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“No.” She answers a male voice. I never do anything, and here, the first time I let loose—busted. I’m never doing anything wrong again.

Then Makenzie smiles.

“Not possessed.” We all exchange looks of curiosity and relief. “Why don’t you come down here and meet my coven for yourself? Or maybe you want me to hex you?” Makenzie’s fucking flirting.

“There’s five of us… That’s my lucky number, too.”

I really, really hope it’s not a chaperone. Christ. I don’t know her well. Please let her not be an edu-chaser.

She hangs up and pulls on a pair of leggings. She was dancing in her underwear.

“What?” We’re all staring at her. She grins and sits on the bed, moving her long jet-black hair out of her face. Then she applies red lipstick that’s sitting on the nightstand. She tosses it to me.

“Tony and his friends are on their way down.”

“Who’s Tony?” Maggie asks.

Makenzie shrugs. “We’ll find out.”

DANNY

Been here four days, sober about twenty-five minutes. It’s wicked pissah awesome. We convinced our parents we needed to come early to Paris. Why the fuck not? I haven’t seen my parents in months because of my football scholarship at a snooty boys academy, and since I’m the star quarterback, and I’m fucking good, I haven’t done shit with my grades all year. Charm and a good arm open all my doors. I’m waiting on the rest of my college offers but Penn State wants me bad. Duke wasn’t willing to negotiate because my grades weren’t stellar since I was born. Fuck them. I want a Big Ten or Pac-12 school. It would be fucking sweet to be the hometown hero in Boston but I’ll play at the best program that wants me. Football is my path forward.

Tony, my suite-mate at Xavier Prep, is a fucking rich-ass party hound. He’s from Boston too, but a very different Boston. He’s never been down to Southie.

Tony’s my tour guide through the world of money. Within an hour of landing in Paris, he had a pocket full of speed and a bag of coke. I don’t touch that shit. Won’t risk my scholarship or conditioning. He’s that guy who always lands on his feet. I’m not that guy, so I stay clean.

I’ve known his parents since I played Pee Wee football All-City All-Stars with Tony’s brother and started hanging around their house. They’re kind and good parents. They paid for my plane ticket to Paris. They’ve been really fucking good to me. I told my mom the team paid so she didn’t feel bad. I’ll pay the back someday.

I’ve never let a training moment slide or slack off, despite what my father thinks. With the season over and my prospects good, Tony begged me to come on this trip. I don’t need French credits, but three months bumming around Europe with his deep pockets sounded pretty fucking good. We might go to his house in Italy. His parents have a house in a foreign country. My parents have eaten at IHOP.

We’re sitting around drinking and playing cards. I’m the shark and currently earning my spending money for the week. I’ve been regularly taking these assholes’ extra cash for two years. My neighborhood and my Italian mother taught me a thing or two about tells. I learned early—you read the person, not the cards. Everyone has a tell. Mine’s flicking my thumbs on my forefingers. Sometimes I have to sit on my hands.

Colton, my brilliant wide receiver and all around good fucking dude, calls my bluff. I toss the pot to him. He’s from somewhere near DC. His folks have political money and power. He’s a pussy cat though, who never lacks for company.

“You’re slipping there, gangsta.”

“Lulling you into a false sense of security until I take you for all your spending cash.”

We’re all playing except Tony is prank calling within the hotel. He’s scaring the shit out of other kids or annoying the chaperones. No one can trace our calls on these museum piece phones. Most of this place is like a shrine to the ’80s. We keep calling it a minimum security prison.

We turn our attention to Tony who leaps in the air yelling, “Jack-fucking-pot, gentlemen. Time to ride, my good men. Grab your armor and provisions, we have lands to conquer and worlds to bring to their knees. Hopefully with our dicks in their mouths.” I roll my eyes. He loves a grand gesture. Last year during some medieval humanities unit we were the modern Knights of the Round Table. He dubbed himself king and we were all given a place at the table. He bought us chalices for Christmas and hung banners and flags with our “logo” on them. Other factions challenge us to soccer or flag football from time to time to try and take his “crown.” He still has it.

His voice raises and returns to normal. “Up. Not kidding. Grab the beer.” He starts clapping.

Colton pushes up from our makeshift poker table and groans. “Adventure?”

Tony puts his coat on and lifts his umbrella to the sky. “Onward to adventure, good chaps! The numbers are in our favor!” We all grab our coats and the beer cooler, and the elevator takes us down two floors. Not the adventure I’d thought.

“Come, the witches await.”

He knocks on the door to room 666. A short, pretty girl with sparkling golden eyes and luscious long highlighted hair opens the door and says, “Tony?”

He smirks. “Are you the charming woman I spoke with?”

Another girl appears as the first opens the door wider. She’s tall and skinny with straight dark hair and stunning dark eyes to match. They’re both hot.

She looks Tony up and down and says, "Ok. I’ll allow it. Come in. I’m Makenzie.”