White Heart of Justice by Jill Archer Page B

around the room for other volunteers. Gordy’s magic tendrils were getting so bad, it was starting to feel like I’d fallen into a nest of vipers.
He was anxious,
I thought. Well, so was I. But at least I was able to keep my magic in check now.
    â€œMetatron’s squire was the last person seen with the White Heart,” Glashia finally said. “There was a footnote,” he said grumpily, shuffling through the papers on top of his lectern. He located the reference and held up the paper snapping it between his hands before lowering it to the lectern again. He peered down at it, squinting. “Here it is. Footnote two hundred and eighty-seven.” He looked up at us again and motioned impatiently when he saw that we still hadn’t located it. To a person, we all scrambled to comply. After flipping through three of the chapters that had been assigned for today, I finally located the footnote:
    287. Kaspar Bialas : Chosen by Metatron to be his squire because Bialas had several unusual Hyrke characteristics, one of which was Bialas’ immunity to magic. Legend says Bialas was marked by Luck’s hand in the same way that Luck marks his waning magic users, but that Bialas’ mark was as light as a waning magic user’s is dark. It is no longer known what the mark was.
    Class continued in similar fashion for over an hour. We discussed all the modern bounty hunter cases next—in extraordinary, excruciating, mind-numbing detail. Finally,
thankfully
, the class came to an end. I packed up my books and was just about to leave when Glashia called me back to his lectern.
    â€œIf you win the Laurel Crown, what will you choose to do for your residency?”
    I could have just told him—
I’m going to become a riverboat sentry and work for the Jayneses
—but instead I said,
“Aut laborare aut pugnare parata sum.”
To work or fight; I am ready.
    Glashia peered at me, his gaze steady. After an uncomfortable moment, he nodded.
    â€œI hope you chose to do both, Ms. Onyx,” he said finally, handing me an oversized thick white envelope.
    â€œFriedrich Vanderlin had this delivered for you here just before class.”
    I smiled and thanked Glashia. Hopefully, this envelope contained a letter from Friedrich Vanderlin accepting my apology for destroying the Justica statue—and a positive response to my petition for a Guardian. I waited until I was downstairs in the lobby of Rickard Building before opening the envelope. Inside it was a single sheet of thick white linen paper embossed with black ink. It wasn’t a letter accepting my apology and it wasn’t a positive response to my petition for a Guardian. Instead, it was an invitation.
    A RCHANGEL F RIEDRICH V ANDERLIN
    REQUESTS THE PLEASURE OF YOUR COMPANY
    AT AN OATH CEREMONY
    E MPYR
    8:00 P.M.

Chapter 5
    I couldn’t ignore the invitation, nor did I want to. I had no idea who was going to be taking what oath, but this could be my chance to set things straight with Friedrich and the Divinity. So in between my remaining classes that day, I decided on my outfit. Under ordinary circumstances, agonizing over clothing choices would have seemed like sartorial silliness at best and appalling vanity at worst, but no one—especially someone who wanted a chance to offer the Angels an olive branch—would make the mistake of showing up underdressed for an Angel event.
    In the end, I opted to dress in white and silver (my nod to the Angels; they loved white and bright), but other aspects of my appearance were a nod to the Host. I wore a bustier, as I had in the Gridiron, but this one was made of delicate silver chainmail. I’d found it in a vintage arms shop in Northbrook over the break. The lustrous patina proclaimed its age, which was easily ten times mine. To counter the idea that I was showing up in battle gear, however, I paired it with a silver satin skirt, which had a train long enough to pool at my ankles,