Warlock 3 - Preview Chapters

At Saucy McSaucemeister's request, seconded by my editor, here's a midweek drop. :)

Chapter

“This sucks,” Sam said, grabbing a muffin and orange juice from the cafeteria coolers.

The coolers were all that was available this early, but the main food line would be open any minute — we wouldn’t be joining it, because we were scheduled to meet with Mel for our class at five-thirty. Yes, Sam and I had a class with Mel at the end of the regular class-day … had.

We’d returned to campus the night before to discover four envelopes in our cottage’s mailbox and spent nearly an hour calming down Sam and Cassandra.

Sam was upset because our class with Mel had been moved from the afternoon, right before dinner, to a morning slot. Early morning. Five-thirty to six-thirty.

Since Mel wanted Rachel and Cassandra in the class now, that was the time available that wouldn’t mess up Rachel’s spellstick class, which none of us wanted to do.

And, please, do note that Mel didn’t bother to tell us that all weekend, waiting for us to find out through the envelopes.

“It’s not that early,” Cassandra said, grabbing a yogurt squeeze pouch. “What I don’t understand, is why I have to go to your remedial class with you — and why do I have to lose my favorite elective to go to your damn combat class.”

“What was that class again?” Sam asked.

Cassandra glared at her as we left the residence building and ventured across the dark quad.

“The representation of witches in media is important.”

“You watch movies and whine about brooms,” Sam muttered.

Since Sam would spend twenty minutes going off about mundanes and how they’d stolen everything witchy, I think her derision was more about tweaking Cassandra than anything else, but I had to admit Witches in Books, Film, and Digital Media sounded like one of those stupid college courses people used as an example to say how useless college degrees were — I just shrugged, because the Blakes had already paid for Cassandra’s senior year.

“This is going to be so boring,” Cassandra muttered, stalking ahead while sucking on her yogurt pouch. “You’re the one supposed to be getting special tutoring.”

I shared a look with Sam and grinned — it was the same look we’d shared the night before when we all read our schedule changes and Cassandra started complaining about having to attend a “remedial” class.

The look on her face when she found out she was going to be getting advanced instruction from The Blackwood would be priceless.

“Did you let Hannah and Brittany know we’re going to eat early this morning?” I asked Sam. “I don’t want them to wait for us if we’re not there when they come down.”

Sam nodded. “I sent them a text last night while Cassandra was whining about Melaina’s class.”

“Okay, good.”

That reminded me of something I’d been meaning to talk to Sam about, but we’d been so busy the last two weeks — it was hard to believe it had only been that long since we’d all been out on the town before Cassandra and I were taken by the Patriarchy. It felt like I was only just now getting my balance back after everything that had happened, but it was also only two months until the end of the school year — less, really, because classes ended the day before the last New Moon in May, starting again the day after the first New Moon in September.

That wasn’t much time to discuss things with a witch Family.

“It’s getting pretty close to the end of the year,” I said. “We should probably start talking to the Fieldings about Hannah and Brittany.” I grimaced. “I still hate that we have to talk to their Family before talking to them.”

“We?”

“Well, you, yeah, unless you want me to ask Cassandra to.”

“Oh, yeah, the Fieldings would love that — and it’s even more important that we do things right, now that we’re a Family ourselves.”

“You said you’ve talked to Hannah and Brittany a little about it?”

Sam nodded. “A very little — like kidding about it. Less than I did with Rachel.” She paused. “It’s weird, though — Hannah’s been different since you and Cassandra got back.”

“Different?”

Another nod. “Yeah, she was laughing about it before that, but since? It’s almost like the idea upsets her.”

I frowned, then whispered so Cassandra and Rachel wouldn’t hear. “Do you think it’s because of…” I nodded toward Cassandra.

Sam shrugged. “I don’t know — I don’t think so, though. Cassandra and Hannah were friendly before they came into their power and they seem okay now. It’s been a crazy two weeks, though.”

I nodded. “Do you think we should talk to her directly — I mean, seriously, instead of just hinting and joking? Before her Family?”

