Rebel Academy: Crave

Chapter Twenty MAGENTA

I knelt on my knees in the Bird Turret in a circle with both Immortals and Princes, before the class in Strategy. Sleipnir had told me that this class was an attempt to brainwash us Rebels into assassins (although I had no idea how a mind could be cleaned with soap). I shivered, as I glanced around at the room high above the bailey, which I’d been shut away in as much as Fox had been locked in his attic. Yet I hadn’t been punished as a mage, rather adored as the Blessedly Charmed who was too precious to risk in the world.

Merlin’s balls to that.

Now, the room had been hollowed out. Nothing remained apart from the magical mural that’d been painted across the walls at dad’s request. Byron had brought the outside into the Bird Turret, surrounding me with the nature, which my magic craved.

I twisted, ghosting my hand across the mural of Hecate’s tree, which was alive again here at least; its branches rose to the roof. Lilies of the valley and foxgloves grew at its base and suffocated the room in their intoxicating aroma. Frogs hopped along the baseboards. I shuddered at the pulsing magic.

It fizzed through me, calling to me. Hecate was inside my heart, and I was inside hers. I pressed my nails hard into my palms to resist her.

I won’t return to you. I’m alive now…

Fox laughed as hundreds of robins swooped overhead like a bloody cloud, and I bit my lip hard to stop myself praying to Hecate to save him today.

My goodness, old habits truly were hard to shake.

I snatched back my hand in case I was tempted to pray to the goddess, and smiled at Fox’s joy. The robins had always been my favorite as a child too. Painted in the indigo roof, even though they’d been forever trapped, they’d sung their silvery songs to me. But now they were silent.

Could magic murals grieve or perhaps, after all these years, they’d become a little crazy like me?

Behind every crazy witch is someone even crazier who made her that way. That was Number 34 in the Principal’s Motto Book.

I could hate the mottoes, even if some of them were right.

Yet even if I and the robins were a teensy-weensy bit crazy, we could also be restored to our former life through love. I was certain that mother had a motto about it but I’d rather watch the way that Fox dived to his feet and ran around the circle like he was playing ring-a-ring o’roses, pretending to duck, as the robins chased him.

“Help, the birds are after me,” he laughed. “My prey has turned against me. I blame global warming.”

The robins twirled and dived, enjoying the game as much as he was. Lysander rolled his eyes, but Bask giggled, shifting closer to Lysander who sprawled back on his elbows.

I closed my eyes, breathing in the sweet scent of the artificial flowers. I remembered when there’d been no laughter in the Bird Turret, apart from Byron’s and my own. Yet this room had been filled with other beautiful things: a brightly painted rocking horse, china dolls, and samplers embroidered with the RA crest. Witching heavens, I’d hated embroidering those.

I’d adored sitting on the window seat amongst my ranks of dolls, however, pretending to read Jane Eyre, as I’d sneaked glances at the Rebels below. Well, sneaked glances at one Rebel in particular: a young mage with a tumble of burnished red hair and intense emerald eyes. After all, I’d never seen a mage before (and they were meant to be as wicked as I was Blessed).

It’d made me shiver.

What did he do that was so naughty?

Byron had told me that not eating my broccoli was naughty. Perhaps, the mage had refused to eat up his greens…? I’d frowned at the bruise that’d swelled his eye and cheek. Bryon had often tried to hide bruising just like that. When Bryon would mutter that he’d been bad and had deserved it, I’d never believed it. Father had been the kindest…most fun…and least wicked person that I’d known. Of course, I’d barely known anyone, but compared to mother who’d punished Byron simply because she’d been displeased with my work, he’d been my hero.

I’d studied the mage in the courtyard, who’d cradled his purpled cheek. He’d been dressed as a whipping boy and hung back from the other Rebels, who’d ignored him.

Was he also my hero, rather than wicked?

I’d thrown aside my book, crawling closer to the glass and pressing my hand against it.

All of a sudden, in a spray of golden glitter, the mage transformed into a red squirrel. I gasped, clapping my hands in delight.

Why had nobody told me that mages were also shifters?

Bubbling cauldrons, he was cute.

My fingers had clenched to snuggle him and pet his fluffy tail. He’d chattered, dancing around the hollering Rebels, who’d recoiled from him like he was a tiger, rather than snatched him up and cuddled him like he was begging for.

