Page 65 of Reckless Witch

“Yes, Grand Witch,” the young man replies.

When he doesn’t move, Olympia’s already low voice deepens, “Now.”

He spins smartly on his heel and heads down the path.

Olympia faces Domini. “I am sorry that you are walking into this… There are no words.”

His smile contains the same deadly charm as my own. “No need to apologize. No one could have foreseen this.”

Her eyes darken. So, the Grand Witch of the North finds the headmaster attractive. He’s a good century younger than she…or, at least, I think so. Perhaps that’s what bothers me. He’s a bit too perfect. Too accomplished. Too appealing…and he’s not even Fae.

Olympia gives a small smile and I seize the opportunity to say, “If you will excuse me, I am going to have a look at the sparring room.”

Her eyes snap onto me and she’s all business. “Any news at all, Blade…”

“Of course.” I hurry away.

When I step from the garden into the center of the campus, my phone buzzes with an incoming text. I pull my phone from my pocket and read, See me. Now.

I growl.

Raith.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

LEILAH

Rumors, legends and a history lesson

I’m up at dawn, already claustrophobic after spending less that twenty-four hours locked in my room. At least, Stony is safe—and she didn’t really leave me, after all. I miss her comforting snore, but I’m relieved she’s at Grams’ house. I can imagine all the fun she’ll have, lazing about and eating Chinese food all day. She’s probably going to hope I never return from school. At least, with Stony in the shop, demons will think twice about entering the house.

I pace my room. I’m not used to being this sedentary. I pause and glance at the desk where my useless phone sits. If I could get a signal, I could, at least, distract myself with something on Netflix. I growl and pace again. The Academy doesn’t have to bother with a jammer. There’s just no signal out here. Nothing to distract me from wondering who tried to kill me and why. Almost more unsettling is wondering exactly what happened in Raith’s office yesterday.

I still can’t fathom the idea of drinking Raith’s blood…or him drinking mine. Sharing blood with a vampire is highly personal. They might drink from willing—or unwilling—donors, but they seldom share their own blood with anyone except those they care for.

I snort. There is just no fucking way Mr. Greek God Asshole cares for me. Ethan took me to Raith because I would have died, otherwise. Still, I haven’t been able to shake the feeling that a lot more happened when I was dying than The Three have confessed. I’m ashamed to admit that I haven’t been able to get them off my mind—Raith, in particular.

Last night, I didn’t sleep as well as I usually do. Vague images of a dark-haired man too much like him plagued me. The murky image is replaced with Raith’s dark hair curling around the nape of his neck. Fuck, what am I doing? There’s only one explanation for the attraction—yeah, it’s an attraction, as much as I hate to admit it: vampire tricks. Vampires are naturals at manipulating pheromones. And it doesn’t hurt that he looks like a god. But personality and good character overrule looks. Period. Right?

I shake my head. Forget Raith. Concentrate on figuring out who wants me dead. I’ve never been one to run away from conflict, but nearly dying has me spooked. As far as the students are concerned, I’m the granddaughter of a black witch who died practicing Shadow magic. Yeah, that hurts. It hurts like a bitch. But I can’t blame them for hating and fearing me. They can’t know they’re wrong. If they were right, I should be shunned. But killed? I stop. If the Grand Witch believes Grams is guilty of the crime, she must not love that Grams’ granddaughter has been named a High Potential.

“Goddammit, Grams. What the hell were you doing?”

And where is your body?

An intense sorrow stabs. I can’t even visit her remains. If I didn’t know better, I would almost think that Grams is still punishing me.

Can a spirit be called from the dead when there is no body on the earthly plane? Were there any pieces of flesh, bone…blood? I wish I’d asked for details. Even if I could, do I want to call her from the dead? Magic dances along the hairs of my arms. The sigil heats and the magic evaporates with a zap.

“Ow,” I cry, and rub my arms. “Damn you, Ethan.”

I cross to the window and stare out at the burgeoning light stretching across the sky.

The Illumina is claiming that Grams died while using Shadow magic. I detected no lies when The Three told me she’d died while practicing dark magic, so they must believe that’s the truth. That, or I’m wrong.

Or she’s guilty, my inner voice says.

No fucking way.