24. Polaris
24
POLARIS
I 'm not quite sure how, but I’ve made it to the end of the week with my memory still intact and my friendship with Bryony growing stronger. Since my blackout, I’ve managed to survive in my own little bubble, causing no ripples among the other students.
I just have to get through the rest of today, and then I will have the luxury of learning what it’s like to spend the weekend alone. There are no classes on the weekend and I don’t even know what I’m going to do with myself.
The first class of the day: Offensive and Defensive, again. Everyone filters into the room while I stand with my back pressed against the wall, trying to remain as invisible as possible while Bryony chats with Professor Juniper at the end of the hall.
Sian and Terence appear from around the corner and I grimace. They both continue to act like I don’t exist, turning to face away from me the second I’m close, just like now. With every day that passes, the desire for S and T to like me again dwindles.
My eyebrows gather as they slip by, entering the classroom as I consider the absence of one of our other Florentine friends. B—Benjamin. I haven’t seen him since he was declared a human and we were all ushered out of the hall and to our quads. I haven’t gone looking for him, though. Searching through the humans for the guy who dated your former friend seems dumb, but there’s still a level of concern that I can’t seem to shake.
Pressing my lips together, I try to eliminate anything related to Florentines from my thoughts, willing my mind to think positive.
I can stand on my own two feet without the fickle friendships I used to have.
If they can so easily leave me behind, they weren’t my real friends anyways, and I don’t need people like that in my life.
I scoff at myself. Maybe I am full of crap since I'm relying on Bryony so much. It’s also impossible to rid my past from my thoughts so soon, despite how hard I try.
I left Florentine’s five days ago. Five whole days, and it already feels like a distant memory. So much has happened since we arrived through those grand double doors that my head hurts from it all. I keep thinking about V—Veronica—wishing there was something I could have done to help her. Not so much with the dying part that was out of everyone’s control, but more to do with the fact that I could have been her friend.
Maybe if she was still here I could have had a chance to be her friend. On the flipside, it’s daunting how easily it could have been me in her place instead. We don’t know who we’re linked to. There’s no heads up. Nothing. It’s a blessing and a curse.
I could have been everybody's friend, but I chose to hide away at Florentine’s in fear of the blood curse, and yet I watched it take somebody too soon.
The blood kin curse took Veronica without warning, without caution. Just…gone. It didn’t care if she was friendly or mean, it didn’t matter if she had friends or not, and it didn’t even register that her sigil was still in place; it took her anyway.
It’s surprising how much of an effect it’s having on me.
The wolves seem to be at peace with it now or over it all together; either way, Bryony agrees they’re back to normal after having lost one of their own. Apparently, they held a special moment for Veronica, but it was a private matter and by the time I learned of it, it was too late for me to find out if I could attend or not.
I do want to pay my respects, but if it’s a wolf thing, I need to ask one of them, and the idea of that makes me uneasy. I can't bring myself to ask, not when it feels like the only wolves that might have the answers are the ones that surround Lincoln, and I'm not getting close to him. I'm not playing those games, not when he still doesn't know who I am.
The bell rings and my gaze darts to Bryony at the end of the hall. She’s still huddled close to Juniper, so I decide to play it safe and wait for her inside. We’ve been together as much as possible. It’s a foreign feeling to depend on someone, well, to depend on someone without pretending that I’m not.
As much as I appreciate her, I feel a sense of pride in myself for entering the class on my own, but I only make it two steps before I collide with a hard chest. Panic dulls me from the familiarity of the sensation and I brace for impact as if the floor is ready to rise and meet me. But instead, a hand wraps around my waist, holding me in place, and soft eyes find mine.
Wylder.
He looks every inch as handsome as he did at the party, but without the bar between us, it feels even more intimate than offering my first shot of liquor. His cropped blond hair makes my fingers tingle, fighting the desire to feel the texture, while his deep hazel eyes, a swirl of rich browns and emerald greens, hold me captive. His shoulders seem wider, and he somehow seems taller when I’m this close.
Hot damn.
The sound of someone clearing their throat startles me and I quickly remember myself. Forcing myself to stand unaided, I lurch from his hold, desperately aware that the distance I create between us is because he allows it. He could probably crush my skull with his bare hands.
A grin spreads across his face as he winks at me and I mutter my thanks, but as much as he releases his hold on me, he doesn’t step back as I do; if anything, he inches closer.
“Anything for the girl who let me serve her her first shot,” he says, and I blush, hating how pink I know my cheeks are going to be right now. “I’ve got to say, though, this look definitely suits you better. The black is hot, but the silver is almost…whimsical,” he says, tugging at a loose tendril of hair curling around my face, and my heart stills.
He knows.
He knows that the girl hiding beneath the silver hair is the same girl who was trying to reinvent herself with the jet-black hair. I didn’t piece it together at first, with him mentioning my first drink, but he’s making it clear he knows by pointing out my hair.
He doesn't seem confused by the fact that it's a different color, but I’m completely overcome with the need to explain myself. “The silver is an inconvenience. I dyed it black for a fresh start, for it to turn up like this again the following day,” I admit, rambling to myself.
I have no idea why I'm sharing it with him. The need to make sure he understands is prominent and out of my control, it seems.
Dammit.
Where is Bryony? I need saving from this catastrophe before it unravels further.
