Cathrynne backed away to keep them all in view.
Ash slammed the door. “I’ve got this, Kane,” she snapped, then turned to Cathrynne. “Don’t be stupid, cypher. Just get in the car?—”
Cathrynne flicked her whip. It wrapped around the witch’s ankle. With a yank, she jerked her off balance. Ash yelped and hit the ground hard.
The street erupted in bursts of ley. Cathrynne threw herself down as a gust of invisible force blew her hair back. She answered with obsidian, slamming Kane against the windshield hard enough to crack it.
He wasn’t down long. Silver teeth flashed as he grinned, and then a shield snapped into place. The bastard didn’t wear the caps as a fashion statement. Silver had protective qualities. She sensed sunstone igniting. A hammer of air knocked her backward. She twisted and managed to keep her feet.
Cathrynne lowered her head and charged. Kane dodged at the last second and her cudgel glanced off his shoulder, drawing a pained grunt. But Ash was back, and so was the older male witch from the car. They swarmed her. Something struck her temple. Lights exploded behind her eyes, then she was being dragged across the road and stuffed into a small space. The trunk. Panic nearly made her black out.
The last thing Cathrynne heard was the screech of tires as the car sped away.
Chapter 20
Kal
She gazed at her reflection in the bathroom mirror, barely recognizing the woman who stared back. Her curly hair had been bleached and frosted pink at the tips. Sparkly powders and creams made her brown eyes bigger and her lips poutier. She practically glowed.
The aptitude test had not gone well. Unfortunately, swashbuckling captain of a merchant ship wasn’t on the list of careers. She could have aced the questions to be a gem broker, but it was too risky. Kal might be an expert, but Kyra Navarra didn’t know a thing about mining.
Now, auto mechanic—that sounded interesting. But her math scores were too poor to qualify. Which made her fit for only one profession, according to the Lenormand School.
The beautician track.
Now she was stuck in classes about hair and makeup, surrounded by girls who whispered behind their hands every time her Pota Pras accent slipped out.
“You should’ve seen their faces when you asked for a warshcloth,” Durian said, followed by his donkey laugh.
“Shut up,” Kal muttered, looking around to make sure the bathroom was empty.
Durian grinned at her in the mirror. He came and went as he pleased, and she had given up worrying about it. Kal figured she was having some kind of mental breakdown, but a mouthy ghost was the least of her problems.
“Look,” she said, exasperated, “the food is decent, the beds are clean, and I doubt the White Foxes will look for me here. That’s enough for now.”
“Is it though?” He tilted his head. “What if they do come looking? You can call yourself any name you want, but that tattoo won’t lie.”
She turned her head, checking her neck in the mirror. The upside of learning cosmetology is that she’d blended a foundation to perfectly match her medium-brown skin tone and cover up the ship tattoo.
“See?” she said. “It’s hidden.”
“Yeah, but one swipe with a wet warshcloth and you’re screwed,” Durian pointed out cheerfully. “Somehow, hanging around a place infested with witches just strikes me as a bad idea.”
“I don’t disagree,” she snapped. “But to run, I need money. Which I had until those Foxes took it all from me!”
Her lips tightened as she remembered the witch upending the tin can with her life’s savings. The wind must had blown it over half the Zamir Hills by now.
“Calm down, bitch.” He flipped the hair from his eyes. “I’m just trying to help. There has to be some way you can get out of here.”
The bell chimed, signaling the end of break. Kal straightened her jacket and freshened up her lip gloss. Part of her grade was based on personal appearance. “I want to see you all shine!” the teacher would tell them.
Durian was right. Even if she didn’t get caught, two years of this shit was unthinkable.
She struggled to focus in her next class on brow styling and accidentally over-plucked her partner, leaving a bald spot, which did not go over well. Over the next few hours, she considered and rejected half a dozen plans.
She could run away anytime she wanted—that wasn’t the problem. But she didn’t have any marketable skills to get by in a big, expensive city like Arjevica. She didn’t feel good about stealing and sucked at it anyway, so that was out. The smaller towns in Kievad Rus would be even worse. Fewer jobs and tight-knit communities where a stranger would be remembered if anyone came asking.
That evening in the dining hall, she pushed the food around her plate and listened in on the conversation at the next table. Two girls were whispering fervently, heads bent together.
