Tarot Academy 4 - Sarah Piper Page 0,21

the metal belt buckle, a quick zip, the heat of his cock pressing urgently against my abdomen.

“No, my beautiful Star. I’m not going to touch you.” His mouth ghosts over my lips again, teeth glinting in the moonlight with a smile that portends my doom. “Tonight, I’m going to own you.”

Nine

BAZ

The stars are spinning. Or maybe I’m spinning. Either way, I’m flat on my back in the Iron and Bone common room, and something is seriously out of whack right now. Especially since I’m seeing stars and I’m not even outside.

Wait—am I?

More importantly, do I actually give a shit?

Survey says… Fuck it.

I lift the bottle to my face and squint at the label. I don’t even know what’s in this shit—some homemade brew one of the first-years left, abandoning their Dungeons-and-Dragons game the moment I came tearing through here. All I know is I introduced myself to it two hours ago with that first blissful sip, and now we’re old friends.

“And what a good friend you are.” I kiss the bottle, then lift my head just enough to take another swig. It burns all the way to my fucking bones, but that burn is a hell of a lot better than the other one. The one that claws at my chest and tears at my soul, making me forget I ever gave a shit about anything.

About anyone.

“Fuck you,” I say. To the monsters from the past. To my broken, murderous brother. To the druid in the blood-stained robe. To anyone who thinks they can fuck with me now. I found the fucking cure, assholes.

I take another swig.

Deep inside, some shit-sucking little voice tries to convince me I’m going to regret this later, but you know what? Fuck him too. Another swig, another problem solved. Bam.

“That’s how it’s done, boys,” I say. And I’m feeling pretty damn clever about the whole thing too—until some douchebag in hipster glasses and a Star Wars T-shirt bobs into view, glaring down at me like some kind of self-appointed god on the mountain.

“Kirin Weber!” I slur, pointing up at his face. “Anyone ever tell you how cute you are when you’re scowling?”

“Seriously?” He’s disgusted—doesn’t even try to hide it. “We’ve been calling you for hours.”

My face splits into a grin. “Dude. I never realized how fucking massive your head is. It’s like the Goodyear blimp. And now it’s spinning!”

“Get up, Baz. We’ve got some serious shit to deal with, and this drunk-and-disorderly act isn’t helping.”

“Who said I wanted to help? Was there a signup sheet? ‘Cause I don’t remember signing—”

He gives my boot a good kick, then swipes the bottle from my hand, taking a whiff. “This shit smells like it could strip the paint off walls. No wonder you don’t remember.”

“Gets the job done.”

Kirin helps himself to a nice gulp, then winces. “What job is that? Hollow out your organs and make you piss fire?”

“That, and it keeps the fucking nightmares out of my head.”

A flash of compassion flickers in his eyes, which is just about the last thing I want to see right now. He offers me a hand up, but I ignore it, stealing the booze back instead.

I’ve got all the compassion I need in this sweet little bottle.

I roll over on my hip and face the fireplace, content to stare into the flames and ignore him, but the stubborn bastard can’t take a hint. He’s on me like a first-year at the Smash cheese fountain.

“On your feet, asshole.” He grabs me under the arms and yanks me into a standing position. “There. Was that so hard?”

The whole room tips sideways, and I sway, latching onto his shoulder for stability. “What do you think?”

“I think it’s time for you to run upstairs, mainline some coffee, and pack your shit. We need to get off-campus, back to Stevie and—”

“Don’t.” I’m in his face in a heartbeat, rage boiling up from nowhere. Logically some part of me knows I’m off my rocker tonight, but when has logic ever stopped a drunken asshole from being a drunken asshole? “Don’t you say her fucking name.”

“Oh, I’ll say it. I’ll scream it if that’s what it takes to get you to pull your head of your ass.” Kirin shoves me, and I rock back on my heels. “What are you doing? She needs you, Baz. We all need you.”

“You don’t need me.”

Kirin glances at his phone. “Is this the part of the show where you start feeling sorry for yourself? Because trust me on this one, brother.