“Looking out for her?” Baz laughs, but there’s nothing teasing or lighthearted about his tone now. His eyes, red and menacing in the torchlight, spark with a smoldering danger I feel all the way down to my bones. “Then they should’ve done everything in their power to keep her away from here.”
With that ominous end, Cass packs up the book in silence, and we file out of the Fool’s Grave and into the darkness, our minds echoing with the part Bazdidn’tsay.
Stevie’s parents should’ve done everything in their power to keep her away fromus.
Twenty-Two
STEVIE
Wow. Declaring oneself a badass witch-queen is a surefire way to work up an appetite. After saying goodbye to Jessa, and—okay, fine, practicing a few Wonder Woman poses in the bathroom mirror—I abandon my crackers-and-peanut-butter dinner plans and head down to Smash, one of the Iron and Bone cafés.
It’s a mashed potato bar. Seriously. With a dozen kinds of potatoes and at least a hundred different stir-ins and toppings. And, the pièce de résistance, a big-ass golden chalice overflowing with five streams of melted gourmet cheeses.
Let that settle in.
Five. Streams. Of melted. Gourmet. Cheese.
No wonder non-magickal humans want us dead. Clearly, witches and mages are fucking next-level geniuses poised to take over the world.
I load up a plate, starting small with just three of the twelve potato options—brown sugar sweet potatoes, scallion and walnut white potatoes, and red potatoes whipped with dill. For toppings I’ve got sour cream, bacon, buttered corn, buttered peas, and some sunflower seeds for good health, along with a smattering of things I can’t even identify but holy balls, do they smell amazing.
I’m all about the adventure tonight.
I’ve just gone two rounds with the fountain, cheese dripping over the sides of my plate, when I nearly run smack into two women who’ve just loaded up at the toppings bar.
“I’m so sorry!” I swivel my plate around just in time to avoid a collision. “I guess I’m just distracted by all the cheese.”
“Yes,” one of the women says with a big friendly smile, her braids practically bouncing with cheer. She’s wearing a pendant in the shape of a teardrop, and when she laughs, it winks against her dark brown skin. “We heard you moaning all the way across the café and had to come say hi. Clearly, you’re our people.”
“I should probably feel embarrassed about the moaning,” I say, “but I don’t. Not one bit.”
She and her friend both crack up. “I’m Isla,” she says. “This is Nat. We’re first-years, too.”
“Hey,” Nat says, balancing a plate piled with sweet potatoes and toasted marshmallows. She’s got shoulder-length hair, dyed silver and shot through with streaks of bright purple, blue, and teal—the kind of haircut that just screams “I’m way more fun at parties than you are.”
I immediately like them both.
“Is my utter newbie-ness that obvious?” I ask.
“They say the moaning subsides by year two,” Nat says.
“We’ll see about that.” I laugh, even as the cheese drips all over my hands. “I’m Stevie.”
“Come sit with us,” Isla says, and—with my promise to Jessa fresh on my mind—that’s all the invitation I need.
We settle into a corner booth beneath a huge framed painting of two foil-dressed potato people kissing, and I reach out for their energy, confirming my earlier assessment. Warmth and kindness, a genuine desire to meet new friends. If they’d just come into Kettle Black, I’d offer them a cup of chocolate lavender tea dusted with crushed vanilla bean, the brew rich and calming, perfect for sipping over long conversations with friends.
“Is today your first day on campus?” Nat asks me. “We haven’t seen you around.”
“Yeah, it was a last-minute decision,” I tell them. “It’s… it’s kind of a crazy story, actually.”
So crazy I don’t even know where to start.
“Ooh, cliffhanger,” Isla says.
“It’s my way of keeping you coming back for more.” I give them a playful wink. “I’ll have to dole out the details sparingly—a little more each day, until I’ve totally reeled you in.” I pop a spoonful of gouda-drenched sweet potatoes into my mouth, trying to buy myself some more time. These are the first friends I’ve made here outside Kirin and Doc, and truthfully, the jury’s still out on whether Doc is actually friend material. I don’t want to scare Isla and Nat off before we’ve even exchanged numbers with tales of murder charges and prison breaks.
“Right now,” I tell them, going for the diversion, “my plan is to basically make out with these potatoes, then figure out my shopping list. I’ve got jack in the way of clothing and school supplies, and classes start on Monday.”
