Page 11 of Wicked Court

Blinking rapidly, I whirl to give the cauldron my back, thinking this has to be a nightmare, to find another cloaked skull striding through the clearing toward me.

“Sasha,” I croak, my heart falling into my stomach. “I don’t have a great feeling about this.”

But when I turn back, she’s rolled up her sleeve with a flourish. “I wish for the power to never be late to class again, the ability to understand math ... and maybe a date with Mr. Tall, Dark, and Masked,” she declares, winking at him. “Not too much to ask from the witches, right?”

He inclines his head, an off-putting angle of study, before grazing her flawless brown skin with the blade, a single line of red curving across her forearm and dripping into the pot.

I don’t go faint at the sight of blood, but my stomach lurches at the thought of my friend giving this … thing … her life essence.

Blissfully ignorant of more skull figures closing in on us, Sasha spins and gives me the thumbs up before approaching the sophomore assistant for disinfectant and a band-aid.

Probably not something these omniscient witches had in the 1700s, but who am I to correct an ancient ritual?

The Skull lays his blade on the table for cleaning, then lowers his arms, waiting for me to step up.

I don’t.

“Ugh, finally my turn!” Cynthia says loudly, walking forward.

Until the Skull halts her by quietly lifting his hand without moving his attention from me.

Cynthia abides him without question, even though she frowns with her hands on her hips, sending a cutting glare in my direction.

Then he waits.

“I don’t…” I swallow. “I’m just here to support my friend. I’m not interested in?—”

He uses his other hand to put a finger to his garish, toothy grin. Shh.

I feel more than hear the rustling of cloaks behind me, moving much too close.

“Sash, you ready?” I ask with a high pitch, clenching my hands to my sides.

“Just a sec,” she says with her head bent over her arm. “The fucker cut me pretty deep.”

“State your wish.”

The Skull’s voice reverberates through me, striking a deep and controlled chord.

And in that moment…

I’m almost certain it’s Cav.

And the three wretched souls at my back are Wilder, Axe, and Kaspian.

But the burning question remains... why me?

Cav humiliated me in class. No one’s meant to know my history—I’ve made sure of it and hide it well. What right does he have to taunt me further by dressing up in costume and wanting to cut me?

I’ve done nothing to him.

The top of my ear tickles from a soft breath: “Enjoying the festivities, Miss Wraithwood?”

Whirling, I’m confronted by another mask, another of Cav’s loyal beasts.

I regard him coolly. “Immensely. The decor is simply stunning, don’t you think?”

He shifts, moonlight raking over toxic green eyes within the dark holes. “My great-great-grandfather helped pass the law to preserve the woods around TFU. He had an exquisite heart.” He gestures to the cauldron. “Is this from your family?”

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