Talking to the Family first might be the way witches did things, but I still thought it was stupid. If Hannah didn’t want to join our coven, then talking to her Family was pointless — even if they were thrilled with the idea, we’d then have to shut it down if Hannah didn’t want to, and that would probably get her in trouble with her Family — on the other hand, if we talked to Hannah and Brittany first, then their hopes would be up and how would they feel if their Family said no? And how would we handle it if the Family said “no,” but Hannah or Brittany wanted to?

What difference us being a recognized Family now, ourselves, might make I didn’t know — or how the whole mess would work with any of the girls Sam had us set up to meet this summer.

“No … let’s follow the rules this time?” Sam said. “The Fieldings are kind of sticklers for the rules. Thanks for reminding me before I talked to Hannah. I’ll call tomorrow?”

“Great.”

*

We made it to the workroom Mel used for our class and left our backpacks by the door.

“Why is this in a workroom?” Cassandra asked.

“Yeah, why?” Rachel asked, eyeing Sam with … well, exactly the amount of suspicion Sam and I deserved for not telling the other two what our class with Mel was actually like.

“Did you not tell them the nature of the class?” Mel asked, coming from behind the partition at the far end of the room and making both Cassandra and Rachel jump at her sudden appearance.

“What does she mean?” Cassandra demanded.

I sighed. “Okay, so it’s not really —”

“Now!” Mel yelled and I reacted without thinking.

My shields expanded, gathering up Sam’s on the way, but I knew, just knew, Mel wouldn’t be targeting either of us — she was going to zap Cassandra and Rachel, and it just wasn’t fair, so I pushed my shields farther, pulling Sam’s along with me, to enclose my other witches, as well.

“What the hell?” Cassandra yelled, and I didn’t blame her, because as the combined shell of Sam and my shields passed her, I picked up hers as well — and Rachel’s.

I don’t know how I did it, only that it felt exactly like Sam’s shields felt when we layered them — and, in a second, I’d enclosed all of us in a four-layered shell, just as Mel’s attack splashed against our combined shields and she took a step back, grinning.

“Excellent,” Mel said.

“Excellent? What’d he do with my shields? How did he do that with my shields?” She pointed at the swirling globe surrounding us, four distinct layers clearly visible. “What the hell even is that?”

Mel grinned. “It’s called layering — and it’s a significant advantage your coven will have over others, should things come to an actual fight.”

“But — but —”

“That tickled,” Rachel said. “Can you do it again?”

“Layering is a technique exclusive to warlock-led covens, dear,” Mel went on, “so you can see why it’s fallen out of favor, even been forgotten, these days. Once bound by a high priestess, the warlock loses this ability, because he’s no longer head of the coven — and the high priestess cannot duplicate the effect, because her leadership isn’t direct.”

“But — but —”

I decided I needed to be particularly nice to Cassandra for a while — between being marked by a “feral,” discovering that Rachel had a much larger resonant than hers, and now Mel introducing things Cassandra had never heard of, the witch’s whole world was still in turmoil.

“Honestly, I’m a little surprised Noah was able to integrate your shields, and Rachel’s, so quickly — I expected it to take several sessions — but Noah does seem to have a particular aptitude for protecting those he cares for.”

She sent a blast of mana, powerful, but certainly not the strongest she was capable of, against our shields and I felt it like a physical blow.

Mel nodded and examined our shields more closely.

“In fact, I think it’s time to give your peers — and, by extension, their Families — a bit of a demonstration that our new Family has a bit more to be wary of than just me.”

Chapter 22

Mel sent us off to breakfast and our history class with no more explanation of what she had planned for us.

We were just finishing our breakfast when Hannah and Brittany arrived with theirs, so we hung out over our empty plates and chatted.

I paid attention to Hannah, and noticed that she was a lot more subdued than she usually was — almost sad. Brittany was her usual self, but I made a mental note to see if Sam could find out what was bothering Hannah. Whatever the outcome of talking to her Family was, we were friends and I was worried about her.

After History, we went to our combat class, which was supposed to be in a classroom today for studying theory, but there was a note on the door saying the class had been moved to the spellstick field where we did practical applications.

