Rise of the Mage (Resurrecting Magic Book 1) Read online

  What was it about Nathaniel Nightingale that set me so on edge, yet fascinated me so much?

  I cleared my throat and he whipped around instantly, fixing his furrowed brows on me. When he saw it was only me, he turned back to the cart of books and continued putting them away.

  “I was not intending to brag earlier,” he said with his back turned to me.

  A smile pulled at my lips and I felt a little embarrassed over the fact that my heart did a little flutter, knowing he’d been thinking about our conversation all day. “I knew you weren’t bragging. I was just teasing you.”

  He looked over his shoulder at me as he put several books back on the shelf. I couldn’t quite read his expression. I would need to get to know him a lot better before I could understand the guarded looks in his eyes.

  When he didn’t say anything, I pulled his book from my bag. “I brought your book back. Thank you for letting me borrow it. I feel pretty confident about my paper.”

  “You seem pretty confident about everything when it comes to Alderidge,” Nathaniel responded as he turned and took the book from my extended hands. “Except maybe me.”

  I blinked. He was so direct. Not many people were that way. People guard their feelings, they talk in circles, they play games.

  “I can’t quite get a read on you,” I say, being honest in return. “It’s throwing me off.”

  For the first time ever, a little smile crooked in one corner of his mouth.

  He set his book down on the cart and turned back to the task at hand. He took four more books and scanned the shelves to find their proper place.

  “The surname Bell derives from Middle English,” he said, and once more, I was intrigued by just the sound of his voice. Even his way of speaking was unique. His low tone, the quiet timbre of his words. “It can come from multiple countries around Europe. Scotland, England, France, Norway, Germany. Do you know your family history, Margot?”

  I blinked. Nathaniel couldn’t be more than twenty-one years old, maybe twenty-two if I was stretching. And there he was, talking about history outside of a classroom, asking about ancestry.

  “My great-grandfather came from England to America when he was pretty young,” I answered. I crossed the room and took a seat in the leather chair beside the empty fireplace. “He came with his younger siblings, but I know a lot of the older siblings stayed behind in England.”

  Nathaniel gave no indication that he’d heard me, but I knew he had. He was quiet for a long moment, and I could nearly feel the gears turning in his head. Though I didn’t know why. I would bet nearly a quarter of this country had origins tracing back to England.

  “And what about your mother?” Nathaniel asked after a moment that dragged on too long for comfort. “What is her maiden name?”

  My throat tightened instantly. There was a bad taste in the back of my throat and my palms instantly felt slick with sweat.

  “McGregor,” I answered, even though I didn’t want to share the information with him. I truly didn’t want to talk about her with a stranger. “Amelia McGregor Bell.”

  “Scottish,” Nathaniel said simply, and in a way like it explained something. I was grateful that he didn’t ask anything more or say anything else about it.

  “The name Nightingale is also English,” he moved on. “It originated as a nickname for someone who could sing well. I guess some things die out over the centuries.”

  My eyes slid back up to him, but he kept his back turned to me. A little smile curled the corner of my mouth.

  I think Nathaniel just cracked a little bit of a joke.

  “I’ve been attempting to compile my family history for the last few years, but it’s proven to be exceptionally difficult.”

  “Why is that?” I asked.

  He put the last book on the shelf and stood there, looking at the spines. “Because my parents were drug addicts, which landed me in state custody when I was three years old. I’ve been unsuccessful in even learning their parents’ names.”

  I sat back in my seat, shocked at his very honest and personal confession.

  Nathaniel turned around and walked to the seat opposite of mine. He sank down into it, and I was surprised when he slouched down, crossing one ankle over the opposite knee. He’d always been so composed and proper, seeing him like this was startling.

  “I’m really sorry to hear that,” I said, at a bit of a loss for words.

  He simply gave a shrug, his eyes drifting over to the fireplace. “It’s a privilege most don’t see,” he continued. “To know one’s origins. We find such interesting stories in our own personal histories.”

  I didn’t even realize he’d done it, but he’d put me in an open state of mind, just by sharing three sentences of his own vulnerable past.

  “I had a great-grandmother who was hung in Salem because they thought she was a witch,” I blurted in a low voice.

  Nathaniel’s eyes flicked back to meet mine.

  “On my mother’s side,” I continued. “She and her husband had only been living in Salem for just over a year, with their three little ones. They put her on trial with the others. Declared her a witch and hung her. Her husband’s journal said they did it right in front of their children.”

  I saw the gears turning in Nathaniel’s eyes once again. His right hand was balled into a fist, supporting his head which was leaned against it, but his left hand tapped his thigh sporadically.

  “1693 then. Fascinating,” Nathaniel said, his words slightly breathy. “And absolutely tragic.”

  I was impressed with his ability to recall years and history instantly. I had no doubt in what my dad said about Nathaniel being his best student.

  I was about to open my mouth when someone stepped into the room.

  A young woman about my age startled when she saw us. She placed a hand over her heart and shook her head, though she must have decided she needed something more than she felt awkward for interrupting our conversation, because she stepped inside and started browsing the titles.

  I didn’t know what else to say. Truly I didn’t.

