Fox
This whisk is my weapon, and these lumpy mashed potatoes are every mistake I’ve made today.
I helped kidnap a stranger. And moreover, I used magic to assault her.
I’m still waiting for what the universe will do to even that score.
When I was younger, I used to think the anxiety that came along with using my magic for my own selfish purposes would be enough of a punishment.
Now, I know that there is a sick, ironic joke waiting to strike at the right moment.
Still, I whisk. Because Elsbeth is still asleep upstairs and the rest of us are trying to keep busy until we have to confront the consequences of our actions.
“She didn’t fight back.” Maddox paces the kitchen floor. “Why wouldn’t she have fought back?”
“She kicked you square in the chest,” I remind him. “I’d call that fighting back.”
“That was hardly with the strength of a woman who has been going to the gym with Thorne and running circles around him,” Mads answers, rubbing his sternum with his fist.
Asher balances on two of the kitchen stool’s legs, the tops of his thighs catching him before he falls back when he loudly dismisses Mads. “You’re driving me up the wall.”
“You’re not the least bit curious as to why she let you corner her?” Mads rounds on him, his feet cutting through his repeated path before he stares at Asher. “You think she just stumbled upon higher education?”
“No one is underestimating her but your imagination,” I insert, reminding Maddox that we’ve had this conversation before. “She didn’t fight back because she couldn’t.”
“In part, thanks to you.” Thorne’s voice from the kitchen table turns all of our heads, though the comment was meant for Maddox. “Just saying.”
“Not helping,” I counter.
Maddox’s face whips around to me. “He’s right. We’re all going to prison.”
Asher plants the legs of his seat down hard on the floor. “It’s too late to dwell on that. We have to get whatever information we need out of her before anyone realizes she’s missing.”
He’s summarizing the semblance of a plan we came up with last night. Like any other danger, the key is to isolate the threat, then it’s a matter of not getting caught.
“Retrieve. Remove. Resolve,” Thorne chants. “We’re already at phase three.”
“That’s not a plan. It’s a catchy slogan for a terrorist group,” Asher mumbles.
“It’s what we have. She’ll tell us what we need to know because she has no other choice.” Thorne gets to his feet and comes to stand at the end of the kitchen island.
I rummage through the silverware drawer, looking for our dullest fork and butter knife and setting them next to the plate on the tray I’m preparing for Elsbeth. People are more agreeable with a full belly. You don’t have to be Ivy League to know that.
“She’s going to wake up any moment and start screaming. I think the best thing we can do is to keep her calm and assure her she’s safe.” I cut Thorne a strict glare. “No one is going to hurt her. She’ll start to feel safe enough to spill her guts. Then we can figure out what to do with her.”
“More ambiguous plans and dithering directions.” Maddox braces himself on the white marble countertop. “We don’t hurt her. Period.”
He levels us each in turn with a look that truthfully threatens the earth may open under our feet and swallow us whole if we refuse.
“None of us want to hurt her, Mads,” Asher reaffirms. “At least, not unless she asks nicely.” His brow wiggles at me and I choke on a laugh. “Fox, you naughty perv.”
“Shut up.” I toss a dirty kitchen towel at his head, but he dodges it with ease. “It’s Friday. We have all the next ten days to figure out which spell or potion to use on her to safely deposit her back into her room come next Sunday. Now, let’s just—”
There’s a loud bang and all of our heads shoot toward the hall leading up the stairs.
“Gentleman.” Asher gets to his feet as Thorne and I move toward the bottom step. “Showtime.”
I take the stairs two at a time behind Thorne.
Asher huffs behind me with Maddox somewhere trailing behind us.
I expected her to scream or try to escape when she woke up, but from the sound of that slam, she’s either destroying furniture or trying to get our attention.
Either way, I reach out to the back of Thorne’s shirt when we get to the top of the stairs and haul him back to me.
“Asher.” I look over my shoulder at him right as Maddox makes it to the top with us. “You go in first.”
He rolls his eyes. “She doesn’t have access to weapons of mass destruction.” But he steps ahead of us anyway.
Asher’s shoulders rise and fall in a settling breath before he steps in front of her doorway.
No projectiles fly toward him, but he waits for Thorne to reach his side before taking the first tentative step across the threshold.