“Why do I have a bad feeling about this?” Sam asked.

“Because Mel was smiling the way she does when she’s up to something,” I told her. “Nothing good ever comes from that smile.”

*

Sure enough, Mel was waiting for us just outside the spellstick field.

“Don’t you have a class to teach this period?” I asked, hoping, maybe, if we were lucky, she’d just stopped by to —

“I’ve given them a study period, dear.”

No, we were fucked somehow.

“So what’s up?”

“I believe I mentioned a demonstration,” Mel said, gesturing toward the field.

“Why now?”

“Before you were recognized as a Family, dear, a low profile was best. First we leveraged Willowmere’s neutrality and Evelina’s protectiveness of students to keep the Families at bay, but things are different now.”

“I thought being recognized as a Family was going to make us safer?”

“It does, but the Families still respect strength more than anything else.”

“Told you,” Cassandra whispered.

“When it was only you and Samantha,” Mel went on, “a demonstration of strength wasn’t feasible, but now, with Cassandra and Rachel, I think it will be quite effective.”

“So, what? We’re supposed to show them that layering thing?”

Since that was mostly what Mel had worked with Sam and I on so far, I figured it was the only thing possible.

“Sort of,” Mel said, smiling.

*

“Is she fucking serious?” Cassandra whispered.

We, my coven and I, were assembled on one end of the spellstick field, with the other witches in the class grouped on the other. Mel and Magistra Thornwell stood to either side between us.

Mel’s idea of a “demonstration” wasn’t us layering our shields and saying, “Hey, look at what we can do — isn’t it cool?”

It was —

“Fuck!” Cassandra yelled as the nineteen other witches in the class followed Mel’s and Magistra Thornwell’s instructions and sent blasts of mana at us.

“Yep,” Sam muttered.

I was too busy responding to the attacks, and they weren’t low-strength sparring, either — Magistra Thornwell had told the girls to use their full strength, relying on either her or Mel to step in if things got out of hand.

Rachel yelped as the attacks struck our shields like a physical blow — as a physical blow in some cases, because a couple of the witches were using telly to fling ball bearings at us like bullets. Why were there ball bearings on the spellstick field?

Ask Mel.

I flung more mana at my shields, shrugging off the physical attacks. I could feel my Pain resonant and Strength affinity taking the fore, then I cycled Cassandra’s shields to the front as a wave of fire attacks struck — her shields felt cool, almost icy, and the mana-fueled flames flowed around us.

Not all of the attacks had a physical component, I’d seen the girls in class practicing those, aiming to make us afraid or feel helpless or any number of other things — all of which Sam’s shields blocked, leaving us feeling warm and confident.

For the attacks that none of us seemed to have a natural counter for, Rachel’s shields met those with sheer power that almost challenged the attacker to do her worst.

I expected things to stop after the first wave — whatever Mel’s purpose in having us do this satisfied — but Magistra Thornwell gestured for the witches to continue, and the attacks went on.

And on, and on, wave after wave, until we were sweating and swaying on our feet. Cassandra staggered, her resonants nearly empty, and Sam and I were barely any better, at maybe twenty-five percent.

Then Rachel stepped up.

Her arms went around me, fingers sliding beneath my shirt.

“This is bullshit,” she muttered. “Sisters!”

I noticed she didn’t apologize for swearing.

Cassandra staggered toward us and Sam reached out to take my hand — I realized this was how we should have started, touching, and as soon as both of them had taken my hands, the purple flames of Heartfire washed over us and I was immediately refreshed, feeling as energetic as I had when we started, maybe more.

Heartfire didn’t do anything for our mana reserves, but Rachel had that covered as well.

Rachel’s Passion resonant teased at one of mine and I made the connection, then I slid one into Cassandra and Sam.

“Warning!” Cassandra snapped. “We talked about that — just a little fucking warning?”

“I don’t need warning,” Sam whispered, “surprise me.”

“Pay attention!” Rachel snapped, then the mana started flowing.

