“I’m okay with it,” I said quietly. “Are you? I’m a witch, after all.”

  In answer, he leaned down and kissed me again. It started off slow and ended with me pressed against my bedroom door, breathing hard.

  “Half-witch,” he answered. “And more Fae than witch, it looks like.”

  “And you don’t…” I started before my nerves ate the rest of my words.

  He laughed. “I don’t have anything against the Fae.”

  “Oh, that’s good,” I said, not really sure what else to say.

  We stood there for a long moment. I wanted to pull him into my bedroom. I wanted him to remedy my virgin situation, even if it would get me into hot water with Professor Hecate. But I didn’t.

  He leaned forward and kissed me again, gently this time. “Goodnight, Astrid,” he whispered. “And, um, what we did earlier…”

  “Yes?” I asked, when his voice died.

  “It was… really… nice,” he finished and then gave me a smile.

  And then he left, disappearing up the stairs after Morgana. I closed my eyes, smiling, savoring the taste of his mouth on mine.

  Chapter Fifteen

  “Do you think she’s alive?” I asked.

  Well, ‘thought’ was probably a more accurate description.

  Oleander and I were facing each other on our respective cushions, eyes closed, hands clutched around a carved piece of moonstone. Professor Lavant was in the process of teaching us how to commune with a partner on a higher level of consciousness, giving us a few lessons to adjust to psychic communication before we’d need to learn how to defend ourselves from attacks of this nature. Some demonic species could worm their way into your head from another plane and control even the toughest supernatural. Not so long ago, a Reaper Demon had managed to put a whammy on Wanda, making my cousin put on her best Linda Blair impression. I’d only survived the night by warding myself inside my bedroom.

  I peeked in time to watch Oleander grimace, either in response to my question, or the barrage of images from Wanda’s demonically induced freak out. The whole point of this exercise was to maintain control of our thoughts so an invader couldn’t use them against us. So far, I wasn’t having much success. It was hard to concentrate with Vivian and her hive erupting into fits of giggles every few minutes.

  They were probably gossiping about my encounter with Rook the night before. Vivian must have woken every witch in the west wing of the castle with that bit of juicy news because it was the talk of the school by morning. Astrid Depraysie was dating the headmaster’s son. Most of them were of the opinion that I was only maintaining my place in the school because the headmaster was pulling strings to keep me at Blood Rose.

  “Ack!” Oleander thought frantically as my mind turned to memories of Rook’s mouth on mine. “Don’t do that! I don’t want to know what it’s like to kiss him!”

  “Are you sure?” I teased. “Because it was pretty great.”

  “I swear I will tie every inch of your hair into elf-locks if you make me kiss Rook vicariously again.”

  I believed him. Oleander didn’t have the same kind of raw power I did, but he had over four decades of experience playing tricks on humans and his fellow monsters. He had enough power and skill to turn my hair into a rat’s nest in seconds if I continued. So, with effort, I pushed thoughts of Rook out of my mind and returned to my original question.

  “Do you think Shasta is alive? That any of the missing faeries are still out there?”

  Oleander didn’t respond consciously. Instead, images of a young faerie danced before my eyes. She was beautiful, in the alien sort of way some of the faeries were. She was tiny and slender as a reed. In Oleander’s memory, her long, curling hair had been caught on a breeze, blending almost seamlessly with the wave of dandelion fluff that rose from an overgrown yard in the fall. Her eyes were too large for her face but danced with a wholesome light that kept them from looking too alien.

  Then the scene shifted as his fears crept in. In his mind’s eye, he saw his wisp of a cousin lying pale and broken on the floor. He imagined her dead or maimed. A thousand scenarios flitted through his thoughts, most of them depressing. In his more hopeful moments, he’d entertain the thought that she’d run off with a boy and gotten out of this place, but we both knew that was just wishful thinking. Blood Rose was the only answer to poverty in the area. Even if Shasta wanted to escape, she’d never survive on the outside without money and supplies.

  “I hope so,” Oleander sighed. His mental exhaustion washed over me, curling my shoulders forward. “But do I think it’s likely? No.”

  “So?” I thought back to him.

