Page 37 of Wicked Court

The heat in my cheeks deepens when she uses my nickname for them. It has a whole other meaning now. By “untouchable,” maybe I meant that I wanted the opposite. That I wanted to feel what it’s like to brush up against each one of them.

Even if they terrorize the shit out of me while I do it.

Her head lolls to the side, and she stares at me with an off-kilter squint. “Let’s put aside for one sec the fact you didn’t tell your best friend you got to kiss a god. Why the sudden interest in you? No offense, but he doesn’t publicly get with anyone.”

I nod along, because she’s right. There’s only one reason he kissed me.

“Maybe it’s because I’m considered an attractive and valuable pawn,” I joke, but it’s met with silence.

Sasha sits up abruptly, sending a chip tumbling out of her mouth. “Have you thought about what they could want with you? Those four guys, they’re always together. I don’t think I’ve seen any of them single out a girl. They are not nice.” She wrinkles her nose like she smells something off.

Her voice lowers into the seriousness that only comes when she truly cares about something, even while drunk. It reminds me of our talks about boys, our dreams, our fears during freshmen year and my eventual confession about losing my brother so violently. She’s the only one on campus aware of Maverick and fully supported my need to be someone other than the little sister of a dead brother. She hasn’t questioned me since.

“Nothing they do is an accident, either,” she adds.

“No,” I agree, hiding my worry.

It’s too soon to tell her about the necklace, too soon to admit how close they’re already succeeding at getting what they want out of me.

She nods once and reaches for another chip with a small smile on her face as if she’s made a decision while in dreamland. “Curiosity may have killed the cat, but if I were nailed by Kaspian, I’d be one happy pussy.”

I snort, thrown out of my thoughts of doom, and toss an unopened bag of chips at her. “You just said they weren’t nice and I should probably leave them alone.”

“Why are you listening to what I’m saying? I’m drunk as shit.”

“Good night, Drunk-Face,” I say to her.

“Mm. Good night, Sober Nun.”

Sasha doesn’t bother getting undressed. After kicking off her shoes, she slides under her covers and is asleep within minutes amidst crumbs, empty chip bags, and her phone half-gripped in her hand.

Once I hear her soft snores, I stand and swipe my keys off my desk.

Sasha’s warnings haven’t deterred me. If anything, I’m more motivated to discover what’s drawing Kaspian, Wilder, and the others to me.

Is it my connection to the Andertons? Wilder keeps calling me sweetwitch.

Or is it that I might know the location of a supposed treasure? If so, Kaspian wants it badly.

And then there’s the Cimmerian Court’s involvement. What did Darcy say? Oh yeah, Darcy mentioned they created it at the end of the 17th century. Right around the time Sarah was alive and in business.

This necklace I have … If my thinking is right, it means a lot to some powerful families. Kaspian, Wilder, Cav and Axe can’t be the only members of the Cimmerian Court. If such a society really exists on campus, my necklace just became way more valuable.

And it starts with Sarah Anderton.

After grabbing my coat, I text Sasha that I’ll be spending the night at Gram’s, and head for my car.

An idea hits me as I pass the library to the student parking lot, veering inside to unload the heavy burden in my backpack and put it somewhere safe where the Court won’t find.

I drive through the TFU gates, determined to unravel the mystery of Sarah Anderton and her—my—connection to this necklace the Court so covets.

Chapter 14

Elara

I pull up to the Wraithwood mansion, the fog rolling in, thickening the air like a blanket.

When I get out, I can see my breath in front of me, the front steps slick with dew. It occurs to me it would’ve been easy for someone to follow my car without being noticed.

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