“Why not make it a race? The winner chooses the forfeit.” By my weight in jewels, stop talking mouth, stop talking… “I know, who’s up for a marathon?”
When Sleipnir burst into laughter, I stared at him. “Valhalla! I’m a god, and you’re hot but kind of out of shape. Remind me to never let your lying ass get into a bet with the Princes because they’d wreck you.”
Bask tapped the end of my nose in reprimand. “Didn’t anyone teach you that fibbing will get you in trouble?”
“Well, Pinocchio had it coming for being such a dumbass…literally.” I rubbed my nose. “It’s the truth that’s dangerous.”
When Bask pulled away from me, wandering across to the portraits, I peered at them. Then my eyes widened.
“Wait, what is my gorgeous self doing in that portrait, and why’s it moving like a GIF?” I demanded.
Bask grinned, running his hand over the gilt frame of a portrait of me dangling in Hecate’s embrace, as if he was caressing me. I found that I wouldn’t mind that, especially if Rebel Ghost got in on the action. “They’re like the school photo of every Immortal. You must’ve been added here because you belong to us.”
Sleipnir licked across his lip piercing as he tapped my shoulder. “Hey, wicked entrance to the academy.”
I pinked. I hadn’t had my photo taken since I was a kid and now, I was immortalized in the arms of Hecate…? That was a wizarding world of wrong.
“Oh, the best,” I gritted out. “Who’s that kid next to me?”
Both Bask and Sleipnir stiffened.
Inside the portrait, a dark-haired guy who looked younger than me stuck two fingers up as he snarled with a rage and despair that vibrated through me. Yeah, he was more the type of rebel that I’d expected to meet in the academy.
And by expected, I meant feared…
Bask’s eyes glinted with tears, before he swiftly turned away. His voice was small and echoed with the same loss that I recognized, “He was ours, and now he’s gone.”
Truth: My friend died, and I couldn’t save him. Please, not again, not again, not again…
The intensity of Bask’s grief hit me through Confess, but worse was his despair that he wouldn’t be able to save me. I’d expected to see tears trailing down Bask’s cheeks, but he was dry-eyed, which was as much a lie as my marathon bluff.
Yet what was the danger? The professors? These Princes that I hadn’t even seen yet?
Rebel Ghost…?
My eyes narrowed. “Term starts tomorrow, and I know that this is a castle, but even so, where’s everybody hiding?”
Sleipnir exchanged a troubled glance with Bask. Well, that wasn’t good.
Sleipnir slipped his hands underneath my shoulders and helped me to my feet. Then he rested his cheek against mine in a way that was more tender than anything he’d yet done. But it made me tremble because when he drew back, he had the same look in his eyes that dad always had just before he delivered the news that mum had demanded I be whipped.
Whipping boy was just a name, wasn’t it…?
“My dad would call this the chaos moment but then, look where that’s got me: taken hostage by a cursed academy.” Sleipnir’s gaze darted to Bask who nodded, before it settled back on mine with a steely determination. “There’s only you, me, and Bask. Then there’s the Princes and their whipping boy.” He tilted his head and his bright hair fell into my eyes. “Huh, I sort of think we should add our Ghost Immortal to the head count, even if we can’t see her.”
All of a sudden, I was hit with a yearning that made me shiver and a burst of Heart’s rock ballad “Secret” that was so schmaltzy, I almost longed to scoff chocolate ice-cream in front of a weepie.
Almost.
My powers of Confess told me that Sleipnir was hiding something, and with his change from nu metal to ballad, I’d say that it was to do with love.
Aquilo had always refused to watch weepies or any type of romantic movie with me. He’d told me that he didn’t believe in any of that nonsense because men were property to be bred, and one day, his family would choose who he married, so why pretend that he lived outside the covens?
Mage’s balls, I hoped that Aquilo was okay. I’d been the one stuck in an attic, but I’d made it my mission to keep Aquilo happy.
Back in the House of Jewels, when Aquilo had been allowed to visit me, I’d discovered that he had two weaknesses: he’d never hug and he was seriously ticklish. Dad had once asked why Aquilo squealed with laughter every time that he entered the attic. I’d told dad that I was perfecting my Harry Potter comedy routine. After all, that’d been Aquilo’s favorite book.
Dad had scrutinized me; his lips had twitched. “You always try every trick in the spell book, cub. What’s your room…the Chamber of Secrets?”
I’d gaped at him and then snorted with laughter myself. Dad had always surprised me like that because ironically within witch Houses Harry Potter (who was a wizard success story), was as feared as Voldemort.
Yet Dad had read the books as well…? Maybe he’d been trying to convince himself that I wasn’t a monster, even if the books were all lies. I understood because I’d done the same.
Now, I was surrounded by both love and lies.
“You’ll be the one sleeping on the floor if you don’t include our Sexy Spirit,” Bask huffed.
I rubbed my nose against Sleipnir’s. I couldn’t help the kitteny urge because despite what he was hiding, I was one sunbeam away from shifting and snuggling into his arms. “Hey, interesting fact: Damelza’s also clever at omitting the truth because I can’t sense that, only lies. Does it suck to discover you’re as sly as a witch?” I winced. “Ow, I’ll admit that was below the belt. Okay, does it suck to learn that you’re helping to cover up the academy’s secrets, as well as the spook’s?”
Sleipnir sighed, before snatching my arm and dragging me staggering after him down the corridor. He pointed at each portrait in turn. “This one…this one…this…”
Bask clutched at my sleeve, trying to pull me to him, but Sleipnir was too powerful. After all, he was the son of Loki.
“Please, I want… not like this… please let me,” Bask begged.
“All of these are the students…prisoners…of the Rebel Academy.” Sleipnir hauled me to a stop at the end of the corridor in front of a mirror.
I stared at the three of us, panting and flustered but united in the reflection: Rebels.
“So, they’ve each cast Invisibility Spells?” I scoffed.
Sleipnir’s lips pinched at Bask’s stifled sob.
My shoulders hunched. What had I said?
Sleipnir clenched his jaw. “That’s kind of hard to do since they’re dead.”
By the witching heavens, what had killed so many students?
I’d known that this academy was dangerous but not that mum had been sending me here as a death sentence. But what if that was exactly why she’d gained me an invitation?
After all, she blamed me for dad dying.
In a blur of dark hair and alabaster skin, Bask clung to me, warm and as close to breaking down as I was. Had he loved the boy in the portrait? When had he died?
I shook my head. “But I was sent here to study spells, potions, and the arcane.”
“Son of a witch, you truly do believe your own lies.” Sleipnir’s intent stare made me squirm. “You’ll take classes taught by the most powerful witches in Britain and you’ll also be taught to survive.” Then he clung to me just as tightly as Bask, so that I was caught as the mage filling in an Immortal sandwich. “I won’t lose anybody else.”