Thorne steps off to the side to allow me and Maddox to come in as well, but Maddox lingers just outside the frame.
Elsbeth’s head tilts. Her eyes pan the four of us but she remains silent.
There’s a small smile on her lips, and it’s the first time that I sense there’s more to her than I previously thought.
She holds her hands in her lap, her legs crossed at her knees, and her shoulders firmly square.
There’s no sense of panic on her face. No sign that she’s surprised to have been brought here by the four of us together.
When her eyes land on Maddox, they darken.
And I realize she’s not trapped here with us. We’ve given her exactly what she wants.
Thorne takes three steps to center himself in the middle of the room and crosses his arms before he speaks. “Want to tell us who you actually are?”
She looks up at him through her lashes, not giving him the satisfaction of having to tilt her head up to see him fully. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Let’s start with your real name,” Thorne continues, his tone steady and sure.
“You already know it.”
“Elsbeth Goodman is someone’s name, but not yours,” I add, trying my best to sound bored or at least unamused. “You know who we are, so it’s only fair that we have the same information.”
She doesn’t look at me, holding Thorne’s gaze like a challenge. “There are four of you. Three of which beat out thousands of applicants to attend one of the most prestigious schools in the country.” She leans forward just a little to accent her words. “Figure it out.”
The corner of her lips perks and something in my gut reacts.
“We will,” Thorne answers. “But there will be a lot less screaming if you tell us on your own.”
It’s a threat, and by the unflinching look on her face, she’s ready for it.
“We do know you’re not working alone.” Asher enters the conversation. “They won’t be able to track you here. We guarantee that.”
It’s his attempt to scare her into talking, knowing that she’s utterly alone with no one on the outside on the way to save her. The threat is useless because she looks at Asher and smiles. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You’re not a good liar,” I say.
She finally turns her attention on me and I instantly regret it. Her brows knit together as if she’s contemplating something. “I’d say I’m just as good as the rest of you.”
The sensation of being stripped down and witnessed for the first time hits me.
We’ve been raised to have two facades. The one the world is given, where we’re above-average students from well-to-do families destined to succeed with the privilege we were born into.
The other as protectors, providers, and ultimately sacrifices for the betterment of our coven.
But to her, we are a secret third option . . . enemy.
“What if we make a trade?” Maddox finally speaks but stays put behind our man-made wall. “Truth for truth.”
“Interesting,” she says, uncrossing her legs to plant both her feet on the floor. Her hands brace the mattress on either side of her thighs and she finally relents. “Fine, you first.”
I pass a look back to Mads. If he wants to make this deal without the rest of our input, then he has to be the one to start.
He meets my gaze for a brief second before leaning his shoulder against the doorframe.
His hands are in his pockets to keep him from fidgeting, a tell that he’s nervous and wanting to hide it.
“Obviously, we all know each other and that you’ve been following us,” he starts, and I flick my attention back to Elsbeth.
“And? That’s a truth but not something I didn’t know,” she prods.
“We know you’ve been secretly collecting information about us and have been transferring into all of Asher’s classes for two semesters. What we don’t know is where you were studying before you transferred.”
“Princeton. I did undergrad in social work and knew I would go further with the big H on my diploma if I wanted to take up a public office,” she admits, but it feels like a veiled truth. Something that she used in her application interview.
Maddox looks at me, his brow rising, as if to ask me to go next, so I give an irritated sigh before offering a truth about me. “I work as a contractor for the government as cyber security for some lower-level entities. I didn’t go Ivy League but have a degree—”
“From MIT,” she finishes for me. “Try again, beautiful.”
I smile wide at that, breaking our eye contact to shake my head and say to Thorne, “That was more of a confirmation than a truth. You’re up.”
“I changed my gym schedule to match yours.” He’s not embarrassed, but the admission is new to us. “I spent weeks tracking when you showed up. Went every day to figure out which days you preferred, then narrowed down the time you spent there so I could be there when you were.”
Her cheeks flush.
“I’m allergic to shellfish.”
I laugh. “For fuck’s sake.”
“I think his truth deserves a little more than a dietary restriction,” Asher pipes up in defense of Thorne’s ego.