“Good idea,” Oleander said with a laugh. “You should think about sleeping in the kitchen too. Maybe you can fit an air mattress in one of the pantries.”

  “Ha,” I drawled. “Now, why are you allowed to play hooky again?”

  “The professor is demonstrating faerie song for the class today, and he doesn’t want things to get out of hand. Witches and other mages should be able to resist the call if they prepare themselves. Faeries can’t. If we’re called by a high Sidhe of our own courts, we’re compelled to respond. He has the essence of all four courts in his classroom, which means it would turn into one enormous faerie ring if we went. With our magic compounding what he’s going to unleash, it’d be a...”

  “A supernatural acid trip?” I guessed.

  He smiled faintly. “Yeah. Though, I wouldn’t mind that so much. I haven’t been to faerie in a long time.”

  I paused. “What do you mean? You’re a faerie. Don’t you go back home any time you want?”

  Oleander shook his head sadly. “No. I’m a sprite from a far-flung family that hasn’t been back home in generations. You have to have a Fae noble unlock a route into your court, and there hasn’t been one at Blood Rose for centuries. The closest I get to faerie is that shortcut that old, Sidhe noble made. It loops right around to the campus, but for just a moment I get a taste of Summer. Sometimes the faeries on campus will form our own circles under the staff’s noses, but it’s not the same as dancing in the realm of Faerie with your own kind. And like I said, only a Sidhe noble could take me there. You have to have permission to go in or out, and I doubt I’ll get permission any time soon.”

  I dropped my gaze to the light dusting of autumn leaves that littered our path. Oleander didn’t want or need my pity. He’d probably shove me off with a smirk and a smarmy comment if I tried to hug him, but the urge was there. It was all so... sad. If you weren’t a vampire or a witch, you didn’t matter here. Your chances for a better life were practically nil, and yet Oleander and students like him kept trying to scale the ladder, only to be pushed off if they got anywhere near the top. It wasn’t fair.

  “So,” I said after a moment. “If you’re not going to class, where do you plan to spend your time.”

  “In the library,” he said a little too quickly. “I, uh, I need to study.”

  His eyes shifted to the right, something he did when he lied. I followed his gaze, and my eyes landed on a woman nearby. She was lounging on a stone bench, head propped on her blazer, her silken hair trailing over the armrest like an inky curtain. She’d painted her lips scarlet, and emphasized her large eyes with kohl, making them appear huge in her thin, angular face. There was something a little familiar about the slant of her brows or the strength of her chin, but I couldn’t put my finger on just what. Everything about her though, from her dark hair to the stylish black strappy heels she’d swapped for the customary Mary Janes, screamed witch.

  She had her nose buried in a history textbook. Stories of Medieval Succession and the Witches at Their Sides. It was a fourth-year elective course, which meant the woman was older than either of us. A lot older than me, certainly. She looked to be around thirty, which meant she was probably closer to seventy. Witches aged slowly after reaching physical maturity. I’d be stuck with a teenage look until I reached my forties. I wouldn’t look like a thirty-something until I was somewhere between seventy to ninety. And I wouldn’t hit midlife until I reached Wanda’s age. So this woman was either a non-traditional student or she was going through courses at Blood Rose to refresh herself. Maybe she was training to be a teacher.

  She turned her head a moment later, as if she could sense our interest. Then she cracked a wicked smile when she spotted Oleander and folded her book closed, like she’d been waiting for him. She crooked a finger at him and her eyes were deep, dark, and smoldering with intensity. I had an idea of exactly what he wanted to study, and it wasn’t any of the moldering tomes in the resource section. Maybe I’d been wrong about Oleander’s interest in Elly, and he was keeping his options open, and I could see why. This witch was a knockout. Curves in all the right places, legs so long and shapely, they made her skirt seem almost obscenely short. Not to mention she had the sort of aura that screamed she’d eat you alive, and you’d enjoy every second of it. If I’d been into women, I’d have been interested too.

  I wasn’t sure what sort of witchy vibe I put out, but it wasn’t that. I’d never been a temptress like Wanda was. I had a feeling I was more: plucky, innocent rebel.

