Page 40 of Wicked Ends

Why covens would slay each other to control her.

“You’ve been practicing,” I say, stepping from the shadows.

She startles, the wolf dissolving instantly, and whips around. “Holy hell, Lucien! Wear a bell or something!”

“And sacrifice the pleasure of seeing you jump? I think not.”

She shakes her head, but she’s smiling. “Stalking is still considered creepy, just so you know. Even for vampires.”

“Observing,” I correct, approaching her. “There’s a distinction.”

“Yeah, one’s a felony and one’s just morally questionable.” She puts a hand up to fix her hair. “How long were you standing there?”

“Long enough to be impressed.” I stop a few feet from her, maintaining a proper distance. “Your control has improved significantly. The bird was particularly well-executed.”

“Thanks. I’ve been working on it. Figured I should have something to show for all those midnight sessions with Ash.”

I ignore the surge of something uncomfortably close to jealousy. “It shows.”

“Yeah, well, turns out all I needed was a psychotic witch to flip my magic switch to full blast, and a morally ambiguous warlock to teach me how to use it.”

“Drake?” I ask, because it would be strange not to acknowledge the ghost’s absence.

Her expression brightens at the question. “We found something that might help him stay longer, it’s complicated, and I still don’t understand it fully, but he’s been able to stay, like before. Better, actually.” She shivers, and I realize how cold it must be in the courtyard. Snow dusts the fountain’s rim, and I can see the cloud of her breath in the frigid air when she speaks.

“You should come inside. It’s nearly dark.” I gesture toward the door. “And freezing.”

“Cold doesn’t bother you, though, does it?” She falls into step beside me as we head back into the warmth of the academy.

“I sense it. I simply don’t suffer from it the way you do.”

“Must be nice.”

“It has its advantages.”

Rose smiles at this and allows me to escort her indoors.

Twenty-One

Lucien

We walk in silence, passing through a corridor where magical icicles hang from the ceiling, never melting, casting rainbow reflections across the walls. Rose reaches up to touch one, her fingertip coming away with a small spark of magic.

“The decorations are beautiful,” she says. “Makes it almost possible to forget that the headmistress is a complete psychopath, and that all the other students hate me.”

“The term is nearly over,” I remind her.

“Except I’m not leaving. No family to go home to, remember?” She says it casually, but I hear the undercurrent of loneliness.

“Nor am I,” I say. “Perhaps we can endure the holiday tedium together.”

She glances at me. “You’re staying?”

“Where would I go?” I shrug. “Besides, if you’re staying, someone needs to be here to make sure you don’t burn the place down. Accidentally.”

“Your dedication to duty knows no bounds.”

“Indeed. I’m practically a saint.”