Page 119 of Gemini Kings
Consistent with that whole house-of-horrors theme, they’ve got an actual ruined speakeasy in the basement, dating back to the reign of terror of some long-ago headmaster who tried to outlaw booze and frolic. Centuries before that, this basement was a fucking dungeon.
If you look close enough, you’ll probably still find bloodstains soaked into the flagstone floor.
This cheerful place is where the Hadrian lot have their keggers.
Tonight, this spooky basement with its cobwebby rafters and shadowy corners looks even spookier than usual, due to the power being out all over the island. The Hufflepuffs have stuck dripping candles to every available surface for lighting and dragged a bunch of steel barrels with burning garbage inside the joint for heat. Someone’s dug up an old-fashioned, battery-operated boombox that’s cranking out axe-murder metal (because when you’ve got a good thing going thematically, you might as well lean into it).
The liquor’s flowing from the bootleg bar, and a bunch of kids are already packed into the open space grooving to the edgy Halloween tunes among rows of crumbling pillars, mountains of dusty packing crates whose contents everyone’s forgotten, and the eerie as fuck cavy grottoes that function as rainwater cisterns for the villa.
Right away, I’ve got my eye on those bullies from Villa Tiberius, lurking like cockroaches near the bar.
Pretty sure they’re the buggers who ambushed Maxim. If those fucks go anywhere near him or Zara tonight, I’m going medieval with my witchcraft. I’d rather fancy blistering some Aquarius arse.
Not that my girl needs me playing defense.
Zara’s carving a confident path straight through the dancers to the gift table where the birthday girl’s hanging out. Whenever anyone gets a little too close for comfort, violet sparks snap from my girl’s fingers. Which pretty much means my classmates are falling over their own feet trying to clear out of her way in the crowded space.
It suddenly occurs to me that maybe Zara’s accidental lightning strike, the one that downed the Academy power line and knocked this whole rock off the grid, wasn’t actually an accident.
After what happened to Max today, I wouldn’t put it past my girl to give this whole island a wee warning.
Just to remind them what kind of electrical havoc a pissed-off Gemini queen can wreak.
I’m not guarding my thoughts, I rarely do with her, so Zara tosses me a laughing look over one sleek bare shoulder as we edge through the mob. Candlelight flashes on her wicked lightning bolt earring and pools in her big Betty Boop eyes.
“I’dneverdo such a thing,” she calls above the grinding beat. “I’m not a hooligan, I’m a law-abiding queen. I have to set an example. And shame on you for thinking I’d go rogue.”
“Whatever you say, love,” I call back with a grin.
Have I mentioned I fucking love being mated to such a badass?
Our queen eels through the scrum, careful to protect the gift-wrapped box she’s thrown together with a nice repurposed gift for Mallory McSnicker, who’s a shy Luna Lovegood sort and never causes any trouble (though she had a pesky crush on me freshman year, which I never requited—no challenge to it—so the birthday girl’s not one of my one-and-dones).
As soon as my queen dials down the amperage so I won’t get a jolt, I wrap an arm round Zara’s latex-sheathed waist and tuck her up against my front to avoid getting separated from her in this mosh pit.
Then I reach back to get a good grip on Maxim’s hand and tow the skittish dragon after me through the tight crowd.
In my periphery I’ve got a glimpse of Dez and Racetrack peeling off, Dez already shimmying to the tunes and really showing off her moves in her sparkly party frock, while RT snags a pair of longnecks from a big bin full of ice.
Maxim presses up behind me (which I don’t exactly mind) and mutters in my ear, “This is chaos. Why is this appealing?”
“Just a bunch of kids blowing off steam before midterms.” I tighten my grip on his hand so he doesn’t freak out over all these clueless fucks violating his personal space. “Don’t you have parties like this in Siberia?”
The look on his face makes it pretty fucking clear they don’t.
At least not in the part of Siberia this bloke hails from.
His slitted pupils are all telescoped wide, and his mouth is set in a ruthless line, and the healing ring of his black eye adds a nice touch of violence to the whole effect. He’s got his blond hair raked back in the sleek braid that gives his cold Nordic face that Russianbratvavibe. Yet despite the leather jacket and spiked belt and shitkicker boots he’s thrown over his ripped jeans and that form-fitting charcoal tee I’m ready to peel off his sinewy frame with my teeth, he’s jittery under all that attitude.
Tonight he’s my date. Mine and Zara’s.
Vasili said so.
To be honest, I’m starting to feel a bit protective of the chap. Like I’m catching feelings or some shit.
Surely not.
Zara finally wiggles her way through the crush and gives her gift and a warm hug to Mallory. While the two girls chat, Max and I hang back and scope out the scene. Yeah, those Villa Tiberius bastards are out in force, most sporting some sort of Aquarius bling—a tee shirt, a bit of statement jewelry, an exposed tattoo. These chumps were Cybelle’s old court, so it’s not too surprising they’re all kitted out with Aquarius gear. It’s not even treason since Messalina’s skinny ass still warms the throne, and she’s (supposedly) the last Aquarius queen.
