“That’s...that’s not possible,” he said, storming in past Cheryl.
He snatched up the envelope and opened it, probably double checking to make sure my name was there. When he read the letter clearly addressed to me, he tossed it down on my desk and ran a hand through his blond hair. “There must have been a mistake. You can’t have been selected for this.”
My teeth snapped together in annoyance. It was always the same fucking thing with him. He was pissed about me getting into Thibault, and now he was pissed about me getting into Spector, too.
“It’s not like I knew you were in this program,” I said, defensive anger lacing my words. “I hadn’t even heard about it before last night.
“You’re not going to accept,” he actually had the audacity to say.
A humorless laugh burst out of my chest. I saw red. I wanted to punch him in his godsdamned face and take a photo for our dear ol’ dad. “You don’t have the authority to dictate what I do or don’t do.”
His hands fisted at his sides. Our blue eyes locked, fury brimming in both pairs.
“Wow, this is tense,” Cheryl chirped.
Both of us slowly turned our heads to look over at her.
She had her hands on her hips, watching us with a curious look on her face.
“The invitation said formal wear,” Stiles snapped at her. “You obviously shouldn’t accept either. Spector doesn’t want people who can’t read simple instructions.”
Cheryl’s nose wrinkled. “Oh my gods, Stiles, I can read,” she huffed in annoyance. “I just didn’t want to get makeup on it. My mother always says to wait until the last minute to slip into your dress. It keeps it in pristine condition. Just wait like three freaking seconds while I get dressed.”
Stiles’s frown deepened, but he didn’t say anything else as she sashayed into the closet. I arched a brow at him. “Now you’re trying to get her not to go either? Gods, what is it with you and Spector?”
He levelled me with a look. “I just know what sort of supes can handle Spector, and you two can’t.”
I reared back, his words offending me so much that my fangs started to come down. “Fuck you. I can handle anything.”
“I can handle Spector, too,” Chery called, her voice slightly muffled. “I even have the perfect dress for tonight,” she said as she pulled something from a hanger. “My best friend got it for me while on vacation in Paris. She had to bribe the boutique to give it to her because they were reserving it for the lead singer of Bite Me. Do you know her? Charlie Rogue? I met her at a party once, and she was lovely. You know she told me I had a pretty voice? We sang on stage together and—”
“Can you just finish getting dressed?” Stiles interrupted. “We’re on a tight schedule.”
Cheryl just waved at him dismissively while tapping her lips in thought at which heels she would wear. “Shoes are like, really important, Stiles. You can’t rush these decisions. One time, my cousin was in New Orleans, and she wore shoes totally wrong for the occasion. I told her not to wear platform boots to a Sunday soiree, but did she listen to me? Nope. Oh, and then she—”
“For fuck’s sake,” Stiles growled. “I am going to leave without you.”
With an exasperated sigh, Cheryl flashed around, her figure just a blur, and then she was standing there, perfectly poised. “Ready,” she said cheerfully, beaming up at Stiles.
“Great,” he said sarcastically.
I looked her up and down. “That’s what you’re wearing?” I asked.
I looked at her ridiculous violet dress. It was so short one stiff breeze would show her vagina off to the masses. And I knew this with certainty, because there were zero lines indicating any usage of panties going on under there.
She jetted out her hip and inspected her nails with practiced coolness. “This is couture, Motley,” she told me. “Gods, I just can’t even with you.” She looked at Stiles. “We going or what?” she asked, as if he and I were the ones holding us up.
Stiles’s jaw tightened. “We’re going.”
“Super. And where exactly are we going? I have a fur coat for cooler climates, but it goes better with the black Valentino. And will there be dancing? I have a higher pair of heels—”
“No. Just...no,” he cut her off. “No more changing clothes, no more questions. We’re already late.”
“Fine, sheesh.”
Stiles reached up and grasped both of our arms, and then he flashed us away. Since he was in charge of the movement, it was slightly dizzying and felt like I was being pulled through the air at warp speed. He stopped right outside an unused classroom, and I had to straighten my dress from where the rushing air had tangled it around my legs.
I followed behind Stiles and Cheryl as they walked inside the classroom, where there was a portal waiting. There was an instructor sitting boredly beside it—an elemental teacher, I think—who barely gave us a second glance once he saw that it was Stiles leading us.
I braced myself before entering it, not knowing what would be on the other side. Cheryl latched onto Stiles, wrapping her willowy arm around his and digging her sharply pointed nails into the thick fabric of his tux jacket. He led Cheryl through, and I took a deep breath before heading in after them.
Magic coated my skin in gentle waves, pulsing through my body as we traveled through the sickly sweet energy. It was only about ten seconds of walking through nothingness, but while in the haze, Stiles turned to look back at me, displeasure clear on his face, while determination was on mine.
I can handle anything, I’d told him. I just hoped I was right.
I wasn’t exactly sure where in the world the portal had brought us, except that the huge room was decorated elaborately and the lighting was