  “Have fun with your study buddy,” I said with a snicker.

  Oleander’s cheeks flushed pine green. “Let’s get you to class, Red.”

  “Don’t… uh, don’t call me that.”

  “Why?” he asked, frowning down at me.

  “Because… Rook called me that.”

  “Oh—you have a run-in with the asshole?”

  I nodded. “You could say that.”

  Anyway, I didn’t argue with him about the getting me to class part. Instead, I was satisfied that I’d gotten the truth out of him. It wasn’t my business what he did with Ms. Strappy Heels, even if I was curious—at least, curious enough for Elly’s sake. I couldn’t help but like the shy werewolf a little, even though a large part of me wanted to shake her and tell her that she didn’t have to fall in line with patriarchal bullshit.

  But that was her lesson to learn.

  We took Oleander’s shortcut and arrived near Professor Lavant’s classroom with a few minutes to spare. We said our goodbyes, and I slipped inside, taking my place at the back, as usual. Vivian and her obedient little drones usually sat in the front, where they could show off to whatever professor they happened to be in front of.

  I was tempted to break my own tradition in this classroom, though. I liked Professor Lavant’s style. Instead of desks, there were cushions arranged in rows, and we were invited to lounge, which was nice. The room was dimly lit, sheer, rosy fabrics covering the natural light from the windows. It was a cozy place heavily scented with sage and incense, smells that stirred up childhood memories of my mother’s brewing room, and then, later, lessons with Poppy in her old farmhouse.

  On the shelves were flickering candles, scales, vials and beakers, all of them filled with vibrantly colored liquid. It was a relaxed space which made my nerves, frayed from the constant hazing, ease down, if only for an hour.

  I flipped to the most recent lesson we’d gone over in Faerie Enchantments: The Lives, History, and Magicks of the Fair Folk. I skimmed the first page, hoping I could fudge my answers if called on. Oleander had been right about the witches’ strategy for weeding out undesirables. Between work and the constant harassment, it was nearly impossible to get through the required reading before class the next day. Weekends were for cramming in the library, lest I flunk out in my first semester.

  But before I could get far, Vivian and her drones made their usual dramatic appearance. All heads turned to face them, guided by Vivian’s potent blend of Come to Me Oil and Eve Oil. It made women pay attention to her and men yearn for her, ensuring she could snare almost anyone she wanted. Even I wasn’t immune from noticing, though I now spritzed myself with uncrossing oils every morning.

  Vivian came to a stop, and all of her cronies did the same, matching looks of anticipation on their faces. She looked down her nose at me, a sneer playing around the edges of her full mouth. Giving me a scornful once over, she plopped one hand onto her hip.

  “I’ve been meaning to ask how many times you’ve had to service the headmaster’s son in order to get supplies and a proper uniform,” she started as I felt my mouth drop open in pure shock. “The Depraysies do seem to enjoy their vampire...” She paused to pull a face. “Perversions. It’s not enough you moon after that pathetic string bean of a faerie; you fraternize with vampires too. Disgusting.”

  Maybe I should have been insulted by the insinuation, but all I wanted to know was who the spell she was accusing me of servicing. I couldn’t remember a vampire I’d exchanged more than a few words with recently, let alone someone I’d been around long enough to ‘service’. Well, anyone besides Professor Valserak, and I was pretty sure he wasn’t related to the headmaster. The answer came to me a beat later, and I blurted the name without thinking.

  “Rook?”

  “Of course, you’d use his silly nickname,” she said in a high, mocking tone, raising her voice loud enough for the students around us to hear. “Do you moan it when he has you flat on your back?” Then she pretended to vomit.

  I couldn’t help the stinging color that rose to my cheeks. The anger was accompanied by a knee-jerk sense of shame because I had been treated to a dream exactly like that. More than once. A dark, sinful fantasy where Rook had stolen more than a kiss in the out-of-the-way corridor. But in this instance, it was the casual slut-shaming that had my face burning. Witches didn’t really comment on each other’s sex lives or lack thereof. Pleasure was normal. We worshipped the body, found bliss in the life-giving act of sex. Tangling with vampires was the only taboo.

