by Sarah Piper
I look up to see Kirin standing at the end of the room, his eyes red, his hair a disheveled mess.
It’s the first time we’ve been alone since that time in the stacks—the first time he’s held eye contact for more than a few seconds.
“Danika’s death… The news… I can’t stop thinking about it.” He comes to join me on my side of the table, kneeling before me, taking one of my hands into his.
My heart runs up into my throat, making it hard to breathe.
“None of us can, Kirin,” I say.
“No, I mean… Okay.” He drops his gaze and blows out a breath, then looks up at me again. His glasses are smudged. I don’t think he’s slept much lately. “I just kept thinking, what if that was me? Or one of the guys, or… or you? What if it was you?” His voice cracks at the end, and despite my rules, I run a hand through his hair, stroking the back of his neck.
“We’re doing everything we can to make sure that doesn’t happen,” I say, but I’m not certain he even hears me.
“I just kept thinking,” he continues, “I just kept thinking over and over… What if something happened to me or to someone I cared about, and I never even told them how I feel? I’m running away, I’m hiding, I don’t even know what I’m doing anymore. Where I’m going. Why.”
“Kirin, slow down,” I say softly. “What’s wrong?”
He starts to respond, then closes his mouth and shakes his head, still hesitating. Still lost.
“Do you remember our time at Kettle Black?” I ask. “You used to say, ‘Stevie, you’re the queen of leaves, and I trust you implicitly.’”
A slow smile dawns on his face.
“Tell me,” I say. “I’m right here with you. And you can trust me implicitly. I promise.”
“I know. I do trust you. It’s not… I just… I think I’m… I’m falling…” He squeezes his eyes shut, shakes his head again as if he’s still trying to talk himself out of this confession.
Then he looks up at me again and drops the bomb.
“I’m falling in love with you, Stevie.” His eyes glaze with emotion. “And I can’t let myself do that. I just can’t.”
My heart skips, my stomach tossing and turning like a clothes dryer. “But… why?”
“Why? Are you kidding me?” Kirin laughs nervously. “Because you’re smart, and you make me laugh, and I love the way your mind works, the way you question everything, the way your eyebrow does that thing when you’re thinking.” He reaches up, smooths his fingertips over my eyebrow. “I love how you throw yourself into everything you’re learning, and how you devour books, and how you always know how to make the perfect tea blend—I’ve always loved that about you, my queen of leaves. And you’re beautiful, Stevie. Every time I look at you, my heart breaks a little more, knowing I’ll have to close my eyes at some point and miss your face. I just… I’m falling and…”
“Kirin,” I say through the tightness in my throat, and when I speak again, my voice is no more than a whisper. “I meant—why can’t you do that? Why can’t you fall in love with me?”
He cups my face, thumb grazing my cheek. His smile turns sad, his eyes haunted and pained, and when the wave of his energy hits me, it’s so desolate and bleak it makes me gasp.
A tear rolls down his cheek, vanishing at the edge of a broken smile.
“Because everything I touch, I destroy.”
Forty-Eight
STEVIE
The execution is never far from anyone’s thoughts, but by the end of October, a small ray of light begins to pierce the shroud of darkness, and the first few pumpkins are carved and placed on the steps of the main hall.
Soon after, the dorms begin to transform, too. Iron and Bone becomes a pumpkin patch, complete with jack-o-lanterns, scarecrows, and ravens perched along the windowsills. Breath and Blade is a haunted house, with intermittent moans and spine-chilling music emanating from the windows. Blood and Sorrow is now a vampire den, coffins popping out of the ground and bats hung from the eves, Count Dracula swooping down over the front door on unsuspecting visitors. Flame and Fury took inspiration straight from the depths of hell, with billowing flames made out of red and orange sheets and demons crouching on the rooftop.
By All Hallow’s Eve, every pathway is lined with glowing jack-o-lanterns, the water in the fountain is spelled to look like blood, and the entire campus is decked out in full-on, spooky gothic glory—including the students. Foundations of Tarot Magick this morning was packed with witches, ghosts, skeletons, vampires, sexy vampires, slutty vampires, and more than a few slutty Disney Princesses. Even Dr. Devane got into the spirit, dressing up as a cranky old professor.
