Chapter Nineteen Zara

"Truly, Zara, you should have stayed away."

My ex-BFF is totally the villain in this situation.

Obviously.

Yet, somehow, as she stands there posing in the big arched doorway of the student commons—looking like she just stepped out of a Burberry ad in her plaid skirt and knee socks, with her Academy blazer hooked casually over one shoulder—and commanding every eye without effort like the celebrity she is, Cleo manages to make her sigh sound all put-upon and tragic.

"Well, that's a bummer. Sorry to disappoint?" Despite the nerves fizzing like seltzer in my gut and the heartbreak burning like ground glass in my chest, I plant a hand on my hip and whip up some Gemini sass. "Maybe the fate of the witching world is, like, more important than a little personal inconvenience. Just a thought."

Never mind that I'm standing awkwardly in the middle of the nave, exposed and conspicuous, right under the big oculus window with my heavy backpack slung over one shoulder.

Plus I'm all alone, natch.

That's because I made my warlocks (even Max, especially Max who's failing half his classes but still in rut and grumbly about leaving me), go wherever they're all supposed to be for second period.

Me?

I'm supposed to be up in the choir loft library for study hall, boning up on the Horn of Ceres and cramming for that freaking final.

Now it doesn't look like I'm gonna get that chance .

"Oh, Zara." My ex-BFF tosses the glossy rope of her merlot braid over one shoulder and gives me an exasperated look. "You could have fled. You could have hidden. You could even have supported me, which would save us all a great deal of trouble. But I told him you wouldn't."

My gaze flickers to Xiao.

My ex-fuck toy is lurking in the Gothic doorway at Cleo's heels like a pet poodle (same as always). So I assume he's the him she's talking about.

In his spiffy new Academy slacks and blazer, with his moussed-up black hair and his smoldery glare, he's the other half of that Burberry ad she's rocking.

Except his arm's in a sling (an apparent souvenir of his scuffle with Lucius' wolf). That's a good look on him.

Now his sulky expression makes me smirk. I pop my hip out and fold my arms across my chest.

"Lemme get this straight." I muse. "You two waltz into my birthday party without an invite, physically attack me and my warlocks, literally try to shoot me and knife Ronin, plan to steal my fucking crown on live TV, then expect me to just accept that shit and skulk off with my tail between my legs?"

I nail Cleo with my own version of the Romanov eyebrow. "Keep dreaming, Sunshine."

That's my old nickname for her (an ironic one, because she's all stormy and pouty, especially early in the a.m.) I'm actually kinda proud of myself for saying it without flinching.

My ex's long lashes fall over her violet eyes. Under a slick of nude lipstick from one of the high-end brands she pimps, her full lips tighten.

For a sec, I wonder if maybe being mortal enemies and vicious rivals for the same throne is as painful for her as it is for me.

Then her bony shoulders straighten. Her lashes lift and her eyes flash. Her gaze shoots straight to the backpack I'm schlepping.

The same backpack that holds the witching world crown V lifted right off her mom's head last night.

Her lips part with what looks like surprise.

Deliberately she saunters into the commons with her long-legged runway stride. Xiao slinks in after her like a jackal.

The heavy church door swings shut behind them with a thud .

"Cavolo," Cleo murmurs. "I suppose we do this the hard way."

Sweet Jesus.

Do not even tell me that bitch is clairsentient.

I scramble to recall the Aquarius genetics from my Science of Witchcraft class and whether she's got Valyrian telepathy (as well as Dark Fae and, apparently, sea dragon shifter) in her witchy DNA.

At the same time, I ease away from the study carrels to give myself maneuvering space and scope out the commons to see who my allies are. I deliberately sent my guys away (because one, they have classes, and two, I don't need their hovery closeness setting off my superheat, that's literally the last thing we need right now). Dez is off with a grouchy RT in the clinic, getting the status of Racetrack's concussion checked.

Which means I'm pretty much alone in here except for a cluster of worried Hadrians, all friends of the absent Mallory, near the coffee nook.

Plus Skyler and her Villa Tiberius clique (who were leaving till Cleo showed up) just circled back to watch the show.

Cheese on toast.

Guess we're doing this now.

