It’s probably due to her extra-vicious muttering tonight that I don’t hear Merlin approach. I don’t realize he’s here until I catch a flash of movement in the water in front of me. It startles me so much that I promptly drop my book into the pool, almost tumbling in after it myself.
“Merlin!” I shriek, my voice magnified in the empty hall.
Veronica fumbles with her matches, but unlike me, she manages to catch them before dropping the lot into the pool alongside my now hopelessly ruined book.
“Damn it, Wren,” she snaps, glancing up once from where she’s crouched, examining her reddened knees by the side of the pool. When she spots Merlin too, her tone suddenly changes. “Do you see what she’s subjecting me to? It’s torture.”
Merlin raises an eyebrow at me but doesn’t look her way. “I’m not sure what you expect me to do,” he says, carefully. “This isn’t exactly my jurisdiction.”
She huffs. “Then what’s the point of being the head of class?”
I scoot up to the edge of the pool and look down at the book now sitting at the bottom. Its shape shifts and distorts beneath the surface of the darkened water. I sigh.
“Look what you made me do,” I say, shaking my head and gesturing down into the bottom of the pool. “There’s not even a point to getting it unless you know a spell to dry it out.”
Merlin considers this for a second. “I might not . . . but I’m willing to bet the librarians do. Do you really think you’re the first student to drop a book in the pool?”
“Fair enough,” I say, then snap my fingers at Veronica. As much as she might hate it, her head swivels in my direction at the now all-too-familiar summons. “Go down there and get it for me.”
She slams her hands down on the cement floor, but before she can throw another fit, I add, “Forget about the candles. Get the book, and we’ll call it a night.”
I’ve never seen her get to her feet so quickly. In a flash, she’s kicked off her shoes and jumped into the pool head first—making sure to splash as much water in my direction as possible.
She re-emerges with the book in hand, looking like a wet dog with her red hair darkened in slippery strands around her face. She makes sure to look me deep in the eyes as she shoves the book into my lap, all the hatred and fury burning within that she can’t spew with Merlin standing right here.
We both wait and watch as she clambers back out of the pool and storms off, leaving a trail of wet footprints behind her.
Merlin shakes his head again. “You’re really going to pay for this, you know.”
I nod my head and move the book off my lap. “I know, but I couldn’t pass it up. It’s a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.”
“I hope so,” he says, and I have to stop squeezing the water from my now sodden skirt to glance up at him.
“What’s up with you? Did you catch Puck running in the halls again?”
He crouches down beside me to prod the soaked book forming a puddle to my side. “Actually, he and Nicholas headed to bed early, but I thought I’d come check on you.”
“Aww, how sweet,” I say, making an extra-dramatic motion as I wring out the ends of my skirt. “Maybe next time you can try not to make me drop my books in the pool. I also have exams coming up soon, you know.”
Merlin scoffs. “Yeah, but you’re the only one who has a literal slave waiting on you hand and foot.”
I waggle my finger like a teacher at her naughty student. “Hold up, keeping Veronica busy is basically a full-time job.” Between that, actual prep for the solstice, and keeping Puck from peeking up my skirt every time he’s a step behind me on the stairs . . . I’ve barely had any time to study.
I motion to the ruined implements spread out around me, as if it’ll somehow prove my point.
I expect him to do the thing where he just straightens back up and stands over me imperiously while he waits for me to gather my things. Instead, he just lets out a combination exhausted grunt-slash-sigh and sinks down to the floor beside me.
He keeps his face trained forward, unseeing, at the far end of the pool. “You know, for someone who only just got here . . . you’re really doing alright.”
I laugh, but it’s a strangled, bitter sound.
“What?” he asks, looking at me sharply. “You don’t believe me?”
I lean back on the palms of my hands. “I just never thought I’d hear you compliment anyone, let alone me.”
He stiffens beside me. “Is that really what you think of me?”
I have to sit up. When did this conversation suddenly become so serious?
