by Rhea Watson
With that cast, she charged across the uneven terrain, dress restrictive and cape billowing, hair at its zenith, headed straight for Bjorn without delay—until she slammed into an invisible barrier.
I exhaled sharply as our students erupted in fits of laughter and Alecto tumbled to the ground with a yelp. One of them had cast a ward, an impenetrable wall of magic that would keep out all trespassers—violently if necessary. Alecto pushed up with a skinned cheek and bloodied hands, the gash on her forehead oozing immediately. To her credit, she wiped all the weeping red away on her cape without batting an eye, then kicked off her shoes and stood tall, all that fury venom trained on the group of gathering—shitfaced—students.
“Who cast it?” she demanded, white-knuckling her wand and glaring them down. “Remove it immediately.”
While no one said a word, Leroy snorted and his darling French witch tittered, their arms around each other like this was just a regular teen hang. Pity, but not surprising that no one would admit to it. Only the caster could remove a ward, even if it wasn’t a particularly good ward. The domed magical bubble, which gave off a faint rainbow shimmer in the sunlight if you caught it at the right angle, should have made everything inside invisible. Excellent for hiding what needed to be hidden, and from the brutality they had inflicted on him, Bjorn ought to be hidden.
But wards were complex magic.
Someone had failed to weave this one in its entirety.
And by someone, I meant Lucy fucking Eastwick.
My girl.
My offering.
The only one among these ingrates with a talented bone in her body.
And Alecto had no idea.
None of them did, the entire staff still guessing at the Mabon culprit, tossing names halfheartedly into the abyss. Lucy had come up once or twice, but she was shy and quiet and painfully ordinary to those who couldn’t be bothered to look past that drab exterior. She flew under the radar—the perfect witch to join Lucifer’s ranks.
“Who cast it? Speak up,” Alecto barked, her wand halfway raised, like she couldn’t commit to pinning it on a bunch of children. Her first mistake. The second came when she let them see her frustration, her anger; it practically dripped from her pores, so telling in the way she shook, in the chaos of her curls. “Now.”
I rolled my eyes when the herd laughed louder this time, all dressed like they had just walked off a Chanel runway in classic silhouettes and expensive fabrics. Beside a mountain of empty beer cans by one of the fires, I noted a pile of discarded masks.
Oh.
They had dressed themselves up like that roving rich kid gang from the Purge film.
Hilarious.
Almost as ham-fisted as the fucking cross.
Anyway. No time to pick them apart like I usually did.
Bjorn’s life was on the line. Even if dawn was hours off, blessed darkness keeping him safe, all that wood stuck in his limp body needed to come out. Sure, a stake to the heart wouldn’t kill a vampire outright, but it basically turned them into rag dolls, thus allowing for a slayer to lob off their head and be done with it.
Or, in this instance, leave them out for the sun to finish the job.
Fuck.
I could let it play out.
Let Alecto try to reason with these little psychopaths, like words alone would sway them and wash away prejudice that had been brewing long before they were sentenced to Root Rot. If signs had been cropping up around her all term, then they must have been building to this moment, this final brutal glory of butchering a vampiric professor…
And locking him inside the ward.
They’d needed Lucy.
She had proven herself to King Leroy and his snickering witch queen during Mabon: she had the skill to conjure complex magic and hold it. Perhaps it had even been a test…
Ugh, boring.
Lucy Eastwick was mine to test. And if I let this go on, let Bjorn die inside that ward, we could continue our dance, her seduction to the dark side, and I could present her to the Darkwell admissions team as a viable applicant. At this point, I could almost guarantee they would accept her.
Or… I could save Bjorn.
Ruin all the work I had put into this witch over the last month.
She was the only one of value for my needs at Root Rot—
More will come. I rolled my eyes again, jaw clenched, and stalked to and fro, Alecto’s pleas mere background noise. The little voice was right, of course. Students came and went from the school all the time. If I lost Lucy, perhaps another would take her place tomorrow.
But…
But she was perfect.
Bjorn doesn’t think you’re a walking, talking sex toy.