  So I stood, slinging my bag over my shoulder.

  “Thank you again for letting me borrow the book,” I said, stepping toward the door. If Nathaniel was surprised or bothered by my quick decision to leave, he didn’t show it. “I’ll…I’ll see you around.”

  “Goodnight, Margot,” he said, his voice ever cool and even.

  I turned and left the room.

  Chapter Four

  On Wednesday, I stepped out of my Social Studies class, thinking it might be nice to go down to the beach since the weather was still nice. But when I walked out, I found Nathaniel leaning against the wall across from the door. There was no question he was waiting for me.

  “Hi,” I said, the word coming out awkwardly while I tried to sort out what this meant.

  “Hello,” he answered. There was something lighter in his expression today. “I…I wondered if you were free this afternoon. I don’t work at the library on Wednesdays and Thursdays.”

  I felt my face blush, which was embarrassing. And a little smile started pulling on my lips.

  But still, I nodded.

  “I…I was actually thinking of going to the beach today,” I said as we started down the hallway. “The weather is supposed to be nice for a few more weeks. I thought I’d soak up as much sun while I could.”

  Looking at Nathaniel, he didn’t look the type to soak up as much sun as he could, but he nodded his head in agreement anyway.

  “I need to run home and drop off my books, and change,” I said, my eyes focusing on the doors in front of me, the ones that would lead to my house. “Do you live close enough to campus that you could go get changed?”

  Nathaniel nodded.

  “I’ll meet you at the archway in twenty minutes?” I didn’t mean to form it as a question, but Nathaniel seemed so out of sorts, I didn’t want to scare him off.

  He only nodded once more. I gave him a little wave, smiling to my
self as I headed down the hall at a quicker pace.

  Twenty-two minutes later, I walked across the well-manicured lawn of Alderidge toward the archway that faced the ocean and led down to a stone pathway to the beach, a bag with a wadded-up blanket over my arm. I wore a white sun dress. I rarely wore it, because I felt like I was trying too hard to be something I wasn’t, some sunny beach girl from California. But secretly, I loved it and wished I could wear it more. I’d also donned a floppy hat.

  Nathaniel was already waiting at the arch. I took him in as I approached and realized he almost looked like an entirely different person outside than he did within the dim walls of the school. He seemed thicker, not quite as wiry. His hair was lighter. His skin was darker than I expected.

  He didn’t look as comfortable out here in daylight as he did within the walls of the library.

  He turned when he heard my approach, and I didn’t really mind when I watched his eyes run up and down me.

  “You look like an entirely different creature out in the sun, Miss Bell,” he said as I came to stand in front of him.

  “Funny, I was thinking the exact same thing about you,” I said.

  I’d never forget it, the first time he smiled then. It wasn’t big. It was still controlled. But he smiled, showing me a hint of white teeth and an annoyingly adorable dimple on either side of his mouth.

  “Her bite is still the same, though.”

  There was something light that shone in his eyes as he looked down at me. And I thought then that maybe he should get outside of the school’s walls more often.

  “Shall we?” I asked.

  Nathaniel turned to face the ocean and extended his arm, his elbow crooked out. I smirked at him, and he didn’t miss it, but I took it anyway, and let him take the bag in my hand.

  We made our way down those steps and then stepped out onto the sandy beach. We pointed south, wandering instead of finding some place to lay the blanket down and gaze out at the water.

  “So, you have one more year at Alderidge after this,” I said, looking over at Nathaniel. “That would make you…twenty-one?”

  He nodded. “I’ll be twenty-two come the end of November. And how about you, Margot?”

  “I’m still eighteen,” I answered, hating the answer. I’d resented the attachment of teen to my age since I was sixteen. “But I’ll be nineteen the second week of September.”

  “You say both your parents are professors,” he continued. “You’re a Latin major. Does that mean you plan to become a professor as well?”

  I shrugged. “I guess it’s the family legacy. My parents have both loved their jobs. My whole life has been at Alderidge. It wouldn’t be so bad to take a job here.”

  Nathaniel looked over at me, studying my face. “You mean that, don’t you?”

  I looked out at the sea. “I might not be the best at making friends my own age, so I guess you could say some aspects of my childhood were lonely. But yes. I’ve loved it here at the University. This town. All of it. It’s home. I’d be happy being a professor, like my parents.”

  We’d walked past the university’s property. Now there were a few homes. Up ahead there was a restaurant.

  I looked over at Nathaniel. “What about you? Two years of university left. What’s the plan after that?”

  Nathaniel looked straight ahead, walking along our path. I didn’t think he liked the sand getting in his shoes very much. “I’d like to maybe travel around the world, further studying all the sites I’ve been fascinated by my entire life. And then I think I’d like to teach, too. Maybe not here at Alderidge, but somewhere.”

  I looked up at him, studying his face while he watched where we walked. “I thought I was the only one in our age range,” he looked down at me then, “that was bad at making friends. You’re pretty good at staying invisible, Nathaniel. But I see you now.”

  The intensity in his eyes was becoming familiar, and I saw it growing there now.

