Wilde Abandon (Ashcroft Academy Book 3)

by K. M. /Kelly Charron

  “You’re going to feel a tiny pinch and tug.”

  Pinch and tug? What? The nurse gripped her arm and pulled the IV needle from her hand in one quick movement before applying pressure. “Good girl.” She placed a small bandage over the spot and patted her on the arm. “The doctor should be in shortly.” With that, the slight nurse left.

  “You’re finally awake,” another voice said, sounding far too chipper.

  Sitting in the corner of the room, Justin beamed at her. She gulped and pulled the thin blankets up around her neck. “What? How did I get here?”

  Justin leaned forward in his chair and cocked his head. “You don’t remember? God, don’t tell me that memory spell actually worked?” He looked up as if the ceiling had answers. “You passed out.” He smiled wryly.

  It all came flooding back. They’d made it to the forest’s edge when she’d felt woozy, and then everything went black. “Oh my God, how are you here? I mean, you shouldn’t be here. Those,” she dropped her voice to a gravelly whisper, “elder witches were so angry. If they find out, you’ll be in even more trouble.” She was rambling, but there was a lot to consider.

  He gave a joking sigh of relief. “Thank God, I was worried that Máthair Zhang could actually Persuade you.”

  She pulled herself upright and felt a sharp twinge in her right ankle. “Very funny. I remember everything. Well, until the point where I passed out. What happened, and how did you get me here?”

  “You had a touch of hypothermia and were dehydrated. But after a night of fluids and many warm blankets, you’re better.” He beamed at her. “Langston and I carried you here. You’re in the infirmary.”

  She nodded as she processed this. “And my ankle?”

  “Sprained. You fell on it as you collapsed, but it’ll be fine in a couple of days.” He leaned in closer. “Or I could do a healing spell on you. If it would work, which it probably won’t. The way magic works with you is very confusing.”

  The sheepish way he looked at her made the butterflies in her stomach do backflips. She smiled broadly at him. “What time is it?”

  “Almost eleven.”

  She nodded. “Did you stay here all night?” Watching me passed out and drooling? “Did anyone from the school call my mother? She’s not here, is she?” Ainsley didn’t want her mom to worry, besides what excuse would she have for being taken to the hospital—by two boys after three o’clock in the morning?

  “The headmistress decided it was best to wait until you woke up, to see what you wanted—and what you remembered—since you’re not seriously hurt.” He gave a conspiratorial wink. “She hates the school being under any scrutiny, and an injured student is bad press. Also, for the record, she thinks the forgetting spell worked and expects you to have the new memory of studying for finals so intensely you became dehydrated and tripped down a few stairs, twisting your ankle.” He smiled, but she could see the guilt in his eyes.

  “You didn’t have to stay here.”

  He shook his head. “Yes, I did. I have no idea how you’re still alive—maybe because of your immunity to magic—but you saved Sydney’s life. Thank you, Ains.”

  The memory flooded back. The mist winding up to strike Sydney down. Running in front of it. The strange way it felt as the entity’s magical energy beat against her body. “I don’t know how I am either,” she admitting, looking up. “But I’m glad you’re okay.” Her throat felt suddenly thick. “How’s Sydney?”

  “Alive and well, thanks to you.”

  “I hear you’re finally awake.” A short, slim doctor with thinning hair and wire-rim glasses came in, his nose buried in Ainsley’s chart. He gazed up and greeted her with a coffee-yellowed smile. “How are you feeling?”

  “I feel fine, good actually. Can I leave? I’m supposed to get picked up by my uncle later today.” She smiled wide, praying the doctor wouldn’t want to keep her. “Back to Maine for the holidays.”

  “Everything looks fine, so yes, you’re free to go. Take the time over the break to rest up,” he said in a cheery voice. Ashcroft must pay him a boatload because he was pretty bubbly for a prep-school doctor. “Go ahead and get dressed. I’ll get the discharge papers sent off to Headmistress Chambers’ office. Have a Merry Christmas, Ainsley.” He turned to leave.

  Ainsley’s muscles tensed, and she forced a smile. Well, the headmistress was better than her mother. “You too,” she called back.