Okay, maybe that wasn’t a costume, but still. He wore it well.
It’s the witch’s new year, a time for fresh starts, as well as a time to honor the dead, and before I head out to meet Ani at the Flame and Fury bar Hot Shots, I take a moment to honor mine.
The altar is small, set up on a table in my bedroom with three black candles and a fresh pot of vanilla mint tea. Mom’s three-legged ceramic pig sits before the candles, along with their Yosemite carabiner. I also found a photo of my parents from the last Halloween celebration they attended here, the two of them posing in a pumpkin patch near the river, stars glittering overhead. Dad is dressed like a scarecrow, with overalls and a red flannel shirt and a floppy hat, a stuffed crow perched on his shoulder. Mom is a sexy black cat, her leg curled seductively around his, her head thrown back in laughter.
They looked happy that night.
Next to the photo, I placed the Death card.
Kneeling before it now, I light the candles—one for each of us—and close my eyes, picturing them in my mind. Not in the rushing water, as I last saw them, but in Kettle Black, Mom baking scones, Dad sorting through herbs and leaves, sniffing every bag. A typical Sunday. Happy. Content.
I tell them about my first month at the Academy, about the friends I’ve made here—Isla and Nat, the guys. I tell them about my professors and my favorite subjects, my Tarot cards, the journal I’ve been diligently keeping for Professor Nakata’s class. I tease Mom about her cryptic prophecies—how she always liked to make me work a little harder than necessary, but that I don’t mind, because it means I get to spend more time in the library. More time with her.
After a few minutes, a deep peace settles over me, and I release a long breath, my last remnants of guilt about attending the Academy finally evaporating. It feels as though I’ve been holding all of this back for far too long.
“I will always honor you,” I whisper, picking up their photo and letting the tears fall freely. “Maybe not exactly how you wanted me to, but in the best way I know how.”
I kiss the photo, then put it back in its place of reverence.
A breeze floats through my bedroom, snuffing out the candles. In its wake, I catch the unmistakable scents of roses and spicy Mexican chocolate, and I feel their energy embracing me—a hug from the great beyond.
I wrap my arms around myself and smile. “I love you, too, guys. Take care of each other, okay?”
Forty-Nine
STEVIE
Dressed in sparkly devil’s horns and a silky blue spaghetti strap dress that hugs every curve, I point my pitchfork at my reflection in the mirror and make the official declaration:
“Girl, you are one hot-ass bitch!”
It had to be said. Claim your truth, right?
Satisfied that everything is as perfect as it can be, I snap a selfie for Jessa, then head downstairs to go meet Ani at Flame and Fury. Hot Shots is doing a Major-Arcana-themed costume gathering—I refuse to call it a party, lest I go back on my vow to never attend a party with Ani again—and it’s just what I need tonight. Fun with friends, a few drinks, eye candy.
No confusing feelings. No dreams about Kirin’s declaration and disappearing act. No fantasies about Baz’s filthy mouth on mine. No esoteric occult books and Tarot readings and nonsensical rhymes predicting our doom.
No nightmares
about witches being hanged for crimes they didn’t commit.
Just a fun Halloween night.
Holding my tail in one hand, my pitchfork in the other, I’m just rounding the stairwell on the third floor when I run into Baz. He’s on his way up, his arms loaded with grocery bags.
His eyes bulge when he sees me, making no effort to hide the fact that he’s totally checking me out.
“Hot damn, girl. You trying to send every man at the Academy to an early grave?”
I cock an eyebrow. “Not a bad idea, but… No. Just going to the thing over at Hot Shots.”
“Oh right, the Major Arcana party. So you must be—”
“The Devil,” I say proudly, sticking out my chest a little bit. Okay, maybe a lot, but Baz deserves to know what he’s missing out on. “Devil in a blue dress. Get it? I thought about going as The Star, but she’s naked, so…”
“That sounds like an even more amazing costume. Hey, if you ever need someone to model for, to give you an honest opinion about your costume dilemmas…” He smiles, a look that could definitely turn into a slow death for me—if I let it.