  There was a house up ahead. Everyone in Harrington was familiar with it. It was a mansion, owned by a rich family in town. Beautiful and complex and sprawling, it had once been the nicest home in Harrington.

  But a storm had rolled up the Eastern shore and done damage to a number of buildings, including Asteria House, named after the wealthy family who built it. They’d never repaired it. Only moved out and moved on, leaving it abandoned and decaying.

  Nathaniel turned us up the slight bank, helping me up into the long grass. He led me toward the house. Together, we braved the steps leading up onto the massive back patio that spanned the length of the entire house. The boards creaked under our feet, but they held.

  As if he’d done this before, Nathaniel pushed a door, and it swung open with a loud screech.

  The inside was filled with wood paneling and floors and beams. It would have been beautiful at one point. We entered into what seemed to be a bedroom. An old four poster bed was pushed up against one wall, but the mattress was long gone.

  I followed him through a door, and we walked out into a great room.

  The floors were stained with water, and the once white wallpaper was turning green from mildew. I thought there might have once been a great chandelier hanging from the ceiling, but it seemed it had been looted out.

  The house would be spectacular if only someone cared to fix it up.

  “It’s not the easiest, to make friends, or really any connections, when you’re moved from house to house as a child,” Nathaniel said.

  “You said you were three when you were taken from your parents,” I said. We wandered to a sitting room that overlooked the ocean. There were three chairs there, starting to rot away, but solid enough to support our weight. “Have you seen them since?”

  Nathaniel settled into one of the chairs, looking out at the ocean through the windows. “They attempted to trick the courts into granting them custody again for a year. I remember being there once. Can recall their faces, or at least my child impression of them. But they disappeared after that. Then it was only foster families and group homes.”

  “Did you have any siblings?” I asked, my throat tight.

  Nathaniel nodded. “I’m told I had an older brother and sister. But I don’t remember them at all. We were all separated when we were taken away. I don’t have any idea where they live now.”

  “I’m really sorry to hear all of that,” I said. My heart ached for him. He didn’t have parents. He had no one to go back to on Sunday nights for dinners. He didn’t have a mom to take care of him when he was sick. A father to give him life advice.

  Nathaniel’s eyes slid back to mine. He didn’t say anything for a long moment, and I wondered what he was thinking.

  “Your father is a good man,” he said. “You’re lucky to have him.”

  My throat tightened further, and I let my eyes drop down into my lap. “I know.”

  “But what happened to your mother, Margot?”

  I knew the question was coming before the words ever left his lips. A piece of ice dropped into my stomach and my fingers instantly felt numb.

  I hadn’t talked about her in a long time. I hadn’t even spoken her name in at least six months.

  But maybe talking about the hard things would help. Maybe it was time I dealt with all of my feelings when it came to her.

  “She simply disappeared,” I said, the words coming out low and hoarse. I swallowed once, and slowly, my eyes rose back to meet Nathaniel’s. I sat in the old chair with my forearms braced on my knees, slowly turning my hat in my hands.

  “She was the very first female professor at Alderidge,” I said. “Even though the Dean had been hesitant to hire her, and really only hired her to seem progressive, she’d excelled. You would have loved her. She was a linguist, too.”

  Nathaniel gave no reactions as I revealed the truth to him. He didn’t act surprised or angry. He simply listened.

  “She and my father were happy. I think they thought it was a game, trying to gross me out by kissing all the time or
holding hands or cuddling.” Something bit at the back of my eyes and I blinked a few times to keep tears from welling. “She loved her job, at least as much as she loved me. Our family was happy. And we always took little trips together. Up to Boston for the weekend, or out to New York. We had a really good life.”

  It was hard, remembering how it had been. How normal things had seemed and how it never once crossed my mind that it could change.

  “But just days after I turned fifteen, she disappeared,” I confessed the heart-wrenching truth.

  Three beats passed. Four. I could only concentrate on breathing even and slow. Could only try to tell my hands not to shred my hat.

  This wasn’t easy to talk about, but now that the words were coming out, I wanted them all out of me.

  “It was literally like she just vanished,” I said. “She hadn’t packed any clothes. She didn’t take any toiletries. She didn’t take any of her books. Not even any money.” I shook my head, and now I couldn’t help it. Tears welled in my eyes, and I knew they would be bloodshot. “The police…they thought my dad had done something to her.”

  My eyes fixed out over the ocean, but I wasn’t seeing the sunny blue sky or the calm ocean.

  I was seeing the police tearing apart our house, going through our car, ransacking my father’s office. I was watching him through a glass window while they interrogated him at the station. I was answering their questions about my parent’s relationship and if I’d ever been afraid for my mother or feared my father myself.

  “They investigated him for nearly an entire month before they treated it like a disappearance,” I said, the words barely more than a whisper. “I knew they were looking in the wrong direction, and every day they blamed my father was another day less likely that we’d ever find her.”

  I looked down at my hat. I’d picked at the edge of it, all the way around, fraying it.

  “The worst part is not knowing,” I said. “If I did something wrong, if Dad did something wrong. If she just got tired of her life and ran away. Or if…if someone took her. If it was violent and terrifying. I don’t even know if she’s alive.”