  But I wanted to do it, anyway. I could admit, if only in the privacy of my own head, that there was a certain thrill in thinking about Rook’s naked body. What his voice would sound like, rough with need as he whispered sweet nothings in my ear. The way his fangs might feel fastened on my throat.

  “Shut your stupid mouth, Vivian,” I said, surprised when my voice came out on a low, threatening whisper. I wasn’t normally a violent person, but I wanted to rake my nails down Vivian’s perfectly made-up face.

  Instead, she plucked up my book from the ground and flipped it open to the inside cover and murmured, “Book of knowledge once owned, show me the name of the man who deigned to loan. So mote it be.” Then she glared up at me. “What name do you think it will reveal? I’m betting on ‘Rook’.”

  Why she thought as much, I had no idea. But I also didn’t have time to consider it, because before I knew it, I’d launched myself to my feet, trying to snatch the book back before she could read the name her spell revealed. If she was right, and Rook had loaned me the supplies, it would confirm the rumors Vivian was spreading behind my back. But instead of a name appearing beneath her finger, text scrawled itself on the page, as if someone was writing it in real time. Vivian’s face went pale with rage as she read. I couldn’t help but follow along, reading the words aloud.

  “Nice try, Viv, you irksome, vainglorious little bitch,” I read aloud, as the text revealed itself. “Keep your rhinoplastied nose out of other people’s business before I hex it off. Kindly tell auntie to sit on a broom handle. Wishing you nothing but misery. — M.”

  “It looks like you have an enemy, Viv,” I said, yanking the book from her grasp as I smiled up at her. The words were fading, even as I watched. “I’d keep my hands to myself if I were you. Someone might hex them off.”

  “Shut your mouth, blood whore,” she hissed.

  “That’s enough of that, girls,” a pleasant baritone said from behind us. “Take your seat, Ms. Grimsbane, and try to remain civil. If I catch you talking like that again, it will be a demerit. Am I understood?”

  For a moment, and with the expression she was giving him, I was sure she’d hex Professor Lavant. But then she took a deep breath, nodded tightly and stalked off, drones trailing dutifully in her wake. It left me staring at Professor Lavant.

  He was handsome and seemingly ageless, as most of the Fae were. He could have been twenty or he could have been a thousand. He filled out his dress shirt well, and had replaced the plain buttons with gold, and pinned sequins over the lapels of his blazer. His skin was dark and olive-toned, much closer to the human norm than Oleander’s verdant skin. I couldn’t tell if it was real or a well-done faerie glamour. His curls were the color of fresh-turned soil and framed a handsome face and strong jaw. He had a kind smile and soft amber eyes.

  “That goes for you too, Miss Depraysie. No more name calling or wagging tongues.”

  “Yes, sir,” I said, sinking back down onto my pillow as he strode past.

  I propped my book onto my crossed legs, trying to recover my place. But before I could rifle through the pages to find my spot, I saw new words scrawling themselves onto the page.

  “Give those bitches hell, Depraysie. I look forward to meeting you soon. Best of luck, Morgana Grimsbane.”

  I bit my lip to contain a smile.

  Finally, a Grimsbane who didn’t hate me. I didn’t know how or why, or even if I could trust the text or whoever was writing it. But it was something, at least. And for now, that was good enough for me.

  Chapter Eleven

  “You’ll notice that I’ve dismissed half the class,” Professor Lavant said, voice carrying through the room, though he hadn’t raised his voice. “And before any of you start crying favoritism, this is for your safety and out of respect for the time of my fellow instructors. It’s very easy to lose track of time in a faerie ring, and any Fae in the room would be compelled to dance if they hear the songs that I’m about to play for you.”

