“Yeah, that’s touching.” I stilled because hello, inappropriate hard-on that I couldn’t will away... I blamed the way that Bask was nuzzling against my neck, slinking up and down me, as well as remaining untouched by anyone for all those horny years… I’d be milking that one for a good while yet. I bit my lip. “But why…?”
Then I gasped. Rebel Ghost was kissing down my neck, and I arched into her touch, as she trailed her hand around and over my aching dick. My breath hitched, but then Bask shivered, hugging me tighter, before Sleipnir widened his stance and groaned.
When I glanced into the mirror, I was shocked. Oh sweet mage, I’d never even imagined that I could look so bewitching caught between the alluring beauty of an incubus and the commanding hotness of a god.
It was only an ego trip lie though that our sexy image in the mirror had summoned Rebel Ghost; I thought that it was our pleasure that had called to her.
“You do this often then?” I rested my head against Sleipnir’s shoulder, as he held me. “Did you position this mirror so that you could watch, whilst the spook fondled you?”
Bask snickered. “Away with you, she was never strong enough to touch until you arrived.” I jolted. Why was the ghost becoming more powerful through her connection to me? “I’ve spelled this mirror to look like a portrait to any non-Immortals.”
I blinked. “It’s a magic mirror?”
Bask nodded.
“That’s a thing?”
Sleipnir snorted with laughter.
“But why…?”
Bask smiled against my neck. “I might be a wee thief.”
This was where Rebel Ghost’s portrait had hung.
“You wanted her to be safe, so you hid her above our bed…?” I questioned.
If there was one thing that I understood, it was the drive to protect even something like a portrait because Rebel Ghost hadn’t felt dead…she wasn’t. Even if she was hanging in this gallery. And if she wasn’t, then it meant that we all had a chance at life as well.
When Bask drew back and touched his gloved thumb to my cheek, I quivered at the joy in his gaze, as well as the need. “Our bed…?”
On the oath of a liar, it’d just slipped out. It hadn’t meant anything, right?
The tips of my ears became hot. Distract, distract, distract… “Why’s she hanging amongst all these rebels anyway, when she’s a witch and—”
“Do you want to hear a ghost story?” Sleipnir grasped my curls, wrenching back my head. His breath was hot in my ear.
“Shouldn’t we get the campfire and marshmallows going, before we move onto the scary?” Mage’s balls, why had my voice cracked on the last word?
“Chill out,” Sleipnir ordered, “you’ve been in the scary since you arrived. I suspect that the ghost of this magical castle is more dangerous than anything else, however, and that includes me.”
He flashed a grin that wasn’t at all reassuring.
My brow furrowed. “Why though, when she’s trapped just like me? All I was ever desperate for was someone to free me.”
Truth: But they never had.
Bask’s arms tightened around me like he’d heard the unspoken truth anyway.
Sleipnir bristled. “For someone who was locked away by his asshole witch family, you’re kind of slow at seeing the dark side of the House of Crows. Think about this: what did our ghost do that was so unforgivable that she became the only ever witch Rebel?” His lips pressed to my ear with each word. “She’s the original wicked witch who cursed the academy.”
A bitter wind blasted in protest down the gallery, knocking us to our knees. Bask sheltered me against the wind’s howl, and Sleipnir battled onto his feet. Sleipnir’s eyes flashed with furious fire.
Suddenly, the mirror frosted as if with panted breaths and then froze with pink icicles from its corners inward. My eyes widened at its spiderweb beauty.
My mum and sister had thought that I was a monster because I could shift. Had this witch been trapped for centuries by the House of Crows, just because her type of magic hadn’t been what they’d been expecting from a daughter?
After all, witch rules were dickish rules.
I had to save Rebel Ghost. Yet what if that meant unleashing a wicked witch who could be crueler than even Damelza?
My breath became ragged, as my heart pounded too rapidly.
Then ice-blue eyes flashed in the middle of the mirror, before it could frost over. A black gloved hand reached towards me, tracing on the other side of the mirror, and in neon pink a word appeared:
MAGENTA
I gasped, soaring with joy, despite the roar of my pulse that deafened me.
Rebel Ghost was called Magenta.
A name had power, and Magenta had just given that power to me. Her need to touch thrummed through me. It ached as much as my need to touch her.
But if I did, would it trap me forever or free her?
This was my first morning in the Rebel Academy, and I was risking my life to save a witch, which was like a mage coating his dick in honey and then dipping it in a colony of starving red ants.
Bask hissed, trying to pull me back, but I stretched out my fingers towards the first woman to kiss me, the wicked witch, and the original Rebel…Magenta.
Magenta’s magic hung in the air. It was scented with the intoxicating aroma of the woods and prickled across my magic.
Time for the ghost story to begin.
I gasped, as my fingers touched the mirror…
But then, Sleipnir yanked me back by my hair, and Bask’s hand clasped around mine, as I struggled.
“Does it please you to have your foxy arse pulled through into some Alice Through the Looking Glass world?” Bask’s fingers were shaking, even as he squeezed mine. “This academy is death.”
“But she isn’t.” The truth of Magenta’s life prickled beneath my skin. “Anyway, I laugh in the face of death. It really pisses him off.”
Sleipnir traced over the brand on the back of his hand. I was surprised to see that his hair had softened to candy pink waves. “I respect death, but son of a troll, I respect every Rebel’s life more. I’ve kind of grown fond of you, so here’s a tip. No touching magic mirrors.”
He let go of my hair with a shove.
I flushed. Okay, as tips went, that didn’t suck.
“Especially ones that send cryptic messages.” Sleipnir’s jaw clenched, as he nodded at the mirror.
Words had appeared as if traced through the ice:
I’m the Wickedly Charmed Crow.
Why did this feel like a first date? I mean, I’d never been out with anyone before, but if I based it on the movies that I’d forced Aquilo to watch with me, then we’d introduced ourselves and now Magenta was sharing more intimate details.
Yeah, I didn’t understand those details, we were talking via a magic mirror with two other guys listening in, along with enough creepy vibes for this to be a horror movie. But still, romantic.
When had I ever gone for the conventional?