by Patti Larsen
Simon’s expression flickered a moment, worry passing over his face.
“Don’t you have class?” I wasn’t talking to Darin, staring straight at Simon who refused to meet my eyes.
But Darin wasn’t about to let me circumvent his authority. “Who are you, his mommy?” The other two witches laughed, but their humor sounded strained. The flush in Simon’s cheeks and the anger flickering over his face told me I’d lost with that one statement.
Rupe glanced at me, a little frown pulling the corners of his mouth. “Maybe I’ll come with you.” He nodded, ever so slightly. Which meant he didn’t like Darin’s sway over our young friend any more than I did.
Feeling relieved Simon wouldn’t be alone, I backed off, but allowed my demon one last chuff at the edge of Darin’s shredded shields while she drew a breath as if tasting him, and chuckled.
The boys strode off without me, Rupe glancing over his shoulder with a little wave and a roll of his eyes. But Simon never looked back.
***
Chapter Seven
Three doors were left open to me when I passed through the entry to my own private hell. Turned out door number four was actually a direct line to the cafeteria and I told myself maybe I should have just taken it in the first place. But that would have meant missing Rupe and Simon and finding out about Darin.
Not to mention the happy hum of satisfaction from my demon. Okay then, long walks to the caf every day it was. Who knew what fun we could have?
I stood there a moment, looking at the doors, closely tempted to wander into the cafeteria instead of my pending class, just to see what would happen, but decided not to push my luck. I might have been feeling much more myself and even a tad more aggressive than usual—okay a whole bunch more—but I had to go to school here for three years. And since the institution itself hadn’t done anything to annoy me I could at least try to play by the rules.
As I strode into my next class behind door number three, it was with a whole new attitude and, from the expressions of those who watched me enter, it was obvious. Did they think me suddenly arrogant? Let them. I honestly couldn’t care less.
I moved to a seat near the middle, pulling Charlotte along beside me, pausing to wave at the brothers Dumont who sat in the back, even smiled at them though my demon crawled and muttered and begged to let her loose. I continued smiling, saw the smirks fade from their faces, the slow, fearful frowns growing as I just stood there and stared and smiled.
By the time the two had slunk down in their seats, scowls pulling their handsome faces into petulant masks, I was feeling much, much better. I took my seat without further ado, jerking Charlotte down into the one beside me.
“I’m supposed to stand at the door.” She shifted in her chair, clearly uncomfortable. With a sigh, I let her go, not bothering to watch as she slid out of the aisle, knowing she would spend the rest of the class at attention.
I looked up in the sudden quiet and into the nearly black eyes of my next teacher. I’d done some homework, knew the short, round man with the thick head of black hair and skin deepened by race and sun exposure was Isodore Santos. This was my first real experience with anyone from the Santos coven since the trial and I didn’t know what to expect. After all, the Santos clan and their leader, Benita, were aligned with the Dumont coven, or had been when Odette was leader. Now that the evil old woman was dead and no longer influencing the Santos family, had things shifted for the better?
Isodore seemed neither hostile nor particularly friendly, so I had to assume they had. Either that or he didn’t care one way or the other. I’d take it.
Practical magic focused on the use of herbs and natural magic, the way power surrounded us and permeated everything. How the most common of items sometimes contained the most amazing magic. I actually found myself fascinated by the class, conducted in the warm, rich voice of Isodore. A momentary pang of sadness passed over me as I realized why I enjoyed the lecture so much. He reminded me of Martin and Louisa Vega, both practical magic practitioners who treated me like their own daughter my whole life. Up until they were killed, murdered by Celeste Oberman, a fellow Purity absorbed into our coven. I hadn’t thought much of the departed Vegas, lost to a magically fed fire, or Celeste and her traitorous ways, in quite some time. I owed the horse-faced witch some pain and retribution.
The Santos teacher reminded me a bit of Martin and the familiar topic, one both of them were happy to share with me though I was rarely interested, actually helped me calm down and settle despite the memory of the fire and my need to destroy Celeste.
