“But—” Disha began. However, Nyquist didn’t let her finish.
“But nothing,” he said. “You should forget about this and focus on planning your upcoming break. Aren’t you glad finals are almost over?”
That conversation had been over a week ago and nothing had happened—not that this meant our “phoenix” guess was wrong, and he wasn’t the target. The subversives had been quiet, after all. They could be biding their time, waiting for the best time to attack him.
Still, finals were over, and I was certainly glad about that, though not so much about the requisite end-of-year party Disha was dragging me to this time.
Now, as we stood outside the Junior Dorm shivering, she warmed up her hands. My best friend was normally a confident spell caster, self-assured in nearly everything she did, for that matter, but tonight was different.
She began muttering to herself as her slender fingers twitched uncomfortably.
“We can take a car, Dish,” I said. “Really. It’s not a problem.”
Bridget nodded vigorously beside me, her elf hat jingling. When she’d heard we were going to a winter solstice party, she’d gone a little over the top, and now she looked like something a holiday store threw up. Striped tights, green tunic, and holly earrings were only some of the features included in her outfit. She’d told us her jumper lit up like a Christmas tree, but I'd convinced her to wait until the party to activate it.
“I agree with Charlie,” Bridget added. “Plus I don’t really want to end up turned inside out or something. I like my insides to stay there if you know what I mean.”
Disha’s distracted gaze darted in our direction. “Guys, come on. I can do this.” She went back to twisting her fingers into pretzels and muttering as her face took on that faraway look.
Bridget and I exchanged glances. How far would we let this go? I also liked my insides to stay where they were.
The girl wasn’t at her best. Ever since she couldn’t glamour her pencil into a snake a few days ago, Disha had been a little off. She didn’t think that near-to-death exhaustion from lack of sleep or the cold she’d just gotten over were good-enough excuses for not performing at top level. She was so hard on herself.
When she’d decided she would use a complicated transporting spell to get the three of us to the party, Bridget and I were skeptical. Transporting spells were one of the most difficult to pull off and required a crazy amount of magic. They allowed you to travel relatively long distances without the use of a portal. My crumple spell had nothing on long-distance teleportation.
I’d refused at first, suggesting we should skip the party and focus on collecting more intel about the subversives and their plan to take out the regent, but then she’d burst into tears, something I hadn’t seen her do since coming to the Academy, not even after her doomed relationship with Henderson during our freshman year. I felt so bad for her that I immediately agreed to attend the party. My best friend was tired, stressed out, convalescent and homesick for her boyfriend, and if going to a fae party was going to fix all of that, I’d go to a thousand.
All of that brought us to standing outside, waiting to see if all our parts made it to Atlanta.
The party was supposed to be epic. Every junior had delayed Christmas plans, making sure they didn’t fly home to Mommy and Daddy until the day after the shindig.
There will be a lot of hungover college students on planes tomorrow, I thought wryly.
The one problem with the best party of the year? The festivities were being organized by the fae.
I hadn’t forgotten the gathering in the woods and how one of the folk had ensnared Disha with his fairy magic. It would be so easy to be led astray again.
“Does everyone have their iron bracelet?” I asked. It was a typical ward against folk magic that I’d acquired when we’d finally decided to go.
Bridget held up her wrist to show me. Disha was too busy running through her spell.
“What about the blackberries, ivy and…”
“Rowan?” Bridget asked with an arched eyebrow. She held up a cluster of small orangey-red berries.
Of course, one of the items a witch could use to protect herself from fae magic had to be called rowan. Of course, it did.
Damn it.
“Yes,” I repeated, feeling inside my jacket pocket for my own cluster of berries. I slipped my fingers over the smooth skin of each fruit, feeling a chill pass over me.
Disha turned to us, clapping her hands. “Well, it’s now or never.”
“How about never?” Bridget asked, starting to peel away. Her curled elf shoes jingled as I grabbed her coat sleeve.
