One Kind of Wicked: A Reverse Harem Academy Series (The True and the Crown Book 1)

by May Dawson

  I should respond, but she’s heading down the stairs toward the front of the lecture room, her bag thrown over her shoulder. She waves at me, offering a grin like our conversation wasn’t awkward at all, before she turns the corner and heads out of the class.

  “Ready?” Mycroft’s voice is a deep, impatient rumble.

  I press my hand over my suddenly-fluttering heart. He shouldn’t have surprised me, but I was busy, once again, with trying to remember how people act. “Yeah.”

  Mycroft’s hand brushes over the small of my back as I head down the aisle in front of him. A few months ago, I was stocking shelves when my manager put his hand on my back to get my attention. I whirled around so fast, and so angry, that I almost clocked him with a tub of Jif peanut butter. My heart rate rises as fast as the memory does, but that’s normal for me. What’s strange is that I like Mycroft’s hand resting, so casually and possessively, on my lower back.

  “Mycroft.” Radner’s voice is sharp when she waves him over, but she flashes him a smile belatedly, softening her words. “Just one minute, please.”

  “Head toward the library. I’ll catch up.” His hand slides and he strides off toward her without looking back.

  Cool air seems to glide over my back as I head out of class. Grace and two of her friends are behind me, Their laughter chimes toward the ceiling, high and fake. They find each other so very funny. I shouldn’t rush—Mycroft will have to find me and I can’t send him a bubble—but my pace quickens anyway.

  “You can’t blame Stelly,” Grace tells them, picking up their conversation. Her voice is loud and flat. “She’s trying to reinvent herself. And believe me, she desperately needs to—she was the biggest dork in secondary school.”

  “It doesn’t seem like she’s changing.” One of the girls says.

  “It just goes to show that money does not buy class.” The other girl says.

  Grace’s shoes click behind me; she’s walking faster too.

  “Of course, it’s better to be tacky and rich than tacky and poor.” The second girl’s voice is piercingly nasal, and I might actually hate her more than Grace.

  “Stelly means well.” Grace sounds as if she’s correcting the other girl. It makes my cheeks flush with irritation, even though I shouldn’t be annoyed. For a minute, it felt like Stelly and I might have enough in common to really be friends.

  Grace flings her arms open dramatically; she’s almost beside me now, and one of her fingers brushes the end of my ponytail. “The world is just so intense and beautiful,” she simpers, and then pretends to fake cry. “And just so intense.”

  The other girls laugh, and Grace grins, encouraged. Something tightens in my chest as she pretends to be Stelly, switching between tears and laughter.

  Grace concludes her impression. “She’s just a ridiculous person. You have to feel sorry for her.”

  I turn on my heel so fast that the girls almost walk into me. They take a surprised stutter-step back, their mouths falling open as they see my face; they thought they could dog my heels and harass me without a word in return. They forgot I’m all dirtside now. I’ve lost my pretty Avalon boarding-school manners and gained a mouth instead.

  “No, not necessary. I save my pity for assholes.” I smile at them all brightly in turn. Grace’s eyes turn hard and flinty as they meet mine. The girl with the shrill voice is on her right, and she glances up and away as if she’s pretending to be somewhere else. The girl on her left pushes her glasses up her nose and actually swerves around my shoulder, hurrying away.

  A big shadow looms at Grace’s side. Mycroft glances down at us all with all his upperclass-superiority. The fact that he’s at least a foot taller than any of us doesn’t hurt either. He doesn’t bother to say anything. Grace turns into the other girl’s side, pushing her away. The two of them almost stumble over each other as they head for the door. By the time they’ve taken a few steps, they’re talking loudly about their weekend plans.

  Mycroft has one eyebrow quirked when I look up at him. I could try to explain what just happened, but honestly, Mycroft isn’t an idiot and I don’t want to talk about it. Why did I come to Stelly’s defense when I struggle sometimes to come to my own?

  I shrug.

  Mycroft shrugs back. “Let’s get to the library.”