When Henrietta prowled from the shadows with dangerous intent, my eyes had widened. I’d known that look and it’d always ended in tears…Byron’s.

Henrietta had clutched the squirrel by the base of the tail, swinging him into the air. The mage had let out a high-pitching whining sound like he was crying in distress and pain. His little paws had scrabbled desperately.

My eyes had smarted with tears, as I’d raised my fist to bang on the window for the first time ever.

Let him go, let him go, let him…

The magical robins had fluttered around the roof, yeeping in alarm. Then I’d felt a warm hand on my shoulder and had realized that I hadn’t been alone.

My hero had arrived. Unfortunately, Byron had also witnessed my tantrum.

I’d primly settled back onto the window seat, opening the book at a random page…upside down.

Did I have time to cast a Reading Upside Down Spell?

Bryon had snorted. “Good try, Magenta.” He’d plucked the book from my hand and tossed it onto the floor. His green suit had been open at the neck to reveal his peacock amulet, which he’d stroked. I could tell that had meant he was plotting something. His mouth had been tight, as he’d stared out of the window. “The boy down there is an orphan mage called Robin.” His elegant fingers had brushed the amulet again. “You’re lonely up here, aren’t you?”

I’d warily nodded.

“What if that boy was allowed into the Bird Turret to play with you?” Bryon had straightened, clicking his smart heels together as if on parade.

My magic had burst from me, sparking like pink fire.

The excitement of the forbidden, mixed in with the chance to cuddle a squirrel (and rescue a Rebel from Henrietta), had me bouncing up and down on my seat.

The lack of decorum in becoming a bouncing witch would’ve horrified mother. I’d bounced even harder.

Bryon had raised his finger in warning. “I hate to ask it of you, but we must keep this a secret from mama, or I shall suffer.”

Well, that was how to stop a witch bouncing.

My grin had slipped but it hadn’t faded. “Papa, I can keep a secret. I want the mage.”

Byron’s icy eyes had flashed, as he’d snatched up my most loved doll and waved it in front of me. “Pan’s balls, Robin is not a toy. I don’t suggest bringing him here, so that you can practice witch cruelty or coo over him like he’s no more than this doll.” My lip trembled. Byron had never spoken to me with such harshness before. What had I done? Bryon’s expression softened, as he dropped the doll and pulled me into a hug, stroking my hair. “Calm, Magenta,” he’d murmured. I’d sighed, safe in his arms. “Hush, now, there’s no need for tears. But believe me, in here Robin shall be your equal. You’ll share with him, and he’ll choose what you play. I know that’s hard to understand with what mama preaches, but let me show you a different way.”

I’d nodded, nestling closer to his warmth. He’d pushed me back so that his gaze could meet mine.

“If you mistreat him, then you lose this chance,” his voice had been steely. I’d quivered, tightening my arms around his waist because it’d felt like if I lost Robin, then I’d lose Byron as well. “Do you understand?”

“Robin will be my friend,” I’d whispered. “I’ll love him.”

And I had. I’d loved him to death.

Now, watching Fox as he finally threw himself next to me, underneath the flock of painted robins, I bit back a sob because if I didn’t win the contest today, then I’d have loved this mage to death as well.

One mistake is forgivable, but two deserves the Revenge Hex: 88 in the Principal’s Motto Book.

I’d hex myself if I let Fox down today.

When Lysander’s haughty gaze met mine across the circle, and he pointed the tip of his wing at me like a golden sword, I rather thought that the fae intended to hex me himself. After what Sleipnir had shown me about the Membership, I now understood that the Rebel Cup meant as much to the princes in their own way as it did to me. Yet whatever they thought that they were proving through winning, it could never be worth Fox’s life.

If I had to witch slap a few princes to prove that point, then so be it.

I inclined my head to Lysander (because manners cost nothing), and Lysander gaped at me. With a snarl, Lysander wrapped his wing around Willoughby instead, manhandling him to sit straighter in the way that I hated. Willoughby’s gaze appeared hazy again like he was lost somewhere inside his own mind again.

Were all elves so inscrutable or only their beautiful princes?

At the sudden flutter of feathers, I turned to the window. When Ezekiel flew through with outstretched violet wings like the righteous angels that I’d dreamed about as a child (although none of them had such rippling muscles that warmth coiled through me, along with the desire to lick along his bronzed chest), Tchaikovsky’s “1812: Overture” burst out in all its martial glory.