  As Professor Lavant spoke, I couldn’t stop thinking about one mystery I had no way of solving—why did Vivian seem to think Rook had been the one to procure my books and supplies for me? It didn’t make any sense. I kept running through the last week in my head and there hadn’t been a moment when I’d said two words to Rook—he’d avoided me and I’d avoided him and yet… yet Vivian seemed to think there was something going on with us? Why?

  An excited murmur ran through the room and I glanced up, telling myself to pay attention. Even I couldn’t stop myself from leaning forward with interest when Professor Lavant sat what looked like empty antique crystal jars on the table. His eyes twinkled knowingly. He continued, speaking over the eager whispers of his pupils.

  “Nobles from all four courts have deigned to share their magical songs so you can learn how best to defend against being swept up into faerie revelries. If you’ve done your homework, you should know how to observe and enjoy without losing yourself. I’ll give you all a few minutes to prepare. We’ll start with Winter and then work our way through the other courts: Spring, Summer, and Fall. Raise your hands when you feel ready to begin.”

  Well, crap. I hadn’t had much time to skim, let alone memorize the theory. I spent the next few minutes trying to absorb as much as I could from the book while the others sat, eyes closed, bracing themselves with spells, prayers, or other warding magic. I had to settle for centering myself and drawing on the first thing I could think of for calm. The cool emptiness of Lorcan’s chest, with his unbeating heart. The solid presence of my father figure, encouraging me when my confidence flagged. I could still remember what he’d said to me at the Assembly, when I’d quailed under the eyes of so many witches.

  “You are so much better than any of them.”

  The words bolstered my defenses, just as they had then, and I raised my hand. A glance around the room revealed I was the last to do so, which was a little embarrassing, but it couldn’t really be helped.

  “Excellent. Let’s get started.”

  The room was silent as we watched. Even Vivian’s attention was fixed on the jars. In a fluid motion and the clink of crystal, the professor unscrewed the top of the first jar. Cold poured into the room with no visible source. It bit deep, numbing my ears and the tips of my nose. I had to clench my jaw tight to keep my teeth from clacking together. I expected ice to creep along the floor, or for flurries to pile up on the windowsills. I could feel flakes settling on my eyelashes, in my hair, and my shoulders. The smell of woodsmoke and pine filled the room, and the taste of honeyed mead and sugar cookies lingered on the tip of my tongue.

  I was suddenly very grateful to Oleander and his shortcut. If I hadn’t felt a variation of this while stepping into Summer, I might have been sucker punched by what I was seeing, hearing, and feeling. Because this song, bottled at the source, was more potent than the small gateway a lone Sidhe lord had built. It really was a song, composed of whipping winter winds, the wavering, mournful howl of wolves, the chime of bells, the crackle of a fire, and the melody of carols far off in the distance all at once. I couldn’t help but smile in reply, and I was having the mildest reaction in class. One angel girl was weeping openly, while others let out childish laughs of glee, trying to catch the illusionary snow on their tongues. Vivian looked a little homesick, probably thinking of Yule celebrations with her family.

  Professor Lavant watched us with a small, satisfied smile, pushing one girl back down into her seat when she rose, glassy-eyed, and began to sway. She was a petite Asian woman with a pretty face and ruler-straight black hair that reached her waist.

  “That was Winter’s song,” he said with a smile, giving the girl a small jolt to snap her out of her daze. “Do you have a strong association with the season, Hime? Your shields are normally flawless.”

  Hime ducked her head, letting her inky hair shield her flushed face. “Yes, Professor. My great-great grandmother was the Yuki-onna.”

  “Ah, yes, that would do it,” he said. “Do you feel up to continuing?”

  She nodded. Professor Lavant gave her shoulder a small squeeze before he returned to the table. He unscrewed the second jar with care and set the lid aside. Almost immediately, I felt a light spring drizzle on any exposed portion of my skin. It was tepid, chasing away the worst of the winter chill. The air was cool but sweet, perfumed by the smell of new grass and the blooms of hyacinth, apple blossoms, and daffodils. Bird song filled my ears, accompanied by the wind rustling in the trees, the drone of bees, the chirp of crickets, and the patter of rain on a sidewalk. I tasted strawberries and clover honey.