No. The vampire appreciated my antics—usually found them quite droll.
The only creature here I’d consider forging a friendship with.
Not here for friends though.
I glared up at my forehead. Whose side are you on?
Stupid inner monologue. Pick a lane, asshole.
More students would come. My deal with the devil had no deadline, no expiration, and I had nothing but time ahead.
But I was just so bored and lonely and tired and sick of waiting and ughhhhhhhhhhh—
“Lucy.” Decision made, my tongue took action, my heart taking charge while my mind still fumbled around in a mess of alternatives. The witch’s gaze flitted my way, and I cocked my head to the side, gesturing toward the massive standing cross and the unconscious vampire attached to it. “Come on, sweetness, lower the ward.”
Alecto pivoted around to gawk at me. “What?”
Difficult as it was to ignore those accusatory pools of gold blazing in my direction, I managed, focused entirely on Lucy. As always, she loitered at the edge of the group like an afterthought. Wearing a pinstriped navy pantsuit and a classic vanilla Hermès scarf, she looked the part, blended in with the cool kids tonight, even with the acne and the painfully high—and poorly positioned—ponytail. She always melted when I cooed pet names at her, our conversations hushed and hidden behind bookshelves, in the darker corners of the castle’s corridors. She flocked to me, gravitated toward me, always.
Tonight, I had a rival.
Malorie glanced over her shoulder at the witch, then beckoned her close with a toss of her head.
And Lucy went like a boring little lapdog.
My eyes narrowed.
That ungrateful brat.
Scowling, I stalked straight for her, only to have her wolf shifter overlord charge forth to meet me on the battlefield.
“What of it, librarian?” he sneered, flashing his inner wolf’s eyes, that broad chest puffed as he glared at me over the tip of his nose. Rather reminiscent of nobles in the king’s court—those I loathed with every fiber of my being yet also desperately desired to walk alongside as equals. Out of the corner of my eye, Alecto started toward us, but she wasn’t fast enough.
Neither was he.
Silly shifter—thinking I gave a fuck that he was a child and I was a man. He prowled toward me like that animal gaze had an ounce of intimidation to it.
As soon as he was in reach, I lashed out, fast as the vampire he despised, and caught him by the throat. Gripped hard, windpipe crackling under my palm, the wolf retreating so that the boy’s eyes widened up at me. His smirking mouth rounded in shock the second I cut off his air supply, and I hurled him to the ground with such force that he bounced and skidded a few feet away.
Sorted.
At the sight of their defeated alpha, the clique scattered.
And that simply wouldn’t do.
Eyes closed, I delved into the seldom touched well of ancient fae magic inside me. While the witches and warlocks of this realm were required to utter incantations to cast, my kind simply needed intention and a bit of imagination. My influence burst into being, invisible, powerful, filling the air with a startling enough vibration that Alecto gasped again. When I opened my eyes, I saw my work unfold: thorny vines shot from the earth, guided
by my graceful hands. I played this symphony like a master conductor, sending stretches of green this way and that, coiling around ankles and up legs. Screams filled the air, each one given a taste of their own medicine as thorns pierced their flesh.
“Gavriel!”
That sounded like a chastisement. I waved Alecto off, resisting the urge to vine her as well just to keep her quiet and out of the way. With the lot of them contained, Leroy battling with his twisting constraints to my left, I zeroed in on Lucy.
For I had left her untouched as well. A fleeting, temporary reminder that we were connected—that I was her one true friend out here. She stood frozen, her peers writhing and fighting with thorns and vines that had taken on a life of their own all around her. Yes, let her witness true power. Fae seldom taught at academies because no one but fellow fae could match their magical prowess.
Let this be a reminder to all of them—I’d barely even broken a sweat.
Slowly, I sauntered over to my quarry, ducking down to meet Lucy’s eyeline. Head cocked, I offered her a kind smile, the one that willed women into my arms.