Mage’s balls on a stick, were even angels musical in this day and age?

I jumped, and my magic exploded from me like twinkling fireworks. They lit the shadowy room, as the rousing music swelled with bells and cannon blasts.

Sleipnir collapsed on his back with laughter, as Mist blew his own aquamarine fire to add to the light show. “Hey, look, it’s the fourth of July! Do you want me to grab my guitar? I’d win this if it’s a music lesson.”

“Are you certain?” Willoughby arched his brow.

Sleipnir leaned forward. “Bring it on, pointy ears.”

Ezekiel landed in the middle of the circle, and the music shut off. “I appreciate the enthusiasm, but this is Strategy class. The lesson of this music from the non-magical world is that even an Emperor can be brought down by nature. It tells the story of Napoleon marching on Russia and being defeated by their winter.” His gaze darted to me, and I flushed. You curse one academy with perpetual winter and suddenly you’re the bad guy… “Well, line up then.”

He fluttered his wings impatiently, but his smile was gentle.

Fox pulled me up. I was surprised that it was Willoughby, however, who slipped his hand around Bask’s waist and helped him to stand next to him. Bask looked unsteady. The touch deprivation must be hurting him now.

How much longer before the Duchess visited?

Lysander stood next to them, and his back was so straight that I thought it wise to check whether there was a stick stuck up his behind. When I leaned to check out his unfairly tight buns, Sleipnir frowned, catching my eye. Then he waggled his eyebrows at me in amusement.

I raised a haughty eyebrow, although I allowed Mist to settle on my shoulder with a stroke of his mane because I was decidedly gracious like that.

Lysander glared at me, outraged. Perhaps he was auditioning for the part of Napoleon.

Ezekiel marched down the line, as if he was an officer inspecting our eccentric parade. He stopped at Sleipnir, who slouched like he was at a punk concert. Ezekiel did up Sleipnir’s tie with sharp, efficient motions.

Sweet Hecate, that was the first time that I’d seen Sleipnir smartened up, and he looked hot in a tie. What would he look like in a suit?

I sighed. A witch could dream, surely?

I was already in my evening dress, and my own corset bit into my bosoms like they were trying to make them stand up for inspection. They were impressive. I pushed out my chest further.

“I did explain to you last time that you were an army?” Ezekiel sounded troubled. “That it’s my job to train you as assassins to be sent on—”

“Dirty missions. We’ll probably die. Teamwork.” Bask pouted up at Ezekiel with his innocent face at full blast. I defied anybody to resist that. “Does it please you that we were listening, professor?”

Ezekiel looked like he was biting his tongue…hard. Then he crossed his arms. “I’m here to teach you to survive, and that means more than how to swing a sword or do that swirly stuff with your mist.” I sniffed: impolite. “There’s more to being royal than becoming the most powerful,” his gaze swept to Willoughby who froze, “and more to war than drawing blood.”

When Ezekiel’s gaze swung to Lysander, the prince stiffened.

It was hard to hate the two princes, when they struggled with the same darkness as I did. Yet then my gaze fell on the pale curve of Midnight’s back, as he knelt in the shadows and the robins fluttered around his shoulders to console him, it was rather easy to hate them again.

“How about more to revenge than poking fae with iron…?” Lysander drawled.

Bask examined his fingernails. “Lay off, I said that I was sorry. Do you wish that my slinky self gets on my knees?”

His innocent self wasn’t kidding anyone now.

Lysander reddened. “Please don’t. I wish instead that you’d remember your place. One happens to be a true prince, and not that travesty of a clone.”

Bask winced.

Ezekiel beat his wings. “You happen to be a deposed prince.” This time it was Lysander’s turn to wince. Now that was a put-down worthy of a witch. “I swear that I told you to stick together as a team. Anyway, it helps for today because who’s up for a little role-play?”

Sleipnir groaned. “Lightning strike me now.”

Lysander glanced up at the roof hopefully. “Yes, please.”

“I wasn’t praying, twinkle wings.” Sleipnir glared at Lysander, who didn’t even have the good grace to hide his disappointment. “Couldn’t we just write a twenty-thousand-word essay or take a surprise exam instead?”

