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I wasn’t sure what sort of witchy vibe I put out, but it wasn’t that. I’d never been a temptress like Wanda was. I had a feeling I was more: plucky, innocent rebel.
“Have fun with your study buddy,” I said with a snicker.
Oleander’s cheeks flushed pine green. “Let’s get you to class, Red.”
“Don’t… uh, don’t call me that.”
“Why?” he asked, frowning down at me.
“Because… Rook called me that.”
“Oh—you have a run-in with the asshole?”
I nodded. “You could say that.”
Anyway, I didn’t argue with him about the getting me to class part. Instead, I was satisfied that I’d gotten the truth out of him. It wasn’t my business what he did with Ms. Strappy Heels, even if I was curious—at least, curious enough for Elly’s sake. I couldn’t help but like the shy werewolf a little, even though a large part of me wanted to shake her and tell her that she didn’t have to fall in line with patriarchal bullshit.
But that was her lesson to learn.
We took Oleander’s shortcut and arrived near Professor Lavant’s classroom with a few minutes to spare. We said our goodbyes, and I slipped inside, taking my place at the back, as usual. Vivian and her obedient little drones usually sat in the front, where they could show off to whatever professor they happened to be in front of.
I was tempted to break my own tradition in this classroom, though. I liked Professor Lavant’s style. Instead of desks, there were cushions arranged in rows, and we were invited to lounge, which was nice. The room was dimly lit, sheer, rosy fabrics covering the natural light from the windows. It was a cozy place heavily scented with sage and incense, smells that stirred up childhood memories of my mother’s brewing room, and then, later, lessons with Poppy in her old farmhouse.
On the shelves were flickering candles, scales, vials and beakers, all of them filled with vibrantly colored liquid. It was a relaxed space which made my nerves, frayed from the constant hazing, ease down, if only for an hour.
I flipped to the most recent lesson we’d gone over in Faerie Enchantments: The Lives, History, and Magicks of the Fair Folk. I skimmed the first page, hoping I could fudge my answers if called on. Oleander had been right about the witches’ strategy for weeding out undesirables. Between work and the constant harassment, it was nearly impossible to get through the required reading before class the next day. Weekends were for cramming in the library, lest I flunk out in my first semester.
But before I could get far, Vivian and her drones made their usual dramatic appearance. All heads turned to face them, guided by Vivian’s potent blend of Come to Me Oil and Eve Oil. It made women pay attention to her and men yearn for her, ensuring she could snare almost anyone she wanted. Even I wasn’t immune from noticing, though I now spritzed myself with uncrossing oils every morning.
Vivian came to a stop, and all of her cronies did the same, matching looks of anticipation on their faces. She looked down her nose at me, a sneer playing around the edges of her full mouth. Giving me a scornful once over, she plopped one hand onto her hip.
“I’ve been meaning to ask how many times you’ve had to service the headmaster’s son in order to get supplies and a proper uniform,” she started as I felt my mouth drop open in pure shock. “The Depraysies do seem to enjoy their vampire...” She paused to pull a face. “Perversions. It’s not enough you moon after that pathetic string bean of a faerie; you fraternize with vampires too. Disgusting.”
Maybe I should have been insulted by the insinuation, but all I wanted to know was who the spell she was accusing me of servicing. I couldn’t remember a vampire I’d exchanged more than a few words with recently, let alone someone I’d been around long enough to ‘service’. Well, anyone besides Professor Valserak, and I was pretty sure he wasn’t related to the headmaster. The answer came to me a beat later, and I blurted the name without thinking.
“Rook?”
“Of course, you’d use his silly nickname,” she said in a high, mocking tone, raising her voice loud enough for the students around us to hear. “Do you moan it when he has you flat on your back?” Then she pretended to vomit.
I couldn’t help the stinging color that rose to my cheeks. The anger was accompanied by a knee-jerk sense of shame because I had been treated to a dream exactly like that. More than once. A dark, sinful fantasy where Rook had stolen more than a kiss in the out-of-the-way corridor. But in this instance, it was the casual slut-shaming that had my face burning. Witches didn’t really comment on each other’s sex lives or lack thereof. Pleasure was normal. We worshipped the body, found bliss in the life-giving act of sex. Tangling with vampires was the only taboo.
But I wanted to do it, anyway. I could admit, if only in the privacy of my own head, that there was a certain thrill in thinking about Rook’s naked body. What his voice would sound like, rough with need as he whispered sweet nothings in my ear. The way his fangs might feel fastened on my throat.
“Shut your stupid mouth, Vivian,” I said, surprised when my voice came out on a low, threatening whisper. I wasn’t normally a violent person, but I wanted to rake my nails down Vivian’s perfectly made-up face.
Instead, she plucked up my book from the ground and flipped it open to the inside cover and murmured, “Book of knowledge once owned, show me the name of the man who deigned to loan. So mote it be.” Then she glared up at me. “What name do you think it will reveal? I’m betting on ‘Rook’.”
Why she thought as much, I had no idea. But I also didn’t have time to consider it, because before I knew it, I’d launched myself to my feet, trying to snatch the book back before she could read the name her spell revealed. If she was right, and Rook had loaned me the supplies, it would confirm the rumors Vivian was spreading behind my back. But instead of a name appearing beneath her finger, text scrawled itself on the page, as if someone was writing it in real time. Vivian’s face went pale with rage as she read. I couldn’t help but follow along, reading the words aloud.
“Nice try, Viv, you irksome, vainglorious little bitch,” I read aloud, as the text revealed itself. “Keep your rhinoplastied nose out of other people’s business before I hex it off. Kindly tell auntie to sit on a broom handle. Wishing you nothing but misery. — M.”
“It looks like you have an enemy, Viv,” I said, yanking the book from her grasp as I smiled up at her. The words were fading, even as I watched. “I’d keep my hands to myself if I were you. Someone might hex them off.”
“Shut your mouth, blood whore,” she hissed.
“That’s enough of that, girls,” a pleasant baritone said from behind us. “Take your seat, Ms. Grimsbane, and try to remain civil. If I catch you talking like that again, it will be a demerit. Am I understood?”
For a moment, and with the expression she was giving him, I was sure she’d hex Professor Lavant. But then she took a deep breath, nodded tightly and stalked off, drones trailing dutifully in her wake. It left me staring at Professor Lavant.
