5. WHO’S THAT GIRL?
WHO’S THAT GIRL?
THE NEXT MORNING, THE UNOFFICIAL QUEEN BEE OF RAVEN’S Head stepped out of the dormitory and onto the quad flanked by her number two witch, Amethyst Oberon, and a companion so stunning that at least a dozen students halted in their tracks at the sight of her.
Oakley Riddle was a total babe.
Gone was the fried hair, replaced with a silky moonlight silver-blond bob accented by a ribbon of ruby red framing her face, perhaps intentionally spelled to look like blood (magic was more realistic than dye).
Her pale skin shone, as polished and glassy as a grain of white rice, the perfect canvas for minimal makeup and an unexpected pink gloss.
They’d refined her uniform, too. Paired with the required vest and skirt were a whisper-thin cashmere shell from Ames, and a pair of heeled boots from Embry.
The shoes made an authoritative snap with each step across the stately bricks, and somehow that little sound changed Oakley’s whole stride into one of pure confidence.
Of course, no makeover would be complete without a little pushback.
Change was hard. And even Oakley had a line she’d draw in the sand.
In her case, the buck stopped at that infernal backpack.
The vampire was still hauling it around, despite Embry’s attempts to gift her a shoulder bag.
Oakley claimed it was her mother’s and an heirloom.
And considering Embry’s own shoulder bag bore a similar emotional designation, she couldn’t argue much with that.
The accessory did little to ruin the makeover’s overall effect.
Now, on the quad, the whispers hit a fever pitch.
“Is that the new girl?”
“Goddess, now that’s a vampire.”
Even Merlin the red-tailed hawk hopped down a few branches to turn his beady bird eyes toward a closer look at this new, improved Oakley Riddle. Her crimson streak was more brilliant and impressive than his, after all.
“People are staring,” the vampire whispered, eyes as big as celestial black holes.
Embry patted herself on the back because the way the thin sweep of liner augmented the natural shape of Oakley’s eyes was just incredibly flattering.
“Yes, they are.” Embry winked, full-to-bursting with pride. “Smile, nod, and keep that chin up. Forget yesterday—this is your true first day at Raven’s Head.”
With that, they set off. No longer did Oakley need to hoof it to first-period gym. When they transferred her into Jonesy’s drama class, they’d started a domino effect that meant a total rearrangement, including the shift to the same day-ending gym class Embry and Ames had.
The overall effect of the physical and schedule makeover was marked.
Gone was the tentative acceptance of attention from yesterday, replaced by enthusiastic embracement.
The girl even had her fangs out, peeking over her pale lips.
Embry hadn’t even realized they were retractable and could be worn out.
She’d just figured Oakley’s fangs hadn’t come in yet and, perhaps, that it wasn’t exactly nice to poke at a deficiency like that.
Also, Ames was correct—the refectory kitchen would indeed “do” blood for the only vampire in residence.
They’d sorted it out at dinner last night, and now Oakley’s clear to-go cup was the talk of the lunch period.
All in all, the reintroduction of Oakley Riddle made Embry feel even taller in today’s five-inch heels, and by sixth period, the magical warmth in her chest flared to new heights as they arrived at Marlow Theatre to a whole new Jonesy.
Yesterday’s panic had dissolved into pure joy on the young teacher’s face, her entire empathic body lighting up like the traditional Samhain bonfire as soon as the trio walked in, Fairfax and Alistair in tow.
“And you three make five! Five girls instead of two. More than double. I could die.” Jonesy struck out a placating hand. “But I won’t. I won’t.”
“Good,” Embry agreed, and gestured to her crew, “because we obtained verbal commitments at lunch from three Bitches who did not realize that playing football might require them to get plowed into the turf. They thought they’d do all the tackling or whatever.
” Embry waved a hand. She did know a thing or two about football because Daddy had played and was currently the president of the Raven’s Head Booster Club, but she didn’t want Jonesy to speculate on her loyalties.
She also decided not to mention that two of the Bitches in question were the shifters she’d helped during room assignments, so they owed her one.
