Term One

by K M Charron

  “I know.” A mixture of confusion and annoyance sullied Harper’s grin. “I tried to see you twice, but the nurses wouldn’t let me in. I told them I was your roommate and everything. You’re okay though, right?”

  As if Justin could sense Ainsley’s hesitation at trying to explain, he jumped in. “She’s doing great. Too many late-night cramming sessions, and she wasn’t eating or drinking properly. I should’ve paid better attention,” he said in a way that sounded far too parental, but also convincing.

  Harper shifted her wide-eyes to Ainsley. “Oh, no,” she said, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose. “You know, I thought you seemed tired and stressed last night. You poor thing.” She reached out and rubbed the jacket covering Ainsley’s forearm before her eyes flitted to where the caskets were looming. She nodded in their direction. “Isn’t this so sad?”

  Ainsley had forgotten to ask Justin what excuse the school had told the students, or possibly, what Persuasion-lie? She wondered what condition the shifter had left them in physically. She settled on saying, “It’s awful.”

  Justin removed Ainsley’s hand from Harper’s and placed it in his own. He gave a gentle tug, the signal to keep moving. “It was nice seeing you, Harper.” And before she could answer, Justin escorted Ainsley down the path to where the others sat.

  Ava and Khourtney whispered their hellos to her with small waves. Jax and Langston did that guy thing, where each took turns leaning for a one-shouldered half-hug. Ainsley swept a casual glance toward Sydney, who met her eyes for a short second before looking away. Seriously? She'd done the magical equivalent of taking a bullet for Sydney, and this was her thanks? Unbelievable.

  A priest stood between the two coffins and opened his arms. The service was about to commence. It shocked her to see a priest conducting the service at a witch funeral, but maybe the coven did it as another means of hiding in plain sight. No one would question a priest; nothing would stand out as usual.

  Ainsley did her best to breathe slowly and steadily. She hadn’t expected to attend another funeral so soon after her father’s, but she’d had to come. It was the least she could do; she had their blood on her hands. If she could go back, she’d do everything differently.

  But what was done, was done.

  And she had to find a way to live with it.

  After about ten minutes, the priest said his final prayers, and those who were closest to Jasmine and Corey took turns dropping single red roses onto the lids of the caskets.

  Ainsley couldn’t keep her attention from Sydney, who stood alone off to one side under a willow tree. She needed to get something off her chest. It was now or never. Pulling her jacket collar tighter around her neck and ignoring the plunging in her stomach, she headed straight for the ungrateful girl who hated her guts.

  Sydney wore a gorgeous black wool coat with black fur trim and a charcoal scarf tied intricately around her neck. Her strawberry blonde hair had grown since September and now grazed her shoulders.

  Maybe it would be best to start softly, instead of the gut-punch Ainsley had planned. “I’m sorry for your loss, Sydney. It was a beautiful ceremony.”

  Sydney’s stare remained fixed on a tree root sticking out from the ground.

  With a sharp inhale, Ainsley fought to quell her nerves. Why did this horrible girl make her so uneasy? “Look, I know you hate me, although I’ve never been able to figure out why. But since I basically saved your ass last night, I was hoping we could call a truce or something. We’ve been through a lot of craziness, and well, I hope we can find a way to be around each other more peacefully.”

  There was no way in hell Ainsley was going to say be friends. But if she was going to keep Justin in her life, and she hoped to, she thought it best to at least try to make peace. The others’ disdain seemed to have lessened, so at least that was a partial win.

  Holding her breath, Ainsley held out her hand. “Truce.”

  Sydney finally looked up and stared at the extended, but still unreturned, hand. Aways the Ice Queen, Sydney put her hands in her pockets and rocked back and forth on her heels, her violet eyes watching the bare tree branches.

  Rolling her eyes, Ainsley sighed and dropped her arm. “Fine, be an ungrateful bitch. At least I tried.”

  She was about to storm off when she heard a low whisper, “Wait.”

  Cautiously, Ainsley stayed put, a mixture of rage and hope deep in her chest.

  “You put yourself on the line for us, for me.” Sydney winced, like it physically hurt to say the words. “I appreciate everything you did, for saving me.” She straightened, lifting her chin and keeping her stare everywhere but on Ainsley.

  As if Mother Nature herself was witnessing a miracle and decided to rejoice, plump glistening snowflakes began falling.

  Harper crossed the grass and stood between them. “Everything okay here?”

  “We’re fine,” Ainsley said, seeing the do-you-need-me-to-save-you look from her friend.

  Sydney pulled her hand from her pocket and held it out, catching the small flurries of white in her bare palm. “Not that it’s any of your business,” she sniped. “Go bug someone else. On second thought, I’ll go.” And without another word, Sydney was gone.

  “Ew, did you see her hand?” Harper whispered, still watching Sydney walk away. She crinkled her nose and pursed her lips as if she’d just witnessed live maggots crawling over leftovers.

  “What ew?” Ainsley asked, dumbfounded.

  “Sydney’s gray nails, they looked so gross.” Harper shuddered. “I wonder what it’s from.”