Which I won’t.
Not a chance.
I lift a bare shoulder. Yep, that’s me, artfully elegant, totally nonchalant. “I’ve got Ani, so I’m good.”
Baz nearly drops his groceries. “You and Ani? You guys are a thing? When the hell did that happen?”
“You need help with those?” I ask brightly, ignoring the question and reaching for one of the bags.
Baz offers no resistance, surprising the hell out of me.
Fuck. Now I have to help him. Now I have to take this into his room—at least as far as his door.
So much for nonchalance.
I turn around and head down the third-floor hallway, knowing Baz is totally checking out my ass. I put a little swish in my step.
I’ve never been to his room, so I finally step aside to let him catch up. We walk all the way to the end, a corner room on the opposite side of where my room is, and he scans us in.
I try to pass him the groceries, but he doesn’t take them.
“Come on in,” he says, flicking on the lights.
Against my better judgment, I follow him inside.
His suite is not at all what I expected.
It’s slightly smaller than mine—seems like just one bedroom—but it’s laid out similarly, with a cozy living room and open kitchen. But that’s not what surprises me.
Framed black-and-white photos line nearly every wall and shelf, each one more heartbreaking and breathtaking than the last. There are shots of the guys, of hikes and camping trips they must’ve taken together. Shots of wildlife—birds of prey, lizards, even a rattlesnake, coiled on a sun-warmed rock. There are the Towers of Breath and Blade, the pool beneath the Cauldron of Flame and Fury, closeups of the petrified forest. A dog. An elderly man. There’s even one of Headmistress Trello, caught in what I imagine was a rare moment of candid laughter, her eyes closed, her smile wide.
There are a couple of portraits of Baz, too, looking out the window in different positions, the light illuminating one side of his face, the other falling into darkness.
There’s so much humanity and raw emotion in the photos they damn near bring tears to my eyes.
“Are all of these yours?” I ask, finally finding my voice.
Baz, who was busy emptying out the groceries on the kitchen counter, shrugs.
“My dad gave me a camera for Christmas one year—a real one. I guess I was about fifteen, sixteen? Pretty much got hooked after that.”
Seeing the photos humanizes him in a way I can’t explain, and suddenly it’s like his hard, tough-as-nails, quick-with-a-joke shell falls away.
“Baz, they’re beautiful. Seriously.”
He stares at me for so long, I almost think I’ve said something to upset him. But then he smiles again, cocky and confident as always. “Yeah, I know. But thanks.”
My phone buzzes against my body, jolting me. I retrieve it from between my boobs.
His jaw drops. “Um, want me to get that next time?”
I shoot him a warning glare, then check my text messages. “No thanks.”
Baz grabs a beer bottle from the fridge. After a beat, he goes, “Everything okay? You look like someone knocked you down and stole your candy.”
“It’s Ani.” I sigh. “He’s not feeling well tonight. Guess I’m on my own for Hot Shots.”
Baz shrugs and pops off the beer cap, passes the bottle across the counter. “Blow it off.”
I look at the beer, considering the offer. As much as I was looking forward to the Arcana thing, I really don’t want to go to Hot Shots alone.
“Your middle name is Temptation,” I say, taking the offered beverage. “Either that or Bad Influence.”
“Both, actually. Baz Temptation Bad Influence Redgrave. My parents had a sick sense of humor, what can I say?” He opens a beer for himself, then we head into the living room. “You want the tour?”
“Why not?”
He makes a show of walking me around the small living area, but I’m more focused on the photos, anyway. They’re just so incredible—like they should be in a magazine.
It makes me wonder what else I don’t know about him. Enough to fill volumes. The entire library, perhaps.
He walks into the bedroom, standing aside to let me enter.
“And this is where the magick happens,” he says, then laughs. “Well, not really. I do most of my spellwork in the kitchen. Easier cleanup.”
