by Tarah Scott
“Will you settle for me believing you’re not a black witch?” he asks. “At least for the moment?”
Before I reply, he slows, his attention on something to my left. I look and spot a girl, about fourteen or fifteen, with head bowed, seated on a bench half-hidden by sculpted bushes. Blade cups my elbow and veers toward the girl. We near her and she looks up, eyes moist and red rimmed. Has she been bullied like the thirteen-year-old? Blade’s hold on my elbow tightens slightly and he brings us to a stop, then steps past me to the girl. She swipes at her eyes, clearly embarrassed, and jumps to her feet.
She starts to hurry past him, but he grasps her arm. “What’s wrong, Alisha?”
Wow, he knows her name. Does he know all the students by name?
She keeps her head low. “Nothing, sir.”
He gives a gentle laugh. “I’m not one of the paid instructors here. You can call me Blade. Now tell me, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” she insists, and I understand exactly what’s wrong.
“It’s hard being way from home, isn’t it?” I say.
She looks up in surprise. “I’m not a baby.”
I shake my head. “Of course not. Missing your family doesn’t make you a baby. I miss mine.”
Her brows furrow. “But you’re old.”
Blade dips his head, but I glimpse the smile on his mouth.
“That’s my point,” I tell her. “Age has nothing to do with missing your family. I miss mine a lot.”
“Does your mom know how to cook oatmeal the way you like it, too?”
Bittersweet sorrow squeezes my heart at the memory of Grams’ soft, home baked cinnamon rolls, sure to appear on particularly gloomy days.
I smile at the girl. “I never knew my mom. Want to know who my family is?”
Alisha nods.
“My familiar. She’s a pig.”
Her mouth falls open. “A pig? Really? That is so cool.”
I laugh. “It is. And it’s me who cooks for her. She has a weakness for Chinese food.”
“She’s got good taste.”
I lean in and whisper conspiratorially, “But Stony eats only veggie Chinese food, and I’m not allowed to eat anything with pork.”
“Of course not,” Alisha says with gravity. “That would be like cannibalism.”
“Exactly.” I release a sigh. “I miss her a lot.”
Alisha touches my shoulder. “It’s okay. She loves you and you’ll be together soon.”
I’m touched by her kindness and will away the tears that press the backs of my eyes. “When I see her, maybe I can introduce you,” I say.
“I would love that.” She looks up at Blade, shyness clear in her expression. “I have to get to class.”
“Of course. I suggest you see Ms. Rose later on today. She is a very good person to talk to when you’re feeling a little blue.”
Alisha nods and gives me a tiny wave as she starts away. I sense subtle magic drift in her direction and whip my head back toward Blade.
His eyes shift to me and the tenderness in his expression knocks me off my feet. The emotion is directed at me, not the kid. But why? Because, unlike Raith, he doesn’t believe I’m—
“Come on.” He cups my elbow and heads toward the walkway.
“You did something,” I say.
“Something?”
I snort. “You can’t kid a kidder. You cast a spell on her.”
“Doing something isn’t the same thing as casting a spell on someone.”
My dorm comes into view and I recall I’m about to be put under house arrest. “I haven’t had anything to eat today,” I say, then grasp his arm and add, “Stony is getting her daily order of Chinese food?”
He smiles. “Indeed, she is. I have a friend who owns a fabulous restaurant half an hour from the house. I sent him a key. He delivers twice a day and has instructions to puts the food on paper plates on the kitchen floor.”
I raise my brows. “He doesn’t think that’s odd?”
“I suspect he thinks it’s very odd,” Blade says with a laugh. “But, as I said, he’s a good friend. Now, what would you like to eat?”
“Burger, fries, and a beer.”
His eyes light up. “I can oblige.”
“Really?” I say, then realize my surprise is evident in my voice. I’m some smooth operator.
“One of the best burger joints around delivers,” he says.
I narrow my eyes. “And here I thought we were going for that dinner.”