  “I think someone killed her, and now the establishment is covering it up. I don’t think it’s a coincidence that it seems to be mostly legacy staff that are being targeted. We’re invisible to the rest of the student body. The only reason Viv keeps giving me this much flack is because I’m hanging around with you and Morgana. Without that association, I’d be just another nameless faerie, one of the serfs that tends to her stuck-up family’s every need. Pair that with our high washout rate... well, no one is going to miss us. It reminds me of those stories about serial killers. They target high-risk victims first.”

  “But why just faeries?” I wondered. “You’re still tough customers, even if you aren’t as physically strong as a werewolf or sasquatch. But, let’s face it, faerie magic can be just as hard to contend with as witch magic. And yet, no one has shown up with evidence of faerie mischief on their faces. If the faeries were dead, you think they’d at least make their attackers pay for it. Boils, blemishes, sudden balding, or something. But zip. Nada.”

  “Shasta wouldn’t have cursed anyone, even if they were trying to kill her,” Oleander thought sadly. “She was too gentle for that. She was a true summer faerie, not a fence-straddler like me. She just wanted a world of unending warmth and fun, where everyone played in the sunlight. She cried when she accidentally killed a bug, so she wouldn’t have raised a hand to her attacker, even to save her own life.”

  I felt a pang for Shasta, though I only knew her from Oleander’s memories. She seemed like such a kind soul. I’d have been lucky to have her as a friend, but thanks to someone in this castle, I never would. In all likelihood, she’d died before I’d ever set foot on this campus. And now Vivian and Hecate were trying to cover it up. Even if they weren’t the ones responsible, they were willing to sweep the missing students under the rug just to save face. Her giggles spurred my fury higher every time they rang out.

  “We’re going to find her,” I promised Oleander. “We’re going to get an answer, one way or the other… I promise.”

  ***

  Dating a vampire in a school full of witches was like strapping a ‘hex me’ sign to my back. A lot of the animosity had died down after the first couple of weeks as Vivian’s cronies got bored. Now that my ‘relationship’ with Rook was public knowledge, I was the constant target of students and teachers. I’d racked up a lot of unnecessary demerits and Professor Hecate was the only reason I hadn’t been transferred to the night class. She’d been able to scrub some of my record, reasoning that getting into a night class with Rook would only be rewarding unseemly behavior by allowing my schedule to align with his.

  But the worst part? I only cared about it in the abstract. There were more important things to concentrate on than acing my classes. My mission to best Vivian Grimsbane had taken a backseat to my determination to free the faeries. And on that subject, Vivian was involved somehow, but I wouldn’t be able to figure out her motive by scribbling down Elder Futhark combinations in a notebook.

  The days marched heartlessly on, heedless of my fears surrounding our upcoming mission. Every day that I failed to make progress made me more anxious. I needed to get this right. The dance was now just days away, and I’d only managed to consistently leap from one end of a corridor to the other. I supposed I could leapfrog all of us to the nearest town, but it would wear me down.

  I was already exhausted from my early mornings, my sub-par food intake, and the vivid dreams about Rook. Late nights made things worse. At least Morgana managed to sneak snacks into my bag in the morning, so I wasn’t dead on my feet. By the time I finished training with Oleander in the evenings, I was barely standing. After the first night, he’d had to half-carry me back. Mads had caught us at it a few times, and by this point, she probably thought I had a drinking problem. She didn’t turn me in, though, for which I was grateful.

  “Do you have your focus stone?” Oleander asked, his eyes darting around the empty, moonlit hall that Rook had dragged me to on my first day at Blood Rose. Oleander was always nervous when we snuck out at night. If we were caught, it would be another demerit for me and probably expulsion for him.

  “Yes,” I said, retrieving an inscribed stone from my pocket.

  “And have you been practicing in your room? Did you manage to make it anywhere?”

  “To Morgana’s room. Once. I ended up in the bathroom while she was in the shower. My power has a lousy sense of direction.”

  “And what about your schoolwork? Are you staying on top of it? The last thing we need is for you to get kicked out for a bad GPA.”

  I gave him a smile. “Morgana has been doing half my homework so I can read and train, but I’m not sure if the books you gave me are helping.”