Rachel’s Passion resonant was still nearly full, and it was refilling at a rapid rate despite the mana she was using to reinforce her share of our shields. From what I could see of her mana production and what was binding to Passion — Rachel was passionately pissed.

“Excellent, dear!” Mel called over the sound of flames, cracking ice, and ball bearings pinging off our shields to land in a growing pile. “Now, if you will, attack Magistra Thornwell and myself, please. And no need to hold back.”

“Yeah!” Rachel yelled, taking one of her hands from me and pointing at Magistra Thornwell.

The flames she threw were concentrated, not the wide swathes I’d seen her project to burn off excess mana, but a focused line, like a flamethrower from some World War II documentary. The flames washed over Magistra Thornwell with no more effect than a raised eyebrow.

Ball bearings flew from the pile around our shields to pepper Mel and Magistra Thornwell.

“I’ve been waiting four years to throw something at a teacher,” Cassandra muttered.

“Give me some of those,” I told Cassandra, shifting Sam’s hand to my neck to maintain the connection and holding mine out, palm up.

“This sucks,” Sam muttered. “I left my shotgun back at Melaina’s.”

Cassandra filled my hand with ball bearings and I drew my arm back, sending mana through the channels of my Strength resonant, and flung them at Mel, grinning. There wasn’t a chance in hell any of us could hurt her, or Magistra Thornwell, which was why she’d told us to attack the teachers, rather than the other students.

My throw, backed by Strength, had the little metal balls traveling far faster than Cassandra’s telly and the blonde witch started muttering under her breath, but quickly stopped to concentrate on what she was doing as the attacks continued.

And continued, until even Rachel’s mana production began to wane, and we had to cut back on our own attacks to concentrate on the shields.

I didn’t think Mel, or even Magistra Thornwell, would let us get hurt — at least not seriously — but now it was a pride-thing. We’d managed to stave off the attacks of nineteen witches — yeah, students, but still nearly five times our number — and I didn’t want to give up. Of course there was always the chance that Mel’s plan was to see just how much we could take.

We were on our knees by the time it ended, physically exhausted, as Rachel had stopped putting mana into Heartfire in favor of reinforcing our shields. My head was spinning from having to recognize the incoming attacks and cycle the right shield forward to meet it, and both Sam and Cassandra were hunched forward, resting some of their weight on their free hands.

“Enough,” Magistra Thornwell called out, and a wall of force crossed the field to cut off any further attacks.

I held our shields in place until Mel reached them, walking toward us with a wide grin, then let go, feeling my own snap into place against my body as the girls’ did around them.

“Crone’s carbuncles,” Cassandra moaned, collapsing to the grass.

“I’m ordering a jacuzzi tub for the cottage,” Sam grumbled wiping at her sweaty face, “then I’m not leaving it for a week.”

Shields were some of the “easiest” magic, if any of it could be considered easy. They took almost no mana to create in their typical place around the body. Things I’d done like creating the shield around the bomb in the vampire’s neck or the sort of expanded sumo-suit like variation I’d wound up with when I was first learning took quite a bit more of both mana and concentration. What we’d just done — expanding all four of our shields to surround us and cycle them to meet attacks, not to mention repelling those attacks — took a fuckton more and I was exhausted.

I managed to raise my head and look down the field.

“Holy shit,” I muttered.

Most of the witches there were in much the same state as my coven, on hands and knees, exhausted, four were making their way, slowly and hunched over, toward the sidelines and the benches there — but three were on the ground, unconscious, and being tended to by the school nurse, Magistra Fallwhistle.

“They’re fine, dear,” Mel said, catching the direction of my gaze. “They just overextended themselves a bit — I’m certain Magistra Hawke will set them some exercises on pacing themselves.”

Coach Briarfield had also been watching and she was now stalking toward us.

“We’ll repair the field,” Mel assured her as she neared.

“I know you will, Melaina,” Coach Briarfield said, but her eyes were on Rachel. “How many Heartfires was that, Winthrop … Ashe, Blackwood — make a decision on that and stick with it for a few weeks, will you?”

“I — don’t know,” Rachel gasped.