  Doing her best to hold back a panicked gasp, she remembered what Khourtney’s grandmother had said about gray nails. It was a sign of blood poisoning, a result of using Dark magic. But she’d healed them. Hadn’t she? Ainsley had watched the lengthy ritual from her spot under the tree. She’d thought it all went well.

  “Sydney looked like she had the hands of a corpse,” Harper continued. “Nasty. Probably some kind of fungus. I guess she’s not so perfect, after all.” Harper put an arm around Ainsley. “Let’s go. I’m freezing. Helen said she would drive us back to the dorms. Then you can fill me in on your stay in the infirmary before our parents get here. My parents didn’t want me staying for the funeral, but I told them… ”

  Harper’s voice trailed off as Ainsley’s attention shifted to consider what this meant. Sydney wasn’t okay, after all. What about the others? What about Justin? “Give me five seconds. I want to say goodbye to a few people.” She didn’t wait for a rebuttal as she jogged toward the disbursing crowd, spotting Justin’s tall frame and golden hair.

  “Hey,” she said, immediately grabbing his hand and ripping off his glove.

  “Whoa, what are you doing?” he asked with a chuckle.

  Ainsley’s racing heart slowed, her breath rushing back to her. “Oh, thank God.” His nails were normal—no sign of graying.

  He didn’t pull his hand away. He kept it—soft, warm, and strong—in hers.

  “Why are you thanking God?” he asked.

  She watched snowflakes land on his eyelashes, joyful that he was okay.

  She wanted to tell him. She owed Sydney nothing. Still, it felt like a betrayal, like she’d be revealing a secret that wasn’t hers. “I’m just so relieved that we’re both okay.” She gave his hand a light squeeze and let go. “I’m going to grab a ride back with Helen and Harper. Thanks for everything. I’ll see you in January!”

  He nodded, his wry smile back. “Count on it.”

  Sydney

  It shamed Sydney to realize that she’d spent most of the funeral looking for her mother. She wasn’t surprised when she saw Andrea Lockwood's name on two gorgeous, excessive wreaths propped up on easels in lieu of actually attending the service. Her mother had sent Deepest Sympathies with fucking flowers, but couldn’t be bothered to pay her last respect to two of her own coven’s witches. They’d been under her protection. She’d told everyone they were safe, that she was doing everything possible
to protect them.

  Sydney had been right not to trust her.

  Jasmine and Corey, she’d learned, had suffered horrible deaths, yet the High Priestess couldn’t be bothered to attend. It was little consolation to see that she wasn’t the only one her mother ignored.

  Looking around, she noticed that most people had already left. The snow had stopped, leaving a light dusting atop the flowers that rested on and around the caskets. Standing in front of Corey’s wreath, she gently dusted the snow from some purple petals.

  Her eyes caught sight of a fingernail, and her heart nearly stopped. Dizziness swept her in a frantic wave as she brought her hand up in front of her face.

  My nails.

  What was happening? Her fingernails had gone back to pink. She’d felt the magic inside her, healing her, cleansing her blood. Her nails had looked normal—perfectly pink and healthy—only hours ago. She shook her head. No. It had to be a trick of the light. Máthair Zhang had healed her, healed them all.

  Holding her breath, she looked again. Her stomach clenched, and sickness wrenched at her insides.

  Her fingernails were a dark, terrifying gray.

  Ainsley

  Harper left for home a few hours after the funeral service. Their shoebox-sized dorm room suddenly felt like a grand hall. She supposed life had been so chaotic that the current silence—the calm—was unnerving instead of tranquil.

  Ainsley should be excited; Christmas was her favorite time of the year—at least it used to be. The break was much needed. So much had happened; she could barely process it all. Besides, it would give her time to regroup and search their apartment for anything her dad might’ve left behind. It wouldn’t be out of character for him to have a few hiding spots, maybe in the drop ceiling above the toilet or a loose board in the closet floor. She was quickly learning that people had more secrets than she’d ever suspected.

  She’d planned on her mom coming down with her uncle, but she’d texted a few hours ago, saying she’d come down with the flu. Ainsley wondered how much truth there was to the story—and if her mother just didn’t want to sit in the car with her for two hours, making small talk. Pretending that this Christmas was going to be great, like in years past, would be too much for both of them—it could never be the same again.

  Ainsley was already dreading the quick, uncomfortable hug when she reunited with her mom.

  It was obvious that things were changing rapidly around Thanksgiving. She’d claimed she had too much homework to come home for the long weekend, and her mom hadn’t protested. There had even been a hint of relief between them, knowing they could skip the first major holiday without her dad at home.

  Her mom was changing everything. Christmas this year was going to be an extended family affair, unlike the small ones they’d celebrated with just the three of them. No, the entire extended family got invites this time.

  Anything so her mom wouldn’t have to be alone with Ainsley, pretending things were fine.

  “I’m sorry I got so sidetracked, Dad.”

