Why was she staring at me?
“You’re her pair of dim-witted favorites,” Lysander shot at me under his breath. Favorites? I blinked. “Get on with it and fail this class already.”
I bristled. Every class counted towards the Rebel Cup. I refused to fail Fox. “I’m a hostage; the witches stole everything of mine. Unlike you, Prince of the Assholes, I don’t have my vintage porn collection, golden fairy statuettes, and secret pantie collection, hidden away in my luxury wing of the castle.”
Willoughby cocked his head like he’d been daydreaming, but had just caught my last sentence “How do you know about the panties?”
Lysander reddened, gripping Willoughby’s chin hard. “You shall not talk about the Prince’s illustrious self.”
“Am I not a prince too?” Willoughby asked with the iciness of a winter breeze.
“You own one thing.” Bacchus met my gaze.
So, that was what it was like to be punched in the dick.
The thought of taking off the plectrum and sacrificing it for a second time was paralyzing. But then, I met Fox’s concerned gaze from across the room, and I remembered the feel of his curls, the surging power of his freed magic, and the beauty as he hunted as an Arctic fox under the moonlight. And it was the easiest thing in the world to rip the cord necklace and hand the plectrum to Magenta.
Magenta took it with a wink. “How much I desire to kiss you now. The angry way in which you tore this from around your neck has made me quite hot and bothered.” I smirked. “So, I simply imagine something and this silver changes form…?”
Bacchus shook her head. “I’ve cast an enchantment on it already.” My skin prickled at the thought of that: her magic on my plectrum. “It’ll work alongside your own magic. All you have to do is channel your emotion about the person who it belongs to. Love or hate: it doesn’t matter. But the more powerful the emotion, the better the transfiguration. Indifference won’t spark magic.”
The look that Magenta cast me, as her fist closed around the plectrum was anything but indifferent, but I guessed that this enchantment would test the theory.
I understood why Bacchus had chosen us, as well as riled us up, even if I wished that I didn’t.
Magenta lay her hand on the desk, allowing her mist to coil out of her and around her closed fist. Her brow was furrowed with concentration. Then she opened her hand, and her palm was veiled in black mist that coiled as if alive. I drew in my breath, as it took shape and changed color into a tiny red horse. When he snorted, smoke coiled out of his nose like fire.
No way… On the World Tree… Don’t let it be…
The Mist Horse neighed, stamping his hooves, as he circled on her palm. Except, he wasn’t truly a horse. My heart sank. Of course, if the creature had sprung from me, he couldn’t be.
I’d been dumb to think that I could hide it forever.
Magenta laughed with delight, as the horse wound around her hand. “He’s so soft.” Perhaps, she would love him, after all? But then, she jerked back, and the Mist Horse tumbled onto the desk with a pained grunt. I winced. “Ah, I did it wrong. It was my first attempt, after all. Poor little thing; he’s all misshapen like he was born wrong. I believe that he has eight legs. Let me try again, and I shan’t create a monster this time.”
The Mist Horse squealed in distress, floating as much as galloping to the back of the desk.
Monster…
I kept up the mask that I’d worn since I was a kid, and Loki had taught me why I could never have friends, but I couldn’t help the way that my shoulders stiffened. At least I now knew now that I should allow the others to have their love, but that I had no part in it.
Bask gasped. “Slippy, she’s wrong, see, he’s beautiful.”
I jumped at the scrape of a stool being shoved back, before Willoughby stalked out of the room without a word. The door banged shut after him, and Lysander paled.
Magenta stared between us all and then back at Bacchus, who was smiling smugly. “Was it something I said?”
Bacchus leaned forward. “All Loki’s children are monsters. Don’t you recognize his son in his shifter form? I’m impressed with your magic. Your transfiguration was perfect.”
Mist Horse’s ears flicked back and forth in distress. His long tail was tucked in his hindquarters like he was showing the emotion that I was desperate to hide. When Magenta ghosted her fingers across his back that was stiff with tension, I swore that I could feel them as well. Mist Horse relaxed, and the same calming sensation flowed through me.
Magenta’s eyes widened with understanding and a crushing compassion, before they sparked with rage. Her sparkles blazed to full brightness around the room again. “These Rebels belong to me. If you ever hurt them through me again with such calculated cruelty, then I shall impress you with a demonstration of how my magic is powerful enough to curse an entire coven.”
Bacchus’ eyes flashed an answering amber. “And if you ever threaten me again, I’ll show you that my power can curse worlds.”
Fox slapped his hands together. “If you’re done with the I’m the Most Badass Witch Contest, then can we get to the deciding who won the lesson because it’s us, isn’t it?”
Lysander fluttered his wings in agitation.
Bask twirled a strand of hair around his finger. “Prince Willoughby did break academy rules by leaving…”
“And I made the beautiful horse!” Magenta held up her palm with the Mist Horse like a kindergarten with their first wonky clay pot. Then she shot me an apologetic glance. “He is beautiful, you know. I’ll name him Mist.”
I couldn’t help the shy smile, as Mist shook his flowing mane, transforming to aquamarine. I reached up to pat at my hair that had softened to match the same shade as well.
Mist flew up, settling himself in the pocket of my blazer.
“More like My Little Monster,” Lysander sneered.
Bacchus shot Lysander an inscrutable look. “The Immortals won. The new witch has style.” Bacchus’ lips quirked. “Go ahead: play the Punish or Reward Game.”
Fox bounced up, rushing over to Magenta and slinging his arms around her shoulders. “Let’s huddle.” Like I didn’t know that it was any excuse for Fox to sneak a kiss onto Magenta’s cheek. “Ever since Lysander hit Bask, I’ve been thinking up devilish ideas. Number One: the fae prince stands on a desk in only his underpants, singing “It’s Raining Men”.”
Lysander bit his lip hard enough to break the skin, clutching the edge of the desk like it was a raft in a stormy ocean.
Bask slunk across the room, eying Lysander as he passed him. It hurt that he didn’t drop onto my lap or kiss down Magenta’s neck like I knew he craved to. “As much as it’d please me to see that,” he cocked his head in thought for a moment like he was imagining the scene, “truly please me, I already hurt Lysander.” Bask’s gaze was anguished as it met the fae’s. “Here’s the thing of it, I didn’t know what the iron would do to you and so I shouldn’t have even been fighting with it. Ezekiel used me to hurt you in the same way as Bacchus used Magenta. You’re still a bastard, but I’m sorry.”
Lysander barely looked like he was breathing; he was mesmerized by Bask. Had anyone ever apologized to Lysander before, who hadn’t been motivated by fear alone?
“Reward,” I stated, glancing around at the other Immortals. “Giants and dwarves, I can’t believe that I’m choosing this, but let’s give the Princes a reward.”