FIFTY WITCHES IN ALL ENTEREDRAVEN’SENDCEMETERY.
Lazarus and Merle led the way, Embry, Rye, Fairfax, and Ames directly at their backs, the elder members and students clumping according to the explicit orders they’d been given.
In magically hewn bronze, Hiram Woodcross watched them advance upon his grave, knee propped up like an explorer admiring “new” territory, elbows akimbo. As silently as possible, they surrounded the statue and the aboveground stone box that sat behind it.
The tomb lid was still closed.
Embry took care to position herself in line with the point of view Alistair’s vision provided—directly in front of the short end of the grave. Rye stood to her left, Fairfax (and Ames) to her right. Daddy was on the far side, the rest of the elders spread out like spokes on a wheel, the younger witches divided between them.
She was the point person—Daddy had agreed to that and strong-armed the rest of the coven into going along with it. Embry didn’t want anyone but her taking the heat from Balthazar, and she wanted to show the coven that she wasn’t a liability. She didn’texactlyget them into this mess, but she wanted to get first crack at getting them out of it.
Her heartbeat had picked up now, fast enough that it was matching the pace it had pounded as she and Rye raced back to her house that morning. Maybe it was so loud Rye could hearit, because he slipped his palm into hers, gave Embry a calming squeeze, and whispered for her ears only, “Whatever happens here, we’re going to prove your innocence.”
Embry stole a glance at Rye, and the determination in the cut of his chin and softness in his eyes when they connected with hers were enough to make her heart leap into her throat.
This boy—this man—had always been a thorn in her side, her ever-present shadow, the true-north compass she couldn’t escape even when it’d be so much better for her reputation to go south. He called her out on every last iota of her popular, perfectionist, queen bee bullshit. He saw the real her, behind the magic, the fashion, the flawless, manicured reputation (RIP, that).
In that moment, Embry Woodcross would choose no one but Rye Knighton at her side.
She could barely believe that she’d spent so much time vexed by him. Because his personality complemented hers so well, he supported her even more, and not only believed in her innocence but sought a way to prove it when no one else would.
Embry squeezed back.
Then, as they’d (hastily) planned, she raised her hands. Rye followed suit, as did the others facing the tomb. Embry began a visible countdown on her fingers. After one, they would cast a collective spell to raise the substantial stone lid.
Five, four, three, two…
The tombexploded.
Embry stumbled back onto the damp grass as a fireball leaped to the tree limbs and smoke billowed in a fast-moving cloud. Coughing, she got to her feet, waving one hand, muttering a spell to clear the air and her view.
The tomb lid was ajar, just as it had been in the snippet of vision Alistair had shared.
Then Balthazar was there, springing up through the openingand dropping to a crouch on the ground before them. The sorcerer’s head lifted, black hair pomaded to a perfect, glistening shine, and aimed a smug yet still-handsome smile straight at her.
He’d been lying in wait. He knew the coven would be here, that she’d be the one to lead the charge, and he was reveling in it.
Embry immediately gathered magic in her fingertips and shot off a stunning enchantment, just as she’d planned, aiming it straight for the lips she’d once longed to kiss.
But just as in her dorm room, her spell shot through the air—a much-hoped-for chance to subdue Balthazar so his crimes could be laid at his feet—and stopped. To her horror, the sorcerer used the exact same playbook as before. Not only that, but fifty adversaries were as easy to control as one. It was impossible and yet…
The hourglass of time ground to a halt as four dozen spells of various potency—from stunning, to burning, to at least one illegal killing spell shot from the direction of a coven elder—nearly collided with the sorcerer.
Instead, they hovered around him, a halo of frozen, ineffectual arrows.
Holding time in one hand, Balthazar used the other to wipe away the attacking enchantments like so many pests. They dropped to the grass, vanishing among the autumn-dormant blades.
His spell was like a thunderclap, encasing them in its invisible power, overwhelming them with a surge of strength from the dark well that Balthazar could access. A seemingly unlimited power pack, freshly juiced with vampire magic, it was as if he harnessed the power of the sun against each witch’s individual candle flames. Embry knew then that in the dorm he hadn’t just stopped time for her and Rye in her room, he’d stopped it forthe whole building.
Balthazar straightened to his full height, and Embry realizedhis black leather jacket was back in place, his big boots on his feet, all solid, six-feet-plus of him ready to finish betraying her while looking as utterly delicious as possible.
He knew it, too, taking the time to install his most devilish grin just for her.
“I expected you a day ago, Princess.” The sorcerer shook his head. “Must have taken the walking ascot longer than I’d anticipated to grow the cojones for an apology. So disappointing. Then again, we are feeling mighty refreshed.”
We.Though she was suspended, Embry was sure her heart picked up at that single word, a new thumping rhythm—I was right. I was right. I was right.
Balthazar put two fingers to his lips and whistled.Oh shit.
