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I usually sat by Oleander during class, though I paired up with Elly if one of our subjects or electives overlapped. I’d usually catch a hex or two before lunch, but could pick most of them off with ease, thanks to Poppy’s uncrossing potions. Only Vivian’s curses were heavyweight material, so I had to contend with them until I could fashion myself a talisman to combat them. Even the charm I’d given Oleander couldn’t tackle all the dirty tricks she’d hurled my way.
I hadn’t been forced to scramble for textbooks or supplies after the first day. Someone, and I still had no idea who, had made sure everything I needed was delivered to my room on the second day of term. I even had five used but well-cared-for uniforms now sitting in my dresser. Of course, I’d asked Wanda if she’d had anything to do with it and she swore she hadn’t—then she’d grilled me about why I hadn’t had my supplies to begin with and I had to make up some ridiculous reason. And both Elly and Oleander couldn’t have helped me because they could barely help themselves. Really, I didn’t have any other friends at Blood Rose so I had no clue who was acting the part of my fairy godmother.
The air was getting nippy, and even the sidelong glances from other witches couldn’t dampen my spirits much as Samhain approached—well, at Blood Rose, anyway. It was still January as far as the rest of the world was concerned. Just as Oleander had mentioned, the seasons at Blood Rose dictated themselves and with no choice in the matter, everyone went along with it. Regardless, I was excited. Even if it was only Samhain at Blood Rose, it was still a holiday I loved above all others.
Because Samhain was a special day to most witches, it was also a school holiday, with a masquerade that was set to take place in the evening. It was the one night of the year that all students would be able to mingle, regardless of class affiliation. We were still a ways away from Samhain and the masquerade party, but I was already thinking happy, costume-making, apple-picking, and bonfire-dancing thoughts.
Oleander smiled down at our linked hands. We’d been caught holding hands once or twice, which had started the rumor that we were dating. Protesting it would have only caused our enemies to go further on the attack. So, in the end, we let people make their own assumptions.
Besides, I liked holding his hand. There was something soothing about his touch, like clutching a mug of hot cocoa at the end of a cold day. It wasn’t a romantic thing for me at all, and I doubted he felt that way either. He was still head over heels for Elly, and she seemed to have finally noticed that he existed beyond being her kitchen buddy, and I was more than sure that had everything to do with the fact that people were whispering that he and I were together. Nothing seems to be more attractive than someone who’s already taken. Le sigh.
“What’s the smile for?” I asked, giving Oleander’s hand a light swing.
It made the witches at a nearby table erupt into furious mutters. Dating a faerie was better than dating a vampire, but they still thought I was slumming it. Worse, I might be getting attached which was something of a cardinal sin in covens—well, in most covens anyway. Wanda’s was different. To most witches, men were just for sex—for procreation purposes. Anything more was a betrayal of ‘our’ values.
Well, as far as I was concerned, they could stuff their values up their snooty asses. I’d get attached to whomever or whatever I liked. And that was the end of it.
“I have a free period,” Oleander said with a smirk. “Professor Lavant is letting the faeries skip class today.”
“Then why are you walking me to class?” I asked, slowing for a beat. “You could be doing anything you want right now.”
He laughed. “Because, last I checked, you still don’t know the layout of the castle. Zipping around through portals to get to class has spoiled you, so someone has to make sure you don’t get hopelessly lost. The only reason you know your way around the west wing is because the Grimsbane hive keeps trying to rile you by ordering food at all hours of the night.”
The reminder made me scowl. Vivian had started requesting special orders after dark, forcing members of the kitchen staff to ferry up all kinds of snacks to her dorm rooms. Within a week, half of the witches in the west wing were following her example. They sent complaints about anyone else who brought them food, which could eventually stack up as demerits on the victims’ records. As long as I went, the rest of us remained demerit free. How this behavior wasn’t stopped was beyond me. But it wasn’t. It was, however, an enormous effort not to stare into their gleeful faces and curse their eyebrows to grow together. But if I gave into my own need for vengeance, they won. And there was no way in spell I was letting a petty harpy like Vivian Grimsbane beat me.
“Thanks for reminding me. I have to write a thank you note to Professor Valserak for giving me a hall pass.”
“He gave you a hall pass?” Oleander asked with a confused frown.
“Yeah, to keep any of the instructors from giving me a write-up for wandering after curfew. I’m sure that’s what Vivian was after when she started doing this. I think at this point I should do my homework in the kitchen, just to save Mads the trouble of having to constantly come and get me.”