There are more photos in here, and I take my time exploring them. There’s a really captivating shot hanging over his dresser, black-and-white like the others. It’s the back of a woman’s shoulder, the line of her chin just barely visible in the frame, a thin black strap slipping down her skin. It’s a picture that’s worth a thousand words, that tells a thousand stories.
“Is that Carly?” I blurt out like a fucking idiot.
“What do you think?”
I turn around to face him. He’s right behind me, so close I can smell that damn sexy masculine scent—pepper and earth. Woodsmoke. Danger.
“I told you,” he says, “I’m not with her. Not like you think.”
I glare at him, trying to find the lie in his words. But when I reach out for his energy, I find only sincerity. Intrigue. Lust.
“Who is she, then?” I whisper.
“Dunno. Just a model in a photo class I took in high school. You and Ani?”
“Not a thing. Not like you think.” I swallow hard. The bottle in my hand is turning warm.
Baz leans in close, takes away my beer. He sets both bottles on the dresser.
“No coasters?” I ask.
“Stevie?”
“Yes?”
“You look fucking hot in that dress.” His eyes blaze, and he lifts a hand to my shoulder, fingertip tracing the thin strap.
Goosebumps erupt on my skin.
I swallow again, blood rushing to my head, heat rushing to my core.
“This is a bad idea,” I whisper.
“Terrible.”
“The worst.”
“Obviously.” His mouth crashes into mine, insistent, demanding, and I melt into his kiss, wrapping my arms around his neck as he slides his hands down to cup my backside.
We bump into the dresser, knocking over the beers, but Baz doesn’t care. Doesn’t stop. His hands are everywhere and his mouth is everything and when he sucks my bottom lip between his teeth and moans, I feel the last of my resistance crumble into dust.
“Are you sure this is what you want?” he asks, panting between kisses.
A spike of panic hits my gut. “Did you change your mind?”
“Not a chance.”
“You have to know how much I want this, Baz.”
He cups my face, looking into my eyes with that intense, red-brown gaze. “I need you to say it, Little Bird, or this ends here.”
God, I’m already so wet for him, so hungry for the hot slide of
his cock. But the fact that he’s actually making sure?
My body is going to burn if he doesn’t put his mouth on it.
Reaching up for the zipper at my back, I give it a tug and let the dress fall to my feet, pooling on the floor like water. The black lace bra and panties follow.
Baz stares at me in wonder. “You’re lucky my camera’s not close by right now.”
I smile, then reach up to remove my devil horns. “I want this, Baz. I want you.”
That maddening, slow-burn grin slides across his mouth. “Leave the horns. They’re sexy as fuck.”
I do as he asks, then wait for him to strip out of his jeans and henley.
He stands naked before me, his cock hard and smooth, his lean muscles like a work of art in the moonlight. If I had a camera, I’d be taking his picture right now.
I’m practically drooling, but Baz just laughs and shakes his head.
I cross my arms over my chest. “What’s so funny?”
“Just remembering that time you called me… What was it? The guy who cops attitude to compensate for a small dick?”
“I’ve been known to be wrong a time or two before. But for the record, you do cop attitude.”
“Mmm-hmm.” He smiles at me again, and before I say another word, he leans in and feathers his lips across mine—gentle, soft as a breeze—then spins me around, facing his bed. His hand wraps around my hair, lifting it off the base of my neck, tugging just right.
Goddess, I love a man who knows how to pull my hair…
He licks a path up the back of my neck, then pushes me gently onto the bed, falling on top of me, kissing my neck, my back, taking his time covering every inch of flesh as I writhe against the sheets.
Holy. Fuck. Can shoulder blades come? Is that a thing? Because I’m pretty sure mine are about to, his tongue swirling in hot patterns along their edges, his kisses devouring me. His mouth moves down along my spine, his hand stroking my thighs, sliding between them.
“Please tell me you have a condom,” I breathe.
After what feels like an eternity of slow, torturous kisses, he finally reaches for his nightstand drawer, pulls out a package. I hear the wrapper tear, then he’s kneeling behind me and gripping my thighs, guiding them apart.