My eyes widen, my throat drying as realization dawns on me; if he knows that the girl beneath the black hair is also the girl beneath the silver hair, then does Lincoln too?
“Hey, you made it on your own. I should be proud,” Bryony says, interrupting my spiral. “I see you're getting reacquainted with the bartender,” she adds with a chuckle, one that Wylder doesn't respond to. His eyes are still latched onto mine as if they're searching deep into my soul, desperate to understand what's beneath. I'm locked in a stare-off, one I can't seem to pull myself out of.
Bryony is acutely aware of the fact too, as she shakes my shoulder, drawing my attention toward her. “Are you free tonight?” she asks, and I roll my eyes, still aware that the guy is watching my every move.
“You're well aware that my after-school hours are always empty,” I say, a mixture of a grumble and relief. If you had asked me back at Florentine’s what I'd be doing if I had the opportunity to leave my room, I would tell you I would be everywhere. I would be free. But there's something comforting about my own space in a world I still don't understand, and I silently hate myself for not making a change.
“Good.” Her shoulders lift as she beams at me, leaving an inkling of uncertainty tightening in my gut.
“Why?”
She shakes her head, offering no explanation, and my gaze flicks to Wylder, who presses his lips together in a thin line. I almost think he might know what she’s not saying, but to my surprise, he offers me a wink before sauntering off.
I’m locked in place, watching him retreat, and it takes Bryony curling her fingers around my upper arm and tugging me to my seat to get me to move. I grumble under my breath when she plants her palms on my desk, looking deep into my eyes.
“Just be dressed to impress,” she states, leaving me even more confused.
“Who am I impressing?” I push as she drops into her seat beside me. I expect her to leave me hanging, but instead, she does something even worse by answering.
“The coven.”
I've been panicking on high alert all day, and all because of one word, five letters spoken by the girl I thought was my most genuine friend, yet she leaves me high and dry, strangled and stressed as the same word repeats over and over again in my head.
Coven.
Coven.
Coven.
She gave no inclination of what impressing them would look like, and as I stand in front of my armoire, feeling even more out of my depth than I have been since I got here, I begin to question her motives. Does she not realize that I spent so much of my life—the only part I can even remember—being forced to wear a uniform that itched?
I don't have a sense of style. I just wore what I was given, and even though clothes have been provided for me here, there's a sense of freedom with it that I've yet to latch onto. I don't know how to express myself. I just know how to feel comfortable in my own skin. But as much as I grumbled about what I should wear, she refused to give me any more details, swearing that she'd already said more than she should have.
I then had the pleasure of spending the rest of the day wondering whether it's better to know or not at this stage. With my blood pressure so high, I'm confident I would have been better not knowing. Especially since classes ended a few hours ago, and I haven’t heard anything from her.
I’ve messaged her a few times, trying to make dinner plans, but I’ve had no reply. So it seems I'm going to dress to impress myself and eat alone.
Eyeing the clothes, I settle on a pair of black jeans with cargo pockets on the sides and a cute cropped t-shirt with puffed shoulders to go with my combat boots. I brush my fingers through my silver hair, letting it fall in waves around my face before I reach for my cell phone again. My fingers dance over the screen, growing more confident with the device as I tap out another message that I know will go unanswered.
Polaris: Help a girl out, Bryony. If not, can we grab food? I feel sick, but maybe dinner will help.
I press my lips together, staring at the screen like an answer will jump out at me. But just like the previous messages, this one remains unread.
Taking a deep breath, I head for the door, tucking my cell phone into my pocket along with my most prized possession: my coin. I feel a sudden burst of confidence. I can go to the dining hall and come home alone—safe and sound and all by myself.
I’ll be fine.
The coven is clearly going to do something when I get back. Maybe make me wait until it’s dark out. They're not going to jump me as I walk through the grounds on campus.
I hope…
Heading downstairs, I consider stopping on the first floor to use the bathroom, but a sense of eeriness suddenly surrounds me. The quietness feels unfamiliar, leaving me nervous and acutely aware that I’m alone in my own dorm, panicking.
Opting to find some form of life, be it anybody on campus at all, I decide to hurry down the final flight of stairs, only to grind to a halt at the bottom.
There are no sofas, coffee tables, or frames on the walls…
Nothing.
The lounge is gone. Every inch of furniture in the space is absent, and I gulp as I take in the seven figures dressed in deep purple robes that cover their bodies and faces, hidden beneath oversized hoods. A golden, thick rope wraps around each of their waists and all I can do is blink at them.
What in the heck is going on?
I don't move. I don't even breathe, yet one steps forward with an unfamiliar voice.
“Welcome to your initiation,” they boom, leaving me to gape at them.
“Do I get a choice?” I blurt, tingles shimmering over my skin as my pulse wreaks havoc through my body.
“The Renegade coven is the most sought-after coven, not only on campus, but in the world. It would be foolish to question us and even more abysmal for you to fail and prove we’ve chosen wrong. Now, are you ready?” they ask, and the words from class this week pass through my mind.
I have no idea where they may lead me or what it might entail, but the importance of a coven to not only my future as a witch but my magic, is paramount.
So, I ignore the grumble of my stomach and the desire for the bathroom and roll my shoulders back. Standing as tall and as proud as I can.
“I’m as ready as I'll ever be.”