Quiet (Enchanted University Book 2) Read online

  QUIET

  ENCHANTED UNIVERSITY BOOK TWO

  ZILE ELLIVEN

  Contents

  Disclaimer

  Prologue

  1. Isa

  2. Isa

  3. Isa

  4. Briar

  5. Isa

  6. Isa

  7. Briar

  8. Isa

  9. Briar

  10. Briar

  11. Isa & Briar

  12. Isa

  13. Briar

  14. Isa

  15. Briar

  16. Isa

  17. Isa

  18. Briar

  19. Isa

  20. Briar

  21. Isa

  22. Isa

  23. Briar

  24. Isa

  25. Isa

  26. Isa

  27. Briar

  28. Briar

  29. Isa

  30. Isa

  31. Briar

  32. Briar

  33. Isa

  34. Briar

  35. Isa

  Epilogue

  Note From the Author

  Acknowledgments

  Copyright © 2021 Zile Elliven

  All rights reserved.

  Cover art by Leigha Wolffe-Stoirm

  Editing by Gilly Wright’s Red Pen

  Disclaimer

  Sadly, this is a work of fiction. Unless the men with the lovely drugs and darling white coats say otherwise, all the names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents in this book are either the product of the patient’s—ahem—author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is a coincidence. But if you want, feel free to do as I do and believe with all your heart that, in some dimension or under some fairy hill, they are in fact real. Because it makes life more fun that way.

  To my beloved Charlotte,

  If I had known how important you would be to me on the day we met, I would have hugged you so hard, our art teacher would have blushed and told us to get a room.

  Prologue

  BRIAR

  “Briar never says a word. Don’t you think that’s strange? For a child his age, I mean.”

  “He’s still young.”

  “He’s five, Marie.”

  The wooden block stayed firmly in the child’s hand. The hushed conversation in the kitchen was nothing new to him, and this tower wasn’t going to build itself.

  His mom and aunt were doing grown-up talk. Grown-up talk was itchy. But not in a place he could scratch. Building things helped quiet the itch.

  “I know you don’t want to hear this, but there’s a spell—”

  “Not more fairy nonsense, please.”

  “Just hear me out, it can’t hurt to try. Don’t you want to be able to talk to your son? Gramps said there was a girl back in the old country who was like this. He said it helped.”

  A wistful sigh. “No, it won’t hurt, but . . .”

  “Here, I have everything we’ll need in my bag. Let’s do it now before you change your mind.”

  A crinkling sound assaulted his ears, and he wrinkled his nose when an acrid, pungent smell drifted toward him.

  When he completed the third tier of his tower, he felt a kiss on the top of his head, then another. The skin on the back of his neck began to prickle. The prickling grew long, branching fingers as it tickled its way inside his head. He scratched at it, but it didn’t help so he tucked the sensation away with all the other distracting things the world threw at him.

  He poured his attention into his tower and let everything else fall away. Once the tower was finished, he would glue it together and paint it. Hopefully the prickling would be gone by the time he was done.

  Chapter 1

  Isa

  FIFTEEN YEARS LATER

  A nice, full tummy on a warm day was the best thing ever.

  Stumbling across a horde of people protesting the availability of birth control at the school’s clinic was not.

  Especially when Isa recognized his cousin Paul in the crowd.

  Don’t make eye contact. Don’t make eye contact. Isa put his head down and turned to go in the opposite direction. He had plenty of time before his next class, so a detour was looking really good right now.

  “Isaiah!”

  Isa’s shoulders stiffened. Crap, there had been another cousin he hadn’t seen. Maybe Josh would think he’d made a mistake if Isa kept going?

  A sharp tug on his backpack yanked him to a halt. A hand on his shoulder spun him around, and he saw his sister Rebecca glaring at him. “Freeze, squirt.”

  Her long, glossy brown hair—a match to his own, shorter locks—shone in the sun, framing her face. On her it was a glorious lion’s mane.

  Isa, however, looked like he was a pixie on holiday from Underhill. Not intimidating at all. That was okay with him, though. He didn’t need to be intimidating, but he could have stood to be more observant. If he had been, he would have realized he’d had more than one person to dodge.

  Now he was stuck with a confrontation he was not looking forward to.

  “What’s up, Rebecca?” Isa gave her his sweetest smile. Doing his very best to play the baby brother card to its fullest. “What are you guys doing all the way out here?”

  His hometown was a little nowhere village in New Hampshire—about a four-hour drive north from Isa’s college in Massachusetts. He came from a family of homebodies—mostly only concerning themselves with the people in their town.

  Isa was the first member of his family to go to college out of state. If he hadn’t gotten a surprise full scholarship from Hawthorne University, he never would have been able to go, either. His parents had blown a fuse when they realized they couldn’t stop their youngest from fleeing the nest.

