Page 6 of Gemini Wicked

I don’t see Messalina, who’s supposed to be our hostess with the mostest. And the current queen of the witching world should not be hard to spot.

Plus there are other familiar faces I’m looking for and not seeing.

“Where’s Daddy Dearest, I wonder?” Vasili, who prefers vodka to champagne, swirls an olive around his otherwise untouched martini glass and looks dangerous. “Mick Gemini is hardly known for being bashful. He should be front and center to see his little darling crowned queen.”

“Guess he stood me up.” I give an eloquent snort. “Or let me down. Again. Go figure.”

Sure, my dad’s a piece-of-shit casino czar who spent years after I ran away posting a bounty on my rebel ass. Last intel I heard, he was offering a cool two mill to whoever brought him my head in a bag.

But allegedly we’re past all that, with me now tapped to be the next queen.

So, yeah, I figured my asshole dad would be here.

“Back at the Double Gemini in Vegas, counting his millions?” Racetrack’s abandoned her bubbly for a longneck, she’s not into frou-frou drinks, but none of us are drinking much. “My moms aren’t here either, and I figured they would be. The Prynnes are big shots in the witching world.”

“Speaking of big shots.” Dez scans the scene with her pretty brow puckered. “Where’s Neo’s old man? Senator Mercury. Figured he’d be front and center for the beanfest, yeah?”

“He was definitely supposed to be.” That’s Neo, who’s been trying to reach his dad on our finicky landline for days. We don’t have functioning internet behind the magical wards that conceal the Icarus Academy from the mortal world. This is one of the times that sucks. “For both political and personal reasons, this isn’t an event my dad would ever miss.”

“For that matter, I was also very much expecting the Dean.” Lucius isn’t even pretending to drink. My headmaster’s prowling around our table like a hunting wolf, his glasses tucked away now that darkness is falling. His sherry-colored eyes pulse with a reddish tinge. “Quite possibly, of course, her failing health has kept her away. But my own grandsire, as head of the Aries clan, should also be in attendance. In fact, he wrote me a letter to expect him.”

My nerves tingle and plink with alarm like a plucked harp. Sharply I glance around our table at the circle of worried faces.

“That’s, what, six no-shows? And all of them our allies—I mean, except my dad.” I watch Lucius’ nostrils flare as he paces and scents. Ronin’s eyes glow golden with psi fire against his tawny skin. Resting on the table, Vasili’s deadly casting hand twitches.

If V closes that telekinetic fist of his and means it, he’ll crush half the people on this boat.

“Plus our so-called hostess,” I finish. “The queen bee, as in bitch, is totally MIA.”

Across the table, RT’s flinty gray gaze locks with mine. She sucks in a breath and thunks her longneck down. “Yeah, something’s fucked. You think we should motor, Z?”

Fuck. That’s exactly what I’m thinking.

Neo, the senator’s son, the most political of all my mates, looks downright alarmed. “Wait a minute, we can’t just take off. This is Zara’s big night. It’s her coronation—I mean, maybe. But it’s definitely her birthday. She’s the guest of honor. There’s like a million cameras filming us live right now—”

“Yeah, and they’re filming for a reason. But it might not be the reason we think.” I abandon my champagne, grab my clutch, and spin toward the stairs. “Come on, guys. We’re outtie.”

This time, no one argues, not even Neo.

Racetrack’s already powering down the stairs for the afterdeck and our ride, towing a worried-looking Dez along with her.

My warlocks close ranks around me, all protective. Ronin on one side, Neo on the other, V and Lucius dropping back to guard my six.

But I haven’t taken more than two steps away from the table before someone else slips into my escape path.

Actually, make that two someones.

My eyes are lowered, sweeping the deck for spills or other obstacles that could trip me up in my mile-high stilettos. Now my gaze slides up a pair of long legs sheathed in a sparkly evening gown in a purple so deep it’s nearly black, poured over the tall slim lines of a supermodel physique, framed in a sleek curtain of merlot hair.

I know that hair.

And I definitely know that body.

I jerk to a halt like I’ve just been knifed.

My stunned gaze drills into a pair of wide violet eyes, set in a famously stunning face. Those are eyes I thought I’d never look into again, except from the cover of Vogue or Vanity Fair, where they’re regularly featured.

I wonder if I could possibly be hallucinating. Like maybe those three sips of champagne I’ve taken have somehow gone straight to my head.

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