“Lucy…” Behind me, Alecto started to sputter something, but I frantically waved her off in a shut up, I got this sort of way that seemed to quiet her—for now. Clearing my throat, I gave the terrified witch in front of me a soft, concerned sigh. “Take down the ward. It’s a good effort, but it’s not great and we both know it.” Her cheeks burned, scarlet cutting through the panicked pale. “And that’s fine, little duckling. We’ll work on it. But for now, I need you to take it down… for me.”
Frightened hazels flicked between me, Bjorn, Alecto, and her captured companions. Slowly, Lucy withdrew her wand from inside her fitted jacket, her breath fogging, face cast in shadows and backlit by the bonfire. She shook, but she still aimed her wand toward the ward.
I grinned. “Good girl, Lucy—”
“Eradico!” She twisted at the last moment, and a jet of red slammed into Malorie’s vines. My creation instantly withered to black, dusting off the French witch and catching on the breeze.
She had chosen her side, then.
Them over me.
So be it.
She fired off two more destruction hexes, one to free Leroy, before she turned her back on me—and had she chosen me, little Lucy Eastwick would have learned to never turn her back on a predator. Seething, I grabbed her swishing ponytail and wrenched her backward, the force of it, perhaps the shock of pain through her skull, making her drop her wand. The witch crashed into me as Malorie saw to the rest of her group, forgetting Lucy entirely as she screamed for help.
“Gavriel,” Alecto called hesitantly. “What are you—”
What am I? A man scorned, frankly. Ignoring her, I grabbed Lucy’s casting arm and wrenched it behind her back, then jerked it sharply up, the bone on the brink of snapping. Her screams turned pitchy and frantic, and she held out for a good fifteen seconds before yielding.
“I’ll do it,” she screeched as her false friends scattered in every direction. She stomped her foot when I twisted harder, almost there. “I’ll do it! I’ll do it! I’ll do it!”
Good fucking girl. I tossed her toward her dropped wand with a snarl, then shadowed her as she crawled over and grabbed it. Then, before she got any other bright ideas, I grabbed her hair again like a dog leash—traitorous brat deserved no less—and whirled her around to face the ward.
“E-exsolvo tutela,” she sobbed, and a less confident stream of white magic shot from her wand, colliding hard with the ward. It skittered around the domed barrier, splitting and crackling like lightning. As soon as the white touched the ground, the fractured dome turned to mist, the ward undone.
Although Alecto had that look about her like she wanted to tear into me, she had more pressing concerns. Wand up, she headed straight for Bjorn, light and color flashing out of the corner of my eye as I turned back to Lucy.
What a disappointment. Sensing she wouldn’t run even if allowed to, I shoved her aside and summoned the vines again, stretching my reach far across the terrain and trapping all the fleeing little criminals once more.
I made them extra thorny this time; they deserved the pain.
But one of my captives slipped his noose. A guttural snarl preceded the flash of grey in my periphery, and I pivoted in place, easily avoiding the wolf’s charge. He leapt and sailed right over me, this pup who had never seen real battle, who masqueraded as an alpha, a warrior—an idiot. Flinging his untested body, all muscle and sleek grey fur and teeth that had never tasted blood, at a fae who had seen battle.
At a soldier denied his rightful place. In the end, mere cannon fodder for the Ash Court’s agenda. Nothing.
Still, I’d been trained. I’d cut down enemies and felt the sting of steel gritting into my armor.
I bodychecked Leroy’s exposed underbelly midair, driving my shoulder into his rib cage and throwing him way off course. He toppled to the ground, rolling once, twice, before I was on him, pinning him in place and shoving his snarling muzzle into the cold, hard earth.
“Now you settle,” I hissed, addressing him as I would any misbehaving dog, “like a good boy.”
The wolf shifter flailed and growled and snapped at me, but I was gone before those canines came within a foot of their target—my neck. What a cap in his feather that would have been: crucifying a vampire and ripping out a fae’s throat. Quite the story he could return to his real pack with, one that might even put him in better standing with his actual alpha.
Instead, vines twined around his squirming body, dragging him into the ground, winding and winding until he was more foliage than beast, grey fur crisscrossed with green and sprinkled with red courtesy of the thorns.