Anticipation tightens my chest and crackles along my skin. I narrow my gaze on my approaching ex-bestie, measure the cadence of her unhurried footfalls in the suddenly silent church, and hum in the back of my throat. The echoey rumble of the lightning voice lifts my hair from my shoulders and flutters my skirt against my thigh-highs.

"Don't touch her, Cleo," Skyler calls. "The bitch is electrified."

" Grazie . I'm well aware." With the dismissive flick of a manicured hand, Cleo gestures Xiao toward the spiral staircase that leads to the choir loft.

He peels right off to do her evil bidding, natch.

That move puts him between me and my power place. Maybe she knows if I'm gonna summon actual lightning, the best place to do that is up in the belfry.

Cleo angles her approach to keep herself between me and the door that opens on the big piazza outside the church, which is the other easy place I could summon from.

Plus she's still coming.

She's coming for my crown.

My heart beats in my throat and my skin tingles with anticipation. Skyler and her minions have blocked the interior passage that leads to the classrooms in the rear cloister, so I'm pretty much trapped.

My only remaining escape route (if I needed one, which I don't) is the shadowy stairway that plunges through the floor into the crypt. That's where they keep the Academy Vault, which is supposed to be off limits to students.

More important, the crypt is where Lucius has his office. Given the time of day, he's probably down there now, doing office hours. Vasili has an office down there too, but he complains about the dismal aesthetics and hardly ever uses it.

Knowing at least one of my alphas is close if I need him clears my head and steadies my jitters.

Still, I wanna handle this shit on my own.

If I'm being totally honest, that's the real reason I sent my guys away. I need to prove my queenly mettle to all the doubters and the haters in the witching world.

Well, here's my chance.

I swing my backpack securely across my shoulders and drop my hands to my sides. Purple sparks arc between my fingers and dance across my knuckles.

"One warning's all you get," I tell my ex softly, with lightning humming in my throat.

Fuck. Despite everything she's done, I still don't wanna hurt her.

But it doesn't look like she's leaving me much choice.

She drops her blazer carelessly on a couch and keeps on coming. Across the narrowing space between us, her shimmering violet gaze locks with mine.

"Don't force my hand, bella, " she whispers in Italian—the love language for our ménage . My chest clenches with old grief. "Not while he's here. You're not the only one in this situation who is running short on choices, si ?"

My brow furrows. I don't know what kinda game she thinks she's playing.

Xiao's vanished up the stairs to the choir loft, which is an issue. I wouldn't put it past my light-fingered ex-boyfriend to hoover up all the Horn of Ceres intel he can find up there, then vamoose with the books I need myself (which aren't supposed to leave the library) for our finals .

"You want my crown?" I say. The air around me turns lavender as psi fire spills from my eyes. "Then you're gonna have to take it."

"Bene." The bitch sighs like I'm breaking her heart. "Skyler."

From the corner of my eye, a dark object tumbles toward me through the air. I barely fling up an arm in time to deflect the heavy brass-bound book that's sailing toward me under the steam of Mogadon magic. Instead of hurtling into my head, the thing slams into my shoulder.

As the heavy book drops to the floor with a thud, a red wash of pain spreads through my deltoid region.

Fucking Scorpio telekinetics.

"Ow." I spear that witch Skyler with a murderous glare, because that's gonna leave a bruise. Worse, seeing that mark's gonna make my warlocks lose their minds. "Shit, Scarlet. You can't treat an old book like that."

Skyler tosses her long dark mane like she's filming a shampoo commercial and shoots me a triumphant look. "How do you plan to stop me, Gemini?"

Before I can answer, another heavy book flies out of a study carrel and hurtles toward me. I manage to duck-and-dive this one, because that shit hurts when it connects. My shoulder's still throbbing from the last hit.

A flicker of motion from the side tells me Cleo's circling around behind me while I'm distracted. Clearly she's got her eye on the prize.

The crown in my backpack.

With a mental apology for the ancient artifact, I swing my pack off my shoulders and sling it down the shadowy staircase into the crypt.

Lucius, I send through our mating bond, because keeping that crown safe from Cleo's grabby hands is way more important than my pride. Delivery for you on the stairs.

I wait for the familiar solid warmth of my alpha's bond to lock into place.