Wait, those options sounded appalling. Why was Sleipnir sacrificing us on the academic altar?

My heart thudded hard in my chest. Fox looked as panicked as me. His hand tightened around mine.

“I’ve never written a thousand-word essay,” Fox muttered, “or taken an exam that I’ve crammed for, and for once, that’s the truth. Great Pan, I don’t want to die. I’m one dead foxy, aren’t I?”

“I promise that I’ll protect you,” I whispered; his fingers were warm, entwined between my cold ones. “Even from an essay.”

Bask’s grin was wicked, as he ran his hands down his sides. “Role-play could be fun. Tell me what do you desire? Stern teacher and naughty student. I’ve arrived late to the lesson, and you have no option but to punish—”

“The wrong kind of role-play.” Ezekiel had pinked all the way down his chest. He wrapped his wings around himself but he couldn’t hide the way that his prick tented his harem trousers. Perhaps, he’d enjoy joining us for a little teacher and student get together? Although, it was possible that he’d act it out right now on Sleipnir by the way that his sparking gaze met his. “Don’t frighten the others. Just because you struggle with my learning methods, doesn’t mean that the rest will. I want two of you to step forward. The Prince will act out their kingdom’s take on leadership. They will role play,” Sleipnir snorted, “not their own views but the ones of those who brought them up. The Immortal facing them will counter their view with their own.”

My brows furrowed. “Why?”

Ezekiel swept to the far wall, leaning against it. “How can you fight against your enemy, if you don’t first understand them?” When his gaze met mine, there was an understanding that shook me. “And how do you persuade them to your side, if you don’t listen first?”

Bask pushed himself forward. “Let me do this.”

When Bask’s knees buckled, however, and Willoughby caught him, I smiled. Bask was beautiful, mesmerizing, and as brave as any of the Rebels.

“How about you work on keeping upright, and Lysander and I make this a Prefect battle?” I cocked my eyebrow at Lysander.

Lysander’s mouth tightened, and he paled. But as the rest of the Rebels formed a circle, he marched to meet me in the center with his hands held smartly behind his back.

“You’ll regret this.” Tremors ran through him, even though he held himself still. “This is a violation. The Fae Court should not be questioned in such a fashion.”

“Have we started yet?” I asked. “Or is that just your usual arrogant ranting?”

Lysander hissed in frustration, before lowering his head and steadying his breathing. When he raised his head again, however, I gasped in shock. His eyes were cold in a way that I’d never seen before. His face looked paler and pinched. He stood even stiffer than before, and witching heavens, I hadn’t thought that was possible. “Royalty have a duty to act as though above all others.” I flinched in shock. It was the same cruel voice that Midnight had spoken with in Divination. “If they fail, then they bring disgrace and shame on their entire kingdom. There can be no forgiveness for such fae. Royalty must crush all rebellion before there’s a chance for war. Fae must obey the hierarchy and respect it, even if that means killing.”

Lysander’s wings quivered, and sweat slipped down his forehead.

It was hurting him to say those things. Sweet Hecate, Lysander truly was a Rebel.

My eyes widened. “You don’t believe any of that.”

To my surprise, I was certain that he didn’t.

Lysander raised a haughty brow. “The purpose of the exercise is that you now counter with your views, rather than pretend to know my illustrious thoughts.”

Fox watched me intently, and I caught his eye. Well, if Lysander wished us to play it this way, then there was more than one way to skin a fae.

“What if you’re given an order that you can’t follow?” When Lysander flinched, I grinned. Got you. “It’s not disgraceful to think for yourself, treat others as equals, or value life. What if the order is to kill other fae, and you know that it’s wrong? Wouldn’t it make you less of a prince simply to follow such a command blindly?”

Lysander’s eyes were wild with fear, and his breathing was ragged. “One doesn’t wish to play this game anymore.”

“Then you forfeit the lesson to the Immortals?” Ezekiel said, casually.

At last I understood why Sleipnir had requested to be struck by lightning. Role-play was fiendish.

Lysander twisted to stare at Midnight, who’d hunched over, covering himself with his wings. Lysander shook his head.

Ezekiel gestured with his hand. “Your turn then.”

“It’s just…” Lysander took a step closer to me. He appeared lost. “… What if you lose everything by rebelling?”

