Dread Delight: Rosewood Academy for Witches and Mages (Darkly Sweet Book 2)

by Juliann Whicker

  Groups of cloaked kids circled barrels of fire that licked the sky like orange tongues. I saw a few faces lit in the dancing light, strange and unearthly, like a bunch of witches dancing around a cauldron or something. I pulled my hood further down over my eyes and headed around towards the stadium entrance.

  I hesitated when I saw a familiar short form striding through the crowd, her cloak flapping to reveal her blood red sweater. She pushed through a pair of other witches, witches who let it go without retaliation. Viney was in a bad mood. That must be the Rosewood entrance, and I wasn’t feeling entirely like sitting among the Rosewood witches and listening to them scream Drake’s name. I might kill them. That sounded like an extremely pleasant diversion, almost better than waffles. I circled the stadium, hearing the chanting and eerie laughter and catching glimpses of wild eyes dancing in flames.

  I climbed into the bleachers amidst the Blackheart students, settling down in the center of the audience, back from the railing. I sat there and let my mind wander back to the closet, my fingers sliding beneath my cloak to touch his monogram. I closed my eyes and felt his lips on mine, hands tangling in my hair, voice murmuring in my ear, things he hadn’t ever said, like love. He’d looked at me on the stage, and I could have sworn there was love, but what did I know about love?

  I shook my head and focused on the stage.

  “Do you want some popcorn?”

  I glanced over at the mage beside me. He had his hood low so it covered all of his face besides his soft mouth. Maybe it was a witch. That mouth was far too soft for a mage’s. He held up a paper bag with a picture of a witch riding a broom with popcorn inside it.

  I shook my head and faced forward. He rattled the bag then was silent for a few more minutes. I shouldn’t sit here, clenching my skirt in my fists. What if I fainted again? I shook my head slightly. I’d be fine.

  Drake stepped out of nothing onto the stage. No green lights, no smoke, just one moment he wasn’t there the next he was. All around me hisses and boos filled the air as Blackheart saw their enemy. He turned his head towards us and smiled widely, sharp and toothy. His eyes sparked green while he held out his hands, gesturing this bring it on thing like he’d done with Ian so long before, but different, more sharp and mocking, less playful.

  One of the people in the crowd behind me stood, a tall figure who unfastened his black cloak and threw it off. He stood there until with a snap and crackle he turned into ashes that spun and drifted through the air to reform on the stage as the tall black haired boy who had been sitting not two rows above me only seconds before.

  My heart pounded as I stared at him. His cloak was still there on the bench where he’d left it. This wasn’t going to be an ordinary tourney, not if the audience was participating.

  I shifted uneasily, waiting for Drake to do the green lights thing, but instead he ran and slammed into the guy’s knees, flipping him over and down in the most brutal and vicious move I’d seen in a very long time. It reminded me of Pitch. Drake had broken the Blackheart student’s knees. Drake didn’t stop there, but raised his fist and smashed the guy’s face over and over and over until the guy melted away like smoke.

  I couldn’t breathe as Drake stood once more, blood flecking his face as he smiled, his black shirt darker in some places. He turned towards the other side where Rosewood sat in the bleachers. When he lifted his arms, they rose in one screaming, seething mass of completely psychotic approval for their fearless leader’s brutality.

  I covered my mouth with my hand while I struggled to breathe, but the scent of black cherry was everywhere in the air, yes, black cherry and the tinge of blood that was Drake’s scent.

  “He’s in fine form this evening.” The voice to my right was dry, rather amused like watching Drake rip apart boys was good sport.

  I turned to glare at popcorn boy. “You think it’s amusing.”

  He tilted his head and I saw a flash of dark eyes that reminded me of Signore Ludi before he smiled. He was the most beautiful man I’d ever seen in real life. He looked like one of those Asian pop stars who do lots of face surgery and wear lip gloss. I checked his mouth, but they didn’t seem to be particularly shiny. His lips curled in a delicious big bad wolf smile. Not another one.

  I turned to face front, pulling my hood low so I couldn’t see him in my periphery. I should have worn a ninja scarf.

