“It’s a cool name,” I say with a smile. “That’s all.”
“Anyway,” Carly says, “Blue can taste things. Clair—”
“Clairgustance,” I say, familiar with the term. I’m pretty sure my mother had a bit of that power. She used to wake up sometimes, dreaming of her late grandmother, tasting the woman’s lemon meringue pie. “Sounds like you’ve collected the whole set.”
Nat chokes back a laugh, but Carly and her aptly-named Claires don’t seem to appreciate my sense of humor.
Eh, no accounting for taste.
I pop a spoonful of brown sugar sweet potatoes into my mouth, wondering just how much more bizarre this conversation is going to get, and also, whether I should just get a stent put in my arteries now, or wait until the cheese completely blocks off blood flow to my heart.
“Anyway,” Carly says, “I was talking with the girls, and we decided you should totally join.”
“But… I don’t have a clair,” I reply, though I suppose that’s not strictly true. I’m pretty sure my empathic skills rank somewhere on that list, but I’m not about to divulge that to Carly.
“Everyone has special abilities, or they wouldn’t be at the Academy.” Carly rolls her eyes, then smiles, a bright grin that doesn’t reach her cold blue eyes. “It’s just that some people aren’t as developed. In my household, we were expected to take our magick seriously, so I started private lessons at age two. But I understand not everyone has the financial means for something like that.”
I glance at Isla and Nat. Isla’s glaring hotly at our visitor, but Nat’s got her eyes downcast, her cheeks dark with shame. Something tells me this isn’t their first run-in with the Queen of the Claires.
“I’m good here, actually.” I want to tell her to fuck her merry little way all the way off to someone else’s dorm, but her energy holds me back. As much as I don’t want to feel it, I can’t help it; for all Carly’s bluster and bullshit, there’s a deep sadness in her, a longing for connection that she’s apparently not getting from her minions.
So, in an effort toward diplomacy—and not making enemies on my first day, I offer a smile and say, “Why don’t you guys pull up some chairs and join us? We can all get to know each other a little better, start the new year off strong. Strength in numbers, you know?”
There’s a spark of hope—I can feel the shift in Carly’s energy. But then Emory clears her throat and bumps her shoulder against Carly’s, and Carly tosses her dark waves and laughs. She actually laughs, as if the suggestion that we all get to know each other is the most ridiculous idea she’s ever heard.
“We’re a coven,” Blue pipes in, twisting one of her eyebrow rings. “We’ve already got the numbers.”
“Suit yourselves, then,” I say, then turn back to Isla and Nat. “But if you wouldn’t mind un-planting your ass from our table, we’d like to finish our meal.”
“Did you just… Did you seriously just say that to me?” Carly fumes.
“As someone who quote-unquote simplyknowsthings,” I say, “you can probably figure that out yourself.”
A chill ripples through the room.
And just like that, it seems I’ve chosen sides, planted my flag, and flipped a giant middle finger to the most powerful self-appointed coven at Arcana Academy.
Carly’s nostrils flare, and suddenly I feel like I’m on the big screen, trapped in every high school mean-girl movie ever made. This is the part where she tells me I’ve just made the worst mistake of my life, or I’ll regret this one day, or the clincher—do I have any idea who I’m dealing with here?
But instead, she flicks one last icy glare my way and says, “See you around, Stevie. Oh, and one more thing? Keep your slutty little eyes off Baz. He’snotavailable.”
She slides her ass off the table—hallelujah—and saunters away with her posse. But before they reach their table on the other side of the café, I catch Blue flicking a hand in our direction.
All three of our soda glasses tip over.
Before a single drop of liquid hits the table, the glasses upright themselves, the soda sliding back inside.
I look up to see Isla holding her hands out, faint sparks fading from her fingertips.
“Water’s kind of my thing,” she says, touching the teardrop pendant at her throat. “Three of Cups, specifically.”
It made sense, then, why she was so welcoming. The Three of Cups card always reminds me of girlfriends, of people joining together to celebrate something or support each other. There’s just something comforting about that card, and now I’m even more glad that I ran into her and Nat.
“You okay?” Nat asks, reaching across the table and grabbing my hand. “I know Carly can be a bit much.”
“I’m okay,” I say, letting out a breath. “But guys, tell me something. Honestly.”
“Girl, what’s wrong?” Isla asks.