No need to brag. “One more and we’ll have the bare minimum for feminine parts for Into the Woods. ”
“And if not, we have enough wigs to go the Shakespeare route and make it work.” Jonesy smiled, stars in her eyes. Her hand was still out, so Jonesy lowered the apologetic appendage and offered it to Oakley, who grinned accordingly. “I’m Miss Jones, but you can call me Jonesy. And you are?”
The makeover had done much for Oakley’s self-confidence, her bright grin sliding easily across her face under the full force of Jonesy’s magnetic interest. She accepted the teacher’s hand with all that newfound pluck and introduced herself. “Oakley Riddle.”
Impossibly, Jonesy’s thrilled eyes grew bigger. “Oh my! The senior vampire! Yes! So nice to meet you, Oakley.” Jonesy cast around wildly and yelled, “Knighton, that piano sounds great—stop fiddling with it and meet our new students!”
Embry sort of loved that Rye would have to literally come face-to-face with her handiwork while introducing himself to the newest members of the class.
“Who’s the hottie?” Oakley whispered. Embry had to follow her line of sight to realize she’d meant Rye, who’d popped up over the open piano lid, his hair a mess from tuning.
“Call him Rye,” Embry told her, deciding to avoid discussing Rye’s handsomeness quotient at all costs.
“Like the whisky?”
Embry was mildly surprised a vampire would know anything about the inside of a liquor cabinet. But she also hadn’t known they ate actual food until last week.
“Exactly.”
“Is he a teacher?” Oakley asked.
“Not exactly.”
“Oakley Riddle,” Jonesy said, well, theatrically, “please meet Rye Knighton, distinguished graduate of the Raven’s Head drama program and my assistant director.”
Rye gave a nod—and Embry pounced with a perfect grin and an excellent suggestion.
“Wouldn’t she make just the best Baker’s Wife with those big, sad eyes?”
Oakley presented those big, sad eyes to Rye.
Jonesy made a cooing oooooh sound at the exchange, and Rye barked out a laugh but, as usual, was completely immune to Embry’s powers of persuasion. “If she can sing, she sure would.”
Embry opened her mouth to assure him that she could, when a quicksilver smile spread across Oakley’s face. “Oh, I can sing well enough you’ll want to give me top billing.”
Well, that was… not how Oakley had characterized her interest or talent the day before.
But even if her personal characterization of her talent were accurate, it wasn’t as if she were going to steal the plum part of the Witch from Embry.
It’d be best not to get Oakley’s hopes up.
So, with a spark of inspiration, Embry grabbed Alistair by his solid shoulder and smooshed the pair of them together like mannequins to pose.
“And wouldn’t Alistair make an exceptional Baker?
Look at them together. All they want is to grant the Witch’s requests and live happily ever after. ”
“I think Embry’s onto something.” Alistair caught Embry’s gaze, and, watching her watch him, he smoothly slipped one arm over Oakley’s slight shoulders as if it belonged there.
And it did look wonderful there. So wonderful that Oakley bit her lip, one sharp fang slicing down over newly applied lipstick.
Forget that stuff about Rye—there was definitely something heart-shaped in the vampire’s feelings when it came to Alistair.
The diviner was still watching Embry, but he had to have noticed.
These two needed to be an item, on-stage and off.
“The woman knows her theater,” Alistair continued with a gracious tilt of his head toward Embry, before announcing in his posh accent, “And I must say I do look dashing in an apron.”
“Unfortunately, the character has never looked dashing a day in his life. Might want to go dowdy for the audition if you actually want the part, chap.”
The entire group wheeled toward the voice slinging unsolicited advice. It belonged to a tall figure blazing down the center aisle on long, confident strides. Embry’s heart double-beat as another surprise surfaced: That face belonged to a student she didn’t know. Worse? Oakley did.
“You didn’t tell me you had this class, too! What does that make? Like six?” Oakley exclaimed, slipping out from under Alistair’s arm and grinning at the newcomer. Then, to Embry, she said, “This is that other senior transfer I was telling you about—Balthazar Hale.”
Embry’s first thought: Great name. Her second thought: The perfect name for him.
This boy looked like James Dean for the Instagram set.
Dark hair polished to shining, sun-tanned skin, and a motorcycle jacket over his Raven’s Head uniform.
He grinned in a way that lit up his whole face, even at a distance.
Even more stunning, he had magic written all over him.
