Such a Witch

by Sarah Henning

Genres: YA Romance

Synopsis

Cliques clash and sparks fly in this delightfully fast-paced read that’s part fluffy rom-com, part murder mystery with a (literal) witch hunt—the perfect pick for Wednesday fans.
 
Pretty, popular, and a total witch, Embry Woodcross is queen bee at Raven’s Head School for the Magically Gifted. Entering senior year as head prefect, Embry is a celebrated fashionista and unrivaled solver of problems big, small, and unattractive. (She’s quite generous with her handcrafted magical beauty products.)

When she meets Oakley Riddle, clueless transfer student and ultrarare vampire, Embry’s mission is clear: take the new girl under her wing and make sure she’s not thrown to the (were)wolves. Coven mate Rye Knighton may scoff at Embry’s aggressive benevolence, but Raven’s Head students reward her with love and appreciation…

Until one good deed too many makes Embry the lead suspect in a murder investigation.

Suddenly, the same people who begged Embry for enchanted acne potions are convinced she’s a cold-blooded killer. Apparently, everyone loves a witch until something bad happens, and then it’s all pitchforks and anecdotal evidence. As everything she’s ever done is used against her, Embry teams up with Rye to find the real murderer, clear her name, and maybe fall in love along the way.
 
Don’t miss more romance from Sarah Henning:
Throw Like a Girl
It’s All in How You Fall

Release date: July 28, 2026

Publisher: Little, Brown Books for Young Readers

Print pages: 400

Sample

CONSIDERING EVERYTHING, EMBRY WOODCROSS LIVED A VERY charmed life. She was a witch after all.

But she did have one very specific something that vexed her.

Someone. Repeatedly. Often. And right now.

Rye Knighton.

The boy next door. The brother figure she never wanted. The thorn currently embedded in her Raven’s Head School for the Magically Gifted track and field tank top.

“Didn’t I just help move you into a dorm room this weekend or was I hallucinating?” Rye knitted his brows as he made his way to the burbling espresso machine in her kitchen.

Rye had his own kitchen. His own house, actually. He didn’t even have to share it with anyone—not that she minded sharing with Daddy. Embry would never leave Daddy, even if she did technically live at Raven’s Head during the school year. Which was Rye’s point.

“I spelled my trunks up the stairs,” she reminded him, pointedly levitating the mug collecting gourmet Black Cat Coffee Shop espresso closer to the machine’s spout. “The only thing you moved was the door to hold it open.”

“Checks out—I’ve been known to be a very good human doorstop.” Rye smirked, lowering the cup gently with magic of his own. “Makes sense, too, I suppose, that you’d be standing in running clothes in your childhood kitchen an hour before first bell on the first day of the school you literally live at.”

Out of habit, Embry slapped at Rye, making sloppy contact with the solid meat of his shoulder as he picked up the petite and brimming mug. He nearly spilled it and she nearly grinned, before deciding better of it and returning to her original purpose.

Because that was the thing. Rye knew exactly why she was here. All summer she’d been running three miles every weekday morning with Daddy. She was currently rocking fresh beads of sweat, hair in a ponytail, and sneakers on her feet. One didn’t have to be Sherlock Holmes to deduce exactly what was going on here.

Embry yanked open the fridge and inspected the perfectly straight row of lovingly prepared mason jars. Daddy hadn’t touched them. With a sigh, Embry plucked up the first jar, plus a tub of washed berries, and got to work preparing the most appetizing presentation of chia pudding Lazarus Woodcross would ever see in his life.

“Woodcross, your father is fifty-five years old. The man can make his own breakfast.”

Tipping extra berries atop the gelatinous-but-healthy mass—vitamin C was a must, according to Daddy’s doctor—Embry did a few meditation breaths.

“Knighton, why are you in my kitchen at”—she checked the thin bangle of a watch on her wrist (vintage from her mother’s jewelry box)—“seven eighteen on a Monday morning? Don’t you have a busy day of brooding around your haunted mansion, mainlining sonnets, and draping yourself over various pieces of furniture?”

Rye downed the espresso in one gulp, then stole a raspberry from the open container of washed fruit and popped it in his mouth, green eyes alight. “Is that what you think a gap year is for me? The male equivalent of eating bonbons and avoiding housework?”

“Come on, Rye, you’re more feminist than that.” Embry donkey-kicked backward just hard enough to jab his calf with her running shoe as he belatedly spun away. To his credit, he didn’t yelp. “And we both know you like a good brood.”