  One book called The Shifting of Intentions: The Basics of Elementary Pairing, had explained the mechanics of interdimensional travel, even citing Sidhe royalty as exceptional examples of the phenomenon. But the book was neither as ‘basic’ nor ‘elementary’ as the title claimed. My head hurt trying to comprehend the fundamentals. The theory was very Matrix-like: there is no spoon. It was only my own imagination and self-doubt that was holding me back. It was as simple as believing I should be able to step across the divide and ending up exactly where I meant to be. Easy, right?

  Um, not exactly. Not when you’d been brought up to believe you needed potions and a lot of training to even reach psychically across the divide. How was I supposed to believe that I could part reality like a curtain and step into a whole new world? A world I’d only ever visited in passing through Oleander’s shortcut. I was a kid. An inexperienced kid who wasn’t getting the education she deserved because prejudiced witches hated the guy she was ‘dating’.

  And that was an even bigger joke because I wasn’t sure I even was dating Rook. After our little fling in front of the storage closet, there hadn’t been any others and though we were working together, he wasn’t exactly forthcoming regarding his feelings for me. So, really there wasn’t much of a relationship as far as I could tell. Yet everyone else seemed to believe there was—something which bugged me to no end.

  “You’ve already done this,” Oleander said. “It’s instinctual. You wanted to get to that closet, so you stepped through Faerie to get to that closet. If you want to step into Morgana or Rook’s rooms, just do it. Don’t think about it.”

  “You can’t tell me not to think about it! That’s like telling me not to picture a pink elephant! When you tell me not to do something, my brain focuses on it. It’s a catch-22.”

  He sighed. I had a feeling that Oleander wasn’t really cut out for teaching. “I think I know what the block is.”

  “Do you?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Well,” I continued, wrapping my arms against my chest to show him how annoyed I was. “Go on and enlighten me. I’m all ears.”

  Oleander gave me a stern look. “You’re scared.”

  “Well yeah, I’m scared!” I answered, throwing my hands up. “There’s a lot hinging on this! I have to get it right.”

  “You’re not scared of that,” Oleander said. “You’re scared of them. You don’t really want to see Morgana or Rook.”

  “I do too!”

  “No, you don’t,” he said, cutting me off before I could protest further. “I know Morgana. She’s been teasing you about Rook whenever she can work it into the conversation. She might be tolerable, but she’s still a Grimsbane. There’s a witchy part of her that thrives on misery, and you’re giving her the reaction she wants. And with Rook... well, I think you’re scared to be alone with him.”

  “We’re technically supposed to be dating,” I said, crossing my arms over my chest. “I wouldn’t date a man I’m scared of.”

  Oleander shrugged. “Yes and no. I don’t think you’re scared of him, per se. You’re scared of how he makes you feel. You’re smitten, and I think you’re afraid of having your heart broken. He’s older than you, has more experience than you, and he doesn’t like witches. You’re afraid at some point he’ll want to leave, and then where would you be? Ostracized for no reason.”

  I averted my gaze. Oleander had perfectly articulated every late-night doubt I’d ever had regarding the frustrating vampire. How the spell could I know any of this stuff with Rook was genuine? He’d hated me at first, only to turn on a dime after he’d felt me up and learned what I could do for him. We were dating to keep up appearances, so it wouldn’t look suspicious when we went to the dance together. Would he have asked me out on his own though, without the ticking clock forcing his hand? I wasn’t sure. There’d been something electric between us from the start, but I wasn’t certain what this was on his end.

  “What is this?” I muttered. “An episode of Oprah? I came here to train, not talk about my feelings.”

  “Your feelings are the problem, Astrid,” he said. “You have to get out of your own head.”

  “Easy for you to say. No one is giving you shit for dating Morgana. Do you know the helping of goblin dung I have to deal with every day? And I don’t even know if Rook actually likes me or if he’s just playing a part. Maybe he just wants someone who can help him escape and keep his bed warm at night. You heard Morgana. He hasn’t had sex in centuries, and I... well I obviously like him. He could be taking advantage of that.”

  “I don’t know that taking advantage of you is Rook’s style.”