His eyes darken and my breath catches. “Everything in its time, love.” The British have a way of making everything sound sexy, but sin drips off his low-spoken words.
I can’t halt the lowering of my gaze to his chest. The man’s chest is as sinful as his voice. And those damn arms… God have mercy. I return my attention to his face to find him staring. Well, damn. He knows exactly what I’m thinking.
I shake my head. “Seems I forgot who I’m talking to.”
His brows lift in surprise. “Who might that be?”
“The lollipop man.”
He blinks, then begins to laugh—hard. We reach the dormitory and he pulls the door open for me. I glance left, toward the trees that hide the wall, and consider making a run for it.
His eyes sparkle. “I’ll give you a head start.”
I blink. “What?”
“What do you say to a twenty-foot lead?”
“Then, what, you’ll catch me?”
He steps a hair closer, but it feels as if he’s practically pressed against my body. Or is that wishful thinking?
“I will, indeed, catch you,” he murmurs.
Something jumps to life in me. I feel as if I’m the prey and the hunter at the same time, and the thrill that goes through me is palpable. I’m tempted to try just to see what he’ll do.
“If I reach the wall, will you let me go?”
I read the challenge in his eyes.
“You won’t reach the wall.”
Damn, my feet itch to try him out.
“I’m pretty fast,” I say.
“I should hope so,” he drawls. “Otherwise, it wouldn’t be any fun.”
Fun. He makes even that word sound dirty.
His gaze drops and I realize he’s looking at my blood-stained jeans.
His mouth hardens. “Let’s get you inside.” He motions with a nod.
I sigh and precede him through the doorway. He falls into step alongside me as we cross the expansive foyer and head up the stairs. We ascend in silence until we reach my room.
When he opens the door and steps aside, I say, “I have no intention of staying locked inside this room.”
His expression softens. “I know.”
He cups my elbow and urges me into the room. I pull his coat off as I whirl to face him, then thrust the coat toward him. His mouth twitches in amusement, as he takes the coat. I try to ignore the flex of muscle as he shrugs into the leather.
He grasps the door handle and says, as he’s pulling the door shut, “I’ll have the burger and fries sent up once they arrive.” I take a step toward him as the door clicks shut in my face.
An instant later, I feel the spell that turns my room into a prison.
Chapter Twenty-Six
BLADE
Gods will be gods
Fury boils my blood as I stride the walkway that parallels Penncarrow Hall. When I discover who tried to kill Leilah, I will bury him to his neck and set the wood demons on him. My phone buzzes. I pull it from my jacket pocket. Josephine’s name flashes on the screen. Damn, I haven’t spoken with Jo since Leilah arrived and I have no time now. I decline the call and drop the phone into my pocket as I round the corner of Penncarrow Hall. I nearly run headlong into Chelsea Nightlow. We both stop short and I seize her arms to keep her from falling. Her head snaps up, eyes wide.
“Sorry, Chelsea,” I say.
Her brow furrows. “Are you all right?”
Chelsea is only fifteen, a slip of a girl with strong mag
e powers, and even stronger empathic abilities.
I release her. “I’m fine.”
“You’ve got a lot on your plate,” she whispers.
I close my thoughts and smile. “Such is the way of life.”
She studies me, clearly intent in reading my mind—something that is not allowed.
Although she’s a High Potential, her affiliation with House Nightlow concerns me. They aren’t members of the religious guild, but they are strong supporters and are deeply religious. In her youth, Lady Nightlow avoided an Academy draft by attending religious school. At fifteen, she spoke passionately in favor of the Hell Gates remaining locked and was offered a position among Margidda’s leaders.
I’d seen her speech and had half expected her to come to fisticuffs with Jess Santillana, who’d argued for opening the gates so the souls of loved ones who had paid their karmic debts could ascended from Hell. Lady Nightlow countered that anyone who tried to open the Hell Gates must be found guilty of treason. A crime on par with consorting with Shadows.