  “We’re here for you, Isaiah. You don’t think we’d just leave you unprotected out here, do you? Last week, I did some research on your school and found out they’re giving out,” Rebecca lowered her voice and whispered, “free condoms.”

  Isa couldn’t help it, he snorted. He tried to cover his mouth, but it was too late. Both his cousins, Josh and Paul, had joined Rebecca in time to hear him laugh at his sister’s outrage.

  Now Isa had two towering young men glaring at him as well.

  This wasn’t going his way. His tummy was no longer happy, it was churning. Maybe having a big lunch hadn’t been the best plan today.

  “It’s bad enough for you to skip church when you’re home, but mocking our faith is just disgusting.” Rebecca’s eyes flashed, and Isa flinched. Out of the three family members here, she was the most likely to hit him.

  “At least hold a sign, dork.” Paul thrust a sign toward him, and Isa stuck his hands behind his back. If the slogan on it was too offensive for Isa to say, it definitely didn’t belong in his hands. Just because his unfortunately virgin self had no need for condoms didn’t mean he was going to look down on the people who did.

  “Guys, I’m going to be late for class and . . .” Isa took a deep breath. They were in public, and it would be a month before he was planning on going home. This was the safest time for him to express his opinion. “I don’t agree with what you’re doing. People have the right to make their own choices.”

  “Isaiah!”

  Outrage began to build momentum on his sister’s face. She hated being contradicted—especially in public. This was going to hurt. His status as youngest member of the family didn’t help him much when it came to Rebecca. Her beatings always hurt the most.

  At least he was right outside the school clinic.

  Whatever happened next, at least he’d said something. He’d take it bravely and lick his wounds late
r. It would be okay. Isa was always okay, even if it took a little time for him to believe it.

  “Oof!”

  All the air left his body, but it wasn’t because his sister had hit him. It was due to the arm around his waist snatching him off the ground and carrying him away. From his new vantage point, Isa saw overlapping splashes of paint on a pair of long, jean-clad legs.

  “Class.” An unfamiliar voice said somewhere from over Isa’s head.

  He had enough time to see the surprised faces of his family before he was swung around and toted off like a stray puppy.

  “Hey!” his sister cried, but his abductor/savior didn’t slow down until the sounds of the protesters had faded into the distance.

  Once the protest was out of sight, Isa’s feet touched the grass, and he straightened.

  His first impression of his captor was tall. The second one was green. Grass green. Irish green. Vibrant, stunning emerald eyes bore into his, and something in the back of Isa’s head tingled.

  He tapped his head ruefully. “You just gave me a head rush, swinging me around like that. Thanks though. My family can be a bit intense.”

  There was a moment of laser-like focus from those green eyes, and then Isa was presented with the young man’s back as he walked away without a word.

  Chapter 2

  Isa

  “I still think we should have gone with a modern retelling of Much Ado About Nothing.”

  Ryan, the set designer for the sophomore play, waved a hammer as he complained, narrowly missing the doorframe he was assembling.

  Isa stopped mid brushstroke. “Absolutely not. Someone’s already done it, and it freaking slapped. I’m not competing with that.” He continued painting giant, purple flowers on a plywood trellis Ryan had insisted was necessary for the set, even though everyone else claimed it was useless clutter. Whatever the case may be, Isa was going to make it pretty.

  “Don’t mention that film, I’m still broken over you know who’s toxic ass.” Ryan flung out both arms this time. Isa cringed, hoping he didn’t lose hold of the hammer and accidentally take out a volunteer techie.

  “You know who?” Isa’s friend Will asked. He was technically a makeup artist, but they conned him into helping paint the set by claiming he was still an artist, just on a micro scale.

  “We don’t say the name. It hurts too much,” Isa said around a mouthful of paintbrush handle. He needed more purple, but they were out, so he was trying to mix the right color. It was coming out all wrong though. “Anyone good at mixing colors? I can’t switch to fuchsia halfway down and that’s all I seem to be able to come up with.”

  “I’m better at building, that’s why I gave you the painting gig,” Ryan said as he finally got back to using his hammer for its intended purpose.

  Will shook his head, causing his frosted tips to sway artfully around his face. “If it’s not eyeshadow or foundation, I’m totally at sea.” He withstood the puppy eye treatment for a full minute before sighing and standing up to inspect the colors Isa had to work with. “Fine, you gorgeous mess of a person. I’ll try, but I make no promises.” He wrinkled his nose after taking in Isa’s handiwork. “You might need black to fix this.”

  “I don’t have black.”

  “Who doesn’t have black? It’s a basic fucking color.”

  “Which is why I’m out. We used it up yesterday for the night set.”

  “Try the art building, someone there might have pity on you. You can beg for some black and purple,” Ryan called helpfully from the top of the ladder as he attached the doorframe to an elaborate pulley system.

  “Why do I have to beg? I can just go to the store.”

