Page 106 of Reckless Witch

Fran giggles and happily obliges. “I love her.” To my surprise, Fran hugs her. “Are you bringing her to the games?”

“I’ve been trying to talk her into staying in. It’s so cold—”

Stony snorts loudly.

I roll my eyes. “I guess she’s going.”

Fran pulls back and smiles down at Stony. “I hope I end up on your team. We could have so much fun with her. I think she likes me.”

I don’t tell Fran that Stony likes anyone who showers her with attention. Truth is, Stony is an excellent judge of character and can sense evil a football field away.

Fran gives Stony another good stomach rub, then stands and faces me. “We have to do something about your outfit.”

I look down at my t-shirt and jeans. “What’s wrong with my clothes?”

Fran rolls her eyes. “Everyone dresses up for the War Games. It’s like Comic Con.”

“Fran, I’m really not—”

“Come on, Stony,” she says. “Let’s get Leilah in the right frame of mind for the games.”

“I’m in the right frame of mind,” I blurt.

Fran’s gaze turns speculative. “You can’t kid a kidder, kid.”

Twenty minutes later, I’m looking at myself in Fran’s dorm room mirror and I have to admit, the girl has fashion sense. She’s shorter than me, so her clothes are too short—and too small in the chest—but Fran isn’t adverse to a little magical tweaking to make her clothes fit me. The dark brown, skin-tight pants show off my muscled legs. My breasts are pushed up over the top of a maroon leather bustier that would make Xena, Warrior Princess jealous. Yes, I’m a total Xena fangirl. The TV show is older than dirt, but that Xena looks fabulous in leather.

The ensemble is finished off with a calf length, quilted, dark brown waistcoat that matches the pants and will keep me warm. The sword strapped on my side gives me a badass look that, I think, would make Xena proud.

I still long for my bed, but can’t afford for Fran to figure out that something is seriously wrong. I grimace as if embarrassed. “You sure about this?”

“You bet,” she says.

Stony snorts agreement.

I give myself a final once over and find myself wondering what The Three will think when they see me. Shame rolls over me. What would they think if they knew I withheld evidence that my grandmother is a traitor?

I face Stony. “What’s it going to be, walking or riding?”

Stony tilts her head and appears to consider. I shake my head and wait. It’s always better to let Stony put on a show when she is so inclined. Fran drops to her knees beside Stony and I strain my ears to hear what Fran whispers, but no luck. Stony gives a squeal of delight and Fran rises as Stony shifts into a mouse. Stony scurries the few feet to me and climbs my pant leg, then up my arm and around to the inside front pocket of the waistcoat I open for her.

Once she disappears inside, I look at Fran and ask, “What did you say to her?”

Fran’s eyes light with mischief. “I told her to think of all the fun we could have with no one knowing she’s with us.”

“That’s a pretty good angle.” I’m a little embarrassed I didn’t think of it.

“You have your envelope?” Fran asks.

I nod. I’d stuffed it into the bodice of my bustier. The Academy gave each student an envelope and instructions not to open it until given permission. I was curious when I woke up to find the envelope slipped beneath my door, and even more curious with the order not to open it. Of course, my first inclination had been to try magic to peek inside.

Cheater, my mind whispers. Even in small things, I think nothing of cheating.

We head out. On the way downstairs, we distantly trail a group of six girls dressed in camo and heavy, hunting-style jackets. Two have swords strapped to their sides. One glances over her shoulder, turns back, and whispers to the group. They slow and look over their shoulders, then face forward and giggle. I send a questioning glance Fran’s way but she just shrugs.

An inch of new snow covers the ground and a sheen of ice coats the trees. Most people like spring with its hint of bloom promising rebirth, but I love winter. The crisp air leaves no room for the grime that frequently reaches this far north of the City. That purity goes soul deep, cleansing the grunge that has seeped into my being. The thought has barely formed when I mentally laugh. I might like the idea of cleansing, but not the reality. If I did, I would suck it up and hand over Grams’ spell book and take my rightful place as another witch fallen from grace.

The air isn’t cold enough to freeze my lungs, but is cold enough to rouse me better than any cup of coffee. I breathe deeply, and my lungs feel as if they’re frosting over.