“I do,” he agreed, facing her after refilling his drained cup. “But I didn’t take a year off school to indulge.”

He downed the second cup and grinned at her, guileless.

She narrowed her eyes. “Says the man indulging in my espresso like it’s his own.”

“It’s my espresso, and we have more than enough.” Lazarus Woodcross swept into the kitchen with a kiss for his daughter. In the few minutes since they’d returned from their run, he’d showered, shaved, and dressed for the day in one of his many suits. The man was nothing if not efficient. “And Rye is helping me this morning. Don’t scare him away. You know very well how grateful the coven is to have a witch of Rye’s skill set to help modernize our systems.”

Embry read this as: Woodcross Coven of Ravenwood was getting a free (secure) website makeover for the low, low price of Rye’s deferral from the University of Maine.

Rye arched a brow as if he’d won this round. Embry rolled her eyes.

It wasn’t worth it to raise Daddy’s blood pressure over this. So, she agreed with him.

“I suppose tipping him in espresso for free labor is the least we could do.” Then Embry pointedly dipped a spoon into Lazarus’s bowl and handed it to him. He accepted it with a grimace. “Well then, I’m off to school—happy modernizing. I look forward to flashy, technical things at tomorrow’s big coven meeting.”

Rye’s lips quirked. “I’ve got a massive hologram of old Hiram Woodcross ready to go. Very flashy and very technical.”

“Naturally,” Embry snarked as Lazarus attempted a confused “What” through a mouthful of berry and chia. “Don’t worry about it, Daddy. It’s a joke. There’s no hologram.”

Lazarus forced a swallow before hitting the brakes when he noticed the time. “You better get going, Em. Even head prefects can’t be late.”

“I never am.”

And with a farewell air-kiss to Daddy and a wave to Rye, she dashed out the door.

Because Raven’s Head School for the Magically Gifted was literally built upon land once owned by the Woodcross family, all Embry had to do was jog straight down the hill from the estate, through the gates of the Raven’s End Cemetery, and she was on school grounds before Daddy had finished his breakfast. Well, if he’d eaten the rest of it.

By ten minutes before first bell, Embry exited the dorm at Raven’s Head with her best friend and fellow senior prefect Amethyst Oberon in tow, showered and scrubbed to glowing, houndstooth blouse paired with her requisite school-branded vest and skirt.

Embry was not only on time; she was early.

But just as soon as the two witches stepped into the morning sunshine, Merlin, Headmaster Martinelli’s pet red-tailed hawk, swooped down from one of the quad’s many towering oaks and deposited an enchanted navy envelope into Embry’s hands.

“Please tell me Merlin didn’t just unload his leftovers,” Ames joked from over Embry’s shoulder. The hawk was rather fond of dropping desiccated carcasses on anyone who could be overheard grousing about how they thought a raven might be a more appropriate companion to the headmaster of this particular school.

Embry waved the envelope. “All business today.”

Despite improvements to technology over the past century, Raven’s Head did not care to adopt a PA system of any kind to communicate with its students and faculty. Too crass, impersonal, and, well, basic, for an institution of its caliber. Magically augmented notes from Merlin were standard for communication. Embry opened the missive, and Headmaster Martinelli’s voice shimmered up from the spelled ink, relaying the message in both visuals and audio. “Head Prefect Embry Woodcross to administration.”

Ames checked the Old Main clocktower. “So close to first bell? That can’t be good.”

Embry straightened the cross-body satchel she wore—1999 Chanel once owned by her mother—and ensured her prefect pin was perfectly square. “Save me a seat in calc, will you?”

“Left-hand window side, second from the front?” Ames confirmed.

“Amethyst Oberon, you’re complete perfection.”

Ames fluffed the ends of her shiny black curls, teeth flashing white against her flawless dark brown skin. “I always am. I’ll also save your ass by explaining very nicely to Miss Hemlock that you’re on official prefect business and not simply arriving late for your grand entrance.”

Embry brushed it off. “She knows I’d never do such a thing. Real fashion doesn’t need tardiness to be noticed.”

And with a quick hug scented of rose water and high-end makeup, they parted ways, Ames to the STEM building, and Embry toward administration. It was a brisk walk, seeing as the offices of the Raven’s Head elite were positioned within literal screaming distance of the dormitory in the event that the generational magical scrapping between the Witches, Bitches, Stitches, and Glitches went overboard. It’s not as if anyone had ever died from a little magical misunderstanding, but some factions (cough, cough, Bitches) were mighty territorial by nature and, at least once a semester, there was a screamer. Or two.