  “About that . . . I may have used up the rest of our budget on the gears for the main set.” Ryan rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly.

  “I told you they didn’t need to be that big,” Isa muttered.

  Ryan might have spent the past three days complaining about their director’s choices for the ubiquitous Shakespearian play all sophomore theater majors were expected to do, but Isa knew he was in heaven. Ryan loved lesbian steampunk—he just didn’t want anyone else to know how obsessed he was with it.

  Isa smiled ruefully. If his family knew about this play, they would go ballistic. “All right, I’ll go. Will? Wanna come with?”

  “Go alone, love. That baby face of yours will be devastating if you’re all alone. No one will be able to say no.” Will winked lasciviously.

  Ryan forestalled any chance Isa had to argue by adding, “I can’t spare him, we have a time crunch. If you take Will, I’ll be down two workers. You don’t want me to present Anna with a slapdash set, do you? I promised her this section would be finished by tomorrow.”

  Isa winced at the mention of their dictatorial director. She’d taken their assignment to heart and chosen to drive every single member of the production to their limits. Right now, Isa was surviving on five hours of sleep a day. And he knew for a fact Ryan was getting less. It wouldn’t kill him to give his friend a break.

  He was going paint panhandling.

  It was another beautiful day, so when Isa got outside, he couldn’t stop himself from running down all five hundred million steps between the art building and the communication arts building. Spring days in New England were always a mixed bag, and the last nice one had ended up with him trapped backstage working with Ryan rather than soaking up vitamin D like any other self-respecting college student would.

  Isa kept a watchful eye for protesters this time.

  It had been over a week. They probably wouldn’t come back, but it didn’t hurt to be careful. Vigilance aside, he still managed to enjoy the sun and the fresh air.

  Once he reached the art building, he realized he didn’t have the first idea where to begin his search. He’d had a mixed-media class last semester, but it had been on the first floor, so he knew nothing about the rest of the building.

  Isa poked his way through the building, peeking in on classes, and stopping to ask people for advice. Finally, someone suggested he try the studio on the top floor. The hard-core artists tended to work up there. If they didn’t have what he wanted, they would probably know someone who did.

  When he got to the top floor, it took him a while to reach the studio—not because it was hard to find, but because there were so many amazing pieces of art.

  Currently, he was trapped in front of a mind-blowing triptych. Each of its three pieces went from floor to ceiling. The whole thing was easily ten feet tall. Combined, they formed a rectangle, but they weren’t the traditional configuration Isa was used to. Rather than each piece being a rectangle, they were made up of two triangles and a rhombus—all fitted together to create a wide rectangle.

  But it wasn’t the configuration that held Isa spellbound. It was the simplicity of the piece. It was a plum blossom tree done ukio-e style. It reminded Isa of his favorite Hiroshige print, The Great Wave off Kanagawa, but rather than water, the artist had used a tree to suggest movement. The plum blossoms were the whitecap crests of the waves while the branches of the tree represented the body of the wave itself.

  Isa wanted a print of it. He had to get Ryan up here. His friend would eat his heart out, then propose marriage to the artist.

  The hair on the back of Isa’s neck stood up, and he realized someone was behind him. He turned around to see his green-eyed savior from the other day.

  “This is a great piece, right? I could stare at it for hours. How did they capture the motion like that?”

  His companion didn’t answer, but something about him made Isa think it wasn’t due to lack of anything to say.

  “I mean, trees aren’t static, I get that. Wind, animals, all sorts of things make them move, but how did the artist managed to maintain the rigidity of the branches while still making it look like water? And with such simple brush strokes, too . . .” Isa said the last bit mostly to himself. He wasn’t an artist on this level, but he’d had some training—which was why Ryan always dragged hi
m in to help him with sets.

  The green-eyed man cocked his head to the side, and Isa saw a streak of purple paint highlighting a prominent cheekbone. There was more in his raven hair.

  “Thanks again for the other day, by the way. I really owe you.” A brief nod encouraged Isa to continue. “Maybe you can be my savior again today? I’m working on a set, and we’re out of black and purple. We’re also out of money, so I’m here hat in hand.”

  Ryan had told him to use his looks to charm the supplies out of people, but Isa had zero idea how to go about it. His experience was more with keeping people from being too mad at him rather than actually charming them.

  “Do you have any extra? That looks close to the shade I need,” Isa said hopefully, pointing to the paint on his silent companion’s face.

  The man frowned and looked down the hallway but didn’t say anything.

  So, maybe Isa wasn’t great at being charming. He could make himself small and nonthreatening with very little effort—in fact, he excelled at it. But he didn’t think that was going to work here.

  Though his savior was giving off I’d very much like to run away now vibes, so maybe it wasn’t the worst idea.

  On second thought, maybe he should just leave the poor guy alone and find someone else to wheedle art supplies from.