  “It was a sign of disrespect for such a bad fighter to challenge him. That was a warning for other impudent Blackheart students. I don’t believe you’re one of them. I’m actually certain of it.”

  I shrugged and slid away from him over the bench, but the stranger only slid closer to me until I could feel his arm against mine.

  I closed my eyes and struggled to stay calm, but I was finished with arrogant mages who didn’t respect a girl’s space. Over and over I’d told Drake that I wasn’t dating him, that we weren’t together, and then the second I beg him to, he turns me into a monogrammed towel. Popcorn guy had chosen the wrong night to mess with me.

  I pulled a little pouch out of the cloak pocket, pinched some powder out of it then turned and blew it into the stranger’s face.

  It wasn’t much, just a mild coughing, sneezing, choking powder. I stared at the silver flecks of dust as they stayed caught in the air, suspended, the man’s eyes on the other side of the sparkles full of this darkness heavier than anything I’d ever felt. Signore Ludi knew that darkness, but he didn’t dance in it, not like this creature with the exquisitely beautiful face.

  He opened his perfect, pillowy lips that put Jackson’s to shame and then he exhaled, slowly, breathing onto the powder flakes. Instead of them spinning into my face, they expanded, spreading into these shapes, strange shapes like dancers, dancers I vaguely recognized. The sparkling miniature dancers spun around and around before they turned into flames and then nothing but smoke.

  I gasped and could smell smoke. I leaned closer and sniffed, yes, smoke, and his scent of black licorice. “That was really interesting. How did you do that?”

  He raised his eyebrows and tilted his head slightly. “Would you like another demonstration?”

  I nodded then waited while he smiled slightly, a smile that lifted up the edges of his lips and showed sharp canines.

  “I was going to wait until after he’d beaten a few dogs, you know, let him get the raw brutality out of his system, but how could I disappoint you?”

  I inhaled sharply and put my hand out towards him. “Don’t…”

  But he melted while I stared at him, holding the edge of his cloak, just melted into smoke, his cloak collapsing in a puff that smelled like licorice. I rubbed the mage’s cloak between my fingers while I turned towards the platform.

  Drake stood in the center, his foot on another victim I hadn’t seen him pulverize, when a cloud rushed around him, black with flickering lightning inside. The smoke wrapped around Drake, thick and heavy until I could only see an outline of Drake’s body. The cloud rose in the air, Drake inside of it, carried higher and higher above the platform.

  I wasn’t breathing as I sat there and watched Drake rise to a lethal height if he fell. This was all choreography and show, but the mix of licorice and black cherry made me nauseous. I gripped the stranger’s cloak in my fingers while the smoke swirled around Drake high above the platform.

  The lightning seemed to go through Drake and he made a sound, low, maybe like crying, but as it got louder, no, it was laughter, a crazy laugh of anticipation and delight that made my stomach curdle. I knew that kind of laughter and it inevitably precluded something stupid.

  The smoke vanished, and Drake fell. I barely noticed the man standing on the platform on the side, seeming relaxed as he looked up, watching Drake plummet. Drake fell laughing, like Poppy had fallen, down, down, down, but instead of the sickening impact of his flesh against the platform, there was an explosion of green sparks that danced like rain falling up instead of down.

  It sizzled and hissed while the black-haired man with the perfect
face held his hands out, as if waiting for something.

  The sparks shifted, flattening along the floor then rose in a tidal wave that poured over the man. He waved his hand, curving above his head and spun, his hands following the motion of his twirl so when the green fell over him, it spilled around his little bubble. He crouched and then spread his hands, exploding the bubble and sending the green water swirling through the air away from him.

  Drake came together in a shower of green sparks and stalked towards the Blackheart student. Their faces wore the same expression, watchful, anticipatory, and incredibly dangerous.

  The Blackheart student wasn’t as tall as Drake, maybe just a bit shorter than me, but with that lower center of gravity, he moved fast, towards Drake in a blur. Drake blocked that first strike, but slid over the platform with the Blackheart’s hands in a diamond shape over his chest.

