Bacchus smile was beautiful but wilted my prick, until there was no longer any risk of me embarrassing myself with tented pants.
Look at that, the witch equivalent of Anti-Viagra. Maybe I could bottle it.
"Calm your cutie pie ass down. Such angst over mere marking!" When she stalked closer, Sleipnir stepped protectively in front of Bask. "I should delight in such power over you, Crave, because you hand it to me like you give away power to your Duchess." Bask became ashen, and Magenta linked her arm around him like she could protect him from Bacchus' words or his own memories. Could any of us protect him from the Duchess? "You're a panther and panthers don't need others to acknowledge their beauty. Do you want to be as wild, free, and dark as I know all my Immortals to be or a tamed cat?"
She clicked her fingers. "Here, Pet 9."
I flinched. I hated that witches only called their familiars by numbers, stealing their names, just like werewolves were only called Omega.
Pocus crawled to Bacchus. His tail hung between his legs, however, and his ears were flattened to his head. Even if he was my pussy nemesis, I still cringed at his humiliation.
And had Bacchus just complimented Bask?
Bask appeared caught between preening and wanting to dash to Pocus and scratch behind his ears.
My feline side, which was clawing at me to step up in solidarity even for my nemesis, forced me to insist, "But look at that adorable tail." Pocus' ears perked up. "I mean, sure the jungle sounds fun, but where are all the feathery things to chase or the belly rubs? And then you'd miss out on the pillow nests and the drugs..." Sleipnir raised a censorious eyebrow at me. "Catnip takes you on a serious trip. How many panthers ever get high on catnip or...?"
"All students to their seats." Bacchus' gaze was fixed on me so intently that I shivered. Yet Midnight's fingers swept across mine, and when I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye, his smile made drawing her attention worth it. My shivering mage balls hoped. "Or do I need to tie you all down to your stools? Although, I do adore that my chaos has caught on."
"It was my dad's chaos moment first," Sleipnir muttered.
Bacchus' lips twitched, but she turned away as if she hadn't heard him. She carded her fingers through Pocus' mop of hair, allowing him to rest his head against her leg.
Sleipnir and Magenta sat on stools at the lab table at the back, which was beside a window that looked out over the courtyard. Bask slipped behind the table at the front. He winked at me, and I relaxed.
All of a sudden, roots exploded up, curling over the windows and blacking them out. The classroom was cast into twilight.
"I don't want the Princes moaning that I haven't catered for the special needs of their vampire whipping boy." Bacchus twirled around, before her eyes flashed amber. Her ancient magic scented the air. My pulse raced at the sudden threat like fire had sparked. Her voice was deceptively soft but this kitty wasn't deceived. "Where are the Princes, darlings?"
Sleipnir straightened. Why was he looking so smug? "Hey, the room could do with a couch. I vote for a silk one with love heart patterns."
I blinked. Was transfiguration Bacchus' punishment for lateness?
Bask bounced on his seat. "If it pleases you, I vote for Lysander to be transformed into a Pomeranian and Willoughby to be a satchel. Then I can carry the dog around with me."
I imagined Lysander's outraged little face all yappy and peering out of a satchel.
Please go with the Pomeranian...please, please, please.
I brightened. "Do I get a vote?"
Midnight kicked his foot against mine. Oww. "Do I?" He snapped.
"No one is getting transfigured into anything," Magenta declared. "Black cats, you'd imagine that England had become a democracy with votes for all."
I forgot that as a Victorian witch she'd missed out on some pretty important news.
Should I tell her that the non-magical in this country had also banned child labor, closed the workhouses, and stopped corporal punishment?
Except that much advancement in one go might explode her mind.
The door banged open, and Lysander rushed into the room, dragging Willoughby after him. Lysander leaned against the table, panting and out of breath.
Willoughby straightened like he was on parade, deliberately stepping closer to Bacchus. Yet his gaze was dazed like he’d been pushed deep inside.
When Lysander looked up and met Bacchus' unimpressed expression, he paled. "E-excuse our l-lateness, but it's n-not my f-fault," he gasped, struggling to let go of the table. Had they run the whole way here across the castle? Where had they been? Lysander usually looked composed, but now his hair was dampened to his forehead with sweat, and his blazer looked creased like he'd been in a fight or punished. Unfortunately, corporal punishment hadn’t been stopped within the magical world, which meant that amusingly, we hadn’t advanced as much since Victorian times as the humans that we thought ourselves superior to. "Our T-tutor wished to...talk...with us after Prince Willoughby—"
Bacchus held up her long-nailed finger to silence him. "Am I ever interested in excuses?"
Numbly, Lysander shook his head.
Bacchus pointed her thyrsus (to my shock), not at Lysander, but rather at Willoughby. Instantly, Willoughby transformed in a golden swirl of glitter into a sky-blue silk throne.
Lysander looked like he was about to hurl, and so did Magenta.
"What right do you have to talk of power when you so misuse it?" Magenta whispered.
"I have true immortality, girl, and true power, which is neither used nor misused. It simply is. I exist the same as the night, and just as that can't misuse the dark, neither can I." Bacchus shot a glance at Sleipnir. "You requested silk."
"I take it back," Sleipnir muttered. "I know what it feels like to have your ass on me all lesson, and even a Prince doesn't deserve that."
Bacchus arched her brow. "Men have begged to feel my ass on their faces."
Okay, now it was me about to hurl.
Lysander ran his shaky hand along the arm of the Willoughby Throne. Could Willoughby feel what had happened to him?
Lysander cast a horror filled glance at Bacchus. "But it was my fault that we were late."
"No, it wasn't." Bacchus sauntered to the throne, sweeping her dress around her. Pocus prowled at her side. Then she threw herself down on the Willoughby Throne, which let out a yelp. Pocus leaped onto her lap and circled, before he sprawled across her. He pawed at the silk. I itched to rub his fur the wrong way to see how he liked being messed with. "You were about to pin the blame on this one." She booted the leg of the throne, and it howled. "So, now he can make himself useful, and you can think about the consequences of not taking responsibility."
Lysander was ashen. "One is truly sorry."
"Hey, there it is." Bacchus leaned forward; her eyes glinted. "Isn't it a shame that you didn't open with that?"
Lysander flushed, looking down. His wings drooped, and he hugged them around himself. I had the sudden urge to hug him as well.
I wonder if fae kink was catching.
When Lysander attempted to slink to a seat at the back of the classroom, Bacchus stopped him. "Park your princely ass down the front next to my Immortals, where I can keep an eye on you. I guess that you'd better not be late next time."