  She’d never spoken directly out loud to him before. But then again, she hadn’t had much alone time or privacy at Ashcroft to do so either. She remembered what Ava and Khourtney had said about ghosts—spirits—being real. If there was any chance that he could hear her, she wanted to try.

  “Incredible news, Dad. Witches and magic actually exist, and Danvers is full of them. Funny thing too, I’m somehow immune to most of their magic. Yep, you heard right. Non-witch people are supposed to be fully susceptible to magic, but it doesn’t work on me. No one seems to know why. Did you get close to finding out about the coven? Because I’ve been thinking, what if it has something to do with the missing girls? If it does, I promise you I’m going to find out what. I’m going to figure out why you left because I know you wouldn’t have ever chosen to leave me and Mom.”

  Tears welled up, burning her eyes. Ainsley wiped them with the back of her hand, willing them to stop so she wouldn’t have to explain her swollen eyes and blotchy skin to her uncle. “I saw your face that night, Dad. Your eyes. I know you didn’t want to jump.” She stopped there, her throat too thick and achy to continue.

  She blew a kiss into the air above her and glanced at the clock. Shit. Her uncle would be there any minute, and she didn’t want him killing time chatting up the den mother. She loved sharing the local gossip, students’ lives included.

  Grabbing her duffel bag, jacket, and scarf, Ainsley did a once over around her room. Everything was in its place, neat and tidy—as if the last three months of her life hadn’t been a whirlwind. A picture of the three of them sat on her nightstand, a constant reminder of the family she’d lost.

  She’d posed between her smiling parents, their arms around her. She had been oblivious to so much in the world and to the fact that it was all about to be torn apart.

  It had been taken six months before he died. Her mom had insisted they wear matching outfits. Her dad wouldn’t stop making fun of her, giving her bunny ears and telling his worst corny dad jokes every time the photographer was about to take another shot. They’d had so much fun.

  What she wouldn’t give to see her mom smile like that again. She wanted to be the reason. “It’s going to be fine,” Ainsley said aloud to an empty room.

  Maybe her mom truly was sick, and she’d greet Ainsley with open arms, a kiss on her cheek, and a few presents under the tree. Maybe she’d insist that his death wasn’t Ainsley’s fault after all.

  She was going to do her best to make it right. She’d prove that he hadn’t left them by choice. Maybe then her mother could heal.

  With a deep breath, she turned off the light, closing the door behind her.

  The End

  A note from K.M. Charron:

  I hope you enjoyed the first three books in the Ashcroft Academy series!

  If you’re in the mood for more in the Ashcroft and Wildes world,

  look for the next titles coming soon:

  Wilde Fury

  Wilde Deceit

  Wilde Disaster

  Thank you so much for reading!

  xo K.M.

  Acknowledgments

  I am a very lucky woman to have so many people to thank.

  First off, thank you to my husband, Jason, who not only put up with me talking about witches and this story for years but consistently encouraged me. He helped me with research, story ideas, and talked plot and characterization with me for hours on end. I could’ve have written it without him.

  Thank you to my parents, Chris and Laurie, for their belief that I could be anything I wanted to be and for listening to me complain, panic, and cheer through all the stages of this book.

  Thank you to my sister, Kristin, my niece, Mckenna, and my nephew, Braeden, for supporting and inspiring me. Kiki, you are the best! Thank you for harassing people into buying my books.

  Thank you to my entire family and all my friends for your unwavering support over the years and for sharing my books far and wide. It means so much.

  Thank you to my critique partners and writing friends—Bee Wheatley (my unofficial twin), Deana Holmes, Tiana Warner, Lindsay Macgowan, Ashley Reiter, Deborah Pearce, and Cara Anderson for listening to rough chapters, reading early drafts, and letting me talk out plot problems with you. A special thank you to Sara Lunsford for helping me craft a great back cover blurb.

  Thank you to my friend and writing partner, Eileen Cook, for being there for me over the years, listening to all my woes, helping me become a better writer, and just being a fantastic person.

  Thank you to my friend and writing partner, Steena Holmes, for jumping into my life and becoming one of my biggest supporters, even designing my website and the Pretty Wicked covers. You are a rare gem.

  I want to thank Deana (Dee J) Holmes for creating the most gorgeous cover ever for Wilde Magic. It takes my breath away every time I look at it. I can hardly wait to show my readers the next covers in the series!

  Thank you to Crystal Stranaghan for fie
lding all my queries and being wonderfully supportive and generous with all your wisdom.

  Thank you to my editor, Jamie Hillegonds, who is always up to the task of cleaning up my grammatical messes. You are patient, brilliant, and generous. Thank you for making this book better.

  And finally, thank you, dear readers. You mean everything to me. I look forward to continuing to build worlds you like to get lost in.

  About the Author

  K.M. Charron is the author of horror and urban fantasy novels. She also writes thrillers under the name Kelly Charron. She lives in Vancouver, British Columbia, with her husband and their fat cat Moo Moo, who insists on sitting on the keyboard every time she tries to write on the sofa. For more information about what K.M. is up to—or to find out about her Pretty Wicked series—visit kellycharron.com.