Isodore finally set down the bundle of lavender he’d been holding, the faint green glow from the flower fading. “That’s all for now, students. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
I shook my head, feeling a little muzzy, as though I’d been lost in something. But no, nothing nefarious. He was just a great teacher. The best I’d ever had. Even the rest of the students seemed to agree, not one of them focusing on me, or even looking my way, chatting, normal, happy.
This was college life. This embrace of mixed emotions and magicks, a wall of fellow young witches moving from class to class in easy, uncomplicated steps.
I smiled at Charlotte on the way by, pulled her forward to walk beside me, which she did with little effort.
“Sydlynn.”
My head snapped around at the whisper of my name. But I didn’t see anyone nearby in the press of students, no one I recognized, anyway. Was someone trying to torment me? Bring it.
For the briefest of moments, the crowd parted and my eyes settled on a porcelain face, brilliant blue eyes, a black fringe of bangs. And then the shift of bodies blocked her from view.
“Ameline.” I breathed out her name, Charlotte instantly tense beside me as she scanned the crowd while my mind struggled with what I’d seen. Ameline Benoit, the former next in line for rulership of the Dumont coven and even more evil than Odette herself, the reason I almost lost my vampire Uncle Frank. Ameline, with her cold expression and her near-marriage to Quaid.
“You’re certain?” A frown crossed Charlotte’s face. “I don’t smell her, Sydlynn.”
Again the curtain of students parted, revealing the place my enemy had stood. Nothing. Empty. She was gone.
“If she was even ever there.” I hugged myself quickly and shook my head, not wanting to doubt my ears or my eyes, but trusting Charlotte’s sense of smell. Hadn’t she practically been raised with Ameline around? If anyone could identify my enemy with one whiff it would be Charlotte. “Could she have masked herself?”
The weregirl shrugged. “It’s possible,” she said. “Though unlikely. Not from this distance.”
I thought about it a moment, remembering when Sassafras, in mortal form, had been kidnapped and Galleytrot led on a merry chase after him by the brothers Dumont. They’d been able to hide Sassy’s scent.
If it was Ameline, why was she showing herself to me? Especially here, at Harvard, the center of the High Council’s power? There were so many plain-clothes Enforcers hanging out here, so many witches, all it would take was one slip-up and she’d be caught and most likely burned at the stake for her crimes.
It had to have been my imagination, as much as I hated to admit it. A trick of my eyes, maybe triggered by my new confidence. I wanted to find her, for a rematch of our last fight. I’d played fair, but this time…
Screw fair.
I drifted into my fourth class with a little frown on my face, concentration lost on the question. Maybe I should tell Mom? If Ameline was able to make it past the wards on the Yard without anyone’s knowledge, she could be anywhere. But what proof did I have, especially since I doubted myself what I saw? No, I’d keep my crazy talk to myself just in case.
The seat I slid into was near the front, but even in my absent-mindedness I knew better than to choose the front row. As the door to the class slammed shut I glanced up, watched a man stride down the lecture theatre stairs, perfect brown suit and crisp yellow tie obviously expensive. I g
lanced at my class schedule. The instructor was supposed to be Maryanne Courtney, from some small California coven. Not the tall, handsome blond with the ice blue eyes and angular features I knew all too well. Not that I knew him personally. I just recognized the bloodstock.
“My name is Albert Dumont.” He pronounced it Al-bear, stressing the last syllable. “Miss Courtney was unable to teach this semester, so I was asked to fill in her place for the History of Magic.”
Lovely. And yet, maybe I was overreacting. After all, my Santos teacher hadn’t said boo either to me or about me. Now that Mia was the leader of the Dumonts, maybe things were better all the way around.
I knew the moment those cold blue eyes met mine not a thing had changed.
“Class,” Albert said in his rolling French accent, “we have a celebrity among us.”
Everyone groaned. Including me. Here we go again.