  Diffused morning light filters through the lacy green branches above us. Ever-changing shadows cross the gray stone walkway. While many students are bustling between classes, others sit on the grass under the trees, talking or studying. A girl with her arms looped around her knees is listening to another girl play the fiddle; she stands with the instrument tucked under her chin, bow and arm working furiously. Buoyant notes rise up toward the clear blue sky.

  We climb the white stairs of the library, which rises like a castle in front of us. Twin dragons stand on either side of the stairs, their open mouths snarling, paws raised to protect the treasures within the library. Mycroft reaches out absently and pats the head of one as we pass. Then he pulls open the dark wooden door for me, and I step into the light-soaked lobby. We pass under the shifting rainbow shadows cast by the stained glass dome high above us, which turns Mycroft’s light gray t-shirt pink, green, blue as he passes beneath it. My steps slow, admiring the building—it takes my breath away every time—and he gets a few steps ahead of me. His t-shirt clings to his lats before it falls away over the long, narrow taper of his waist, and I bite down on my lip.

  He leads me through the library stacks to a door at the far end. We walk downstairs to the basement, and then down another level to a sub-basement.

  “This is creepy.” My voice echoes in the dark, unfinished stairwell, two floors below ground.

  “It’s going to get so much worse,” Mycroft promises me.

  When he unlocks the basement door, we enter a long storage room full of metal bookcases holding overflow books and boxes. We walk into a windowless room with white-painted cinder block walls. Airren and Cax are already talking by the chalkboard in one corner. There’s a long wooden table and chairs, and an empty bookcase stands in one corner.

  “Welcome to our new office,” Airren greets us. “No one will bother us down here.”

  “No one except the spiders and ghosts and serial killers,” I say, as Mycroft closes the door behind us. “Does this room make anyone else claustrophobic?”

  “It’s private and no one will bug us,” Airren points out. “We can duck out and grab any books we need.”

  “And then the serial killers will follow us back.”

  Mycroft rests his hands on my shoulders and steers me toward the blackboard. “We’ve been pulling files on your father’s associates that might be alive. Let’s start listing anyone you can think of.”

  A shiver runs down my spine, imagining my father’s men still be out there, trying to revive his legacy. Mycroft leans over me, his broad shoulders a privacy fence between me and the others. “We’re going to be with you the whole time, Tera. You don’t need to worry about the spiders and the serial killers.”

  “I notice you left off the ghosts,” I say.

  He squeezes my shoulders gently, and I brush my fingertips over his big, scarred knuckles.

  Cax leans against the chalkboard, flipping a stick of chalk in his hand, and winks at me.

  “All right,” I say. “Well, first of all, there was my father’s right-hand man. He would have known my father’s practices. But his family was all in on it too. Not just Drek Sokolov, but his wife Ana and their sons, Stephen and Frey, and his niece, Laivi. I don’t know how much the boys wanted to be involved, but—”

  “We’re not going after anyone innocent,” Cax promises as his chalk squeaks across the surface. “Just trying to weed through them all.”

  We’re trying to sort the living from the dead. Avalon has had a lot of that sorting since the Savage Night.

  We work late, adding names to the list, crossing out the dead, starring the ones who are in prison. When Cax says he’s making a coffee run, I all but tr
ip jumping up. “I need fresh air. I do not like glorified closets.”

  Airren sits forward, on the verge of saying no—for all the good that will do him—before Mycroft shoots him a warning look. The two of them exchange one of those mind-meld glances I can’t quite make sense of—are they using a spell, or do they know each other that deeply?

  “I’ll keep her safe,” Cax promises, already touching my lower back, ushering me toward the door ahead of him.

  Chapter 22

  “Where do you want to go?” Cax asks me. “There are a few places open past midnight in town.”

  “Anywhere,” I say. “I need a break.”

  “Well, if you need a break, I’m here for you,” he says. “I’m the fun one in our strange little band.”

  “Are you?” I ask archly.

  He grins. “I’ll prove it to you.”

  “I’ll hold you to it.”