My dress faded to mist, which darkened the room to fog at the memory. “I beg your pardon; did you forget already? I died, or is there more you’d have me lose?”

“You can lose more than your life,” Willoughby said, softly.

I glanced at the elf, and then I thought of burnished red hair and intense emerald eyes and I realized that he was right.

Lysander ducked his head. “It doesn’t matter. There’s no way back for a fae who disobeys.”

“If you’ve killed—”

“That’s what you think of me?” Lysander snarled, and even his anger was swallowed by his hurt.

Why did I feel such guilt squirming in my gut? Perhaps, I’d better hold back with answering what was on the tip of my tongue: ehm, of course; you’re Titus’ nephew.

Unfortunately, the words must’ve been written across my face because Lysander stormed out of the middle of the circle, clutching Willoughby by the arm and dragging him to me.

“Why am I spurned, whilst you snuggle up to this other deposed prince?” He shook Willoughby, who didn’t even try to free himself.

“Let Willoughby go, or you shall discover just how far I’m prepared to go for my new snuggle buddy,” my voice was calm, yet my magic whipped around the Bird Turret.

The mural of Hecate’s Tree reached out from the walls. The branches reached to snatch at the fae, curling around his wings and hoisting him into the air.

“Why?” Lysander demanded, struggling. “I thought that you were just arguing against killers?”

Willoughby hung his head, and his hair covered his eyes.

My magic calmed, and the mural slipped back into the wall, dropping Lysander onto his behind with a crack that made me wince.

Cauldrons and broomsticks, all of us in this academy were dangerous, deadly, and broken. Who was I to judge?

I was the wicked witch, after all.

Suddenly, there was a waterfall of crows feathers on the far wall, and Damelza strode through with a flourish. Her hair glistened like it’d been polished, and her dress was ruffled, as if a hundred more crows had been slaughtered to give her the effect.

Adrenaline spiked through me, as my lips pinched. Henrietta had smartened herself up (and Byron and me), whenever there’d been special events with guests. I had the horrid feeling that no dangers inside the academy were as acute as those from the Rebels’ own families.

When Damelza’s critical gaze swept across our tense role-play with a prince on his behind, the word killers ringing in the air, and my own magic still thrumming in the mural, yet rested on Bask… I was certain that knock, knock, the Duchess had arrived.

Bask became ashen, hugging himself because I couldn’t. I bit my lip hard. Willoughby turned to catch my eye, before standing in front of Bask like he could shield him for me.

Like he wasn’t a killer.

When Sleipnir edged to join Willoughby in Bask protection duty so close that their shoulders touched, Willoughby’s eyes widened as if he’d never expected that any Immortal would willingly stand at his side. Perhaps, it was more that he was startled that anyone would risk touching him casually…? Lysander only handled Willoughby like a guard would, pulling him from class to class.

When Fox attempted the same protection of me, my lips twitched. Shimage didn’t beat centuries old Blessedly Charmed witch. Yet it was charming that he wished to be my knight.

I clasped Fox’s hand, tugging him closer to my side; Mist leaped from my shoulder onto his, tossing his mane. “I love you as my equal,” I whispered. “One that I’ll always fight to save.”

Lysander was the only Rebel to be stranded alone. He paled; his eyes were red-rimmed. He pushed himself up, standing under Damelza’s inspection, as if he had an even larger stick up his behind than before.

He truly should get that looked into.

“Well, I’m shocked.” Damelza’s eyes glittered. “You’re supposed to be learning together for excellence, professor. This isn’t Warrior Training. Why’s there brawling and disorder in your class?”

Ezekiel swallowed. He straightened, curling his wings around himself like he could hide.

“It’s just role-play,” he offered with a shaky smile. “It’s not real.”

“Do I need to give your wings the same treatment as Professor Ambrose’s?” Damelza stalked closer.

“It was all part of the lesson,” I insisted.

“Yeah, we love role-play; it’s awesome.” Sleipnir grinned, but Damelza ignored him.

Instead, she turned to Lysander. “As you know, it’s one of your Guardian’s orders that you don’t lie to staff. So, was this lesson controlled?” I frowned, when Damelza’s gaze darted between both Willoughby and me. “You should know how important it is that powers are restrained.”

Like Hecate’s Tree bursting out of a mural…?