But, alarmingly, there's nothing. Takes me a sec to remember those magical wards around his office—

Something slams into the back of my head like a kettlebell. The impact sends me staggering and almost knocks me down. I fling out a hand wildly to grab the rail and barely manage to avoid tumbling down the long stone stair (which would leave me with way more damage than a few bruises).

Fuck. Another flying book. I didn't even see that one coming .

Pain pours through my battered scalp. A trickle of heat spills down the back of my neck. My vision is fuzzy and it feels like I'm bleeding.

Dizzy, I spin around to put my back to the stairs, because protecting that crown's the hill I'll die on.

The steaming pot from the coffee nook whizzes toward me, with ribbons of scalding coffee streaming in its wake. Still woozy, I swear and lurch out of the way, tucking my aching body into a clumsy somersault that makes my bruised shoulder scream in protest.

Droplets of boiling coffee splatter painfully across one hand and my bare leg as the object sails over me.

But I manage to avoid the worst. Like third degree burns.

I come up snarling and slam both fists into the floor. A purple crackle of electricity spreads outward in all directions from my crouching form. My little lightning takes the poor Hadrians down like ninepins (ugh) but also knocks Skyler's besties off their feet. (Bullseye.)

But not Skyler, who scrambles onto a nearby table in a flurry of plaid skirts and swirling hair to avoid getting juiced by the voltage. Without her hand on the helm (so to speak), the flying coffeepot plummets to the floor and shatters.

I also miss Cleo. That's because my ex-BFF springs like an Avenger, a good eight feet in the air, to land with inhuman grace on top of a study carrel.

"What the fuck?" I yelp, peering up at her.

She's always been graceful (because supermodel), but that was some Zephyr-like agility. She scrambles nimbly toward me across the row of little peaked roofs like Scarlett Johannsen in that Black Widow flick. I'm starting to believe my ex really is half-Fae, so maybe Messalina wasn't lying about that piece of her history.

And speaking of Zephyr…

Hey, guys? I decide to adjust my solo strategy and broadcast to my warlocks on all psychic channels. I, uh, think I fucked up. I could maybe use a little backup in the commons .

Again with the nothing.

Shit.

Either Cleo or Xiao must still be carrying that nullifying object. Which means I really am on my own. We really gotta get that item off the gameboard .

I dash to the head of the crypt stairs to cut off my ex-bestie and stay between her and my crown, lying somewhere in the darkness below. Then I scowl up at her, balanced effortlessly on the peaked roof of a study carrel like the supervillain she apparently is.

"You're not getting past me, Sunshine." Even though I'm bruised and bleeding, I crank up the bravado. "I'm not even breaking a sweat down here. But you keep this shit up and someone's gonna get hurt."

Skyler's venomous voice snakes toward me from the side. "We're not trying to get past you, cunt. We're going to slice right through you."

A shower of glass shards from the shattered coffee pot lifts from the floor and knifes through the air—straight toward me. That Scorpio precision Skyler's rocking with her telekinesis is deadly. Which means I gotta stop holding back. If I'm not picky about the collateral damage, I could summon a bolt of lightning right through the oculus window.

But if I do that, I'll kill her.

Besides, Skyler's smart enough to attack me from right in the middle of that huddle of spell-stunned Hadrian kids, all still in varying degrees of incapacitation and struggling to get back on their feet.

Nope.

Not doing that.

My lightning's caused enough of a body count.

Fortunately, I have other tricks up my Academy uniform sleeve.

I wait till that incoming broadside of jagged glass is too close for Skyler to redirect. Then I launch into the air like Tinkerbell, let the glass slice past beneath me, and zip straight toward Cleo with murder in my heart.

I'm getting better at this levitation shit. She's got about two seconds max to get her arms up in self-defense before I slam into her and sweep her off her feet. We crash into the ancient stone wall behind her, with Cleo taking the brunt of the hit. Her sleek merlot head smacks into the wall with a good solid thunk.

Not gonna lie. That thud of impact feels satisfying as fuck.

At least I won't be the only one walking away from this catfight with bruises.

"Knock it off," I hiss into her stunned face. "Or I'm gonna stop playing nice."

I've barely found my footing on the sloping carrel roof, gripping her shoulders to hold both of us upright, before she twists free of my hold. Her knees bend, her torso drops, and her shoulder shoves into my diaphragm hard enough to spill my breath and shift my balance.

