Page 21 of Goody Magic Academy: Year Three

Shock, betrayal, and fear battled for dominance within me. His decision to go along with this scheme was made almost too quickly, and it was hurtful to think it was so easy for him to throw me into a den of thieves.

The headmaster nodded, satisfaction gleaming in his eyes. “It doesn’t matter if you like it or not,” he said, his voice smooth as silk but sharp as a blade. “What matters is that it’s believable.”

As the others continued to discuss the details, their voices faded to a dull buzz. I stared at my reflection in the polished surface of the table, barely recognizing the pale, wide-eyed girl looking back at me. What had I gotten myself into?

The gentle clink of glass on wood startled me out of my reverie. Ethan had materialized beside us, silent as a ghost, refilling our drinks with practiced, polished efficiency. The rich, fruity bouquet of the wine wafted up from my glass, mixing with the metallic tang of the Chosen Blood that filled the vampires’ goblets. The intertwined aromas hung heavy in the air, a bizarre representation of the supernatural world I now found myself in.

My gaze drifted to the charcuterie board Ethan had placed at the center of the table. Under normal circumstances, it wouldhave been a feast for the eyes—and the stomach. Thin slices of cured meat were rolled into delicate rosettes, their deep reds and pinks standing out against the pale, creamy cheeses arranged beside them. Golden crackers fanned out in a precise pattern, and plump olives, both green and black, glistened with a sheen of oil, their briny scent cutting through the heavy aromas of meat and cheese.

But as I stared at the artfully arranged spread, my stomach clenched painfully and the thought of taking even one bite made bile rise in my throat. The colors were too bright, the smells too intense. Everything about the scene felt wrong, like a surreal painting where nothing quite fits.

I tore my gaze away from the food, my eyes darting around the room, taking in the faces of my companions. They all seemed so calm and collected, as if they were discussing nothing more serious than the weather. Didn’t they understand what was at stake? My hand trembled as I reached for my wine glass.

I was going into the lion’s den.

Alone.

Chapter

Eleven

Finn reached for an empty plate. With deliberate care, he began piling it high with an assortment from the charcuterie board. The rich aroma of cured meats and aged cheeses wafted toward me again as he carefully arranged some crackers around the edges of the plate and finished by adding a few olives.

He set it down in front of me with a soft clink of porcelain against wood. “You need to eat something, Peyton,” Finn said, his voice low and tinged with worry. His eyes, usually bright with mischief, were now somber and concerned. It all made my stomach clench.

I stared at the plate dully. The food, which would normally have been very appetizing, was about as appealing as sawdust right now. My throat constricted, and I had to swallow hard before I could speak. “I’m not hungry,” I mumbled, the words barely audible over the pounding of my heart.

My eyes drifted to Jaxon. He sat rigid in his chair, his own plate conspicuously empty. The muscles in his jaw worked silently, tension radiating from every cell of his body as his fingers drummed out an agitated rhythm on the polished table surface.

A wave of guilt washed over me. Jaxon wouldn’t just be selling me—he would be forever marked as a traitor, viewed as having gone over to the dark side. The thought hit me like a bucket of ice water. Despite the warmth of the room, a chill settled deep in my bones, making me want to curl in on myself for protection.

I took a deep, shaky breath, trying to calm my racing thoughts. Doubt clawed at my insides, a relentless voice whispering that I couldn’t do this, that I wasn’t strong enough. The formal dining room suddenly felt claustrophobic, the walls seeming to close in around me.

But then, unbidden, an image flashed in my mind: the high priestess, her face twisted with triumph, wielding the Dragon Nexus. I saw myself and my friends being forced to hunt down Raven Acosta, puppets being bent to the high priestess’s will. The vision was so vivid I could almost taste the acrid flavor of betrayal on my tongue.

I didn’t know if I could do this. The task ahead seemed impossible, a mountain too steep to climb. But as I looked around at the faces of my companions, each wearing their own mask of determination and fear, I knew I had to try. The alternative was unthinkable. The fate of Raven Acosta, perhaps the entire supernatural world, might be resting on my shoulders. And though the responsibility threatened to crush me like a spider, I knew I had no choice but to bear it or die trying.

With a trembling hand, I reached for a cracker, the crisp edge crumbling slightly under my fingers, and placed a piece of cheese on it. It was a small show of strength, a tiny step toward the daunting future that awaited us. As I raised the cracker to my lips, I silently vowed to do whatever it took to prevent the high priestess from winning, no matter the cost.

Jaxon dragged his fingers through his hair. “When do you propose to implement this plan?”

“Tomorrow,” the headmaster replied promptly. “The auction is this weekend, and you need to steal the Dragon Nexus before it takes place. If you don’t, I fear we will be experiencing another war.”

His words stirred up a deep-rooted fear inside me. I didn’t want to be imprisoned and have my powers bound again, like the high priestess had done. That had been agonizing. What if Marsha tried to do the same?

Ethan glided into the room, his movements as silent and graceful as a shadow. “Something else for you all after your long journey.”

In his hands he carried a large platter of Cuban sandwiches that immediately filled the air with an enticing aroma. He set it down on the table and the headmaster nodded in appreciation. “Thank you, Ethan.”

The sandwiches were a symphony of textures and colors. Golden-brown bread, crisp outside and soft inside, held layers of succulent sliced ham and roasted pork nestled together, with melted Swiss cheese oozing from the edges. Crisp dill pickles added a pop of green. The whole creation was then pressed flat, with enticing grill marks across its surface.

A hint of mustard and garlic wafted up, mingling with the savory scent of the warmed meat. The sandwiches looked absolutely delicious: comfort food elevated to gourmet status. This Ethan guy sure was a genius in the kitchen.

Same as before, Finn filled my plate. “Peyton, you need to keep up your strength.” He clutched my hand. “I promise we won’t let anything happen to you.” His voice was so confident, but could he really promise that? Had he ever gone up against the mafia?

I didn’t argue, though. Instead, I nodded numbly, not trusting myself to speak.

As I gazed at the platter, steam rising gently from it, my stomach twisted into an even tighter knot. The thought of taking even a single bite made my throat constrict. The bizarre disconnect between the tantalizing food in front of me and my body’s stubborn refusal to be hungry only added to my sense of dread about the situation that Jaxon and I were going to face tomorrow.

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