I think on what he says for a minute. “No,” I say, finally. “Not anymore, at least.”
Merlin sighs again, but this time it’s just resigned. “You know, I wasn’t always like this.”
“A stuck up prick of an ass who thinks he’s better than everyone else?”
He shoots me a look, but even he can’t help the slight upturn at the corner of his lips. When he looks back at the far end of the pool, he lets out his own broken chuckle.
“Yes, that exactly.” He reaches down to pick absentmindedly at the corner of the ruined book. “I just . . . I guess with my father being the judge, and all this pressure with the trials coming up next year, and then you show up and turn everything upside down . . .”
“Don’t you go turning this on me,” I say, wagging a finger in his face. Once again, he has to chuckle.
“No, you’re right. I’m just an ass for absolutely no reason. Definitely not because the second you walked in the door that first day, I haven’t been able to get you out of my head.” This time he full-out laughs. It’s more of a bark, a single, cutting syllable.
I meanwhile am basically drowning in a sudden overwhelming cocktail of emotions—mainly surprise.
“Nothing like knowing, right from the start, that you can’t have the thing you want the most . . . and having it sit there in front of you every day, just mocking you,” he finishes, his fingers practically shredding the outside of the cover.
I’m still trying to work out what he just said in my own head. “Well . . . I mean, it doesn’t help that I’m probably the only girl you’ve ever laid eyes on.”
Another bark-like laugh. “You and Veronica.”
“And that’s not exactly a fair representation of the sex,” I say.
“No, it isn’t.”
We sit in silence for a minute. I don’t know what he’s thinking, but I know my own thoughts are racing—twisting, turning inside out, and upside down.
Merlin. Steadfast, perfect, head-of-class Merlin . . . has been acting like an ass because he likes me?
And here I was, all this time, thinking he’s been secretly hoping I’d turn out to be a spy after all. After a long stretch of awkward silence, I blurt out the first thing that comes to mind.
“I don’t believe you.”
Merlin swivels sharply to face me. “Why not?”
“I mean, no one hates someone that much, just for being a girl.” I shrug, but still refuse to look directly at him. “Even if that girl is, quite literally, one of the last ones in the world. Or, at least, your world.”
He chuckles again. “Can’t it be both?”
Now it’s my turn to actually have to look at him. A sly smile pulls at his mouth. Not an almost-smile, a real smile.
“Really, Wren, can’t it be both? Can’t I both distrust you for what you might be, and hate you for what you most definitely are?”
“I’d rather you didn’t distrust or hate me at all,” I say, and though my insides are screaming for me to look away, I don’t. Merlin and I search each other’s faces, looking for something—a sign, an emotion—I don’t know.
“I don’t hate you anymore,” Merlin says, finally. “I just . . .”
“What?” It comes out as a single, near gasping breath.
That smile on his face falters. “I just can’t bring myself to trust you. Or maybe myself.”
The logical part of me knows he means
until we know what you are. But the illogical part, the part that’s been spending every waking moment trying to make Veronica as miserable as possible, thinks he’s talking about something else. Something very different. Something . . . feral, and instinctual.
That same part of me that looked at Merlin, Nicholas, and Puck on All Hallows’ Eve and finally saw them for what they are. Irresistible.
And it’s that part that wins out.
In all truth, I don’t know who leans in first. All I know is I’m suddenly pitching forward—one hand rising to wrap around the back of Merlin’s neck, drawing him closer. His lips soften and lock hungrily onto mine.
The kiss is brief, no longer than the time it takes for Merlin’s hands to reach for me, trying to pull me closer, before I break it and scramble up to my feet. I’m panting, the taste of him still lingering on my lips.
Merlin stares up at me from where he remains sprawled across the cement floor, painted in the flickering pattern of reflected light off the surface of the pool. “Sorry, I didn’t . . .” he starts, his legs moving to lift him back up to his feet after me.
“It’s not, I just . . .” I choke on my own words. “I’m tired. I have to go.”
