Chapter 23
Twenty-Three
IZZY
The next few days pass uneventfully.
I don’t see Michelle again—thank fuck—but I also don’t run into anyone from the Trinity.
Which means I can’t press Soraya for answers or confront Delaney for deceiving me.
I spend my days in class and my nights curled up in bed, reading through the book Soraya gifted me.
Ansel usually comes with me. Sometimes he’ll work on assignments at my desk.
Other times, he’ll sit beside me, so close that our shoulders touch, and read the book with me, pointing out anything he finds interesting.
He’ll usually sneak back to his room around midnight, though I want to tell him he can stay.
I wonder what it would be like to fall asleep beside him, in his arms.
The thought sends a shiver through me, and I suddenly find it hard to concentrate on my spell-casting lesson.
“You have to flick your wrist like this!” The instructor—a middle-aged woman with a beak-like nose and beady eyes—roughly grabs my arm and attempts to move my hand the way I’m supposed to.
Once she’s satisfied that I understand, she releases me with a huff and moves to Ansel. “Excellent work, Ansel. As always.”
Ansel blushes, the tips of his ears turning pink. “Thanks.”
“Show-off,” I mutter.
So far, we’ve learned how to conjure items—which helps during meals—and how to place a protective barrier around ourselves. I haven’t had any strange power surges since the one incident, which I’m grateful for.
But it begs the question—what the hell was that? Ansel seems to think that I somehow possess both witch and warlock capabilities, and I’m not sure I disagree with him. It felt like the power inside of me was an infinite abyss, a well that refused to dwindle. And then when I drained that plant…
A chill works its way down my spine.
I remember what Doctor Mort said about witches and warlocks. He sounded…terrified when that girl asked about someone having both witch and warlock traits.
Is that what Soraya wanted me to find in the book? I don’t believe so. The section on witches and warlocks was abysmally small, only taking an hour or so to get through. It’s apparent that the book focuses on the other supernatural species.
Questions continue to percolate through my head as I follow Ansel out of class and down the stairs towards the cafeteria.
Celeste and Dyson trail behind us—our constant shadows.
The only time we ever get a reprieve is at night, but even then, I swear they’re in the hallway, waiting. Watching. Studying.
But why?
Every time I ask Celeste, she turns bright red and fumbles out an obvious lie. Dyson simply smirks and says something suggestive, which leads to Ansel threatening to punch him straight in the face.
“Izzy!” The familiar voice precedes the clacking of heels against the white tiles and a shock of ruby-red hair. Soraya sashays towards me, bedecked in a midnight-black sweater and gray leggings. “Come with me.”
All four of us turn towards her, but Soraya holds up a perfectly manicured hand. “Just Izzy,” she tells Dyson and Celeste. Then her gaze dips to my hand wrapped around Ansel’s, and her lips twitch. “And I suppose Ansel can come too. The more the merrier.”
The more the merrier?
What does she mean by that?
I exchange a glance with Ansel and then hurry after Soraya, following her down staircase after staircase until we reach the bottom floor.
Once there, she moves towards a statue depicting a phoenix-like creature, its features so intricate and lifelike I half wonder if they somehow found the creature in the wilderness and turned it to stone.
She lifts her hands, mutters an incantation under her breath, and the statue shifts to the side, revealing a hidden door.
“I didn’t know this was here,” I say, exchanging another glance with Ansel.
“Of course you didn’t.” Soraya steps through the threshold and into a long, dark hallway. “Only official coven members can enter and exit the covenstead at will.”
My heart begins to pound faster in my chest as hope and trepidation war for dominance. “Are we leaving?”
Soraya casts me a sympathetic look over her shoulder. “Unfortunately, no. But I do have a surprise for you.”
We follow her.
Ansel clears his throat beside me, his hand still clasped tightly in mine. “Does it have anything to do with the book you left Illy?”
Amusement dances in Soraya’s emerald eyes momentarily before she smirks and focuses straight ahead once more. “She showed it to you?”
Ansel sounds indignant. “Of course she did.”
“Because you’re her boyfriend?”
Color seeps into Ansel’s cheeks instantly, and he begins to sputter. “I… Well… I…um…”
“What did you want me to find in that book?” I ask, putting Ansel out of his misery—though a part of me is really, really tempted to hear his answer.
What are we to each other? Friends? Something more? Does he even want more with me? I think he does, but I also think he’s too terrified to say anything, which means I’ll need to take the first step.
But…later.
Hopefully when my mind isn’t so convoluted with questions and half answers.
“Maybe I just thought the book was interesting.” Soraya shrugs a single shoulder and continues walking, and she stops only when she reaches a door at the end of the hall. “Don’t you find it…enlightening?”
She doesn’t wait for me to respond before pushing the door open. We enter another hallway, but this one has numerous doors running down the length of each side.
“Guests and visiting covens can stay here,” Soraya explains, confusing me further.
“Okay?”
“I can give you an hour. Two at most. Use the time wisely. I’ll knock when we need to head back.” She pauses at a door and turns towards me. “You ready?”
“No,” I answer honestly, confused out of my mind.
Soraya’s lips twitch, but she doesn’t respond as she pushes open the door.
Almost immediately, two figures charge forward, anger painting deep lines across their faces.
“What the fuck is going on?” one snaps.
“Why the hell did you lock us in here?” another demands, crossing his arms over his chest.
My breath catches, and I take a stumbling step forward. Both men turn to stare at me, and the anger on their faces transforms into wonder and awe.
“Grayson. Ethan.” A sob catches in my throat, and then I’m racing forward and pulling them into my arms.
They hug me back just as tightly, one on each side, and a sense of rightness settles deep inside of me. This is where I’m supposed to be. With them, in their arms.
Even if we are missing a few people.
Everyone begins speaking at once.
“Are you okay?”
“What the fuck happened?”
“Did the witches hurt you?”
“I cheated on you with a garbage can and a lamppost.”
Wait…what?