I owed Professor Valserak for that and more. He was probably the only reason Jack Collins hadn’t bitten me on my first day. In my more wishful moments, I liked to imagine that Rook would have stepped in to save me, even if the professor hadn’t turned up. It was a little pathetic how often I thought of the kiss (if you even wanted to call it that) we’d shared, when Rook had made it perfectly clear that he didn’t give a jar of rat tails about me. In the days since our little lip-touching session, he’d pointedly ignored me every chance he got. The only time I’d drawn his attention was when I shared a few suggestive comments with Klaus as I passed him in the halls. Just as I’d known he would, the incubus had eagerly flirted back. Rook had just glared at me until I disappeared up the staircase that led to the girl’s dormitories, carrying with me whatever confection they’d ordered for the hour.
“Good idea,” Oleander said with a laugh. “You should think about sleeping in the kitchen too. Maybe you can fit an air mattress in one of the pantries.”
“Ha,” I drawled. “Now, why are you allowed to play hooky again?”
“The professor is demonstrating faerie song for the class today, and he doesn’t want things to get out of hand. Witches and other mages should be able to resist the call if they prepare themselves. Faeries can’t. If we’re called by a high Sidhe of our own courts, we’re compelled to respond. He has the essence of all four courts in his classroom, which means it would turn into one enormous faerie ring if we went. With our magic compounding what he’s going to unleash, it’d be a...”
“A supernatural acid trip?” I guessed.
He smiled faintly. “Yeah. Though, I wouldn’t mind that so much. I haven’t been to faerie in a long time.”
I paused. “What do you mean? You’re a faerie. Don’t you go back home any time you want?”
Oleander shook his head sadly. “No. I’m a sprite from a far-flung family that hasn’t been back home in generations. You have to have a Fae noble unlock a route into your court, and there hasn’t been one at Blood Rose for centuries. The closest I get to faerie is that shortcut that old, Sidhe noble made. It loops right around to the campus, but for just a moment I get a taste of Summer. Sometimes the faeries on campus will form our own circles under the staff’s noses, but it’s not the same as dancing in the realm of Faerie with your own kind. And like I said, only a Sidhe noble could take me there. You have to have permission to go in or out, and I doubt I’ll get permission any time soon.”
I dropped my gaze to the light dusting of autumn leaves that littered our path. Oleander didn’t want or need my pity. He’d probably shove me off with a smirk and a smarmy comment if I tried to hug him, but the urge was there. It was all so... sad. If you weren’t a vampire or a witch, you didn’t matter here. Your chances for a better life were practically nil, and yet Oleander and students like him kept trying to scale the ladder, only to be pushed off if they got anywhere near the top. It wasn’t fair.
“So,” I said after a moment. “If you’re not going to class, where do you plan to spend your time.”
“In the library,” he said a little too quickly. “I, uh, I need to study.”
His eyes shifted to the right, something he did when he lied. I followed his gaze, and my eyes landed on a woman nearby. She was lounging on a stone bench, head propped on her blazer, her silken hair trailing over the armrest like an inky curtain. She’d painted her lips scarlet, and emphasized her large eyes with kohl, making them appear huge in her thin, angular face. There was something a little familiar about the slant of her brows or the strength of her chin, but I couldn’t put my finger on just what. Everything about her though, from her dark hair to the stylish black strappy heels she’d swapped for the customary Mary Janes, screamed witch.
She had her nose buried in a history textbook. Stories of Medieval Succession and the Witches at Their Sides. It was a fourth-year elective course, which meant the woman was older than either of us. A lot older than me, certainly. She looked to be around thirty, which meant she was probably closer to seventy. Witches aged slowly after reaching physical maturity. I’d be stuck with a teenage look until I reached my forties. I wouldn’t look like a thirty-something until I was somewhere between seventy to ninety. And I wouldn’t hit midlife until I reached Wanda’s age. So this woman was either a non-traditional student or she was going through courses at Blood Rose to refresh herself. Maybe she was training to be a teacher.
She turned her head a moment later, as if she could sense our interest. Then she cracked a wicked smile when she spotted Oleander and folded her book closed, like she’d been waiting for him. She crooked a finger at him and her eyes were deep, dark, and smoldering with intensity. I had an idea of exactly what he wanted to study, and it wasn’t any of the moldering tomes in the resource section. Maybe I’d been wrong about Oleander’s interest in Elly, and he was keeping his options open, and I could see why. This witch was a knockout. Curves in all the right places, legs so long and shapely, they made her skirt seem almost obscenely short. Not to mention she had the sort of aura that screamed she’d eat you alive, and you’d enjoy every second of it. If I’d been into women, I’d have been interested too.