What the fuck. That's a combat move. A skill I never even knew she had.

All too clearly, I never really knew her.

At all.

Still locked together, the two of us stagger on the tricky footing across the carrels. I'm dizzy from getting conked on the noggin by Skyler, and the familiar perfume of Turkish rose and ylang-ylang rising from Cleo's skin and hair makes it worse. Mindful of the nasty drop behind me, I wrap a hand around my ex's flying braid and twist, hard enough to make her cry out.

She retaliates by sucker-punching me—right in the throat.

Lucky for me the angle's bad and her aim is off, but that punch is plenty strong enough to bruise my voice box (which is where the lightning voice lives. If I can't talk, I can't summon.) I cough and gasp and my eyes water, but I manage to keep my grip on her braid and deliver a left hook to her famous face that stings my burned knuckles but wrings a good Italian curse out of my nemesis.

Blood trickles from her cut lip. The bitch claws for my eyes. I sweep her hand away, follow up with a jab that bloodies her nose, and pull her braid till she screams in pain and fury.

We're still grappling when the monumental crash of shattering glass rips through the church.

Cleo and I spin in unison toward the oculus window as the huge circle of stained glass explodes inward around the spiked head and extended forelegs of a massive green dragon.

With a deafening bellow of rage, Xhevith soars through a spray of colorful glass into the church with wings tucked tight against his scaly body and a lithe green-haired figure clinging to his back.

Suddenly, the student commons is full of angry dragon.

With a powerful backwing that sends chairs flying and dazed students scrambling in all directions, Xhev settles to a landing amid the wreckage in a crunch of shattered glass.

Shit. What a mess.

I'm gonna end up in detention again over all this, I just know it. Even though it's totally not my fault .

Xhevith's long neck twists toward Cleo and me, both momentarily frozen on the carrel and gaping. His golden eyes slit at Cleo and his muzzle peels back in a menacing snarl that bares every one of his pointy teeth.

"By the moon," Zephyr says coldly into the sudden silence from his lordly perch in the dragon saddle. "This rancid creature who stinks of roses and fear is, I presume, the usurper."

That's one point for him and his apparently discerning nose.

Cleo stands so still beside me, I don't even think she's breathing. Blood drips from her nose to splatter her crisp white blouse.

I clear my bruised throat, blink the tears from my eyes, and croak in a raspy voice, "Yep."

Clearly picking up my pain even though he's no telepath, Zephyr's single green eye narrows in a way that's fucking terrifying. (The eyepatch adds to the overall effect.)

His lips curl in a feral smile. "Shall I end her pathetic life for you, my queen, and give you her head as a bridal gift?"

A soft spill of breath from Cleo's parted lips, too quiet for anyone else to hear, is kinda gratifying.

Even with all the unresolved shit lurking between the Dark Fae King and me, plus another aggravating reference to our supposed nuptials, I gotta admit I'm not too unhappy to see him. My Unseelie has never looked more impressive than he does right now astride the menace of his snarling dragon, with one hand wrapped around the reins in casual command and plenty of fang showing in his bloodthirsty grin.

He's a vicious little savage, but he's mine.

He really is.

Still, he probably shouldn't make a habit out of gifting me with the severed heads of our enemies. (Granted, this is only the second one, but clearly there's a pattern emerging here.)

I'm about to say so when a calm voice with a Russian accent intervenes. "That's certainly one option, Your Moon-Dazzled Radiance. But if you have any care at all for the health of your queen's harem, I'd advise against it."

I wrap Cleo's braid a little tighter around my fist to keep her tethered and in check (because I've had enough of her shit today, for real). Then I crane to see past Xhevith's big obstructive body .

What I find down there jams my heart all the way into my battered throat.

Standing at the head of the crypt stairs looms a tall aristocratic guy with a tailored suit and a ruthless face who looks like a cross between Mads Mikkelsen in Casino Royale and a conservative Wall Street broker version of Vasili. In one hand, the stranger's gripping my backpack with the crown. Which sucks, but right now it's a minor issue.

The major issue is his other arm, wrapped tight around a stiffly immobile Lucius.

This new guy's holding a wicked stiletto jammed right up against Lucius' throat.