I knew what was in my past. I didn’t want to face it again. What if the Memory Theater was worse than any horror?
Chapter Eighteen
FOX
I shook, abandoned on the stage in the center of the Memory Theater. A spotlight rooted me in place like all my faults were lit up. I wrapped my arms around my middle. They’d need a brighter light. Then I squinted up at the tiered seats that were hidden in shadow.
The Princes sat on black seats and the Immortals on pink like it was a chessboard. I smirked. It’d be epic if the truth of this theater was that I’d been chosen to play real life Wizard’s Chess with a twist: I’d love to see Lysander’s expression when Magenta’s magic mist swept him off the board because no way would he ever get to be King in my game.
Why did I have the feeling that witches wouldn’t put a mage in charge of picking up litter, let alone their precious Princes?
I sighed because okay, that’d been a pleasant way to stop the terror from reducing me to as much of a pooping Rebel as Mr Fierce in front of the rest of the students. The theater was thick with the scent of burning sage. My magic prickled with the power held within this room: it was oppressive, suffocating, and dark.
It wanted to swallow me whole.
I shivered with unease, tipping back my head. Words swirled in and out of focus on the ceiling like they were rising to the surface of a rippling pooclass="underline"
Share our pasts in order to move forward as one together.
I grimaced, closing my eyes.
More of Damelza’s motivational mottoes — brilliant.
I’d already shared enough to feel like the tips of my ears would never stop burning after the Punish and Reward Game in Divination class. I’d expected something dastardly from Lysander like the Itching Powder Pants Hex.
My ass had already been squirming in anticipation.
Instead, Lysander had scrutinized me in a way that’d made my dick and balls join in the squirming. “I choose Punish.”
“Shocker,” Sleipnir had muttered.
“So, what’s it to be?” Swinging upside down, I’d grinned crookedly. “Public execution of our social media accounts? Goodbye Instagram, farewell sweet Facebook, and so long Tinder…”
Bask had snickered.
“You possess those?” Lysander had blinked.
“If you define possess as in…do I have access to a computer, Internet, or any social media…then that’d be a nope. Oh look, then the punishment’s already carried out. Good job.”
Lysander had snorted. “Excellent try.” His gaze had slid to Magenta, who’d boldly met it. “Do you not think that we should get to know each other? My order is simple: each answer the same question.”
Magenta had nodded.
Lysander’s smile had been sharp. “Are you a virgin?”
“Why? Are you looking for a virgin sacrifice?” Magenta had snapped.
Perhaps, he’d expected to shame us. The first answer on my tongue had been: Of course not, I’m the legendary mage lover of the House of Jewels: The Wizard Lothario, surely you’ve heard of me? But then, the spell had kicked in, and I’d been forced to tell the truth.
Lysander’s eyes had widened at my shy nod. The tips of my ears had reddened.
Yet Sleipnir had stretched his arms behind his head with a cocky grin. “I’m the son of Loki. Hel’s tits, no.”
Bask had winked, sliding his hand down to circle his dick through his pants. His eyes had been half-lidded. “You think this much sexiness hasn’t been petted?” His grin had been sly. “Don’t you want to see if you could keep up?”
Lysander had flushed. Hadn’t he learned yet that sometimes you lost, when you thought that you’d won?
“What an impertinent question.” Magenta had tossed her hair. “My virtue is intact as befits my unmarried station, but worry not, I intend to change that soon. I have lovers now who I wish to ravish.” She’d caught Lysander’s gaze, and he’d shivered. I’d already been lost on the whole ravishing part of that. After all, I was the legendary mage lover, why wouldn’t she want to ravish my curly-haired cuteness? See, I could still lie to myself within the spell. “I’m intrigued by your interest. Were you hoping to deflower us and add us to your list of conquests? Or perhaps, you lie awake at night, fretting that you’re the lone virgin in this academy?”
Lysander had stormed out with his haughty nose in the air.
I’d bet my prickles and whiffling nose that despite the bluster, Lysander was as innocent as me.
Yet now, caught in the spotlight, I would have to share a part of myself again and this time, I wouldn’t have the other Immortals backing me up. It’d been brilliant to turn the tables with them at my side, but alone on the stage, I didn’t know if I had the strength to pull off the same trick.
In a flurry of feathers, Damelza appeared, and my eyes snapped open. Her silver blonde hair reflected the light, and her dress swept across the floor, as she prowled towards me.
I shuffled my feet, unable to move.
Do not poop, do not poop, do not…
With a flick of her hand, feathered straps bound each of the Rebels into their seats like the theater was a fairground ride. Wow, it’d be brilliant if it was because I’d never been to the fair. Except, I had the feeling that I was the ride.
“What a surprise that the criminally inclined mage is the first to visit my theater.” Damelza’s lips pinched, and my dick shriveled. “I tried to help your mother with your discipline as a child. I always knew that you’d turn out to need a firm hand, although I never guessed that my poor friend would have two sons with magic. I wonder if she was cursed.”
My hands clenched into fists. “I missed you and your inspiring speeches. Where’s the suggestion box? I have a few complaints…well, suggestions for improvement…about my induction.”
Someone snickered from the theater seats. I’d bet that it was Bask.
“I’m so sorry.” Damelza’s eyes glittered. “Write down your complaints and hand them to Professor Bacchus.”
“Really?”
“If you want to be transfigured into a footstool.”
I bit my lip. “Tempting because she wears epic boots, and I have this kinky thing for them, but Pan knows that enough witches have already trodden on me in my life, so I’ll pass.”
Damelza fiddled with the feather at her ear, and I couldn’t help the flinch because the last time that she’d touched the feather, she’d thrown it at me. I had that effect on witches. “Why don’t you share your trauma with the rest of the class but not the kinky part because do you know what witches hate listening to the most?”
I cocked my head. “The Wizard of Oz soundtrack?”
Damelza’s cheek twitched. “Boastful mages.” Damn my prickles, that was me screwed. “The most delightful thing about my Memory Theater is that the Rebel doesn’t need to speak. The spell will show the truth, and every student here will relive the memory alongside you.”
I bit my tongue so hard that I yelped. When did I let others see the truth? It’d taken years of dedication to build up my walls of lies and I liked it that way, cheers.