Ah, sweet unrestrained magic.

Ezekiel’s shoulders slumped, and his wings drooped like they were already weighted down by chains. If he was relying on Lysander’s good report to avoid Damelza’s punishment, then he had a mage’s hope in witchy hell.

“Ezekiel’s classes are tough,” Lysander’s voice was clipped, and he stared at the far wall, rather than meeting Damelza’s eye. “He finds your weakness and then he pushes at it. The others think that he’s kind and gentle. But my royal self has lived in the Fae Court, and I know how to read predators. For Ezekiel to have survived to become a teacher, he must be ruthless. He’s as much a warrior with manipulation as he is with weapons. Today, he was merely attempting to teach us to face the monsters that haunt us.”

Ezekiel’s violet eyes opened comically large. He burrowed even further into his wings, as if he could hide from Lysander, who’d stripped him bare.

Why had Lysander saved the professor? It was strange to stare at the prince’s pale face and feel a flush of pride.

To my surprise, Damelza’s lips curved into a smile, as she drew out a sky-blue sheet of paper. “I’m delighted that even a shameful Addict Angel can achieve such a report. I’ll add it to your records, professor.” Ezekiel nodded, mechanically. “It’s perfect timing that you’ve been working on the monsters within, when so many of your students are monsters.”

Even though Sleipnir didn’t move, Mist stomped his feet and laid his ears back. I knew that she’d hurt Sleipnir, but it was Willoughby who dived towards her, so fast that she stumbled backward.

“My brother’s letter,” Willoughby demanded with such frosty violence that I shook, “give it to me.”

Well, someone had just shown their regal side.

Damelza’s magic slammed into Willoughby, hurling him through the air. He crashed into Sleipnir, who caught him and helped him back onto his feet.

Damelza stalked towards Willoughby, holding aloft the letter like a standard.

“It’s his letter,” Fox’s voice was tight. I remembered the way that Damelza had forced him to write to Aquilo. “People who mess with other folk’s post are haunted by the spirits of dead postmen. I’d hand it over now if you don’t want to be haunted forever by late mail, sorry, you were out slips, and lost packages. I mean, it’s your call.”

“I’ll risk it.” Damelza broke the seal on the letter with a flourish.

“Let me read it later, if I must,” Willoughby hissed.

“You’d make a king wait?” Damelza arched her brow. “Who do you think you are? Oh yes, the would-be king.”

I studied Willoughby. Had he tried to assassinate his own brother to take the throne? Yet the way that his jaw clenched told me that I was missing something because would an assassin feel such shame?

“Let him read it,” I said, softly. “I don’t need to know what he did to be sentenced here. We’re all Rebels, and that unites us. Call us monsters if you like because I’d claim that name over the bloody House of Crows.”

Damelza drew in a shocked breath, before her eyes flashed pink with fury. “In your first life, you were a sheltered, naïve witch, and now, you believe yourself the wicked witch. But you’ve seen nothing of the true darkness in the supernatural world. I have, and maybe you wouldn’t be so keen to call yourself monster, if you knew what it meant.”

When she held up the letter, Willoughby let out a holler. The contents were projected in curling letters across the indigo of the roof; the robins fluttered in panic, diving away to hide.

Willoughby dropped to his knees, as the words faded. His breathing was ragged like he was battling tears. But the Ice Prince didn’t do anything as mundane as cry, surely?

“Huh, just bask in that brotherly love,” Sleipnir drawled. His fists clenched. “Your king is a dick.”

I crouched next to Willoughby, sparkling my magic soothingly across his skin, until he raised his head to look at me. “It wasn’t hollow sentiment. I don’t care what you did before, or do you judge me on being the witch whose wards trap you?”

“You should care.” Willoughby’s voice was raspy with suppressed tears, as he gripped me by the shoulders. His gaze met Lysander’s. “Are you happy now that I’ve been revealed as the monster who you’ve always believed me to be?” He shoved me away, before stalking to the door, swinging it open. His voice was small. “Stay away from me.”

“I suggest that this means the Immortals won today.” My voice was unsteady, but I forced out the words like toads. “After all, the elf has forfeited by attempting to leave.”

Willoughby froze, before shooting a guilty glance over his shoulder at Midnight. Yet when I studied Fox’s curls and the whipping boy outfit that matched the one Robin had been made to wear, I knew that this class was Strategy, and I’d just won.