Of course, they were at a school for the magically gifted, but that didn’t mean all the students exuded magic.
But this one certainly did. Even at a few paces away, he practically glittered with power to Embry’s finely attuned witch senses.
“Oakley Riddle, we meet again,” Balthazar drawled, offering his enrollment sheet to Jonesy. “I’m lucky to snag a spot in this class, Miss Jones. The section was nearly full.”
“That would be because we have too many men in this class already,” Alistair sniffed.
Ames elbowed him hard. “Or because Embry and I are totally awesome recruiters.”
“In any case,” Jonesy said loud enough to dissuade any more cheeky remarks, “we’re happy to have you, Balthazar. And I get the feeling that you are familiar with Into the Woods?”
Balthazar smiled, blue eyes twinkling under his dark hair, like Superman come to life, minus the cape.
Goddess alive, now that he was close enough that she could register his features properly, Embry suspected this was the most gorgeous person she’d ever seen in real life.
Even her well-controlled hormones couldn’t ignore that, and her heart began to race.
“Yes, ma’am. I was in a summer production in New Orleans two years ago. Over the course of the run, I played both princes, the Wolf, and the Baker.”
Embry’s mouth nearly hung open. Sure, he was handsome, but nothing truly beat competence on the scale from inanimate object to sexy as hell.
“But it sounds like some parts are already spoken for?”
Jonesy was quick to dispel this. “We’re just spitballing—nothing will be set in stone until next week. And you’ve just handed me extra options for my cast, Balthazar. I love options, don’t you?”
Rye nodded in agreement as Jonesy nearly twirled in place. She’d gone from down and out to winning the musical theater lottery in basically twenty-four hours. “Excellent! Now, if everyone will get seated, we’ll discuss the audition process and how to properly prepare.”
Ames and Fairfax led the group to their preferred row of seats, and Oakley insisted Balthazar come, too.
This had the effect of making Alistair pout.
Therefore, Embry made the snap decision to start the matchmaking right that moment by inserting herself between Balthazar and the fresh pairing of Oakley and Alistair.
This would give them a chance to stoke that spark she’d seen earlier and had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that she would be seated next to the new, good-looking arrival.
She was just being both protective and polite.
And so, as they settled into the theater seats, Embry proceeded to properly introduce herself as she would to any newcomer, hot or not. Or at least she tried. “I’m—”
“Embry Woodcross,” Balthazar supplied in an enthusiastic whisper, blue eyes dancing like ocean waves. “Your reputation precedes you, Princess.”
Embry sewed her mouth shut, but in truth she wanted to gape.
Princess? She should’ve recoiled at the simple drop of the word.
It was diminutive and presumptive, and should’ve been everything she hated about high school boys (Alistair’s jokes about her “queen bee” status notwithstanding) and yet, that word out of his mouth was…
nice. As was the confirmation that outside of Raven’s Head, the town, the island, she was somebody.
So, she played along and squinted at him. “It does?”
“In certain circles, yes.”
“Certain circles in Romania?” she guessed, using the only bit of information she had on him that he hadn’t shared already. Romania typically meant vampires, but this boy was tanned to a golden brown. Not even remotely undead.
He laughed. “Certain magical circles are very aware of the Woodcrosses.”
Embry tilted her head. If he were a witch, he’d tell her given the knowledge he’d alluded to.
Instead, he locked eyes with her, leaned in just a fraction, sumac and cinnamon—and magic, Embry was sure of it—drifting off him, sweet and spicy and clean, and teased her with a wry grin and what he wasn’t.
“Not a witch. Not a diviner. Not a vampire…” He trailed off.
Daring her to guess. Trusting her to know.
Embry took in every inch of this magic-oozing boy.
The black leather jacket, the dangerous shine in his eyes, the confidence.
It all added up to one specific subset of magical person.
So secretive and insular she’d never met one.
Almost as rare as Oakley. But one she didn’t need to research, because witches were just as aware of them as they were of people like her. Embry’s eyes widened. “No.”
Balthazar cocked a brow. He was going to make her say it. And suddenly, though she’d just met him, Embry wanted to be right. “A sorcerer?”
His smile flashed, and it felt like a reward. “Very good, Princess.”