“Disha can do this. Right, Dish?”
“Right,” she said with less confidence than I would’ve liked. I wondered if I was being totally stupid for letting her attempt this, but the bottom line was if she could learn to transport us places, we could really use that to our advantage.
If we survived.
Which of course we would, I reassured myself. Disha was a very talented witch.
She began her elaborate motions, speaking in Latin, her ruby-red lips forming words we couldn’t hear. I held onto Bridget’s coat, partly to keep her from bolting—I was not going through this alone—and partly to have someone with me in case Disha sent us to Siberia or something.
A blue light began emanating from Disha’s fingertips. It shot out and wrapped around our bodies like thin, cerulean rope. Tendrils wound around my body and then my face, sending out small electric shocks that burned.
“Ow,” Bridget said. “Is it supposed to hurt?”
An electric surge zapped through me, bringing sharp pain along with it. I cried out, but my voice died away as my body began to disappear.
Just as quickly, I was tumbling forward. My hands appeared in time to catch my fall as I spilled into a pile of garbage. My wrist hit the pavement, sending a shockwave of pain up my arm. Then the rest of me crumpled into a heap on the ground.
Wincing through the ache in my wrist, I glanced around only to find walls of black trash bags and fluttering newspapers on either side. A putrid smell infiltrated my nose as I sat up.
“Disha?”
A groan answered.
“That did not go as planned.” It was Bridget. She was close, though I couldn’t see her.
Holding my injured wrist, I tried to crawl out of the trash heap.
A dark, abandoned street greeted me as I dragged my way out of the pile of garbage. Beyond the huge, rusty dumpster behind me, large empty warehouses stretched on either side of a pitted two-lane street. The half-moon illuminated boarded-up windows and graffiti, marking this as dangerous territory.
There was no sign of a party, nor any human life for that matter. In fact, it looked far too much like where I’d lived as a homeless teen.
I shivered. Was this where we were supposed to go?
“It’s okay, Disha,” I said through clenched teeth. My wrist was really beginning to throb. “We can get a cab I’m sure. I think we’re still in Georgia.”
My eyes searched for street signs, but they seemed to either have been stolen or whoever was in charge figured no one in this rundown part of town cared to know where they were, anyway.
“No, this is right,” Disha said, brushing off dirt that clung to her red dress. “But, God, did I mess up the landing.”
“This is right?” I asked incredulously.
“It’s a warehouse party,” Bridget said, picking a coffee straw out of her red hair. “It’s that way.”
I glanced to where she was pointing. The three-story warehouse appeared dark and desolate. It didn’t seem like anyone had been inside in years, let alone decked it out to have a massive shindig.
Then again, they wouldn’t want Regulars stumbling into a fae celebration now, would they?
Disha shrugged, flexing her fingers as if they ached as much as my wrist. I held my injured appendage to my side, telling myself that I would heal it once I was out of Disha’s view. I didn�
��t want her to know she’d hurt me. She already looked down-trodden and distraught even though her spell had worked.
She needed to stick the landings, though.
“You did it, Dee,” I said, patting her on the back. “No more Ubering to the owl.”
She gave me an uncertain smile. “I did it. Mostly.”
We walked to the warehouse, finding a little side door and opening it with a creak. As soon as we were inside, the music let me know we were in the right place.
The warehouse walls, floor, and ceiling were still rusty and marked with graffiti, but the decor all around screamed fae folk. Someone had sprouted white vines that crawled over every available surface and up into the ceiling beams. They dripped with white flowers that dimly flickered like candlelight. Moss carpeted one half of the floor and, on top, white chairs curled up like flowers. The other half of the space was dominated by a full-to-the-brim dance floor that lit up with bluish bioluminescence wherever partygoers stepped.
There was a bar cluttered with witches and warlocks in various costumes. Some had gone for fancy Christmas party attire like Disha and wore elegant dresses and ties. Others had taken a page from Bridget’s crazy Christmas book.