  Drake fell back and threw Blackheart over his head. He landed lightly then spun back into Drake. They fought, moving together in a blur of motion that barely registered positions, but I knew that movement, the forms, had seen Revere perform them religiously every morning and evening.

  They came apart for a moment, crouched in defensive stances before Blackheart moved forward, then swept from one direction before he reversed and spun, putting the force of his impact and weight against Drake’s knee, his stupid cocked knee.

  Drake went over, but his other leg came up, wrapping around Blackheart’s leg and taking him with him. What followed was a mess of blood and rage. I put my head down on my knees, the scent of anise from the cloak drowning out the blood and black cherry.

  How long ago had it been when I would have watched with interest instead of horror? Maybe not even interest, just uncaring observation, but now I felt every punch, and it hurt, my side aching, my ribs burning.

  I felt a hand on my shoulder. An older woman with a pale face looked concerned. Was she a teacher from Blackheart? She reminded me of Professor Vale. “Are you all right?”

  I took a deep breath and forced myself upright. I gave her a sickly smile before I swallowed and forced myself to look at the platform, to watch the two beautiful specimens hurt each other. Drake was glorious, pale skin and red hair crimson from a cut in his ear that stained his hair and cheek.

  Popcorn boy’s elbow slammed Drake’s face, while Drake’s knee came up in the other guy’s kidneys. I took a shaky breath and focused on the space between me and the fighters, the air that swirled with drifts of snow, small bits of sparkling crystals that spun through the shadows.

  The rest of the fight passed in a blur of motion outside of my focus, but when a golden dragon exploded in a shower of light that buzzed and popped, I stared at it while it climbed through the sky, wings outstretched, then at the explosion of heat and flame the two fighters broke apart, dodging the fireball that lit up the platform. Green water swirled over the golden fireball and the air was filled with hissing green steam.

  The crowd erupted in crazy screaming, jeering, furious angry spectators at whoever had disrupted the spectacle of Drake fighting the Blackheart guy. They wanted to watch them beat each other to death. Around me the murmuring was darker, angry as people stood and hurled insults at the golden dragon who shimmered before coalescing into an Ian shape. He had the same designs, gold in his skin, so beautiful as he walked around without a shirt, nodding like, ‘yeah, I am this hot.’

  I stood along with all the others but instead of cheering or screaming, I slipped through the crowds, jostled and pushed as I ducked around bodies along the aisle towards the exit that was too far away. I should know better than to sit in the middle of a crowd like this.

  I pushed down the panic as I struggled through the pulsing crowd, heading towards the exit that seemed as far away now as it did before. I continued pressing forward, pausing when my hood got knocked back and I met the coal black eyes of a lean, mean guy whose lips curled as he stared at me. He reached forward to touch my hair, but his eyes widened and he froze then fell back into the cloaked figures behind him.

  A cloaked figure reached towards me, pulled up my hood, and grabbed my wrist. That touch was cold, the grip like iron. I pulled away, but another hand closed around my elbow, then on my other side two more witches closed in, gripping me. Four witches. Two more figures walked ahead of us, cutting through the seething crowd like a couple of scythes. Six witches. I glanced behind me and saw two more close behind. Eight.

  Eight Creagh? I inhaled deeply and smelled that scent of stale death that hung on the Creagh’s skin. Yes, eight Creagh and I was going with them like a sheep to the slaughter. I wasn’t sure if Pitch could handle eight Creagh. Only one way to find out. I would not let Pitch loose in the crowd of students. I would wait until we were clear and then…

  I walked with them, their hands surprisingly gentle as long as I didn’t resist. “You are going to regret this,” I murmured.

  The woman close to my right tightened her grip on my arm until I inhaled sharply. That would leave a mark. She said nothing but another witch cackled, low under her breath. I hated that sound. She was laughing at me.

  She should, but not for the reasons she thought. She should laugh because I was stupid enough to trust a mage, not because I was letting myself fall into the hands of a couple Creagh. As we walked through the crowd, scenes flashed through my head, all the ways that Pitch could kill them. Yes, eight wouldn’t be any problem at all. Forty-three seconds? Forty-two.

