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“But Emrys and Jason… they don’t have cracks,” I say, but I’m not even convincing myself.
“You’d be surprised. These boys, they’re like sieves. Emotions all over the place, though they try to hide them, bury them under walls of stone. Right, Sindri?”
“Fuck you,” he growls and steps back, releasing me. He’s rubbing at his forehead, his features pinched.
“Oh, we will get to that, eventually.” She gestures at Emrys who takes a step forward, like a puppet on strings. “Right, Emrys?”
My stomach twists. I’m going to be sick. “You slept with him?”
“Not yet. Saving that for the final part, for the grand finale. As you would know if you were a real witch.” She sighs. “Now if you’ll excuse me, you interrupted the ritual and I need to regroup. Got any idea how hard it is to reach Emrys’ essence with all the pills he takes? It’s like swimming through a quagmire.”
“Sleeping pills?” I whisper.
“Sleeping pills, antidepressants… You don’t know much, do you?” she says sweetly. “About the boys you claim to care so much about. What do you know about Sindri’s conception? Emrys’ tortured childhood? Ashton’s guilt? Jason’s darkness? I’ll tell you what: nothing. Closing your eyes to the truth isn’t healthy. It isn’t love. You’re creating these perfect pictures of them, cling to them.” She leans closer, whispers in my ear. “They’re monsters, Maddie. Your father was right. They don’t deserve your concern, your love. They can be made useful in the bigger scheme of things, and only I can extract that usefulness from them. So I tell you again: go home. There is no place here for you.”
It’s as if her magic is wrapping itself around me the more she talks—like a snake, like a sticky net, the words slipping into my mind, worming their way into my thoughts, feeding on my own doubts and fears.
“Leave, little Maddie… The boys aren’t yours… This isn’t love… You aren’t a witch… Can’t help them anyway… Who do you think you are? They want me… You’ll see… Emrys and Jason are mine already… Sindri and Ashton will fall, too…”
“Mia.” Sindri grabs my wrist and yanks me away from Ophelia. “Don’t let her catch you, too. Don’t let her feed your doubts, snag your soul. Walk away.”
I resist his pull but with every step I take away from my cousin, the less convinced I am that I should leave the Academy tonight, now. I gasp as her hold on me loosens.
It’s… insidious. Because it’s my own thoughts, my own voice, my own fears, only encouraged and prodded to grow stronger, to take over the rest.
And then Sindri lets go, turns and goes back for Emrys. “Rys, you’re coming with us.”
“Fuck off,” Emrys sneers. “Not going anywhere.”
“Rys!” I shout. “Come with us.”
“Oh, take him.” Ophelia pats his cheek. “He’ll need to sleep this off anyway and I’m in no mood to play nurse. I want a real man, not a weakling by my side, right, Emrys?”
“I’ll be the man you need,” he declares, pulling himself up straight, and I roll my eyes.
The Emrys I know doesn’t care about this macho shit—well, not that much. He has his manly pride, but he doesn’t care about trying to be a real man, because he knows he is one already.
God, her mindfuck is amazing.
“Come on,” Sindri mutters, hauling him toward me. Emrys resists but obviously not enough. He stumbles as they approach and almost goes down to the ground, but Sindri pulls him back to his feet. From up close, Emrys’ face looks gray and ghastly, as if drained of blood, the scar on his cheek a white slash.
I’ll kill her, I think and shiver at the violence of my thoughts.I’ll hurt her, I amend,for hurting my boys. And for screwing with my mind.
She’s not getting Sindri and Ashton, and I’m getting Emrys and Jason back.
It’s a promise.
After everything, I end up back in my own bed, after helping Sindri haul Emrys to his room. And isn’t it ironic that back under my own covers, in my own pajamas, I’m not able to sleep a wink? I wish Sindri had stayed with me. Or Ashton, Jason, or Emrys.
It felt wrong, sleeping apart.
What was wrong, obviously, was me and my strange thoughts. Though from the way Ophelia had talked, it was as if the only thing wrong with my desires was thinking I loved these boys.
Of course that’s what’s wrong, I tell myself as I sit in Lit class, very aware of Ashton sitting only a few rows in front of me—what is he doing in this class?—of his dark hair, the wide set of his shoulders. Thinking you feel serious feelings about four boys you hardly know anyway. Ophelia wants to use them. It’s different.
Oh, that’s so much better, isn’t it? God.
Usethem. What for? What is she planning?
