7. THE WITCHES’ SABBATH #3
“I know.” Then, just like that, a new thought plunked into Embry’s mind like a raindrop in a puddle. “Hey, what do you think about me extending my campaign of good deeds to Merle? He’s lonely, Jonesy’s lonely—what if I set them up? Instant grumpiness cure.”
Rye didn’t hesitate. “That’s a terrible, meddlesome idea.”
“Why? It could be the grumpy-sunshine pairing of the century.”
“I was being facetious earlier. I think your campaign of good deeds goes too far when you start magically orchestrating relationships.”
Embry rolled her eyes—Rye knew of her résumé of matchmaking prowess, which went beyond her besties, and might even extend to Alistair and Oakley if she got this one right. And he also knew that she would never magically cheat in a setup.
“I’m not going to use a love spell—I know those are illegal.
Duh. I just need a meet cute.” Embry reached out and cuffed his wrist, excited.
His skin was oh-so-warm. “You know, if you help me get them in the same room, you’ll most certainly keep me in check so I won’t go too far.
You’d be like bowling bumpers for my good intentions. ”
“Nope.”
“Coward. Come on, you’re already volunteering to help the coven and the drama department; why not lend a hand in making two lonely people enormously happy?”
Rye did not get a chance to defend his lack of interest further as the double chime of Hiram’s Bell clanged through the meeting area, bouncing off the trees and shimmering wards while gaining the attention of every member of the coven.
Daddy stood in the middle of the pentagram now, mentee Fairfax grinning just over his shoulder. “If I could please have this year’s candidates for Ascension and their appointed mentors join me in leading the coven in the annual recasting of the Woodcross Residence wards before we adjourn?”
Like the assignment of mentors, the recasting of the coven wards was a tradition, though this one only dated back to the founding of the school, which had its own wards.
Designed by the Woodcrosses of yore—and maintained by the administration and prefects—the school’s wards worked in tandem with the oath of silence each student took upon enrollment to create an impenetrable double layer of protection from the outside world.
The island and its own wards acted as an additional buffer, but one could never be too careful with hundreds of the Table’s magical citizens in one place.
The wards cast tonight were ones specifically meant to protect coven business and could only be accessed by those purposefully invited.
Embry smoothed her hair, her blouse, her skirt and stood, apologetic smile plastered on her face with an accompanied shrug for Rye. “That’s me.”
“It is.” Rye nodded at Merle, who’d stepped away from the mead with an unsteady lurch. His drink sloshed over his mug and dribbled down his shirt. “But it’s also him.”
“Oh no.” Embry didn’t exactly run away from Rye, but she did make a race-walking beeline to Merle, managing to intercept him with a drying spell that had his clothing cleaned up in two seconds flat.
Not that Merle seemed to appreciate it, swatting her away and insisting he’d walk on his own without any more fuss.
Flustered, Embry trailed Merle to the pentagram’s center.
Unfortunately, she had to pass Rye to get there, which gave him the opportunity to use the stage whisper he’d perfected while brooding his way through the lead in Macbeth last spring.
“Remember, Embry, it’s not all about you.”
For someone who thought she should get over herself, Rye was quite interested in reminding her he thought about her all the time. Or at least that was how Embry saw it.
Still, Rye had the annoying habit of often being right, and so, she took his parting words to heart as she positioned herself next to Merle.
Unfortunately, though he’d downed an entire cup of mead, the man hadn’t softened in the slightest, chiding her at every turn.
As Embry offered to hold the spell scroll from which they were to read, he snatched it away, not liking the way she was angling it.
As they recited the long, traditional spell as one, he glanced over at her several times, clearly, visibly questioning her pronunciation of the Old English.
And then, when the wards were cast, shimmering across the residence grounds with the ferocity of a silver lightning storm, Merle didn’t join Embry in applause. Instead, he shoved the scroll at her and walked in the direction of the driveway without so much as a parting word.
Embry’s heart fell. She’d always dreamed of a close relationship with her mentor—the kind where they met for coffee at the Black Cat just because they enjoyed each other’s company.
Where her elder gave her advice and listened to her plans for bolstering the coven, joining Daddy’s law firm, training for her first marathon. Where they were a pair for the ages.
Instead… it felt as if her mere presence were making Merle feel his own loneliness that much more. There was no spell on earth that could fix heartbreak like that.