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I open a message from Tillie, with a screenshot of my Instagram photo from a couple weeks ago and Frankie’s comment, which now has a lot of replies and angry Bran-stan girls swearing at her.
Tillie: Who is Samael, and you probably should have deleted this comment… See you soon.
I send her a message back.
Me: Don’t laugh. A witch man.
Tillie: A warlock?! Is he hot?
Me: Does it matter?
Tillie: Good answer.
I lock my phone and slide it into my tiny trunk bag, slipping the chain over my shoulder.
Ivy stares at me with inquisitive brown eyes. So much to say.
She opens her mouth, then closes it. A wide smile spreads across her face, and in that alone, I relax. Ivy has definitely slid into a comfortable friend-zone, right along with Ophelia.
Three Range Rover Sport SUVs await outside the front of the circular-style driveway, with men sporting strapping black suits. One for each SUV.
“Ahh, we’re all here,” Veronica says cheerfully, clapping her hands together with a trail of people behind her. I figure those people are just Sam’s friends and Frankie and Alessi.
Sam locks eyes with me, smiling. “You look beautiful, Saint.” He kisses my cheek, curling his arm in mine.
“So, before I forget, Saint and Samael will walk in directly behind me, with Ophelia to the right of her and Ivy behind Ophelia. Frankie, Jorge, and Gary will go at the back, coming in behind us.” She names the other warlocks, as Tillie would call them, that are with Samael. “We need to form a united front. When we walk in there,” Veronica says, a cigarette to her lips. How could I be related to this woman? We don’t look anything alike. Even if she did dye her hair black, she is dark-featured like Brantley. “I want us strolling in there like fucking Nancy, Sarah, Bo
We all pile into the allocated Rovers, with Ophelia, Sam, Ivy, and Jorge in ours. Veronica slides into the passenger seat at the last minute, bringing a trail of nicotine smoke with her. She pulls out a little plastic bag and dips her pink finger into it, scooping the powder onto her nail and snorting it through one nostril. She passes the bag back and we all decline but Jorge. It takes five minutes to get to the entrance of the school, this time looking a little different to the last time I was here. The gates are opened, though still old, rusted wires reaching for the dark sky. We drive in to see no one out front, as though we’re really late—not just a little. A man dressed in a sumptuous Armani suit stands stoically at the entrance, an AK strapped to his outerwear.
Only The Kings.
“Only The Kings,” I repeat, this time out loud while staring at who I’m guessing is the valet, who breaks his hard exterior to move straight for my door.
It opens and he pauses, his eyes on me. Something similar to recognition flashes over him, just as his mouth curves upward slightly. “Ah, welcome home, princessa…” I take his hand in mine, offering a gentle smile. “Or should I say, regina…” Once I’m out of the car, he turns to face the others. “Park the cars in the back.” His face turns bland. All of the affection he showed me seconds ago, he doesn’t share with the others.
“I thought you were the valet, and where’s my help to get out of the car?” Veronica argues from the front seat. My mouth closes.
He snickers. “When was the last time a valet was strapped with enough bullets to cut you into little bitty pieces? Get your old ass out of the car yourself.” His eyes swing to the back and he pauses on Ophelia. “I take that back.” He leans forward, offering his hand to Ophelia. “My lady…”
She rolls her eyes, whacking his hand out of her way. “I don’t need your help, or that pretty face.”
He grins at her, and I’m momentarily paralyzed by how beautiful he is. In a strange way. “Well.” He grabs her hand and tugs her out of the car anyway. “This pretty face would be a good place for you to sit, too, so…”
Ophelia sneers at him. “Not even if I was desperate.” She leans up on her tippy toes, pinching his nose. “Which I will never be.” She pats his shoulder and grabs onto my hand. “Who in the fuck is that?” she whispers into my ear.
“—Be
“You look good, brother.” I smirk up at him. “You need to wear suits more often.”
He pinches his collar. “Actually, I can’t seem to find myself out of them lately.” He gives me a once-over. “Who the fuck chose that dress? Madison. It was fucking Madison.” He shakes his head, and as soon as his eyes fly over my shoulder, he tenses. A storm washes over his face, his eyes turning dark and heady. I distract him by tugging on his arm.
“Hey, this is Ophelia and Ivy. They’re my friends.” Bishop finally wills himself to take his eyes off whoever he locked onto behind me, resting on Ophelia and Ivy, who are standing on either side of me in their version of ball gowns. Equally beautiful, but different to mine. Silk.
He smiles tightly at them. “Well, I’ll escort you all in, you know—” His eyes find that spot behind me again and I finally spin around to see who is on the receiving end of Bishop Hayes’ wrath. “—for safety reasons.”
Samael doesn’t flinch. His eyes remain challenging on Bishop. Ballsy, I’d give him that.
Veronica sifts through us all, waving to the back. “In formation.”
I raise a brow at Ophelia, who rolls her eyes. If I don’t mistake it, Ivy chuckles from behind her. We make our way up the grand staircase outside and through the ancient front doors. Bishop leads us down a long hallway before he shoves open another set of doors, this time opening out onto another grand staircase that leads down onto what I’m guessing is the school hall. It’s decorated with fairy lights, with a glistening chandelier hanging from the ceiling. Music is playing softly, while chattering fills the space that music notes do not. We begin walking down the steps and to where everyone is huddled when Samael comes up beside me, his arm hooking with mine.
“You nervous?” he asks, and for a split second I’m glancing down at his arm, confused as to why he’s suddenly in my space.
I answer him instead. “I had a lot of champagne.”
He laughs, and the sound alone makes me ease a little. Maybe he’s just doing it to distract me. For that I am thankful. “A little too much, maybe?”
I glance up and him, just as we hit the main ground. “Maybe.”
“Oh my God!” Two loud voices pinch through my thoughts, and I finally pull away from Samael and fling myself at both Madison and Tillie, but not just Madison and Tillie, Tatum, too. She hangs back behind them, a sheepish smile on her face.
I give her a small wave while both of the closest girls I’ve ever called my own wrap me in a ball with all of their limbs.
“Saint! Goodness, girl. Stay classy…” Veronica moves away from us and disappears to where a group of men are huddled around in a circle.
“Fuck her,” Madison says, both finally unlatching from me. They look me up and down. Madison whistles. “Damn. See, I knew this was it. This was the dress.” What does she mean the dress?