“And that’s supposed to boost my confidence?” I shot back. “You’re horrible at this pep talk thing. You should take tips from Lorcan on being encouraging.”

  “When he returns from feeding, I may deign to speak to him,” Fox said with an edge of impatience to his voice. “But since he’s not here, you’re stuck with me.” He paused a moment and I gave him a look which he gave right back to me. “Weave the illusion in your thoughts and project it outward. It’s simple, like holding a cloak around your shoulders. After a while, it should be second nature. You won’t need to think about it to hold your glamour together.”

  “That’s all great in theory.”

  He frowned. “What seems to be the problem?”

  “I have to sneeze!” I snapped, the truth slipping out in a moment of frustration. “I’ve needed to sneeze for an hour now!”

  Fox didn’t laugh, as I feared and expected. His brow furrowed, and he gave me an inquisitive once-over. After a moment, he scooted closer, patting me down until he came away with something tucked into the folds of my shirt. At first glance, it looked like a piece of one of the damn tumbleweeds, but on closer inspection, I saw it was actually a splinter of some kind of wood. If I squinted, I could make out a tiny sigil etched onto its surface.

  “What’s that?” I demanded, suddenly annoyed.

  “When you were mortal, you cast with your nose, did you not?” Fox asked quietly.

  It took me a moment to get what he was saying, but when I did, I wanted to smack myself. I wasn’t a witch, but that didn’t mean I didn’t have a sense for magic. My nose was trying to tell me something—that I’d been bugged, and I’d written it off as pollen count.

  “Is that thing like a magical bugging system?” I asked.

  He smiled. “Indeed. A crude bugging system at that. No audio capability or scrying potential. It’s just a locator spell. Do you want to try your hand at finding the culprit before they do something unfortunate?”

  Did I ever. I had a feeling I knew who was trying to track me. It wasn’t enough that Lucretia had warned me away from her daughter, but she also had to keep tabs on me to make sure I was following her orders. Talk about being a control freak.

  I didn’t like the idea of anyone being that close to my stuff to put something in my clothes. Lucretia Boline hadn’t been anywhere near me since that first disastrous night. So, when the heck had she managed to slip something into my luggage?

  Had the hotel owners let her into my room when I was out? That was both terrifying and infuriating. I knew they didn’t like me, but wasn’t there some kind of hotelier’s code? Weren’t there standards?

  I was fed up. With Jinx Junction. With being underestimated. With having to pretend I was less than I was.

  Uncle Fox handed me the shard of spelled wood. I held it tightly in my palm, following the signature back to its source. That was the flaw for tracking magic. It was a line that worked both ways, unless you took steps to prevent it.

  The work had been poorly done. No way was this Lucretia Boline’s doing. If it was, I was embarrassed for her. I understood why she focused on dark magic, but that wasn’t an excuse to completely ignore all the other kinds. There were no attempts to cloak the power of the caster whatsoever. I found them lurking nearby, watching my training session from a rolling hill a half-mile away. Just a sprint for a vampire. Even less for a determined faerie.

  And frankly, I was ready for a win.

  “Be right back,” I said.

  Then I tore a hole into Faerie, sidestepping through Autumn as I’d done a half dozen times before. It was always bracing, memories of fall past buoying my mood any time I had to cross over. Gorgeous leaves in shades of gold and rust, crisp apples, the smell of wood smoke. And then it was over, and I found myself standing on a hilltop, towering over a shape crouched in the bushes. She was facing away from me, peering down at the clearing below through a pair of binoculars. I leaned over, gave her dark ponytail a tug, and whispered, “Boo!” into her ear.

  The witch gave a shriek, half-toppling into the brush in the shock of my sudden appearance. She chucked something at my face, and I caught the vial on instinct before it could fall to my feet and shatter.

  Befuddlement Oil.

  Not a bad choice, but a little odd for one of the fearsome black magic casters of Jinx Junction. Befuddlement gave you a chance to run. Why not hit me with boils or blindness? That seemed more like Lucretia’s style.

