23
I stand at the doorway to Dad’s study in Arx Hall. Actually, both my parents use this place to work when they’re visiting, but right now, he’s the only one around. Candles dot the room. Flickering light dances off the leather bindings of books lining the walls. Dad sits hunched over his great wooden desk, scribbling away with a feather stylus on a fresh sheet of parchment.
“How long are you going to watch me?” A sly smile rounds Dad’s mouth as he makes another note with his feather-pen. “I can do far more entertaining things than write, you know.”
“I have—” I almost say ‘a gift,’ but the words get stuck in my throat. My gift may be no gift at all. I hover anxiously in the doorway. I only woke up a week ago in Purgatory General; maybe this was a mistake. “I should go.”
“Please stay.”
