A Destiny of Dragons (Tales From Verania #2)(11)

I sat opposite him, resting my Grimoire in my lap, carefully turning the thick pages as I read off my condensed (and highly accurate) biography, something Morgan said was necessary. A wizard’s Grimoire wasn’t just for ingredients for potions or steps to a spell. It was a wizard’s history, both personal and professional. Morgan had tasked me with writing down my history in order to make sure that anyone who followed me understood the steps I’d taken to become the person I was. Granted, he’d been kind of vague when giving me this assignment, but I could admit to taking a few creative liberties. To be fair, though, I thought future generations should be aware of just how much sex I was having and who I was having it with so they could completely understand me as a person and realize how awesome I was. There were even pornographic stick figure drawings in the margins that illustrated my prowess.

“Yes, well, there’s nothing wrong with having a healthy libido,” I said, trying to figure out if I should write the time I sat on Ryan’s face or if I should maybe go to church a little bit more. It really could have gone either way.

“I’m sure there isn’t,” Morgan said. “Not that I would know anything about that.”

“Oh, right. The asexual thing.”

“Yes, the asexual thing.”

“So, how does that work, honestly? You didn’t find anything about what I just wrote titillating?”

There was the side-eye I knew and loved so well. “You might have lost me at the part of Ryan getting… how did you so eloquently put it? Oh yes. Getting railed.”

I frowned. “Huh. Well, to each his own, I guess. I am so happy that you know that about yourself. It truly shows a mark of a great man when he knows who he is through and through. Personally, I am so okay with the sex, you don’t even know.”

“Oh, I think I do, given that I hear about it all the time.”

“We’re bros. I’m supposed to tell you stuff like that.”

“Bros,” Morgan repeated.

“Exactly. Bros tell each other everything. It’s the bro-code. Everyone knows that.”

“Maybe bros should learn to practice some restraint.”

“That doesn’t sound like a very bro thing to do. As a matter of fact, that might be anti-bro, and I would never do that to you. Now, should I continue, or…?”

He didn’t look pleased at such a prospect. “How much more does it go on?”

Pages upon pages. “Oh. Um. Not long.”

“Sam.” Only he could say my name with so much exasperation and fondness all at the same time. It was really quite remarkable.

“I might have written an ode to his penis in iambic pentameter that goes on for forty-seven stanzas,” I admitted. “I feel better now that I’ve said that out loud.”

“Of course you did.” Morgan sighed.

“Did you know that penis doesn’t rhyme with as many things as one might think? That was a lesson I learned far too late.”

“Oddly enough, I don’t spend time trying to rhyme words with penis.”

“Wow,” I said. “You put a lot of disdain in such a short sentence. I wish I could do that.”

“It comes with recent experience,” he said dryly.

“I’ll get there, I’m sure.”

“Of that I have no doubt.”

“Did you hear that one part, though? About the secrets? It might have been easy to miss. I can read it again if you’d like.”

He leveled me with a flat look. “How could I miss it? You are many, many things, Sam, but subtle is not one of them. I don’t know if you even have a passing familiarity with the concept.”

“I’m choosing to take that as a compliment,” I decided. “Because I have a fragile sense of self and must do such things to protect my ego.”

He snorted before scrubbing his hands over his face. “I tell you things when you need to know them. Anything more will distract you from what’s truly important. Sam, I need to know that you’re taking this seriously. That everything we’re working toward is something you can face head-on without disruption.”

That might have stung more than I thought it would. “I do my best,” I said, trying to not sound as small as I felt.

He sighed and sat up in his chair. His long black beard trailed in his lap and hung over his knees. He wore magenta robes today, with periwinkle clogs sticking out underneath. I had asked him once if he was color blind. He told me he was old enough that he could wear whatever he wanted. And when someone had been alive for nearly three centuries, it’s hard to try and find any argument against that.

But what I noticed even more than his eccentric clothing was how tired he looked. He had shadows like bruises under his eyes, and his shoulders were slightly slumped. His beard was shaggier than normal, and his hair was sticking up every which way, like he’d been running his fingers through it.

I glanced around the lab, trying to see any evidence of what he might be up to in my absence, but everything seemed to be in its place. The only thing unkempt was Morgan himself, and that was only noticeable if you knew him as well as I did. I wondered if he—

“I know you do,” he said. “Your tenacity in all things has never been found to be lacking. And I’m not trying to scold you. I know that all of… this can be overwhelming.”