  But when I got a good look at the pale, trembling witch on the ground before me, I saw she was younger than the one I’d expected. Gone was the impression of a hawk. In its place was a face that was drawn and terrified. Her eyes were huge. Her lips trembled.

  “What the spell are you?” Meredith Boline whispered, staring at me, eyes wide. “How did you...?”

  I sighed. It really was no fun to surprise someone when they looked so pathetic afterward. Even if I was starting to suspect that her wandering past the hotel the night before wasn’t so innocent. I offered her the potion back, then held out a hand to her.

  “It’s a long story. I’ll tell it to you if you want to hear it, but no more potions, hexes, or spying, got it?”

  She nodded a little too quickly. I didn’t buy it for a second.

  “Got it.” She ignored my hand and climbed to her feet. “But no funny stuff, vampire. If you go for my throat, I’ll set you on fire.”

  I gave her a toothy smile. She shuddered.

  “Likewise.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  It took Meredith a half-hour to calm down, and another hour and a half to believe that I didn’t mean her any harm.

  She still seemed to think the jury was out on that point, which was why we were in a treehouse a mile away from the training center, almost level with the watchtower of the prison. Close enough to be heard if she screamed, but far enough away to keep her mother from charging in like an angry bull, intent on goring me through the chest.

  “The concealment charms are well-done,” I commented, running my fingers over the nearest one. Written spell work had never really been my talent. Maverick had a real knack for it and had taken up a semi-permanent position at Wanda’s Witchery as a result. He tended to do his spells in embroidery though, enhancing the fabric and the potions soaked into it. Meredith had etched her own concealment charms every few inches along the wall, equidistant from each other. Taken together, it looked like an exotic inlay, not a net of defensive spell work.

  “They’re barely above the prison standard,” Meredith said, ducking her chin. She’d put her back to the wall, staring at me like a tiger who’d escaped the zoo. The tiger might be magnificent to look at, but you didn’t want it near you when it got hungry.

  “They’re still good,” I argued as I reminded myself that Uncle Fox was still waiting for me to return. Well, let him wait. It wasn’t like I was making any headway with the glamour spell. And, it was probably more important to figure out why in the world Meredith Boline was tracking me.

  But back to the current conversation—she didn’t appear convinced that her concealment charms were anything to write home about. “We learn them from the time we’re old enough to dictate spell work. I should have been able to power these from the age of thirteen. Instead, I was the dud who couldn’t power a single sigil until she turned fifteen. Even then, I only passed my tests because Mother wouldn’t let me sleep until I managed it every night before bed.”

  I winced, turning my face away for a second so she wouldn’t see it. Sympathy was too easy to mistake for pity, especially when it came to prickly witches. And this witch was definitely prickly, no doubt owing to the fact that she had no self-esteem.

  “I think she’s being too hard on you,” I managed. “This is Academy-level work, and you’re still a junior witch. I’m still crap at Elder Futhark, and I’ve been to school for it.”

  Meredith eyed me with barely constrained curiosity. Her covert glances had been equal parts fear and intrigue. She didn’t like me, didn’t trust me, but couldn’t help but be drawn to the enigma I presented. I was a vampire who could do magic. In her world, that was about as impossible as a bikini model sasquatch or feminist werewolf. It just wasn’t the way of things, and she knew it. And yet here I was, a girl basically her age who’d defied the odds and done it. And with style, I liked to think.

  “You were one of them, weren’t you?” she asked quietly. She’d been speaking in undertones since we’d met again, as if the entire forest were bugged. For all I knew, maybe it was. The woods were in the backyard of the most infamous supernatural prison on the continent.

  “One of what?”

  “The faeries abducted from Blood Rose Academy.” Just the mention of it sent a feeling of disgust mixed with regret through me. “It’s been all the news over the last couple months.”

  “What has?” I asked, even though I didn’t want to. I just wasn’t sure I wanted to admit to anything yet.

  “That Aurea Grimsbane uncovered a plot to kidnap and turn faeries into foot soldiers in order to kick off another Blood War.”