  The witch to my left dragged me too quickly and I tripped over my gown. Forty-four seconds. Pitch was going to take her time with that one. Number four. Another number four, but this time I didn’t have my phone for her to confiscate. They led me through the crowds of witches and mages who were still dancing and laughing on the field outside the tourney. The second we broke past the last barrel, shadows materialized, past us, pale faces flickering in the distant light of the moon. I didn’t have to count. Creagh came by fours, and there were more than twelve. This would be a problem. Pitch would need my help. I had three hurters knotted in my hair along with the powder in my pocket. But, sixteen Creagh?

  A witch materialized in front of me, her eyes burning red as her dagger-like nails grabbed my face. She shoved herbs in my mouth, pinching my nose closed like her fingers couldn’t simply pry my lips open. They couldn’t curse me, but they could use herbs to drug me. The bitter taste of poppies filled my mouth as I struggled. The witches gripped me tighter, painfully as they rose, jerking me up into the sky.

  Pitch, I need you.

  I only needed to think it once and she was there, a flicker of black that slashed through ligaments and throats, taking out the first four. No time to play with number four. I fell on her body, headless and bloody. I snapped two hurters from my hair and rolled as two Creagh dove towards me. One hurter cut through both of them, but the explosion was too bright. It would draw attention. A Creagh struck my face, snapping my head back, but that didn’t stop me from throwing a pinch of powder into her face. Two more bodies fell around me as Pitch did her work, but there were so many, and when I looked up, I saw whips of energy the Creagh were using to try and corral Pitch. That would make her very angry. I could feel her anger and I snarled at a Creagh, bashing her face in with my forehead before I swung around and down into a crouch, flinging up a handful of powder in another Creagh’s face before I rolled away, over a dismembered arm whose hand was still curved around an energy whip.

  Gross, but maybe I could use that. I picked it up and swung around, using the whip like I would a ribbon, slashing through two Creagh who hissed and fell back. I dodged sideways as Pitch dropped another Creagh. What were we down to? Four plus eight, whip another Creagh’s cloak to shreds revealing a horribly terrifying smile, teeth ragged and broken like she chewed on bones in her down time.

  I gasped as I felt something squeeze my chest. It wasn’t my chest but hers. Pitch. They shouldn’t be able to touch her, not really, but when I looked up and searched the sky, they had blue ropes wrapped around her, squeezi
ng her, strangling her, dragging her up and away from me.

  “No!” I screamed and ran, over the field as fast as I could, faster and faster until I was almost as fast as Pitch. If they managed to really take her away from me… I stood beneath her, stretching my hand up as I reached up, past my fingers and into the sky. Energy work. It’s what I could do. My palms burned when I felt the electric ropes, but I gripped them and pulled, loosening them just enough for her to dissolve into nothing.

  I crumpled to the ground, breathing hard, aching with every particle of me. Pitch would give me the pain soon enough, but for the moment there was only exhaustion.

  The Creagh circled above me, still too many for me to hope to defeat on my own, and I was out of tricks, all but one last hurter I held in my fingers. The moment they dropped down like one enormous bird of prey, ready to scoop me up and carry me away, I hurled the hurter and flung myself on the ground, arms over my head.

  The skin of my arms was shredded from shrapnel while the sky exploded. I heard a few thumps around me as the witches drew back to regroup, then a hand on my arm that pulled me up. I gripped it back tightly when I recognized those crooked fingers. Signore Ludi.

  I sobbed and for a second he pulled me against his chest in a rough hug before he took me back towards the crowd. He was heavily cloaked, hooded, and wore a deep shadow over his face. It didn’t matter. I clung to him, feeling like I’d finally found something steady, a rock in a storm.

  But the Creagh, wouldn’t they kill him once they’d regrouped? I couldn’t lose him. I chewed on my bottom lip and pulled away from him. “You shouldn’t have come. They’ll hurt you.”

  He growled, an odd sound from him. He sounded like a mage. Of course he was a mage, but I didn’t think of him that way. He wasn’t a dangerous creature I had to guard against. Was he?