At this moment in time, no one was screaming, but Headmaster Martinelli was bouncing on her heels, pantsuit utterly professional but the rest of her body waving like a giant balloon at a car dealership. The hawk glided to the leather cuff on her arm, landed, and proceeded to bob and weave as the headmaster continued to wave. As a demigoddess descended from the line of Freyja, one would think she’d be a little more glamorous and a lot less frazzled, but a hundred years in educational administration could change a person.

“Head Prefect Woodcross, there you are! Your haste is most appreciated.” Martinelli’s makeup-free face was stretched round, her severe bob seemingly straining to keep up. Embry wasn’t sure she’d ever seen the woman so pressed.

Embry schooled her face to be placid and helpful—exactly what Martinelli seemed to need right now—though she’d be lying if she didn’t admit that being addressed as “Head Prefect Woodcross” rather than “Miss Woodcross” would likely never get old. “What can I—”

“I need you to show the newest member of our senior class to her room and first period.” Her voice was businesslike despite her disheveled presentation. “Come, Miss Riddle, we have seven minutes to get you there. A detention warning would be a terrible way to start.”

Martinelli turned and beckoned heartily. Embry blinked in the sun, barely making out three shapes pushed up against the administration building’s exterior. A slim figure separated herself from the mélange of grays and fell in line with the headmaster.

This girl was petite and pale in that full-moon way, hiding under curls fried to within an inch of their life by a blond so platinum it was nearly silver. The effect only made her look more washed out, her kohl-rimmed eyes a colorless black as they watched Embry. And she wore a backpack. Embry had never in her life seen a student at Raven’s Head wear one. Even the freshmen knew satchels, messenger bags, heck, even briefcases, were the only way to go. Yet this girl’s backpack was so full it threatened to send her sprawling. She might have well and truly toppled over if it were not for the fact that she was clutching an entire wardrobe’s worth of school uniform pieces in her spindly arms, one awkwardly managing both the wad of clothing as well as the telescoping handle of a roller bag.

“We have quite the paperwork to attend to,” the headmaster announced, gesturing to the shadowy figures Embry took for the girls’ parents. “Oh! And no need to dress in uniform yet, Miss Riddle, what you’re wearing is acceptable for physical education.”

Embry stifled a gasp. First-period gym? That was shorthand for the world’s shittiest schedule, sponsored by late enrollment. Especially for a senior.

“Thank you, goodbye, and welcome to Raven’s Head, Miss Riddle.” Martinelli all but shoved the new girl down the handful of stairs to the brick walkway before proceeding to charge toward her office. The new girl waved a pitiful goodbye.

Heart tugging, Embry smiled warmly. “Embry Woodcross. And you are?”

The girl stepped forward, the roller bag scraping along, its wheels struggling on the seams between bricks. “Oakley—er, do I call you Head Prefect Woodcross?”

“Not necessary. Only administration does that. Embry’s fine. Nice to meet you, Oakley.” Embry checked the time. Five minutes now. “Let’s get you to the gym.”

Embry offered a hand to take the girl’s luggage, and Oakley looked almost relieved to comply, though that relief was superseded by a hesitant glance over her shoulder toward Martinelli’s office. “I thought I was supposed to go by my room first?”

Embry tapped her watch and began lugging the roller bag away. What’d she have in this thing? A dead body? “No time to get you settled with the dorm wards. So, what we’re going to do is stash your luggage and uniform allotment and get you to class.”

“Wards? Like magical wards?” Oakley asked.

“Right. And each wing and floor is secure to only those allowed in the area by residence or invitation. Safety is of the utmost priority at Raven’s Head,” Embry parroted, using the same language she’d used while assigning rooms at orientation the previous weekend.

At the dorm, the wards immediately released for Embry, recognizing her as a resident. Oakley tried to follow but bounced off the protective magic with a surprised “oof.” After locking the suitcase and all but one uniform in the prefect’s closet, Embry dusted her hands as she flung herself outside. Four minutes. “Come on. Martinelli is serious about the tardy marks. But Heston shouldn’t give you trouble. He’s a meathead but a sweetheart meathead. Now let’s get you across the quad.”

They set off toward the athletics complex, which, luckily for Embry, was right beside the STEM building. Raven’s Head had as many athletic nerds as it did nerdy athletes.

“If this is the quad, why does it have five sides?” Oakley asked.

