Goody Magic Academy, Year Three

Chapter 11

Chapter

Eleven

F inn 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.

The tense silence was suddenly broken by Jaxon’s voice, low and intense. “You know I would never really sell you, Peyton,” he said, his eyes locking onto mine across the polished expanse of the dining table.

Could I believe him? Jaxon had been the one to put the binding bracelets on me—on the orders of the high priestess—and now he was going to sell me into slavery.

He leaned forward, his elbows resting on the edge of the table. An elaborate centerpiece partially obscured his face, but I could still see the determination etched in his features, highlighted by the soft glow of the chandelier above.

“Life is so much more interesting with you in it,” he continued, a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, softening his usually guarded expression. His fingers drummed a quiet, nervous rhythm on the table’s surface, and his gaze never wavered from mine, making the crowded dining room fade away until it felt like we were the only two people there. “I promise,” he said, his voice dropping lower, “no matter what happens, I won’t let anyone hurt you in that place. No one.”

Finn rolled his eyes, the gesture exaggerated and dramatic. “And how are you going to do that?” he asked disdainfully. “You’re not going to be at the auction.”

Jaxon’s response was cool and measured, but I noticed a slight tightening around his eyes. “Let’s just say I have someone who owes me a favor.”

As he spoke, I realized Jaxon wasn’t looking at me anymore. His gaze was now fixed on Valentin, intensity radiating from him like heat from a furnace to the point that the air between them crackled. Terrific. The last thing we needed was for these two to come to blows in the headmaster’s dining room.

Valentin narrowed his eyes, suspicion darkening his handsome features. His voice was low, almost a growl. “Are you talking about Dimitri?”

Amusement flickered in Jaxon’s eyes. “He’s Angelo’s chauffeur, isn’t he? He should be able to get me in.”

“You’re playing a dangerous game, Jaxon,” the headmaster said softly. His eyes, ancient and wise, swept over all of us. “Dimitri is on shaky ground with Angelo over mating with Angelo’s sister. I don’t think he’ll appreciate you asking him a favor.”

The room suddenly felt colder, the shadows in the corners deeper and more menacing, as if the vampire mafia king himself was secretly watching us.

Jaxon shrugged—casually, but I could see the tension in his shoulders. “Dimitri owes me. He’ll find a way.”

“I wouldn’t count on it,” Valentin said. His fingers curled around his glass tensely. “My brother won’t do anything that will result in pain. And if Angelo guesses that he’s being played, Dimitri will end up in Angelo’s secret room at his gambling house, Crimson Stakes. No one ever comes out of that room alive.”

I could feel the blood draining from my face, my heart pounding so hard I was sure all of Red Rose Academy could hear it.

Finn, his voice cutting through my rising panic, blurted out, “If what you say is true, Jaxon, he’s not the only one that could end up there. If you’re not careful, you’ll have a ticket to that room too, just like Dimitri.”

A secret torture room? The very thought made my stomach churn. God, did all the villains in this world have these torture rooms? Did Angelo keep prisoners in dungeons, same as the high priestess? What if he was one of the Bloodborne Brotherhood?

My mind spun as I thought about the robed man. Was that Angelo? Had he been at Goody? Or had he sent one of his men? I felt like I was stuck playing one of those hunting game videos, but the hunters were vampires—and I was the bait.