Still, others were dressed in hobo chic, looking gaunt and dirty in fashionably ripped jeans and dark makeup to match their urban surroundings. Homelessness as a costume? Seeing them mock the life I’d been forced to lead only a few years ago drove a stake through my heart.
Homelessness wasn’t a joke. Poverty wasn’t something you tried on for fun. No wonder Bridget and Disha hadn’t told me much about the party.
Angry, I whirled around to see the fae clustered together off to one side. They’d apparently coordinated outfits since all of them were dressed in white. Gowns were made completely out of snowflakes and tunics were woven out of a white webby substance. One cape was billowy like raw cotton while another appeared to be made of birch bark.
Anama twirled by in a dress, if you could call it that, which clung to her perfect body like delicate crystals. Her fawn horns, green hair, and skin paired perfectly with the revealing dress, a mix of sexy and exotic, and I swear every warlock watched her spin across the dance floor.
“Geez, will you get a load of her?” Bridget said in my ear. “Leave nothing to the imagination, am I right? But, she doesn’t have a rack like me.” She puffed up her chest, gave it a shimmy, and glanced down at it like I should admire her chest too.
I nodded awkwardly and darted my eyes away. Bridget was right about Anama, but before I could answer, Sinasre stepped out of the crowd.
He was shirtless, revealing his perfectly muscled chest, which sparkled as if tiny snowflakes had fallen on every inch of his skin. His pants were white and his feet were bare. Reddish golden hair tumbled free around his shoulders and down his back, like a sparkling mane. Leather bracelets dangled from his wrists and an elvish charm hung from his neck. He looked like a rock star, like a golden god.
He moved with the grace of a dancer as he cut through a crowd that couldn’t tear their gazes off him.
But his eyes were locked on me.
Beautiful and catlike, they held me motionless as I watched his approach.
My breath stuttered in my chest. How could one person be so beautiful and graceful at the same time?
I shoved my hand into my pocket, clutching the rowan berries. I was not here to ogle boys. I was here to make an appearance and keep the girls out of trouble.
Speaking of girls, I turned to scan the crowd for them. Disha was slumped in a petal chair, still murmuring to herself as she practiced the transportation spell. She was worse off than I’d feared if this was how she was going to spend a raging party.
I found Bridget at the bar, chatting it up with someone who was dressed exactly like Buddy, from the Elf movie. Fitting.
I was about to go over to Disha but felt someone step up behind me.
“Char-lie.”
When I turned, he was standing there with two crystal goblets in his hands. He offered me one, a corner of his bewitching mouth curling up.
“Oh, no thanks,” I said, heat blazing up my neck. “I was just going to see if my friends needed anything.”
Sinasre cocked his head and offered the goblet again. “This is not fae wine if you’re worried. It’s French and very expensive. You should at least taste it. It came all the way from Paris. We can travel halfway across the globe but never home. Ironic.” He held the goblet, waiting.
Carefully, I took it with my good hand and glanced down at the red liquid. I’d never tasted wine from Paris. I’d never really tasted anything from Paris before. I took a sip and flavor burst into my mouth and slid over my tongue. Oaky and sweet, it was unlike anything I’d ever tasted and I instantly wanted more.
Sinasre’s yellow eyes watched me intently. “I told you it was good.”
I licked my lips self-consciously and gripped the goblet with both hands. “The party is… great.” There I went again, the cunning linguist.
“It’s okay,” he said, seeming genuinely unimpressed. “I wish I could show you a real party. The parties of my people back home are… transcendent.”
“And dangerous to humans,” I muttered.
His eyes narrowed slightly. “Isn’t the danger what makes it so intriguing?”
I had half a mind to think he was talking about more than parties and was about to make an awkward joke when a slow song came on. Sinasre took my goblet and his and set them on a nearby table. Then he held his hand out.