I’m not certain her daughter inherited Lady Nightlow’s passion, a passion that sometimes crossed over into fanaticism. I have seen no fanaticism in Chelsea, but then, I have never seen Chelsea in a situation where fanaticism might be evoked. I hope I never do.
Raith emerges from between Penncarrow and Middlewich Halls. Chelsea casts a quick glance his way, then continues down the walkway.
Raith reaches my side and demands, “Why are you still here?”
“After what just happened in your office, I’m not leaving The Academy anytime soon,” I shoot back.
“Don’t make the same mistake we always do and allow Ciarah to rule our lives,” he says.
“What the devil are you talking about? Someone nearly killed her.”
“Exactly,” he says. “You need to figure out the magic used on that spear.”
“Of course. By the way, I looked into the Thol’guk that showed up at Miriam Crowe’s house the other night. Someone called it from the underworld.”
Raith scowls. “Of course, someone called it from the underworld.”
“Don’t be an ass,” I say. “The magic was fresh. Someone sent the creature to kill Leilah.”
“You can’t be sure of that.”
“I said, don’t be an ass. The attempt on her life today is the second attempt. How the bloody hell did her attacker get past Ethan’s protection spell in that sigil—never mind his fire?”
Raith’s eyes flash. “Whoever it is, is using some powerful dark magic. I want to know how that’s possible on Academy grounds.” His gaze shifts past me and his mouth thins.
“Gentlemen,” Olympia says behind me.
Bollocks.
A silent promise to continue our conversation later passes between Raith and I before I turn toward the Grand Witch. She stops beside us and her assistant, Franklin, halts behind her. Her silver gown shimmers as she extends a ring bedecked hand toward me.
With a viper like Olympia, it’s wise to keep her sated. “You grace us with your presence,” I imbue my words with the seduction I know she loves. It’s a damn good thing I ran into Raith before meeting Olympia. She would have read my anger in an instant.
She gives a soft laugh. “Please say you’ve changed your mind. You must teach at The Academy. After you fulfill your obligations to me, of course.”
Right willingly will I fulfill my obligation to her. Then, never again will I yoke myself beneath the Grand Witch of the North. However, my smile doesn’t reveal my thoughts as I caress her hand with my thumb.
“As you know, teaching is not my forte.” I lift my lips in a hint of the smile that melts her every time.
Amusement lights her eyes. “You cannot resist me forever, child,” she says in a voice both cold and beautiful. “I will have you.”
I know she is referring to more than my obedience, but I say nothing as she faces Raith.
“I’m running late,” he says and, before she can respond, he turns and strides down the walkway.
The Grand Witch watches him for several seconds, then faces me.
“Surly fellow,” I comment dryly.
“Indeed.” She loops her arm through mine and leads me through the maze of paths running behind Penncarrow Hall. Her assistant follows a few discreet steps behind. “I’ve never understood your friendship.”
This isn’t the first time Olympia has tried to learn more about the connections among Raith, Ethan and me. I can’t imagine her reaction if she knew Raith was one of the First. Raith hadn’t been made a vampire. He’d been born a vampire.
“I don’t always understand our friendship, either,” I murmur.
“We haven’t discussed your progress with my request,” she says.
“The Zidruhin are tight-knit,” I say. “They choose their high priests from those whose families have been members of the order for centuries.”
“We have had spies within their ranks for centuries,” she counters.
I tilt my head. “But none of our people have been invited into the inner sanctum.”
“Our ancestors would have been wise to have infiltrated their ranks when The Shadows attacked in the fifth century. How can the Greek gods continue to aid Damien after he cost them that war? Spiteful creatures,” she snarls. “After nine thousand years, they still hate the Atlantean pantheon and continue to sacrifice their own people for revenge.”
“I don’t think the Greek gods consider dead Margiddians to be part of their people,” I say.
She snorts. “Of course, they don’t. But many Greeks died, as well. Had we paid attention to the Zidruhin then, we would control them now, and Damien would likely be dead.”