  Together, we head down the winding brick trails toward town. The night is chilly, as if fall is already seeping into the air. When I shiver, Cax whips off his jacket and throws it around my shoulders.

  I glance up at him, breathing in his cologne and the deep scent of the leather. “Aren’t you going to be cold?”

  He rubs his arms with his hands. “Freezing. But gallantly.”

  “I don’t want to take something of yours.” I let the jacket slide off my shoulders to catch it in my hand.

  “Bad news.” He reaches into his jeans pocket. “Because that reminds me. Mycroft mentioned you have a funding problem?”

  “No,” I say.

  “No, Mycroft didn’t mention it, or no, you don’t have a funding problem?”

  I pull a face, because of course, both things are true. “I don’t want your money.”

  “And I don’t want my mother’s money, but it’s so very convenient for buying things.” He snags one of my belt loops, pulling me toward him so that our hips bump, and slides a stiff cardboard bank book into my jeans pocket. “Half my allowance is deposited into your account automatically. If you still feel badly, think about the ridiculousness of my exorbitant allowance, when I should be a real grown-up with a job in just a year, and it should ease your conscience.”

  The thought of him leaving campus jolts me. “That’s right. In May, you guys will all graduate.”

  “Another reason not to date upperclassmen. It’s pointless.” He flashes a mischievous grin that makes me think he knows damn well I’ve kissed Airren. Strange. Airren doesn’t seem like the type to kiss and tell.

  “Noted. I’d never date you anyway.”

  He mimes a dagger to the heart.

  “You’re Stelly’s brother!” I say. “And she’s, ah…”

  “Your best friend in the world?”

  “It hasn’t even been a week.”

  “Well, Stelly works fast. You might have noticed, she’s a passionate creature.” He cocks his head at me. “If not your best friend…your only friend in the world?”

  “What are you, Airren, and Mycroft?”

  “We’re your friends, but come on.” He snags my other belt loop, on the far side of my hip this time, and once again pulls our bodies close together. His fingers rest casually on my hip. My heart speeds up, but only because the warmth of his touch ignites something in me. “You know it’s different.”

  “The three of you are best friends.”

  “That means we know how to get along.” He winks at me, and the mischief in that grin crinkles his eyes at the edges in a way that makes me want to kiss him too.

  I find myself smiling as I turn my gaze on the walkway winding down the hill toward town. His words keep playing in my head.

  He squeezes my hip in his hand. “Let’s figure out who’s murdering people on campus before we tackle freshman-upperclassmen dating etiquette, though.”

  “I can’t afford any more distractions, anyway. I’m already on the verge of failing out…” And it’s week one.

  “You can’t afford not to be distracted,” he says off-handedly.

  “What does that even mean?”

  He crinkles his nose. “Mycroft says I say a lot of things that sound good but mean nothing.”

  “He’s one to talk. He doesn’t say anything.”

  Cax grins at the dig on Mycroft before he changes the subject. “So our late night food options are pizza again, of course. The kebab joint. There’s a sandwich place and there’s a bar with pretty decent take-out, wings and stuff.”

  “I remembered Avalon food being a bit…” When I was growing up, we had fancy dinners every night. Lots of meat stuffed pastries and pies, seafood and roasted vegetables. My stomach grumbles thinking of my favorite lobster bisque, something I haven’t had Earthside. But the area I grew up in was coastal, and we’re up in the mountains now.

  “Yeah, well, dirtside poisons everything. And sometimes, we like it that way. Pick your poison.”

  “Kebabs.”

  “Excellent.” We wind our way through the quiet, tree-lined streets. Cax still has his hand on my hip, and our bodies move together gracefully. The streetlamps cast a white glow over the broad sidewalks. Everything is clean here, bright and fresh.

  “If I’d never left, I wouldn’t admire the lack of trash,” I muse out loud.

  “Still sucks that you had to leave.”

  “Did I have to?” I ask. “There wasn’t anything else the government could think of to do with a thirteen-year-old kid?”