Crack. In the distance, someone answered Alecto’s distress signal, a red-blue orb shimmering above Root Rot’s black silhouette like a reverse comet. Help was on the way. The delinquents had been detained, and Alecto already had Bjorn off the cross, her frantic hands jumping from stake to stake, ripping them from his body, splashing herself with cold, dark blood.
Not exactly the Samhain she and the others had planned, but, honestly, it could have been worse.
We could have been a professor down come first light tomorrow—and that would have been a genuine loss to the academy.
Hell, it would have been a loss to me.
But we’d saved him. Caught the guilty parties. Wrapped them up in a pretty, bloody bow for Jack to collect whenever he eventually made his way out here. The night was a victory; we had won.
Yet I had lost. My gaze slid over to a cowering Lucy, the witch crumpled on the ground and sobbing into her folded knees. No way Jack would let any of them remain at the academy, even if we were the only reform school out there. He’d expel them, refuse readmittance, and send them on their way with a black mark in their permanent file.
Fare thee well, Lucy Eastwick.
You could have been so much more than you are.
For all my efforts, I was now back to square one. No matter how good it felt deep, deep, deep inside to have played the hero, I had taken a step back, my place among the Ash Court elite still laughably out of reach.
And at the end of the day, that was all that mattered.
Not Bjorn drawing a full, albeit coughing, breath when he regained consciousness. Not Alecto’s sob of relief, nor the way her eyes glistened when they shot back to me. Not the praise I’d receive. Not the women who would come crawling from the woodwork to be fucked by a hero.
None of it.
I had played the good guy and still come out the loser.
Story of my fucking life.
30
Alecto
Tonight had started off so well.
Yeah, controlled chaos arose with any academy event, and considering Samhain was possibly the biggest, most important of the year, the entire team carried that stress on its shoulders right up until the opening faculty waltz. But things had been good—and then it got worrisome with Bjorn’s absence, then weird wi
th Jack and our moment in the stairwell, then terrifying with Gavriel and the black blood dot.
Then horrifying and depressing and disheartening outside the castle walls when we discovered the academy had been harboring literal psychopaths—finding Bjorn like that. Brutalized. Crucified. Staked. Destined to die by the sun if Gavriel hadn’t abandoned his principles and forced Lucy Eastwick to drop the ward. How he had known she was the caster was anyone’s guess, but there hadn’t exactly been time to grill him on it.
Bjorn had been my only priority out there.
Gavriel could wait.
Shoes dangling off my fingertips, I padded through the empty, quiet corridors of Root Rot’s castle three hours later—absolutely destroyed. After my distress signal heralded in the cavalry, which consisted of the headmaster, Madame Prewett, and a handful of faculty warlocks, we had all gone into damage control mode. Jack needed to deal with the troublemakers, Prewett with the hole in our security system, and then the rest of us had been responsible for ending the night early and getting all students back to bed.
No easy feat given half of them were drunk, the punch spiked despite Alice’s best efforts to keep it virginal. Den mothers, professors, and security hustled kids to their towers for the better part of two hours, about a quarter of the student population scattered around the castle doing… well, gods only knew what. Security had royally shit the bed tonight, and many of us predicated a mass firing before the night was through.
Rounding a corner, I slowed and finally undid the clasp of my bloodstained cape, willing the brocade to fall off my slumped shoulders. I caught it just before it cascaded to the ground, then flung it over my arm—exhausted. Bjorn’s absence, the bloody fae locator spell, and then eventually finding my roommate on the brink of vampiric death had kept my adrenaline at its peak all night. Now that he and all the rest were finally in bed, it drained out of me like a flood, there one second and gone the next, leeching my energy and taking my fight with it.
Sapping my muscles, making every step a chore.
My angry, blistered feet certainly didn’t help things, either. Stupid shoes. Definitely should have just let Gavriel fly me around from the get-go, but I had woefully underestimated how far Leroy and Malorie’s gang of teenaged sadists dragged Bjorn into the highlands.