I think she’s oversimplifying the situation, but keep that thought to myself.
“Rumors of Damien have reached Greenland. Samayaza paid me a visit.”
I look sharply at her before I can catch myself. “The fallen angel has surfaced?”
She gives a single nod. “Strange, yes?”
I don’t like this one bit. “Yes,” I admit. “What did he say?”
“That Damien believes he has located his demon bride and is no longer hiding.”
Samayaza, the fallen angel—one of the direct Sons of God—in hiding for nearly five hundred years. I curse silently. This news could have waited until we had Ciarah settled and safe.
“What does he care if Damien has found his bride?” I ask. “The world could fall for all he cares.”
She casts me a sideways glance. “I love it when you pretend to be naïve. It is so at odds with your true self.”
“Damien may find his bride, but that doesn’t mean he can open the Hell Gates,” I reply.
“Nothing is forever,” she says. “Someday, someone will break the spell and open the gates. Even Samayaza does not want that.”
The opening of the Hell Gates is something none of us are prepared for.
“We must know Damien’s plans,” she says.
“Our men are watching the Zidruhin.” A light breeze ruffles my hair as I match her sedate pace down the path.
“The strange doings at Miriam Crowe’s home are harbingers of things to come.”
I know she refers to Miriam’s connection to The Shadows and her subsequent death. Out of deference to me, however, she will not name them in my presence. Fae hurt more deeply than most when magic scars the earth. Occasionally, the Grand Witch is almost human.
“I came across a demon in her home last night,” I say.
“A demon?” she demands.
Franklin sucks in a sharp breath.
“In Miriam’s home?” she whispers.
I nod. “He has been disposed of.” I think. “Unfortunately, before I could learn his intent.”
“Highly unusual,” her assistant murmurs.
“Indeed.” Olympia halts and turns. “Franklin, see that the demon is investigated. We must find out who conjured it.”
Bloody hell, Franklin will find Stony. “Leave that to me,” I say.
“There is no need for you to waste your time on such a mundane task.”
“I wouldn’t call Miriam Crowe practicing Shadow magic mundane.”
She studies me and I keep my expression neutral. Olympia is not Grand Witch for nothing. Her ability to read a situation without resorting to magic is highly developed.
At last, she nods. “Franklin, leave the matter to Blade.
“As you wish,” Franklin replies.
We resume our walk.
“I expect this new task not to interfere with our search for Damien,” she says.
The investigation into the appearance of the Thol’guk at Miriam’s home won’t interfere, but the investigation into who tried to kill Leilah will.
“Of course not.” I offer my most winning smile.
She narrows her eyes. “Do not be deceived into believing I am always moved by a pretty face.”
“On the contrary, I suspect that is never the case,” I say, and mean it. The Grand Witch of the North might like male company but, in the end, nothing interferes with her goals.
She faces forward again, her expression grim. “It is my fault we do not have the answers we need. I should have been watching the Zidruhin these last fifty years.”
I’m struck by her return to the subject of the Zidruhin. Olympia will protect her position, and she’s given to dramatics, but only to a point. Might she be right in worrying about the rumors that Damien has located his bride? Or might she have a hidden agenda behind these new machinations?
“Nothing from Zedkeil on Miriam Crowe’s death?” she asks.
I wince inwardly. Since Ciarah’s arrival, I had let slip most of my duties, with keeping an eye on Zedkeil being at the top of that list. The angel might have agreed to work with us to discover how far Miriam Crowe got in her dark magic and how she managed to kill herself, but angels aren’t known for keeping their end of a bargain. Which made me suspicious of his offer of help.
With the Morning Star trapped in Hell, he has been unable to make mayhem. Yet demons are gaining unaccountable power, particularly since the recent Shadow War. Hence, I suspect, the reason the angels are looking closely at anything that might empower evil. A high white witch suddenly practicing Shadow magic qualifies.