“Raven’s Head was founded by witches.” Embry decided it might sound a little boastful to mention those witches were her relatives. And that they’d founded the town, the island—pretty much everything from here to the mainland. “The school adopted quad as a generic and welcoming term for non-witches after the Great Reckoning.”

The new girl nodded. Embry was relieved that she wasn’t so out of touch as to not have heard of the Great Reckoning, when all the magical misfits banded together under the governance of the Table. Some of the more sheltered students didn’t know how many magical protections were in place to keep the outside world at bay.

At their current pace, they could make it easily before the bell, but it was the first day, and Embry was popular. With every step they took, students greeted her.

“Hi, Embry!”

“Embry, um, hey!”

“Embry, I love that blouse. Houndstooth? So classic!”

Prefect badge glinting in the morning sun, Embry greeted each call with a personal response yet kept up a brisk pace across the stately brick walkway, her hair streaming behind her in a shiny, endless, golden wave. Her only pause across the quad was when a transfer Frankenstein’s monster, Lydia, jogged over from a group of Stitches—all clutching coffees and looking exactly as aggrieved as any naturally nocturnal being would be at the start of the daytime school year—and thrust her newly mended knuckles in Embry’s face.

“The skin perfector salve worked perfectly. Thank you soooo much.” The girl then wrapped Embry in a hug, capturing her in a vise between her biceps.

“Anytime,” Embry assured Lydia, extracting herself with a wave and the discreet rearranging of her now wayward vest as she pointed herself back en route.

Oakley shuffled to catch up. “Are you homecoming queen or something?”

Embry laughed. “We don’t do queen and king here, just two all-gender royalty winners. Not to mention homecoming isn’t for another month.” It was true, though she was probably a front-runner, even on the first day. Only seniors were elected to homecoming court, and the list of seniors with Embry’s social and political capital was very short. She shrugged. “Just a witch who happens to be good at zapping zits and repairing ragged body parts.”

She tugged three pouches out of her shoulder bag, each embroidered with the name of her top-sellers—skin perfector salve, stink stopper, stain-be-gone—vials clinking merrily within. The potions were marked with a price well below market value. She didn’t need the money, but her time was valuable and her skill better than any other witch on campus. And, honestly, every potion made her school a little more magical—who would have an issue with that?

This was where it would be natural for the new girl to share where she fell in the magical continuum of Witches to Glitches, given that Embry had confirmed herself as a witch. Instead, she just eyed the pouches as Embry returned them to her bag. “Cool.”

Their progress improved as the number of people on the grounds began to dwindle. Oakley’s neck craned as they walked, apparently taking in the buildings’ brick facades as they pressed against the summer green canopy. “Wow, this place is the size of a university.”

It was actually one of the tiniest (and most exclusive) schools run by the Table. Raven’s Head prided itself on its cozy, idyllic setting, and small class sizes while providing the state-required “normie” education to its magical students. “Where were you before?”

Oakley’s pale cheeks flushed. “Oh, at… uh, home. I was homeschooled.”

“Hang on.” Embry clamped down on her marble-cold wrist, halting their procession. Oakley’s mouth popped open as she gaped from Embry’s grasp to her furrowed brow. “You were homeschooled for your entire education… and your parents dropped you off at an elite boarding school and peaced out for your senior year? Your last year in group education is your first and it’s at one of the most competitive and prestigious schools for the magically gifted in the country?”

The girl blinked, eyes wide. “Yeah?”

“Are your parents sadists?”

Oakley shrugged, one side of her mouth flickering upward. “Verifiably?” She laughed, revealing beautiful, bright teeth—a large smile on a small face. She was like a poorly dyed fairy with an addiction to kohl. Not that Oakley was a fairy. The lack of wings was a dead giveaway.

Still, no matter what she was, this new girl was in for it. She’d never attended school. Never sat in a full class. Never dressed out for gym. Never had to find a place to sit at lunch.

Oakley Riddle was a senior in high school and completely, utterly clueless.

In that moment, Embry decided it would be her job to help this poor girl survive Raven’s Head School for the Magically Gifted. She had the status, the popularity, the legacy. If anyone could ensure this girl didn’t get eaten by literal (were)wolves, it was her.

Embry checked her watch. Two minutes.

“Oakley, we’re going to walk through these doors, get you set up with a locker for your backpack with no tardy from Heston, then”—here, Embry again reached into her own bag and slipped out a vial of stink stopper—“you’re going to use a little of this, just in the sweaty places, put on your uniform”—she pointed at it, whispering a wrinkle-release spell—“and arrive to your next three classes on time, making an excellent first impression as you go.”