“I counted ten — on the group.” Coach Briarfield turned to Mel. “Whatever you’re up to, people will notice that.”

“I glamoured their shields,” Mel said, “no one could see exactly what Rachel was doing.”

“I did.”

Mel shrugged. “It’s your field.”

Coach Briarfield held Mel’s gaze for a moment, then looked down at Rachel.

“Whatever that was, limit yourself to four unless it’s an emergency or you’re certain no one can see it,” the coach said.

“Yes, Coach.”

Coach Briarfield looked toward the carnage at the other end of the field and sighed.

“You sure you don’t want to skip ahead a year or two?” She shook her head. “Never mind. Hit the team showers — the three of you can use them too — then ten minutes in the ice to freeze your resonant and twenty in the jacuzzi to loosen it up.”

Sam’s head snapped up. “You have a jacuzzi?”

Chapter

The shower was nice, the ice bath was torture, and the jacuzzi was fantastic.

I found myself whole-heartedly supporting Sam’s plan to get us one.

We had barely enough time after cleaning up to get back to the cottage for fresh clothes, then hurry to the cafeteria for lunch before our next class, and I’d barely started chewing when I noticed something. Two of the onesies who’d been sharing our table all year — even if they’d stayed at the other end and never spoken to us — seemed to be trying to sit elsewhere, but the witches at the other tables were making it clear the onesies weren’t welcome.

Even as I figured out what was going on, the two girls took their trays and started toward the cafeteria doors.

I frowned and stood up.

“I’ll be back in a minute,” I said, then headed for the doors.

I caught up with the two onesies in the corridor and hurried to get in front of them.

They both went wide-eyed when I got into their path and one let out a startled, “Eep!” which was adorable.

“Hey,” I said as quietly as I could.

Both of them looked scared, more scared than on my first day when I’d been the terrifying feral warlock, which didn’t make a lot of sense to me. I kind of figured I’d become more … normal, I guess? Now that I was part of a Family.

“We’re sorry,” one of them said.

“We didn’t know,” the other said.

“Know what? What is there to be sorry for?”

“We didn’t know you were a Family.”

“We’re sorry — nobody told us it was a Family table.”

“I’m confused,” I said. “Aren’t you guys from a Family, too?”

“Yeah, but mine is really small—”

“And we’re onesies, so our Families don’t want us sitting with them.”

I rolled my eyes. Fucking Families.

“Let me see if I understand — it was the onesies table when I got here, but now that the Blackwoods are a recognized Family, it’s The Blackwood Table or something because my coven sits there?”

The one on the right nodded.

I rolled my eyes, wondering if this degree of cliquish shit was a girl-thing or a witch-thing.

“Okay, well, come sit at The Blackwood Table, then. You don’t have to talk to us or anything, but feel free to sit there if you want.”

The girls’ eyes widened even more.

Ah, shit, I thought. What have I done now?

I had a horrible thought. Just because the typical way for one Family to … fuck, court, I guess, another Family’s witch was for the Family Heads to talk, didn’t mean it was the only way. Had I just asked these two to join my coven or something? They probably used that same phrasing — hey, witch, come sit at my table.

“I — um — ah —” one of them stammered.

I realized they actually looked scared.

“Hey, we’ve all been at that table for the whole year and I haven’t done anything, so I don’t think there’s any reason to be afraid, right?”

“Um — ah —”

“Did you really tell the Archimagira to go fuck herself?” the other asked.

“What? No!”

Was that a rumor going around? Shit, I needed to quash that before the Archimagira heard it.

“What about the adjutrix?” the other girl asked.

“No — well, sort of.”

Their eyes got wider.

“They were really mean to Rachel and I don’t like people like that, so I —”

“Threw her across the cafeteria.”

“What? No! I told sort of told her off, but I didn’t throw anybody.”

“That’s what they’re saying.”

“Who’s saying?”

The girl I asked shrugged. “Everybody.”

“And then The Blackwood told them she was the oldest witch in the world and they better listen to her.”

“That —” Fuck. “Not exactly.”

Fucking rumor mill.

