Page 96 of Reckless Witch

I don’t bother to look. I was here four days ago, covered in blood. My stomach does an unexpected somersault as I turn toward the stairs, and I consider the possibility of skipping this damn lesson. First, I would have to get around the Watchman, then I would have to avoid The Three for, well, for the next six months. I can’t help a morbid laugh at the thought and start up the steps.

At the top of the stairs, double oak doors stand open. I cross the hall, knock lightly on a door, and step inside as Raith says, “Come in.”

Of course, Raith looks better than a man has a right to. The sleeves of his white button-down shirt are rolled up and reveal muscled forearms. I note that the dark hairs on the nape of his neck are beginning to curl slightly as if he needs a haircut. I start when a woman rises from a squat in front of a fireplace at the far side of the room. She dusts off her hands then faces us. I know it’s stupid, but embarrassment makes me want to turn and run.

“Rebecca, this is Ms. Crowe,” Raith says without looking up from the papers on his desk.

She reaches me and extends a hand. “Very nice to meet you, Ms. Crowe.”

I clasp her hand and say, “Nice to meet you.”

She smiles politely, but I sense a secret beneath that polished veneer. Does she think I’m here for a quickie with Raith? No, even Raith wouldn’t flaunt his one-nighters to his staff. One-nighters? Is that how I think of him. No, I realize. She’s worried that’s what this is. Fuck, she’s in love with him. First, Miss Mack with Ethan. Now Raith’s assistant and him.

“Will that be all Mr. Vanderkoff?” Rebecca asks.

“Yes. Thank you.”

Rebecca hesitates for the barest second, then gives me another polite smile and heads for the door. This woman’s feelings for Raith aren’t like the desperate teenage infatuation Miss Mack has for Ethan. She genuinely cares for him. She reaches the doors and pulls them shut behind her with a soft click.

“Have a seat, Ms. Crowe.”

I jump at Raith’s command and blurt, “That was mean of you.”

He looks up. “You and I will get along better if you stop seeing persecution in everything I do.”

“I’m not talking about me, dammit. Your assistant.”

He frowns in genuine confusion.

I roll my eyes. “Men are such idiots.”

His brows lift.

“She’s in love with you.”

He blinks in shock. Deep shock, I realize with surprise.

“You didn’t know,” I say slowly.

He leans back in his chair. “What kind of adolescent game is this, Ms. Crowe?”

Stony stirs in my pocket. I start to ask if he doesn’t think we’re beyond the formality of addressing each other by our surnames, then realize it’s better to preserve the distance.

I drop into the wing backed chair in front of his desk. “Think what you want. She’s in love with you.”

He opens his mouth to reply, then doesn’t. A thought strikes and I concentrate on what he’s thinking. I start at the sensation of hitting a brick wall. My head—or is it brain—feels like a pool ball bouncing off the inside of my skull.

“I have spoken with your instructors,” he says. “I gather you feel no compunction about using magic anytime you like.”

Wow, he’s unaware I tried to connect with him through our blood pact. “I don’t know how you came to that conclusion, considering I wore that damn sigil,” I say, and mentally cheer that my voice remains steady.

“In fact, the sigil was deactivated in some of your classes. And, lest you forget, you have pushed through the sigil to use magic.”

I shrug. “Isn’t that why I’m here? I’m a High potential. That’s a sign of how powerful I am.”

“Headstrong,” he replies, though I detect no rancor in his voice—damn his soul.

“You don’t like me, why bother with me, at all?” A thought occurs, and I add, “You have to know that I was selling fake IDs. That’s against the law. Why not just turn me in?”