  I chewed the inside of my cheek until it bled in an effort not to scoff. It would probably hurt Meredith’s feelings if I laughed in her face, and talking to someone basically my age (even an antagonistic witch) was refreshing. The truth was, Aurea Grimsbane and her cronies hadn’t done a damn thing to recover the missing faeries. Their investigation had been lackluster at best and done more to cover the Academy’s ass than for any concern for their less fortunate students. It figured that Aurea would put more spin on the story than a tilt-a-whirl.

  “How did you hear about that?”

  Meredith shrugged. “My mother is the High Witch for most of South Texas, she’s the head of the Hexus Rangers, and she’s the de facto leader of the Junction. Powerful witches talk to each other. It would be stranger if I hadn’t heard of it.”

  “Oh, okay.” I mean, yeah, that made sense.

  “So, are you? One of the faeries, I mean?”

  I briefly contemplated telling her the full truth, and just as quickly dismissed the idea. Bringing the Depraysie name into this would just muddy the waters and make Meredith more suspicious than she’d been before. And for as much as she didn’t trust me, I didn’t trust her. How could I? She was a witch! Even if she might have been low man on the totem pole, that didn’t mean she was safe.

  The other reason I didn’t tell her the truth was that I was being selfish. This was the first time since I’d set foot in this stupid Hollow that someone was actually being decently nice to me, aside from Jenny Greenteeth, I supposed. My trip to Jinx Junction hadn’t been nearly as much fun as I’d hoped. Eighty percent of the businesses were owned by witches, which meant I was lucky if I was allowed to set foot in them at all. The ones that weren’t owned by the coven only tolerated my presence. It wasn’t the warm, touristy atmosphere I’d been hoping for. Meredith didn’t look happy to see me, true, but her ire had given way to curiosity. And I’d take that over hostility any day of the week.

  Plus, I really missed my friends. I’d grown up in a coven of witches who didn’t get me. Then I’d gone to a mundane high school in Haven Hollow with more people who didn’t get me. But at Blood Rose, which had been a viper’s nest of the highest order that had literally gotten me killed, I’d had people who I could trust and who trusted me. As much as it made me cringe to admit, I was lonely now. Lorcan did his best, but he wasn’t a substitute for people my own age. And Uncle Fox… well, Uncle Fox was Uncle Fox.

  “Yeah. I was a changeling. I learned about my heritage later in life and my family sent me to Blood Rose to get an education,” I decided to respond. “I fell in with a group of students who were poking around, trying to figure out what happened to the missing faeries and...” I trailed off with a bitter shrug. “I found out the hard way.”

  Meredith shuddered. “Goddess, I can’t imagine what that must have been like. I’d have staked myself if it were me.” Then she thought about what she’d just said. “No offense.”

  “Some taken,” I said dryly.

  Meredith offered me a wan smile. “It’s mostly so that I’d spare my mother the trouble. She’d take my head off if I turned into one of the undead, no questions asked. Can’t have a Boline witch bring shame on the family like that, even if she’s already a disgrace.”

  Meredith clutched her knees to her chest so tightly I feared she’d crack a shin in her white-knuckled grip. I scooted closer to her, encouraged when she didn’t inch away.

  “You keep saying things like that—that you’re a disgrace or that you… aren’t good enough. Who tells you that? Your mom?”

  It wouldn’t surprise me, honestly, having grown up beneath the tender mercies of Aunt Celestine. The old bat hadn’t even allowed her daughters to cry without shaming them. She’d even gone so far as to hex the trait out of her children, setting a tickle charm to go off any time they displayed what she viewed as weakness until they eventually vomited. And then they had to clean the whole mess up. Shame and subjugation were, sadly, common tools for old-school witches.

  “Sometimes, but she doesn’t have to say it,” Meredith muttered, shaking her head as she dropped her gaze, as though too embarrassed to meet mine. “You saw how hopeless I am with potions.”

  “Lots of witches can’t brew,” I said, thinking wistfully of Wanda and her lessons with Poppy and me. Wanda looked ready to tear her hair out by the third session, unable to brew even the least complex of Poppy’s recipes without mucking them up somehow. I was pretty sure the last time she’d tried to mix a potion was the disastrous accident where Maverick’s and Wanda’s magic had collided and exploded, resulting in the creation of my niece, Sybil. We were keeping that under wraps, though. If people found out they’d brought a dress mannequin to life, people would freak out. “It doesn’t mean you’re a failure, it just means you haven’t found what you’re good at yet.”