“Look,” I said. “Nobody got thrown across the cafeteria, nobody got told to go fuck themselves —”

“What about the adjutrix?”

“You said.”

“I mean, yeah, okay, but that was before the meeting and everything — my point is there’s no reason to be scared of me, and you don’t have to take your meals up to your rooms. You can sit at the same table you always do.”

There was a long pause.

“Really?”

“Can we tell people you invited us?”

The other one’s eyes got the widest yet and she turned to stare at the other girl.

“What would that mean?” I asked.

Please don’t let it be a coven invitation.

“Invitation to an event by a Family Head is, sort of, like —”

“Extra witch points!”

“What?” Now I was more confused than before, and the other witch looked as confused as I was.

“I don’t know what to call it — I’m-better-than-you points?”

“Ah,” I said, a light dawning. “An invitation from a Family Head makes the other girls jealous?”

“Yeah.”

The other one was grinning and nodding.

“Especially,” I said, grinning back, “the other witches in your Family who are here at Willowmere and made you sit at the onesies table instead of theirs?”

“Oh, yeah,” the grinning one grinned wider and nodded faster.

I nodded. Okay, let’s make it an invitation, then.

My first official act as the Blackwood Family Head, sticking it to some stuck up brats. Cool.

“Ladies,” I said, “allow me to introduce myself — Noah Blackwood, Blackwood Family Head.”

I held out my hand and the two juggled their trays — luckily not dumping them — and took my hand in turn.

“Brenda Schuyler.”

“Nancy Astor.”

“Delighted,” I said. “May I extend to you an invitation to dine at the Blackwood Family Table for the duration of your stay at Willowmere?”

“Why, yes, Mr. Blackwood,” Brenda said. “That would be wonderful.”

“Indeed, thank you,” Nancy said.

I held out my hands. “May I assist you with your trays?”

Brenda snort-laughed.

“Thank you, again,” Nancy said.

I took their trays and led them back to our table.

“I’m glad you didn’t turn out to be sympsychophonos like everybody thought at first,” Brenda said.

I didn’t know what that was, but it sounded bad and I didn’t want to ask and make it a thing if they thought that was scary. I’d ask one of the girls later.

As we neared, I saw Cassandra’s eyes go wide, then roll, at the same time I felt the steps behind me falter.

None of us had thought of that. It must have been one thing for Cassandra to show up at the other end of the table, but quite another for them to sit with her — on the other hand, I’d invited them and they wanted to tell people that, so setting their trays down at the other end of the table wouldn’t be right.

“Come on,” I said quietly over my shoulder. “She’s not going to do anything.”

Nancy gulped, but the two started following me again.

I set their trays down at the end of our little group and went around to the other side to my own lunch. Cassandra sighed and flared her nostrils at me, and looked across the table at the two new girls.

“I’m sorry. If you want more than that — after lunch, okay?” She looked down at her plate, started eating, and muttered, “Maybe I should just get up on the fucking stage and say it.”

I chuckled and gave her a hug, almost laughing out loud as the two girls’ eyes practically popped out of their heads when Cassandra kissed me on the cheek.

I let the girls drive the conversation with the newcomers, while still trying not to seem like I was ignoring them, They might not be avoiding us anymore, but they were clearly a little nervous about sitting with us — and, yeah, I was a little upset that they’d said nothing to us all year, but the first day after we became a recognized Family, they’re all chatty — but I was also a little tired of people avoiding me or being scared of me or whatever, and was ready for that to change, regardless of the reason.

We finished lunch, dragged through our afternoon classes, still tired from the “demonstration” that morning, and then headed back to our cottage after dinner.

“Hey, Rachel,” I said as we left the residence building and there was no one other than my coven around. “What’s sympsychophonos?”

“Where’d you hear that? Did someone call you that?”

Rachel had spun around to scowl back at the residence building, fists clenched at her sides.

“Nope,” I said quickly, to keep Rachel from going back inside and hurting someone. “Just something I heard and I’m curious.”

Rachel gave me a skeptical look while Sam raised an eyebrow.

