7. THE WITCHES’ SABBATH #2
That burned. She did think about other people.
She’d been thinking about other people for days.
Oakley, Jonesy, the kids she helped at orientation, even—and always—Daddy.
Yet he was right. Still, the surge of shame she’d suffer at blatantly admitting it seemed worse than what she’d suffer deflecting it.
So, inspecting her hands, she said, “I’m not an omniscient, Rye. ”
He wasn’t going to let her go that easily. He never would.
“You don’t have to be omniscient to have some compassion, Woodcross. Just maybe realize that it’s not always all about you and give the guy a break, okay.”
“I don’t always think everything is all about me.” He loomed close, a haughty eyebrow arch articulating everything he thought about that. Embry swept him away with her elbow like the pest that he was. “You wouldn’t understand.”
“Oh, no, I think I understand you better than anyone, Embry Woodcross.”
He was right—and she hated it. She scrunched up her nose in frustration, eyes squeezed shut as she fisted both hands into her lap. Why was she this way with him? Rye Knighton was an eternal paper cut, always exposing the rawness under her expertly exfoliated skin.
“You’re so infuriating.”
This insult, of course, made a smile spread across his face.
“Infuriating? Because I call you out when others don’t?”
“Well, yes.”
Rye laughed at the cutting edge in her voice. “If I’m infuriating, you’re insufferable.”
“No one is making you suffer me, Knighton. Go ahead. Leave. See ya.”
He didn’t budge. “But then everything would be so very boring.”
Embry smoothed an invisible wrinkle from her skirt. “If my insufferablity is your entertainment, you clearly need a hobby.”
“I need a hobby? You need a hobby. And Lazarus’s never-ending mason jar meals is not a hobby; it’s indoctrination.”
This guy opened her fridge too often.
“I’m only making good on the doctor’s orders so his prediabetic, stent-needing body doesn’t run away from him.
” This was true, and Rye knew it. He was just being an ass.
And it was stupid, but suddenly she wanted to prove that she wasn’t a self-absorbed brat.
Even if he was the only one who thought that…
well, other than maybe Merle. “Anyway, I have one.”
“A hobby? Your side business selling potions isn’t a hobby; it’s a hustle.”
“Not that.” She threw her shoulders back proudly. “I’ve decided to make Raven’s Head a better place before I leave it. I’ve begun a campaign of good deeds.”
Okay, that was a bit much. But it sounded fantastic. And Rye made her feel a little bolder and a lot more reckless than any person on the planet. Constant proximity had a hell of an effect.
“And what exactly have you done as part of this campaign? Makeovers with every glasses-wearing student within the walls of Raven’s Head?
Good, old-fashioned matchmaking between bumbling freshmen?
The introduction of Cheesecake Tuesdays to the refectory’s rotation of Black Forest cake and nothing else? ”
Embry tapped her saddle shoe against the toe of tonight’s artfully scuffed leather high-tops. “That last one seems mighty specific, Rye.”
“Cheesecake is the perfect food.” He shrugged. “So, what are these good deeds?”
Embry resisted the urge to slug him. Rye was oh-so-sluggable. “Oh come on, you know the musical casting drama was fully solved by moi.”
Those green eyes narrowed. “I thought it was you and Ames?”
“Well, yes. It was.” That curl of shame rekindled. Embry scrunched her nose again. “Anyway, my campaign this week also included solving a roommate kerfuffle on orientation day—”
Rye smirked. “Not a kerfuffle.”
“A kerfuffle that was about to be a tornado of tears.” It had resulted in chaining Oakley to Magda, but it originally had been a philanthropic exercise.
“I’ve also personally guided a transfer student who was homeschooled for her entire educational journey until she set foot on the Raven’s Head campus as a senior. ”
He squinted. “Wait, are you talking about Oakley?”
“As a matter of fact, I am. I’ve not only worked very hard to ensure she has the best experience possible, but I’ve spent hours in the conservatory, learning everything I can about vampires to support her as a friend.”
Rye tugged his full bottom lip. “And you did this by caking so much makeup on her face she won’t combust in sunlight?”
“My makeup application is perfection and not cakey in any way, and you know it.” As if. “Furthermore, I’ll have you know that the whole burst-into-flames-in-the-daylight myth is actually propaganda pushed by the vampires themselves.”
“Really?”
“Really.” She’d taken excellent notes. “It’s a genius cover story that allows them to walk among normal humans without suspicion.
Of course, they were so good at feeding on those same humans in broad daylight that it led to some overzealous magical people hunting them for sport, but things are different now with Table regulations and Oakley is under our care—”
“Our care? You mean your care?”
“No, our care. She’s on her way to being fully seen as one of the Witch crew—and everyone knows we’re untouchable.”
Rye raised an incredulous brow and Embry felt that familiar urge to clobber his incredulity with facts.
“The last vampire at the school, Hannah Crawford, was aligned with the Stitches, and as much as I respect Cass Calloway and find them an absolute delight, they have their hands full with a rather large number of freshmen and wouldn’t be available to provide day-to-day guidance.
I, on the other hand, am ready and willing to provide what Oakley needs to make her one and only year at Raven’s Head a roaring success. ”
Stepping off her imagined soapbox, Embry nodded. Rye let a true smile spread across his stupidly handsome face. “Using your powers for good and not just to fluff up your homecoming royalty vote count and make a profit off potions for the less fortunate? Well, I’ll be.”
Embry laughed. “You’ll be what? Wrong?”
“Shocked.”
And he’d been the one to call her insufferable.
The boy might be on a gap year, but Rye was still planning to be pre-law (like most witches, including Embry) and would become an excellent and dogged lawyer someday if he treated all his clients like her.
Though, in Embry’s experience around Rye—at her house and his, at school, in coven meetings—he treated no one else the way he treated her.
And she treated no one else the way she treated Rye.
The shame receded as Embry found a reasonable conversational foothold. “I’ve always been a nice person, Rye. You’re just so familiar, you don’t see it. That’s human nature, you know. Not appreciating what’s right in front of your face because you’re so used to seeing it.”
Rye glanced at his hands. “That’s actually pretty wise, Embry.”