Page 20 of Reckless Witch

“I was just leaving,” I lie.

“You should be with the other students, touring your clan dorm.”

“On it,” I say, then pause. “Which clan is that?” I had ranked in all of them.

Miss Mack’s expression fills with contempt. “The clan on the Stone, of course.” Her tone clearly states just how stupid she judges me to be.

I turn to Ethan. He’s leaning a shoulder against the shelves, arms crossed over his broad chest. Heat floods my core. What had I wanted to ask him? I blink. The clans.

A corner of his mouth twitches in amusement. “You will be assigned a clan,” he says.

Is he making fun of me?

“You should go, Ms. Crowe,” Miss Mack snaps.

Ethan flicks a cool gaze her way. Poor woman. She’s obviously out of her league. She’s not his type. He’s raw, animalistic…my type. His eyes return to me. My breath catches. His dragon energy promises we’re not finished. He straightens, walks past me without a word, and passes through the door. I follow before Miss Mack corners me.

By the time I reach the lobby-like waiting room, I glimpse a line of students outside the open left-hand door. I hurry outside to join them, curiosity over which clan I’m saddled with momentarily displacing memories of Ethan’s thick cock pressed against my ass.

A tall, good looking guy steps up and waves his arm. “If I call your name, please stand over here.” He motions to his right.

He begins to call off names of students. My name is called last and I join the group of waiting students.

“Welcome, students of Clan Penncarrow,” he says. “My name is Thomas and I’m your student advisor as well as the male student body RA.” He pauses to survey each face before his eyes rest on me. His brow furrows.

Fabulous. The name Crowe precedes me. I scowl. What exactly have I gotten myself into?

Thomas turns away, arms raised, and starts down one of the paths running between buildings. I trail the other students. I hope Stony is having fun. Likely, she’s snoozing, buried by leave, warm and cozy. Can’t say I’m having much fun. Well, the classroom was kind of…exciting. My mouth dries when I remember Ethan’s warm hand so close to my—

“Welcome,” a silvery voice interrupts my thoughts.

I startle to see the group’s stopped before the two-door entrance to a four-story brick, Tudor-style building that’s one of the circle of buildings. Ivy covers the weathered red bricks. The speaker is a slender blonde, her body as delicately exquisite as her voice. She looks so fragile that I wonder why a good gust of wind doesn’t blow her away.

“My name is Ariel.” She pauses to bestow a lofty smile at Thomas.

Meow. There’s clearly a power play going on between them. I watch for his reaction, but he remains stone-faced.

Ariel looks back at us with a smirk that conveys, You are my subjects. “This is a coed dorm, students. Boys on the third floor. Girls on the Fourth. I’m the Room Assistant for the Fourth Floor. So, girls, if you encounter any problems, Room 401 will solve them.”

I notice the subtle shift of responsibility. Room 401 will solve problems, huh? Not her? I absorb her expensive clothing. Yeah, she isn’t the type to work. No doubt, she delegates to a gaggle of students who make sure things get done.

James lifts an arm and barks, “Men, this way. Follow.”

The guys fall into line behind him. The ages of the students strike me as strange. The youngest can’t be more than thirteen while, accounting for the paunch of that belly, the oldest seems closer to thirty. This clearly isn’t a normal school. But then, I knew that.

From the front of the group, Fran makes eye contact with me and waves. I wave back and trail after the girls who surge through the door. Their ages are closer to mine, maybe a shade younger, although Ariel seems to be in her early twenties. I pass her and catch a whiff of…Cartier Oud and Santal Parfum? Yeah, she’s rich. That perfume costs more than I charge for a fake ID, and I only know that because I’d once met a customer at Bergdorf Goodman.

We climb the stairs to the fourth floor. There’s a grunge vibe here. Chalkboards are decorated with colorful graffiti and mysterious symbols cover the walls. The ceiling is painted dark gray and fairy LED lights are strung the length of the carpeted hallway.

A young tattooed woman stands in front of Room 401 with a clipboard. “Room assignments. Line up, quick,” she says.

I hang back and eye the girls around me. They exude an impression of belonging, a real sense of clan blood and loyalty. Grams had described the many clan battles that had taken place before the war, each group vying for control in Margidda. Power struggles stopped the day The Shadows arrived.

“Room four ten,” the tattooed girl says the instant I step up. “Leilah Crowe.”

That she already knows me is disconcerting; more so is the wary look I glimpse in her blue eyes.

“Thanks,” I mutter.