When the prize was Fox’s life, I’d play the war game.

Damelza’s grin fizzed with malicious delight, as she linked our arms like we were now best friends. I wanted to hurl.

Was there such a thing as Witch Sickness?

“Excellently played. Whatever you claim, you are a Crow. If only you hadn’t fallen in silly love, you’d have made the most brilliant Blessedly Charmed witch. Our House would’ve been the envy of every coven. Well, there’s no good crying over spilled magic.” She waved at Ezekiel. “Today is won by the Immortals.” I looked down, trying to hide my grin. Fox wouldn’t die. Sweet Hecate, we had one more day to save him… “How exciting! The outcome to the Rebel Cup will be decided on the final day: Torment Thursday.” Then she whispered like she was promising a treat, “Torment Thursday is the most dangerous and thrilling in the contest.”

My mouth tightened. “With a name like that, I’d never have guessed.”

Damelza wrenched away from me, and her expression hardened. “How are you finding this second life? Is it everything that you imagined in those long years trapped as a ghost?”

My breath hitched. Was that a threat?

I glanced at the guys who’d saved, welcomed, and loved me. They’d helped me adapt to a world and sensations that could’ve been strange and frightening, transforming them into the pleasurable and exciting, instead. I’d been dead inside, but now I was alive.

I craved my lovers’ pleasure, and their pleasure fed my craving. I’d never imagined that love or pleasure could feel like this, and I never wished it to end.

I smiled, softly. “I’m a Ghost Witch, and I’ve only just started to live.”

Panic skated across Damelza’s face, before a cool mask settled in its place. She fiddled with the feather behind her ear. “We shall see.” Witches’ tits, that was decidedly a threat. “But now, the Duchess from the Succubi Court is waiting in my study for Crave. It’s time that she inspects you, boy, to make sure that you’re pure and reformed.”

Bask’s eyes widened, and he shook his head. He stumbled backward, but Damelza gripped his arm.

“Please, don’t,” Bask begged.

I might’ve been naïve in my first life, but now that’d been knocked right out of me. Bask was my incubus. I wouldn’t let the succubus who’d broken him and his bond, sending him to this academy, return to inspect and hurt him just like Willoughby’s brother had with his letter. I knew now that I needed all my lovers, and it was their joint pleasure that’d brought me to life. At the start, I hadn’t understood just how much that was true, but this week, the academy had taught me how close I was to each Rebel.

The lessons might be Transfiguration, Warrior Training, or Divination, but in the end, I’d learned to love.

“Why in sweet Hecate’s name would you think us Immortals would let you take our lover?” I raised my brow, as Sleipnir and Fox strode either side of me, and Mist roared in agreement.

“Your second life,” Damelza shrugged. “Shall I copy your mother and burn you? What if I cast the spell to trap you in Hecate’s tree?”

My heartbeat thundered in my ears, and I became dizzy.

The agony of the flames… Then all alone and dark, dark, dark…

All right, I might’ve gone more than a little crazy. But I couldn’t go back to that twilight between veils.

Hecate, no….

Damelza gripped Bask, and he struggled to pull away from her. Yet how could I stop Damelza, when her charm controlled my powers?

At that moment, it didn’t matter if I lost everything for a second time because I couldn’t allow the Duchess to hurt Bask. I’d saved my mage lover from dying today, but the first Rebel whose craving had called to me, summoning me from the portrait had been the one secretly in danger all along.

I wouldn’t let him suffer alone, even if it killed me.

With a burst of magic that I pulled from the air, reaching into the waves of nature, I focused on fading, thread by thread, to invisibility. Crow feathers rained down around Damelza, cocooning both Bask and her in darkness. I wrapped my own magic around hers like ivy, gritting my teeth at the lashing static.

I’d never piggybacked on another witches’ magic before. Would I burn up, flaring into nothing?

Please, let me not be lost (trapped between worlds), forever…

Damelza dematerialised, dragging me along with her. Her magic pulled me too close to Bask, until I pressed against his hard chest. I bit my lip to hold back the scream, as I was electrocuted by her spell.

Then everything went dark.

Continue Magenta’s adventure in REBEL ACADEMY: CRUSH, Book Two in the WICKEDLY CHARMEDseries HERE NOW

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