“Do I…” I peer up at them, my lashes fluttering dramatically. “Do I have slutty little eyes?”
“Well, I didn’t want to say anything,” Nat says, “but yeah, your eyes are basically begging for it.”
“Dial it down, eye-whore,” Isla says, and in that moment, I’m pretty sure her original assessment was right: these two are definitely my people.
“I know it’s easier said than done,” Nat says, “but try not to let Carly get to you. The Claires are all from super rich, super witchy families whose bloodlines go back generations. They’re under the mistaken impression that money, power, and status makes them better than everyone else.”
“Unfortunately, it kind of does. In our world, anyway.” Then, tightening the leash on my cynicism, I ask, “How do you guys know so much about them already? Have you all been here that long?”
“We met them at orientation weekend last month,” Isla says. “Suffice it to say, we figured out Carly’s M.O. pretty fast. The others just kind of glommed on to her, and they’ve been inseparable ever since.”
“I don’t think they actually like each other very much,” Nat says. “That’s the sad part. But, you know, birds of a feather and all.”
“Mostly we try to stay off their radar,” Isla says. “But considering you’re the new girl—well, the newest new girl, anyway—it’s going to be harder for you.”
“But also,” I say, pointing at her with my spoon, “we’re not in middle school. So we’ve got that going for us.”
Isla shrugs, pushing away her plate. Poor woman never even got to eat before Carly spread her DNA all over the table. “Some people never outgrow it, even at a university for highly gifted magick users.”
“Hopefully she’ll get bored of me and move on to some other drama,” I say.
Nat and Isla exchange a loaded glance.
“What does that look mean?” I ask, setting my spoon back on the plate. “I don’t know you guys well enough yet to decode your looks on command.”
“Well, it just means…” Nat cringes, then offers an apologetic frown. “Before you showed up, Carly was the most advanced first-year on campus, blessed with three affinities.”
“Everything but earth,” Isla says, imitating Carly’s fake plastic-y voice. “She went on about it for two days straight at orientation. Apparently she was so gifted in high school, her teachers had her tested early.”
“So then you come along, and…” Nat shrugs, leaving me to fill in the blanks.
Perfect. No wonder I’m already on her hit list. As a spirit-blessed witch, I’ve got one more elemental affinity than her,andI’ve got the complete package—something she’s obviously coveting.
“So is it tattooed on my forehead?” I ask, wondering how Isla and Nat already know about my gifts. “Super special snowflake, coming in hot?”
They both laugh.
“Welcome to Arcana Academy of the Arts,” Nat says. “I’m afraid there aren’t many secrets here.”
Across from the cheese fountain at the other side of the restaurant, the Claires rise from their table en masse, apparently changing their mind about their dinner plans. On their way out, they stalk past us again, glaring at me in warning as they do. Their energy washes over me like hot lava, a twisted mix of competitiveness, jealousy, anger, and fear.
I think of what Nat said about secrets. About the Claires, and their game-playing. About the Void, and Anna Trello’s history with Mom and Dad, and Dr. Devane, who warned me not to trust anyone.
Not many secrets at Arcana Academy?
Sorry, Nat, but I’m pretty sure nothing could be farther from the truth.
Twenty-Three
STEVIE
No one told me the limit on my stipend credit card, but even after eight straight hours of back-to-school shopping and restaurant-hopping with Isla and Nat, the thing hasn’t melted yet.
I wish I could say the same for myself, but by the time I get back to my suite on Sunday night, my whole body feels like wet goo. All I want is to make some tea, slip into a hot bath, and lose myself in Kirin’s book.
Lucky for me, Dr. Devane—my patron saint of ridiculous demands—is proving to be a man of his word. Not only did he come through with some A-plus climbing gear, he also stocked my pantry with a collection of teas and herbs that rivals my shelves at Kettle Black.
I stand in the kitchen, staring at the shelves, not even sure where to start. There are glass jars, metal canisters, bottles, and paper sacks in every shape and size. I find more loose teas than I can count—greens and whites, three kinds of rooibos, black teas from a dozen different countries. There are bottles of floral essences and oils, herbs, spices, dried fruits and nuts, even chocolate shavings in white, milk, and dark. He got me tea strainers and scoops in multiple sizes, a tea press, and two glass kettles—one for single brew, and a big one for company. There’s also a cute selection of cups and mugs—some fancy ones, a couple of stainless steel to-go mugs, and a few novelties, including one decorated with Bugs Bunny, with a carrot for the handle and lettering in the inside that reads,What’s up, Doc?