I start reaching for the ruined book on the ground, think better of it, and just turn on my heel and flee. I don’t even know why I flee. I just do.
Maybe it’s because the only other boy I’ve ever kissed is Edgar, and somehow, kissing Merlin makes him disappear a little more. I don’t know what scares me more . . . the disappearing, or what it means for him to be replaced.
Rather than deal with our kiss, I plan on avoiding Merlin as long as possible.
But I forget the crucial bit of information where the door to the stairway leads directly down to the dining hall at certain hours of the morning.
Even when I fling open the door and stride through onto the ground floor instead of the stairs, it takes me a minute to figure out where I am. By the time I’ve blinked away my surprise and realized what happened, Puck’s waving at me over the tops of our classmate’s heads. Though Merlin only glances up once, it’s too late.
If I leave now, it’ll be obvious I’m avoiding him. I mean, I am avoiding him, but he doesn’t need to know that. So I tuck my books back under my arm and head hesitantly their way. At least, I’m glad to see Veronica sits up a little straighter when I walk past.
That’s right bitch, you better be ready for me.
But I don’t stop to give Veronica another meaningless assignment this morning. Even though I only have a week left of this glorious torture, I don’t have the energy to deal with her on top of everything else right now.
As soon as my ass hits the bench, Puck goes off about something to do with plans to study for our upcoming summoning exam. Rather than have us all summon our individual demons, Professor Young is going to have us perform a group summoning—something that, turns out, is a lot more complicated.
Puck keeps rambling on, oblivious to the furtive glances Merlin keeps shooting my way—or how neither of us seems able to do more than push scrambled eggs around on our plates. Nicholas, meanwhile, grows quiet at his side. I swear I see him looking between the two of us, but he says nothing.
Puck would likely talk until our ears literally fall off, if it isn’t for the bell tolling the start of another school day. I’m out of my seat and heading to class as fast as I can. Merlin has the same idea, so we nearly run into each other in the doorway. For fear of looking awkward to anyone else, we just walk in actual awkward silence all the way to class.
It’s as if I’m suddenly acutely aware of every movement he makes, of the way he bites his bottom lip when he’s concentrating, or how his ever-perfectly coiffed hair can’t hide the fact that he has an unruly cowlick at the crown of his head.
This tension remains even after Professor Hardbloom appears and starts going over the details, for what feels like the hundredth time, of what will be on next week’s exams. Of all the classes I’m most worried about, History of the Dark Arts is at the very bottom of that list.
Like Puck once said, so long as I stick to a theme of Dark Witch oppression and discrimination I should be just fine.
As soon as the bell tolls, I fly out of my seat and head as fast as I can towards our next class—but apparently, it’s not fast enough. I make a mental note to sit closer to the door, since this sort of thing always seems to be happening. While Puck is busy getting chewed out for drawing a mustache on a poster, Merlin somehow manages to fight his way through the rest of the surging class to catch me by the sleeve in the hall.
“Wren,” he says, making me stop even after I’ve ripped the fabric from his grasp—losing one of the buttons in the process. “Please, can we just . . . talk . . . about last night?”
I whirl to face him. “What’s there to say?” I ask, my chest heaving with the breaths I’m struggling to find.
Merlin swallows hard. “I’m sorry. I thought you should know . . .” he starts, his voice getting lost in the sounds of our classmates streaming out all around us.
The sounds even Merlin’s voice can’t drown out over the noise of the thoughts inside my head.
I didn’t mean for it to happen. I didn’t plan it. It just . . . did.
But rather than feeling guilty for betraying Edgar as I thought I would, I feel only . . .
I don’t know what I feel, exactly, but whatever it is compels me to step forward and close the gap between us before Merlin can finish what he’s saying. Our lips meet again. For one short moment, all I hear is the rush of my own blood and the pounding of the heart that beats it.