“You want to dance?”
He moved his hand closer, his self-assured pose so alluring I was having trouble keeping my heart from pattering out of my chest. Why did he have to be so damn sexy?
“One dance couldn’t hurt,” I said, slipping my hand into his. My injured wrist rested delicately on his shoulder.
Pulling me to him, he transported me to the floor in a few sure steps. Then, we were dancing.
The lights dazzled me and the music swelled around us like an embrace. Sinasre’s expert hands guided me until I felt like a skilled dancer. And now, not only did the crowd’s attention focus on Sinasre, but it also seemed to focus on me as well.
I blushed, not liking public scrutiny. The first two years of my time at the Academy had been bad, but Junior year I’d managed to avoid unwanted attention. Now, too many people were looking at me again, some with envy, some with disdain. It made my skin itch.
Anama, in particular, looked as if she might bite my head off with her sharp, hooked teeth.
And yet, I couldn’t care less. For the first time in a long time, I was enjoying myself. Sinasre’s skin against mine felt thrilling. His body smelled of spice and oak, of hopes and a bit of fairy magic. Was it the wine going to my head or the feel of Sinasre’s strong, hard body moving against mine?
He wasn’t my true love. He wasn’t even close, but he made my pulse beat into my throat as he pulled me close enough that my shirt brushed his naked chest.
“They’re watching you,” he said, his lips brushing my ear. “I can’t say I blame them.”
I glanced out once again to see if it was true and my eyes fell on a man standing alongside the dance floor.
He had blond hair, cropped short, a strong jaw and dark hazel eyes. A savage jealousy tainted his expression as if he wanted to hurt Sinasre just as much as Anama wanted to hurt me.
What the hell? Why would this stranger be jealous? Unless he was some sort of psychopath.
Still, there was something very familiar about his face, though I was sure I’d never seen him before.
His eyes. I knew those eyes.
The stranger met my gaze and nodded once as if confirming my suspicions.
Now, my heart stuttered for an entirely different reason.
Though he looked nothing like himself, I knew deep in my bones exactly who the stranger was.
The question was, why was Rowan Underwood at this party, wearing someone else’s face?
Chapter Sixteen
WINTER BREAK
MID-DECEMBER
Rowan was here.
My pulse thudding against my rib cage, I let my feet stutter to a stop. Our dance grinded to a halt as bodies continued to twirl around us. Blue lights throbbed on Sinasre’s face as he regarded me with concern.
“Char-lie, is everything okay?”
“I just… need air.”
Before he could respond, I removed myself from his grasp, darting off the dance floor and through the crowd. I didn’t stop to see who might follow me, but I knew at least one person would.
Was there any chance Rowan was here for me? Could it be my pride or my barely hidden desire that made me believe he’d traveled all this way to see me?
No, it couldn’t be that. He’d known where I’d been all semester. There was no reason to track me down now. Unless he wanted something.
Bursting outside, I found an extended fire escape ladder and began to climb, my injured wrist and my heart pounding in unison.
Up and up I went, climbing up three stories, then I hauled myself over the concrete lip and stood on the warehouse’s roof. The stranger who wore Rowan’s eyes waited for me an arm’s length away. Damn his vampire speed and agility.
I wanted to run to him but knew better. What if this stranger wasn’t Rowan? What if he was, but he was here to hurt me? The grimoire was safely hidden at home, but maybe he thought I kept it on me, as crazy as that sounded.
Charging my cuffs, I readied my defensive spells. A magical golden glow lit up the dingy roof and the stranger’s eyes.
“You don’t have to do that,” he said, holding out a peaceful hand. “Here. Look.”
He waved a hand over his face, transforming it into Rowan’s.
“How do I know it’s really you?” I said, not lowering my guard. I remembered Henderson’s transformation spell from freshman year. I would not be so easily fooled. “Rowan can’t do magic.”
Junior Witch Page 12
