“Skye Wolverton,” Ames growled, rolling her eyes about the senior class president. Fairfax was good friends with her, which did not help Ames’s opinion. “Ugh, that Bitch is so aggressive. I’m surprised she didn’t just bite you, so you’d have to join her pack.”
Embry did agree that Skye, the most popular shifter at Raven’s Head, wasintense. That said, it wasn’t as if her personality veered into being anactual bitch. Gently, Embry cuffed her BFF’s upper arm. “Amethyst, you know perfectly well werewolves can’t turn other magical people. Don’t stereotype.”
“How many magical people were bitten before they figured that out?” Ames arched a brow. “Empirically speaking?”
Embry smirked. “Skye’s harmless. What else happened?”
Oakley tried to regain her train of thought. “And then some zombie girl followed me into the bathroom and asked me if I’d been born or made, which was, likereallyforward.”
Any breathing student or faculty at this school probably had the exact same question in their head, but certain members of the undead seemed to skimp on the social training before shipping their young off to boarding school.
“I was born, and I’m proud of it—it’s very rare, especially these days. But, like, don’t accost me in the toilet about it, you know?”
Yet another thing Embry would need to research—because every subset of magical beings had its own nuances regarding population addition.
Oakley scrunched her nose. “I’d never confront a zombie, demanding they tell me if they’d been bitten or purposefully gonezombie with a dose of black-market brain or whatever. That’s just crass.”
“The Stitches most definitely have their divisions,” Embry replied, rather diplomatically she thought—until she realized exactly how it could be construed in the very moment Ames snorted so loud Oakley flinched.
“Was that joke at the expense of our local population of Frankenstein’s monsters, Em?”
“A Freudian slip at best. It’s been a long day.” She waved a dismissive hand at herself and returned her attention to Oakley. “What else happened?”
“Well, I met my roommate, and, um, she is weirdly nice for a revenant? Which freaked me out so much I just waved and then ran until I hit the fifth-floor landing.” Something dawned in her eyes. “Wait—do you think she followed me?”
Embry shrugged, wiggled her fingers, and the door to her room closed with a delicate click. She typically liked to leave it open, because again, she was all about community and approachability, but Embry also didn’t want Oakley to feel uncomfortable.
“Thanks. Magda’s just being nice—they all are, even the bathroom stalker. It’s just a lot.”
They both nodded sagely. Embry placed her hand atop Oakley’s. Her skin was strikingly cool. “Right now, you are the most interesting person in this school.”
“Maybe,” Oakley conceded, mouth scrunched to one side. “But not for long—I’m not the only new senior. The headmaster told me there’s a transfer kid who got delayed coming back from a family trip in Romania and missed orientation, too.”
Yet again, Embry felt irritated that she hadn’t known this fact. Just as she hadn’t known about Oakley or the powder-puff class or even Rye’s role as assistant director. Usually, she knew everything at Raven’s Head before anyone else. Another benefit of being aWoodcross—or so she’d thought. Shoving that annoyance aside, Embry focused on the one thing she could control.
“Forget about that—youare the current talk of Raven’s Head.” Embry brushed the girl’s parched hair back behind her ears and tipped her chin up, inspecting her admittedly excellent bone structure. The rumors were that vampires were naturally beautiful, but Embry had always assumed that to be the work of Hollywood, not genetic makeup. In Oakley’s case, however, it was true. “We should make the best of it.”
Oakley’s delicate brow furrowed again. “What do you mean?”
Embry’s eyes flew to Ames’s knowing expression, and with matching grins they both squealed, “MAKEOVER!”
CHAPTER 5
WHO’S THAT GIRL?
THE NEXT MORNING, THE UNOFFICIAL QUEEN BEE OFRAVEN’SHead stepped out of the dormitory and onto the quad flanked by her number two witch, Amethyst Oberon, and a companion so stunning that at least a dozen students halted in their tracks at the sight of her.
Oakley Riddle was a total babe.
Gone was the fried hair, replaced with a silky moonlight silver-blond bob accented by a ribbon of ruby red framing her face, perhaps intentionally spelled to look like blood (magic was more realistic than dye). Her pale skin shone, as polished and glassy as a grain of white rice, the perfect canvas for minimal makeup and an unexpected pink gloss.
They’d refined her uniform, too. Paired with the required vest and skirt were a whisper-thin cashmere shell from Ames, and a pair of heeled boots from Embry. The shoes made an authoritative snap with each step across the stately bricks, and somehow that little sound changed Oakley’s whole stride into one of pure confidence.
Of course, no makeover would be complete without a little pushback. Change was hard. And even Oakley had a line she’d draw in the sand. In her case, the buck stopped at that infernal backpack. The vampire was still hauling it around, despite Embry’s attempts to gift her a shoulder bag. Oakley claimed it was her mother’s and an heirloom. And considering Embry’s own shoulder bag bore a similar emotional designation, she couldn’t arguemuch with that. The accessory did little to ruin the makeover’s overall effect.
Now, on the quad, the whispers hit a fever pitch.
“Is that the new girl?”