  Justin stood and made his way to her side. “Come on. I’ll help you up.” Her cheeks warmed, her embarrassment evident despite her best efforts. He laughed. “Don’t worry, I’ll turn around when you change. But be careful, you’re going to be wobbly.”

  She slid her legs over the side of the bed, careful to make sure her nightgown covered all the right places. Then she slipped her pants on, followed by her long sleeve tee and sweater.

  “Pain bad?”

  “Not really, just tender.”

  “Let me help you then.” He turned back around and gripped her by the arm as she slipped all the way off the bed. She held her breath, preparing for the electric jolt through her foot. To her surprise, she could put most of her weight on it.

  “Shouldn’t you be heading home for Christmas too? Most people will have gone already.”

  His eyes swept the floor for a second, and she thought she detected a veil of sadness. Glancing back up, he said, “My family lives here, but a lot of students who live away have postponed,” he sucked in a ragged breath, "so they could attend the funerals.”

  Her gut grew leaden with the realization. She nodded absently, “Jasmine and Corey.” How could she have forgotten, laughing here with Justin when two people, two witches were dead? And she’d had a hand in it. “Did I miss them—the funerals?”

  He shook his head. “They’re in a few hours. A double ceremony about twenty minutes from campus. Most of the local witch community will be there and a lot of Ashcroft students.”

  “Will you bring me?”

  “You don’t have to go. You’re still recovering—”

  “I have to do this. I’m sure you understand why.”

  He nodded, understanding. “I’ll bring you.”

  The graveyard was nothing like Saskia’s. It was modern, with wrought-iron fencing and decorative gates, beautiful stone benches, understated headstones marked with weeping angel statues. It wasn’t a large cemetery, compared to the one in Maine where her dad was buried.

  “They sure knew a lot of people,” Ainsley remarked, walking through the elaborate gate.

  Justin leaned in. “Small town life. Most people know one another or know someone who knew them. And everyone Wilde-related is here, plus some witches from other regional covens came to pay their respects.” He put his hand on the small of her back and guided her down the main path. A mass of people stood in separate, scattered groups, awkwardly waiting.

  Two caskets sat nestled inside metal lowering devices. One was pearl-colored, the other ebony-black. The pearl one had a large arrangement of white, yellow, and pink flowers on it, while the ebony one’s bouquet was a mix of purple, blue, and white.

  As Ainsley walked closer, she could smell the heady fragrance of the fresh flowers.

  Her father’s casket was suddenly in front of her mind. His pallid face with a sweep of dark hair looked up from the cream-colored pillow. She gasped, her chest tightening as a sudden wave of light-headedness struck her. She tugged Justin’s arm to keep steady and closed her eyes, hoping to erase the memory for the moment.

  “Hey, hey,” Justin said gently. “You okay?” He put himself in front of her and placed his hands on her shoulders. Bending down, he looked up at her, determining if she was all right.

  She nodded vigorously and wiped away a stray tear escaping down her cold cheek. “Yeah,” she said with a strained voice, “I’m just really bad at these things.” She stepped back from his grasp. “Let’s keep moving. I see the others.”

  “Ainsley, thank God you’re okay!” A doe-eyed Harper swooped in f
rom nowhere and wrapped her gangly arms around Ainsley. She squeezed hard before pulling back to get a good look. “I was so worried. How’s the ankle?”

  Ainsley stiffened, her blood pressure dropping enough that she tilted to the left. The memory of Harper—no, the shifter—slinking out from the shadows filled her head. No strange shapes or trace of gold polluted Harper’s warm brown eyes, and she smelled like blueberry Pop-Tarts. Ainsley released a sigh.

  “What’s with you?” Harper eyed her speculatively, keeping Ainsley’s hands in hers.

  Shaking her head, Ainsley mumbled, “It’s really you.” She winced, realizing what she’d just said.

  Harper laughed. “Who else would I be?”

  Ainsley just smiled. “I just meant, it’s been too long since I’ve really seen you.”

  “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 betray
al, 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.”

  Chapter 17

  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.