“I’m not going to let you panic about tonight. This is your night for revenge. I want to see wicked grins and evil looks only.”
I put my face in my hands and groan. “I’m nervous,” I admit.
Sybil comes over to me and places her hands on my shoulders. “Your soul mate thinks you’re conniving and cruel. The Politia thinks you could be a killer. You’re obviously neither of those things, but fuck it.” She gives my shoulders a shake. “We’re going to embrace it for one night.”
She releases me and turns to the items on the bed. From her bag she pulls out a bottle of vodka and two cans of sparkling juice. “We’re going to drink, we’re going to do each other’s makeup and hair and have fucking fun dressing up like villainesses for a night. What do you say?”
I take a deep breath. “Pour me a shot.”
By the time I reach for my dress, I’m giggling.
I may have had a touch too much alcohol.
Our hair and makeup—done. All that’s left is pulling on our dresses. I walk over to mine while Sybil grabs hers, my legs a little shaky.
The black dress is floor-length with a small train and a slit all the way up to nearly the top of my thigh. The back is even sexier, held together by only two crisscrossing straps, leaving the rest of my skin down to the small of my back exposed.
There’s a sheen to the material that makes it look a touch iridescent, and it slides around me like a serpent. Now that I have it on, I do feel more than a little wicked.
“I know you have a love affair with high-tops and combat boots.” Sybil turns to me in her ruby-red dress, the gemstones on it glittering as they catch the light. “But for tonight, let’s do something a bit fancier,” she says, moving over to my closet.
“I don’t have anything fancier,” I say. “Besides, how am I going to crush my enemies beneath my boots if I’m not wearing boots?”
“You’re not going to crush them beneath your boots,” Sybil says with an exaggerated eye roll. “You’re obviously going to impale them with your stiletto heel. Just give me a sec—”
She dashes out of the room, her own nude heels already on. Distantly, I hear something thumping down the stairs, followed by curses.
Uh-oh. This is why stilettos are a bad idea—especially when alcohol is involved.
I rush out of my room, passing other witches in various states of dress. Lying on the landing, her dress basically around her waist, is Sybil.
Another witch is already there, ready to help her, but she waves the girl away. “I’m good, I’m good.”
Despite her words, I head down to the landing and help pick my friend up as she smooths her hands over her dress.
“The shoes aren’t worth it,” I whisper.
“I didn’t just eat shit for nothing, Selene,” she says. With that, she pulls her hand away and staggers down the rest of the stairs, heading to her room.
I take the moment to visit my own room and grab my phone, which I tuck into my dress. Nero has been lounging next to my bed this entire time, but now, as though sensing I’m leaving the room for good, he follows me out.
We get to Sybil’s room just as she’s closing the door behind her, her owl familiar perched on her shoulder and a pair of open-toed stilettos in her hand.
“Here,” she says when she sees me, thrusting the heels at me.
I slip the shoes on, and then we make our way downstairs with our familiars before heading out of the house alongside another group of witches—two of whom are wearing Chucks.
Meanwhile, I’m strapped into a pair of stilts.
Wait, this thought feels familiar. Did I have an entire exchange just like this one with Sybil on another night…？
I bet I did.
I exhale. I better be putting off killer-queen vibes, or I’m going to mutiny.
The group of us cuts across campus, following the stream of witches heading toward the conservatory. Nero prowls at my side, acting as my date.
Overhead, the full moon shines down, illuminating the darkness and limning our surroundings in a pale blue light. I draw in a breath at the sight of it, my magic tingling as it too feels the touch of that light. Full moons are for revelation and truth that not even the darkness can hide. And this one, the hunter’s moon, is particularly poignant.
It’s a good night for revenge and for forcing Memnon to face my true feelings of him.
Witches on broomsticks cut through the air, laughing with abandon, their skirts and hair waving in the wind behind them.
An old sense of longing comes over me, and I have to remind myself I’m in the coven and I’ll learn how to fly on brooms eventually. That’s one more thing I’ll get to accomplish during my time here. I just haven’t yet.