  My voice comes out bitter, angrier than I meant it to, and Cax glances at me in surprise.

  “I think they could’ve done better,” he says, his voice soft.

  “Doesn’t matter. I get a second chance, and I don’t intend to screw it up.” I elbow him gently. “So, my tutor had better work some magic.”

  “I’ll take care of you, Tera,” he says seriously.

  It makes me feel self-conscious. I didn’t mean to put all that responsibility on him.

  “Freshman year is going to be great,” I say. “I’m totally not going to prison for murder. I’m going to pass my classes with like C’s, at least, because I’ve been told that’s all I really need—”

  “Don’t get me in trouble with Airren,” he groans.

  “And I’m not going to fall in love with any upperclassmen.”

  My voice is teasing, but the second the words are out in the night air, they seem to hang in the cool fall breeze.

  “Just so you know,” he says in a casual voice, glancing at me from the corner of his eye, “Even the wisest upperclassman sometimes gives bad advice.”

  My heart skips a beat. But I’m not letting him off that easily, after all the cocky things he’s said. “I can’t imagine that.”

  The brightly lit kebab shop windows are full of colorful posters. When we step in, Cax orders while I wander to a bulletin board next to the kitchen, covered in posters for local music events and dog adoptions and want ads.

  Two men sitting at a table look up at me and then lean together, talking quietly. The way they look at me sends pinpricks creeping up my spine.

  I cross the restaurant and rest my hand on Cax’s arm on the counter. When his eyes meet mine, I glance toward the table in the corner.

  The two men get up. One of them throws a few coins on the table. He gives me a hard look and then heads out the door. It bangs shut hard behind them.

  Cax shakes his head. “That fucking book. And the goddamn news. If we’d just snuck you in here…”

  “We?”

  “All of us.” He tucks a strand of my hair behind my ear. “It feels like all of us were part of this. This country should’ve taken better care of you.”

  My father had so many victims. I can’t think of myself as one when I’m still breathing, more-or-less intact. “This country had more important things to do.”

  “Maybe.” His bright eyes are intent on mine. “But I don’t.”

  A few minutes later, we step back out onto the sidewalk carrying our bags of food. The scent of roasted meat and fried food make
s my mouth water.

  Cax glances at his watch. “Airren’s going to be having a small fit by now.”

  When I flash a concerned look his way, he shrugs. “It’s good for him.”

  The two men step out onto the sidewalk in front of us from the doorway where they were hiding. Their movements are quick and purposeful. Adrenaline floods my body, and I take a step back.

  The only thing that keeps me from taking off like a rabbit is Cax. He steps in front of me. Cax doesn’t know to drop the bags and run.

  “Why the hell would you think you can come back here?” One of the men demands, his voice rough with anger. He’s middle-aged, shorter than Cax and muscular like a tank. His friend hovers behind him, with just as meaty a build, his face just as red with anger and drink. But he doesn’t seem as inclined to fight. My mind churns with the likelihood Cax and I can get out of this easy.

  Spittle flies from the man’s mouth as his eyes lock on mine. “You bitch. You’re the same age my daughter should’ve been.”

  Just like that, I stop running the odds.

  There’s so much pain behind the hateful way he looks at me.

  I want to say sorry, but it’s not enough. It’s never going to be enough; I can’t atone for my father.

  “That mouth of yours useless?” he asks, stepping toward me. “Maybe I’ll take your tongue then. Since it doesn’t serve you any.”

  Cax raises his hands in warning. He’s dropped the bags to the ground sometime ago; I didn’t even see, I’ve been so focused on the lost father. His tone is gentle, conciliatory. “Sir, I’m sorry for your loss. But this girl’s as innocent as your daughter was.”

  The man makes a sound of disgust in the back of his throat. “There’s blood on that bitch’s hands too.”

  Cax’s tone drops lower, his voice hypnotic. “Walk away.”

  “You walk away, son, if you know what’s good for you.”

  Cax pulls a face, clearly irritated that his attempt to enchant the man has failed him. “You first.”