Then I step back, breaking the kiss, and look up into Merlin’s startled face. “Are you still sorry? Because I’m not.”
Merlin lets out a breath and shakes his head. “No, I’m not sorry.” He smiles again—a real, genuine smile—that’s almost eclipsed by the appearance of Nicholas at our side.
He looks as startled as Merlin.
I don’t know what drives me to do this too, but without another second’s hesitation or stopping to think it through, I stand up on my tip-toes, wrap my arms around Nicholas’ suddenly rigid shoulders, and plant a kiss on his mouth as well.
At first, he’s as stiff as the bulge hardening in his pants. Then he relents, melting into me for just the single second before I pull back and flash him a devilish grin.
“What was that?” he asks, clearing his throat and moving his armload of books to cover the sudden display of excitement present below his belt.
“A long overdue thanks, I think,” I say, then glancing at Merlin. “And, I think, an apology.”
“I thought you said you weren’t sorry,” Merlin says.
I nod. “Not for kissing you, or you,” I say, looking to Nicholas next and reaching out to rest my free hand in the middle of his chest. “But for taking so goddamned long to do it.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
I expect Puck to storm out of class after us demanding to be included—only he doesn’t come out at all.
As he so often does, Puck somehow sneaks off somewhere and doesn’t actually show up again until summoning class the following day. I know from the way he fixes me with a very pointed look when he arrives that he already knows everything.
Professor Young stands by the hole in the floor waiting for him to be seated, but that doesn’t stop Puck from grabbing an empty chair across the room and dragging it loudly over to sit beside me. The jarring scraping sound is made even worse by the many cracks branching out across the floor like a massive spider’s web.
He makes sure to maintain creep-level eye contact with me the entire time, of course, until I have to kick him several times under my desk.
While Professor Young goes on to explain the particulars of this group summoning we’re about to practice, Puck leans over and kicks me back. When I finally look at him, he jerks his thumb in the direction of Merlin and Nicholas on my other side.
“So,” he says, slyly, “d’you have one for me?�
�
It takes me a second to understand what he means, but as soon as I do, I feel my cheeks grow hot.
“No,” I whisper back, tersely. “You had to be there. I was feeling . . . generous.”
“Exactly how generous?” Puck asks, his voice loud enough to make Merlin glance our way in annoyance. It doesn’t stop Puck from wiggling his eyebrows and making a rude gesture with his fingers under the table.
“I wish I could say that something more . . . exciting . . . happened, but none of us had the time to schedule a full-blown orgy,” I say through my own gritted teeth. I kick Puck under the table once more for good measure and try to turn back to the professor as he’s started handing out robes for the ceremony.
The fact is, none of us has had much time for anything.
Since naturally I can’t let up on Veronica’s torture, I’ve spent every waking moment either telling her to scrub the calluses from my feet, rub my skin with various oils and herbs, or help me study with flashcards. Last night, it was all three at once.
Can’t say I’m not being practical.
It’s not my fault the preparations of the virgin sacrifice are so involved. Veronica’s the one who asked for this, not me.
Fortunately for everyone involved, Professor Young has us all get up and don the robes in order to do a quick dry-run of the upcoming summoning. He keeps sneaking furtive glances in my direction, and I’m guessing he’s thinking about the last time I was allowed to summon something in class. That Ozgullath still haunts my nightmares—or, more accurately, what I did to it does.
To think I almost cursed Edgar the same way.
Shame. Next time, I won’t let another witch get in the way of my vengeance. If this little bout with Veronica has taught me anything, it’s that I’ve got a knack for this revenge thing.
Maybe it’ll turn out I’m a Dark Witch after all. In less than a week, I’ll find out for sure.
Professor Young arranges us in a circle around the hole in the ground, demonstrating the proper way to kneel so that the robes splay out behind us—their long tails forming a complex pattern that interweaves at the ends when lined up just right.
Dark Witch: A Paranormal Academy Romance (Academy of the Dark Arts Book 1) Page 23