  Meredith threw her hands up in frustration. “That’s just it! I’m not good at anything. Hexes? Forget it. I can’t even bloody someone’s nose on my best day. Banishing? Also a no. The spooks here laugh at me. I can’t conjure, I can’t summon, I can’t bind, and I can’t brew anything but the mildest of potions. In short, I’m a hopeless Boline witch and I’m never going to be able to live up to Mother’s expectations, no matter how hard I try. She’d probably relish the chance to be rid of me.”

  Meredith looked miserable enough to sink into a shadow and disappear. My chest ached with sympathetic pain. I’d been Meredith once upon a time, unable to perform the standard that my old coven demanded. She probably had it worse than I had though. At least Crescent Circle’s emphasis hadn’t been on black magic. I could slide by doing white magic. Not to mention that being a red-haired witch set me apart as different and that meant people expected me to be aberrant. Meredith was the heir apparent to a dynasty of dark magic and she couldn’t produce a lick of talent for it. The only white sheep in a flock of black. How alien must she have felt? She looked so defeated that I couldn’t help myself. I took her hand, giving it a squeeze. She looked tempted to pull away from me, but ultimately just accepted the offer of kindness for what it was.

  “There are other ways to be a witch,” I said.

  “What other ways?”

  I shrugged. “You’re almost old enough to leave… legally. There’s a Hollow in the northwest that I used to be friendly with. You know, before this whole thing happened. They’d take you.”

  The idea was exciting, the more I thought about it—another witch in Haven Hollow, this one around my age. Yes, Scapegrace had Sybil as a member, technically, but she wasn’t my age. Not really. She had a long way to go before she became anything close to a typical teenager. I’d have to reveal my lie at some point if Meredith did decide to relocate to Haven Hollow, but it still had possibilities. I could have a friend outside of Blood Rose. Someone I could vent to who’d understand the unique position I was in. Well, that is, if Meredith decided she actually wanted to be my friend.

  My hopes were dashed a second later when she shook her head. “Mother wouldn’t allow it. She’s going to turn me into her successor or die trying. Just today she was lecturing me about the importance of our work and how we need every witch we can get to work security. There have been a lot of false alarms in maximum security recently, and it’s burning some of the staff out—having to be on constant alert. But what else can they do?”

  “Wow, that was a mouthful,” I laughed.

  She nodded and then did this weird giggle thing. “It’s why I followed you. I thought you might be some kind of… I don’t know, some sort of spy or saboteur or something. The point is: if Graupel escapes, it would be a disaster.”

  “Graupel?” I asked. The name rang a faint bell, but I couldn’t place where I’d heard it or why.

  “Lord Graupel,” she said. “Of the Winter Court of faerie.”

  “I don’t know of him,” I said, hoping she’d give me the backstory on the guy.

  “He was one of their worst people, and a war criminal several times over. He murdered the king on behalf of Janara over a half-century ago and killed any Autumn Fae he came into contact with after the heir apparent, Olwen, was spirited away. He tortured anyone he thought might know her whereabouts with icy spikes. Think Vlad the Impaler, but colder.”

  A shiver ran up my spine. Now I remembered where I’d heard Graupel’s name. Professor Verglas, a Winter faerie from Blood Rose, had given us a brief overview of the coup Janara and her people performed fifty years ago. He’d spoken of it stiffly, as if he found the whole thing distasteful. Uncle Fox had mentioned Graupel in passing too, and though he’d never gone into detail, I had the sense he hadn’t liked the man much.

  Could this be the guy he and Cattleya were planning on busting from the prison? If they actually were planning on it—on that point, I had no proof. No, it was just a guess and probably a bad one at that.

  “What kinds of false alarms?” I asked.

  Meredith shrugged. “Small things tripping our wards, making the sensors say that he’s out of his cage when he’s not. Some of the guards have just stopped checking, despite Mother’s protests. Why waste the energy when it usually just turns out to be a snowbell?”