  “Well, he didn’t want me on board until he knew what I could do for him. We don’t get to see each other often, so whatever this is between us doesn’t even feel real. What if it’s all just… an act for him?”

  Oleander rolled his eyes. “Oh, please. I see the way he looks at you. The only reason he kept you at arm’s length for so long was that exact reason.”

  “What reason?”

  “That he likes you. It hurts his stupid, undead pride to know he could want a witch. He’s supposed to hate you, and he doesn’t. He hasn’t been able to, even from the beginning. Don’t look at what he says, Astrid, look at what he does.”

  “What he does?”

  “Yeah, name everything and anything he’s done while you’re around.”

  I thought about it. “He... he stopped Jack from mauling me. When I said I didn’t want to go to the infirmary, he listened to me. He stitched me up and didn’t attack me, though he could have—I mean, we were alone and I was bleeding but he behaved himself. Then he escorted me to the west wing dorms when he could have just let me wander until I met someone less friendly than Professor Valserak. Someone who could hurt or eat me. And I guess… he played along when I kissed him. He could have pushed me away.”

  “And then he agreed to date you,” Oleander added. “I don’t think he’d bother if all he wanted was sex. He cares about you, Astrid, even if the sodding bastard doesn’t want to admit it. So, take a deep breath. I doubt he’ll ambush you with a talk about feelings. He’s so emotionally constipated, I think he’d self-destruct if you even brought it up.”

  I couldn’t help but laugh at that. ‘Emotionally constipated’ indeed. I didn’t think Rook had allowed himself to feel anything but anger for centuries.

  I felt a little lighter after Oleander’s grudging encouragement. Embarrassing as it was, the talk had actually settled my nerves. I tightened my grip on the stone, letting my hands fall to my sides. Then I closed my eyes, clearing my mind. I’d done this once before. Now, I just had to do it again.

  I kept my eyes closed, feeling sweat dew on my brow. I hadn’t been in Rook’s room, but I figured it had to be similar to Morgana’s. Large, with a queen-sized bed and opulent furniture. Apparently being a hostage had a few perks. You got to decorate your gilded cage to your liking. I could picture Rook lounging on that bed, clutching a copy of some ridiculously old book that he’d haughtily deign to explain to me if I asked nicely.

  I snorted. Yeah, that sounded about Rook’s speed. I liked him, but even I could admit he was an ass sometimes… maybe even most the time. I rooted that picture in my mind, willed myself to step into the room and face him. Whatever came next was irrelevant.

  A chill. The feel of pumpkin guts sliding through my fingers. Laughter as I raced through an apple orchard, chasing faeries. An apple cider donut. A corn maze. A burst of mischief as I hurled myself from a corner and scared the spell out of an unwary cousin. Red and gold glittered behind my lashes. And when I opened my eyes...

  I was laying on top of someone.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Rook froze beneath me, his eyebrows raised in shock.

  I’m sure my face looked much the same. The second I allowed myself to feel triumph was the second the stone tumbled from my hand and landed with a dull ‘thunk’ on the carpet.

  “Um, Astrid?” he asked, his tone conveying: what in the hell are you doing in my room?

  “Lousy, lousy aim,” I muttered. “I never end up where I try to.”

  “Were you aiming for someone else’s room?” he asked on a laugh.

  “No,” I answered, shaking my head. “I just didn’t think I’d end up on top of you.”

  I started to roll off him but he grabbed me around the waist and kept me where I was. “No,” he said and smirked up at me. “You’re exactly where I want you to be.”

  “Is that so?” I laughed.

  His lips curled up at the edges. “I gotta say I wasn’t expecting you on top of me this soon, but I’m not going to kick you out of my bed.” Then he chuckled and laid a hand on the small of my back for emphasis, pressing our bodies closer. I realized with a flush of embarrassment that he wasn’t wearing a shirt. Or pants. Just a bathrobe and possibly a pair of underwear beneath it. Our legs tangled in his bedsheets. Red silk, of course. Vampires with intergenerational wealth couldn’t help but show it off. His hair was still a little wet—no doubt he’d just stepped out of the shower. It looked soft and smelled incredible—like sandalwood soap. I couldn’t stop myself from touching it. His eyes fluttered closed.