“Sympsychophonos means ‘killer of the soul-bound,’” Cassandra said. “It’s a warlock who kills witches instead of marking them.”

“You mean he doesn’t stop the draining?” I asked.

Sam nodded.

“It’s an evil thing,” Rachel said. “You’re sure nobody called you that?”

“I’m sure.”

Brenda hadn’t really called me that, she’d just said she was glad I wasn’t one — which was apparently something some of the witches had thought of me when I first arrived at Willowmere. Even Hannah had said something about warlocks draining witches like that when she and Brittany had first joined Sam and I. That morning and my first breakfast at Willowmere seemed a lot further in the past than just the start of the school year.

“It hasn’t happened for a long time,” Cassandra said. “And the warlock didn’t last long.”

“I bet,” I said, gently turning Rachel around to point her back down the path and away from flaming other students.

Back at the cottage, we managed to get the windows open to let in the cool breeze, and collapsed onto the bed.

Cassandra cuddled up against my left side, Sam took the right, and Rachel squirmed in between Sam and I, putting her head on my stomach, cuddling my thigh while Sam had her head on my chest, cuddling Rachel.

I really needed to talk to the two of them and figure out what was going on … and talk to Hannah and Brittany, after we got a hold of the Fieldings … and figure out how to get Cassandra past the spikes of fear she still got, even though we hadn’t moved much past me fingering her and draining a single resonant at a time.

Hopefully the rest of the semester would be uneventful, because my list wasn’t getting any shorter.

A moment later, three witches grumbled as a phone pinged with a text. Then another ping. Then two more.

Rachel sighed. “It’s mine.”

There was more grumbling, because Rachel had to squirm her way out from between Sam and me, which made me nudge Cassandra.

“Sorry. Sorry,” Rachel repeated.

“What the hell?” Sam grumbled. “Who texts at this hour?”

“It’s, like, not even seven,” I told her.

“Time is relative to how tired I am.”

“I agree with the pervert,” Cassandra mumbled.

“Oh, no!” Sam yelled, propping herself up on one elbow and glaring at Cassandra. “I am way too tired to hear that from you right now.” She waggled her fingers in Cassandra’s face like they were tentacles. “Little schloop-schloop witch.”

I felt Cassandra tense beside me. She glanced up at my face, eyes wide, then glared at Sam.

“You promised you wouldn’t tell anyone,” she accused.

Sam shrugged. “I said, outside the coven — you think we’re going to have secrets inside?”

Cassandra sat up and looked at me — I raised an eyebrow, only partially successful at suppressing my grin — then she buried her face in her hands.

“I can’t believe you told him about that,” she muttered, then pointed at Sam. “Yeah? Well, she watches … she has a site that…” Cassandra’s voice trailed off and she sighed. “You already know all her freaky-shit, don’t you?”

I nodded. If Sam found a new site I was the first she’d show it to.

Cassandra buried her face in her hands again. “Aargh!”

“What’s the big deal?” I asked.

“It’s private!”

Sam shrugged. “You thought you were going to live with a dozen other witches and we weren’t going to see your browser history one day? Not like I’m going to judge you for it, given what Noah and I do sometimes. And by ‘sometimes,’ I mean last night.”

“That’s different!” Cassandra pounded a fist on the cushion. “And ew.”

“How is it different?” I asked. Sam and I really hadn’t done anything I thought up to tentacle-grade last night. Mostly because I was still exhausted from a second night with Rachel the night before.

“Seriously? I look at some pictures,” Cassandra said. “It’s fake. You and she … do things. Really do things.”

“You bet we do,” Sam grinned.

“That’s my point! I might like watching something, but that doesn’t mean I want to really have … you know.”

“A slime-covered, gel-egg implanted in your butt by a ten-foot tentacle?” Sam asked.

Cassandra groaned. “They’re not all like that,” she whispered.

Sam shrugged. “But the little heart icon on that one is red, isn’t it?”

“Um, guys?” Rachel asked.

We all looked at her as she gave a long sigh and put her phone down.

“Could you maybe not argue about dirty-things when you meet my mom in a couple weeks?”