THE WITCHES’ SABBATH
“YOU MUST BE ON TIME FOR ALL OF OUR SESSIONS,” SAIDMERLEO’Grady, Embry’s newly appointed mentor ahead of her Coven Ascension, his nearly colorless blue eyes inspecting her. “Even a minute late and it will be a mark against you before final testing in October. May I remind you we are working on a very abbreviated timeline? You cannot afford to be late, lazy, or impertinent. Do you understand, Miss Woodcross?”
Of course she knew! The deadline for her Ascension preparation was her own Goddess-damned birthday. Hers was the first birthday of this year’s Ascension group, and Daddy had seen fit to assign her the most exacting instructors of all those available.
Yet even her best smile did not seem to work on Merle. The man was a carpenter but rigid like stone, not all-forgiving wood. Had he always been this way?
“Oh, yes, of course, Merle. I would never make you wait. Punctuality is a proud Woodcross family trait.”
“You must have inherited your sense of timing from your mother.”
Embry’s breath caught as if she’d had the wind kicked out of her. No oneevertalked about Luciana Woodcross, Goddess rest her in Raven’s End.
“I expect to see you every Sunday, from three thirty until five thirty, including on regularly scheduled Witches’ Sabbath dates. We will start our meetings in your home conservatory, though Ireserve the right to modify our meeting location and time as I see fit to further enrich the session’s subject. Understood?”
“Yes, Merle.” This was not how she wanted to start her Ascension. Embry put on her brightest honor roll grin. “Should I bring anything? A notebook? My favorite spells?”
“Just yourself,on time, is all I require.” Embry had the suspicion that the sharp tools Merle used for a living included his tongue. Yikes. “I will furnish everything else.”
Embry wanted to ask what the subject of their first lesson would be. But Merle might as well have hung aCLOSEDsign on his capacity for conversation, because he stood, doffed a trucker cap emblazoned with a lobster and the wordsWICKEDGOODin all caps, and pointed himself toward the cauldron-shaped crockpot on the buffet labeledMEAD.
And with that, Embry was alone in her corner of the pentagram. She blew out an audible, exasperated breath and used all her physical might not to stomp a hole into the ground. Embry was never late. Never. And in this specific instance, she’d been justa hair behindafter rescuing the only other two senior year witches from themselves, yet she was the one being punished.
Embry knew the general population believed she rode a high horse, but she didn’tactuallyneed to be knocked down a peg. She was generous with her time and resources!
Hadn’t she spent her entire weekend settling other students during orientation and move in? Making them feel special? At home in their new home-away-from-home, handing out the odd zit zapper, stink stopper, and instant hair shine potions for free to sleepless and stressed students? Hadn’t she spent the past two days helping Oakley avoid every spike-filled pitfall Raven’s Head had to offer? Wouldn’t she do the same for Balthazar as she got to know him, too? And not to mention how she’d helped the drama class and Jonesy!
It was all so unfair.
Embry glanced around. Ames had been assigned to Circe Crofton, who was most definitely the coolest witch in last year’s graduating class, no offense to Rye. Okay, maybeslight offenseto Rye, who would be so much cooler in her estimation if he hadn’t been barnacled to her since birth and mildly vexing just as long.
Meanwhile, Fairfax was deep in conversation with her own father, who’d be his mentor, lucky bastard. He’d learn so much from Daddy, who stood across the pentagram, as tall and commanding as ever, like a retired Norse god, his barrel chest as broad and full-bodied as his laugh, which came often, even if he had a reputation for being gruff.
As always, Lazarus Woodcross had a bead on his daughter’s feelings and glanced her way despite the pull of a Fairfax Mirza laugh. She fanned her fingers at Daddy with an unbothered wave, and, satisfied, he turned his attention back to Fairfax. Crisis averted. The last thing Daddy needed to worry about on this busy night was Embry.
Embry swallowed and attempted to manually fix her attitude. She’d win over Merle yet. He’d see she was punctual, serious, thoughtful, generous—
“Why the sour face, Woodcross? No one kiss your boots today?”
Did a bell ring in Rye’s head for when she least wanted to be poked and prodded?
“Knighton,” she huffed, “did graduation ruin your capacity for a good insult? Boots-with-skirts weather starts next week. You need your eyes checked—these are saddle shoes.”
She gestured to her highly polished and incredibly stylish footwear. Embry had seen no fewer than seven freshmen in shiny, new similar pairs since she’d worn them to orientation.
“I know what they are,” Rye assured her with a shrug. “Your penchant for fashion makes it low-hanging fruit. If anything, I’ve become lazy in my convalescence.”
A small zing of pride crept up her spine. “Are you confirming I was right? You just lay around all day, mainlining sonnets and draping yourself over various pieces of furniture?”
He laughed wryly. “You were correct yesterday that if I’m not volunteering, I do like being rather drapey and rhyme-y.”
As if to prove it, he settled into Merle’s discarded seat—an Adirondack chair that had been brought in for mentor-mentee get-to-know-yous—and melted against the molded wood. Totally a champion furniture draper. They sat in easy silence, the fire snapping merrily and conversations humming around them. Embry fielded nods from elders congregating by the buffet, several of them Ravenwood business owners. She was comfortable here, even if she’d recently been miscast as a derelict by Merle.
Rye shifted before gently tugging on the end of one of her blond curls as if he were five and getting her attention. “But really, why do you look”—he waved his hand at her expression—“glum? You’ve been vision-boarding your Ascension for at least six years.”
“More like eight.” Embry sighed, batted away Rye’s fingertips, and faced him, somewhat perturbed that he’d circled back. “What I did not vision-board was a grump for a mentor.”
“It could be worse,” he said with a wry glint in his eye. “You could’ve had me.”
