the ground. I stumbled back as he leaned forward, as he lunged—

My eyes shot open, my hands aching from gripping the edge of my childhood bed. “Magnus!”

Instead of an answer I heard the cellar door creak. The slap of sandals, a boot, and a slightly more metallic, heavier tap on the stairs. Jember wasn’t alone.

I didn’t know what kind of mood he would be in—depended on whether he’d been out all night drinking or working. And I probably shouldn’t let the other person catch me in here. But I didn’t have the will in me to move from this spot. Or care, for that matter.

“Andromeda…”

Magnus.

His sweet voice echoed in my empty, cavernous heart, and I squeezed my eyes to force it away.

The footsteps stopped before coming into the room.

“Get me a salt slab,” I heard Jember say.

“You mean carve it from the desert?” asked a boy’s voice. He sounded tired, and I felt a small twinge of irrational jealousy mixed with relief. A new mentee meant Jember was making a steady living, at least, even if it also meant I’d have to share the room with one more. “But we’ve already been out all night. And I don’t know how—”

“Are you complaining, boy?”

“N-no, sir—”

“I’ve decided I need five slabs, now.”

“B-but—”

“Ten. Another word out of you and I’ll split your head open, instead.”

The only response was quick footsteps up the stairs.

The poor boy didn’t know what he’d signed up for. I let out a breath of laughter before sinking into misery again.

I heard the cellar door creak shut, the chain clinking as he turned the key in the lock. After a minute a weight dipped down the flimsy mattress at my back as Jember sat on the side of the bed.

“Andi.”

Jember’s voice was gruff, comforting because it meant I was home, but not attempting to soothe me in any way. Not my Magnus. Not my imagination. But it felt like a dream, anyway. He didn’t sound drunk. Or smell it. He smelled like incense, sharp and herby, and the subtle undercurrent of sweat. It was strange how much I’d missed that smell.

“Look at me.”

I didn’t move. Couldn’t.

He grabbed my shoulder, shifting me to my back so that I rested against his, and I didn’t fight the movement. He was wearing his white long-sleeve undershirt and pants, and of course his ever-present red gloves.

“Someone hurt you?” he asked.

I wiped my blurred eyes with the back of my hand. “No.”

“Then what are you crying about?”

I took a trembling breath. “I failed.”