“I was planning on beginning with ancient witch history,” he said, a smile pulling the signature Dumont mouth wide, white teeth flashing. “But since Sydlynn Hayle is one of my students, perhaps some more recent history would be in order.”
He then launched into the most twisted, one sided, non-objective retelling of the Purity coven attack on my family, I had to dig my finger nails into my palms and grit my teeth tightly together to keep from leaping to my feet and tearing him apart.
It was clear from the looks on the other student’s faces they were pretty sure he was full of crap, especially when he tried to tell them all my mother was the instigator of the whole thing. My classmates may not have liked me, but they all knew exactly who Miriam Hayle was. And what she’d done to save the High Council.
What I’d done. With Gram’s help. Only of course it all was attributed to Mom. Fury bubbled in the pit of my stomach as the brothers snorted and giggled behind me.
Class couldn’t be over fast enough. In fact, the door swung open far sooner than I expected, considering the torture I endured. Only, it turned out the session wasn’t done. A tall, thin woman in a flowered dress, her bleach blonde curls pulled back in a soft pony tail, stomped down the steps to face off with Albert.
“Class,” she said—okay, snarled, long, red painted nails flashing as she pointed at the smiling Dumont, “you will disregard anything this charlatan has told you.” She leaned close, growled something at him. He just laughed at her, whispered something back. Her cheeks flamed, body ridged as he drifted out of the room, all eyes on him. Albert winked at me, saluted the brothers and exited with a flourish.
We all turned back to who could only be Maryanne Courtney. I could tell from her long, lean body and deep tan she had to be the very witch meant to teach us.
“I’m sorry about that,” she huffed, hands on hips. “And no offense to any other covens, but that man is a douchebag.”
I loved her already.
***
Chapter Eight
What followed was the most fun I’d ever had in a class. Ever. Maryanne was nothing if not blunt, to the point and full of snarky sarcastic goodness, a fact which colored her teaching to the extent she had the entire student body in the palm of her well-manicured hands.
I was still giggling as I gathered my things to leave when the door swung open, not really wanting to go. For the first time all day I was one of the other students, with no one staring or whispering or treating me like I was different. Maryanne actually waved at me on the way out, but not to single me out. Just to say goodbye.
Awesome.
The only tarnish to the moment was the matching grins from the Dumont brothers as they brushed their way past me, but it was easy enough to forget about them after the great class I’d just sat through.
Not so much for Charlotte, though. She snarled in her Eastern-European language at them, body tense and anger radiating. I found myself grinning and poking her in the side to which she stared at me like I’d done something she’d never for a moment thought anyone would do.
“Helps to think about how they’d look naked,” I grinned. Blushed. “Not like that,” I corrected. “But, you know. In class. Humiliated.” Okay, this was going downhill in a hurry as Charlotte glared at me. “How about dead? Does imagining them dead work for you?”
Now she was smiling, an evil expression. Okay then. Good to know what turned her crank.
I was rather enjoying my new “don’t give a flying crap” attitude when someone slid up beside me. My grin was still in place when I turned my head and met Mia’s ice blue ones. It took a lot to resist hugging her, I was in that good of a mood.
She smiled back, slow and hesitant, before taking my hand and squeezing it gently. “Hi, Syd.”
I squeezed back, but let her go when she pulled away. “Hey, Mia.”
Black eyeliner crumpled around the edges of her brilliant eyes as her smile widened. “I’ve missed you,” she whispered before laughing a little. But there was a brittle undercurrent to her amusement reminding me of Alison when my former bestie tried to cover up when something was wrong.
“I missed you too.” I really did. She was one of the only friends I’d ever had and somehow being enemies, or at least our covens not really getting along if you could call generations of animosity that, felt like all kinds of wrong. Especially after I’d reconnected with Rupe and Simon just an hour or so ago. “Love you’re back to the Goth.”
She flushed slightly under her pale makeup, touching her long, black hair. “I feel most comfortable in it,” she said. “The most like me. Does that make sense?”
