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“I should go now,” she whispers, her eyes shadowed.
“She’s probably not even a witch,” Emrys says.
“What are you talking about?” I mutter. “You saw it. Hell, you felt it, too. And she’s an Apollinari. What more do you need to know?”
“Is she an Apollinari? Are you sure?” Emrys scowls. “Ashton got her into the Academy the first time and now someone else decided to keep her.” He tilts his head at me. “Right, Sindri?”
I freeze.
“What?” She turns toward me, frowning. “Sin?” Her brows go up and her cheeks pale. “No way.”
I say nothing. I don’t deny it. Can’t. Because it is the truth.
“You paid for my fees?” she whispers.
“I have the means,” I say. “I hadn’t meant for you to know.”
“Why not?”
I shrug. I didn’t even know why I did it then, and though now I do, though now I know why my heart beats so hard when I look at her, I say “You’re the witch we waited for.”
A new shadow passes behind her eyes and I hate myself for it. I want to tell her that’s not why I want her, why I’ve slept with her, but the walls around my heart are too thick to bring down so quickly, layered with bitterness and mistrust over the years, made to last forever, to protect a part of me, a wound that won’t heal.
So I don’t tell her the truth. That I like her, I want her, I want her more than I ever thought possible, that she reminds me of all the good things in my life, that she’s a light where there was only dark before.
I let the shadow deepen in her gaze, let that root of pained surprise grow and turn to sadness and anger. I’m good at this—hurting others. I think I’ve forgotten how to be good, if I ever knew how.
“Are you a witch or not?” Ashton asks her as she gets off the bed and covers her breasts with her hands.Arawn, she’s the most beautiful thing in the world, and I’ve seen a few.
“She’s not,” Emrys says.
“But I felt it. Like Sindri says, we all did. She took away my pain,” Jason says.
“It was all in your mind,” Emrys insists. “It’s all lies. A girl raised in a church? I always thought that was ridiculous. I bet she lied about that, too, didn’t you, Mia?”
She shakes her head, mouth set in an unhappy line as she reaches for her clothes.
“What are you all arguing about? She has the goddamn mark!” I say. “She’s a witch. We need her.”
“It has to be a fake,” Emrys insists, reaching for her. “Maybe it’s a tattoo. Let me see.”
“Get away from me,” she hisses, batting his hands away. “I’m out of here.”
“Is it true you were conspiring against us with Melissa?” Ashton asks. “Mia, is any of it true?”
She’s shaking even as she pulls on her panties and her bra. Her dark hair tumbles around her flushed face, her wet eyes, her wet cheeks, her trembling lips.
No, she’s not beautiful. She’s breathtaking. And she’s the one prophesied for us.
“The mark of the Queen,” I say, “is not always a crown. I did some research. It can also be a moth or a crow—”
“It’s true,” she says, her voice ringing loud and clear, silencing me. “I did ask Melissa for help to bring the four of you down.”
I open my mouth, close it, the words dying on my lips.
What the fuck?
“There was a girl who left the Academy a few weeks ago,” she whispers. “I bet you remember her. Ophelia.”