I didn’t bother answering, because it kind of did, but not in a good way. I always thought she was hiding the real her behind all that makeup and stainless steel.
“How are things?” I didn’t want to prod, but she was just standing there, looking at me as if she expected me to keep the conversation going and it was the only thing I could think of to ask that hopefully wouldn’t set her off. Or me. Or make her cry.
Jeeze, talk about complicated.
She shrugged a little, looking away. “Wonderful,” she said, that edge still in her voice. “The coven is really coming together under my leadership. I’ve never been so happy, surrounded by my family.”
Um. Okay. Sounded like something she’d come up with to tell the press, not a casual answer to an equally casual question.
“Good to hear,” I said, not wanting to dig any deeper. It really wasn’t my business. In fact, anything I said outside of the usual could be seen as interfering with another coven.
I was really starting to hate politics.
“Yes,” she said too brightly as she turned to meet my eyes again, a wall of falseness between us, “I’m thrilled.”
She was totally full of it and I know she knew I saw right through her. But neither of us was in a place to talk about it further and I was pretty sure from the hint of pleading in her expression she wanted me to just nod and smile.
So I did. And her soft sigh of relief told me I’d read her correctly. Whatever was really happening with the Dumont clan, Mia had to handle it. I didn’t have the jurisdiction to interfere. Meaning, no matter how much I cared about Mia, I had to let it go.
I needed to change the subject. The slowly growing discomfort of our silence stretched out so thin I was going to run away if I didn’t come up with something to say. When I finally latched onto a bit of news to tell her, I was so relieved I practically pounced on her.
“Blood’s here!” My words squealed out of me, far more excited than I intended. But Mia took the offering and gushed as much as I did.
“He is?” She giggled behind her hands, blue eyes sparkling. “You saw him?”
I nodded quickly. “He doesn’t look anything like himself,” I said. “Buzz cut, no makeup. But he’s the same old Blood.” I found myself really laughing. She was the first person who knew him like I did who I could talk to about it, and that fact cut the last of the tension. “Did you know his real name is Rupert?”
Mia giggled again. “I know,” she rolled her eyes, black lipst
icked lips peeling back from her very white teeth as she smiled. “Silly, right? But he was Blood when I met him.”
Mia had this thing, adapting herself like a chameleon to the people she cared about. I wondered why she was Goth again, considering the rest of her family favored the overdone model look and, for the first time, considered maybe I was wrong about her and it wasn’t a way for her to hide after all. If she had enough of a backbone to revert to who she really thought she was, maybe there was hope for her as leader yet.
“I should go to class.” She paused, hands clutched together, pressed to her chest. “I just wanted to say hello. And offer a warning.”
My entire body tensed. “Warning?” Was she threatening me?
“Stay away from Jean Marc and Kristophe,” she said.
Charlotte snarled beside me. I’d forgotten she was there, but, as my own anger surged, I felt hers push against me.
“Thanks for that,” I said, feeling the iciness of my words strike Mia like blows. “You can be certain I will—if they offer the same courtesy.”
Mia’s eyes flew wide, one hand covering her mouth as her body shuddered. “No, Syd,” she whispered. “I’m sorry. That came out all wrong.” Her hand dropped, shoulders drooping and guilt replaced my flash of rage. “I just meant... they are holding a grudge against you.” Her eyes rimmed with moisture, lips quivering as she fought emotions. “I’ve ordered them to stay away from you, but I don’t trust them to obey.”
So that’s what being a heel felt like. I reached out to touch her, to apologize, but Mia was already pulling away. “Please be careful,” she said. “I can’t control them.”
I stood there and watched her go, regret at war with frustration. I wished I could fix things between our families, but at the same time I struggled with the fact my friend really wasn’t strong enough to lead her coven.
And knew it.
I turned to Charlotte with a frown. “Keep an eye on them,” I said, both of us knowing who “they” were. “But stay clear. Okay?”