Oakley bit her lip, glancing from the vial to her newly freshened uniform. “I can’t—”

“It’s my gift. First rule of actual, in-person high school: You only have one chance to make a first impression.”

Oakley gulped.

“At lunch, we’ll get you settled in the dorm. Then I’ll introduce you to my friends, we’ll eat, and you’ll be on your way.”

“On my way to where?”

“To a senior year you’ll never forget. In the best way.” With that, Embry spun the girl around and hauled her into the gymnasium. “Welcome to Raven’s Head, Oakley.”

NO MORE COMMUNICATIONS FROM HEADMASTER MARTINELLI were dropped upon Embry via Merlin’s very sharp talons in the next few hours. Therefore she was all but sure Oakley Riddle had survived her first taste of boarding school life.

Still, it was a relief to see the girl’s impish face as she stumbled into the outdoor lunch seating, her pale features going from pinched and anxious to open and sure upon spotting Embry in the middle of the mealtime chaos.

“There you are. How do you feel about panzanella? Ames is grabbing three trays for us.” Then she realized she needed to explain who the Goddess she was talking about. “Ames is my bestie, and she’s extremely excited to meet you, Oakley.”

This was true. Ames took to new blood like a shark. Nothing was more interesting to Amethyst Oberon than anyone or anything that broke up the monotony of her very comfortable existence. Embry had a hunch this was part of the reason Ames and her perfectly matched boyfriend sparred (and made up) so often—it was exciting.

“Cool,” Oakley said yet again. They’d really have to work on her vocabulary.

“Come on, let’s get you settled. Lunch will be ready when we get back.”

Valentina, the dorm manager, met them on the steps and walked Oakley through the building’s wards while Embry retrieved the girl’s things. Then Embry bid them adieu and returned to lunch. She was here to help Oakley get acclimated, not attach herself at the hip.

“Where’s the new girl?” Ames asked as Embry dropped into the seat beside her. “Please tell me someone hasn’t literally eaten her already?”

“No, no. Oakley’s alive and well, just checking into her room.”

“Did you find out what kind of magical person she is? Please tell me she’s not a Bitch. That’d be so disappointing.”

Embry waved her off. “We know the Bitches can’t stop talking about being Bitches. She would’ve told me right off the bat.” This was true. Cultural relevance was a highly traded currency at Raven’s Head, second only to rarity as far as the hierarchies within the school went. And thanks to a recent pop culture resurgence, the shifters, particularly werewolves, made up for their lack of rarity by bragging very loudly. Embry glanced around. “Hey, where are the boys?”

“Café line.”

Embry relished in the idea of imminent caffeine. She was accustomed to midday java—it just wasn’t worth jostling with grumpy Stitches first thing in the morning on campus and, unlike Rye, she didn’t mooch on Daddy’s espresso. “Knights in shining armor.”

“When they want to be,” Ames agreed. Then, her vision snagged on something, her silverware hovering over her plate. “Oh, that’s got to be her, yes?”

Embry shifted in her seat. She tried to ignore the fact that everyone else seemed to be turning, too, while accepting the phenomenon’s confirmation that, yes, Oakley Riddle, newly minted senior, was walking across the dining courtyard.

“Correct,” Embry answered, stretching an arm high to guide her in.

Oakley waved back… and tripped over her own feet in the process.

A collective gasp went up and Embry shot from her seat, reaching out a hand to help the poor girl, who’d crumpled into the grass in front of the entire senior class.

“Oh, so embarrassing,” she muttered as Embry half carried her to standing.

“Or memorable,” Embry coached. “Come on, my best friend can’t wait to meet you.”

Ames well and truly could not wait because she was already right there.

“Hey, Oakley, I’m Amethyst.” Ames went by her full name with anyone not wholly integrated within the Witch crew. And no matter how excited she was to meet this new girl, she’d be Amethyst until she deemed a person worthy of using her nickname.

“Nice to meet you, Amethyst—like the crystal?”

Ames laughed. “Yep. And Oakley like… the tree?”

“Um, well, yes, but actually like Annie Oakley? My parents adored her.”

Embry winced but decided it was best to keep to herself the fact that Oakley wasn’t the famed sharpshooter’s actual last name. (The correct answer was Mosey or Moses but never Oakley.)

“Oh, she was a witch.” Ames narrowed her eyes. “But something tells me you aren’t?”

Oakley gulped, clamped her mouth shut, and shook her head.

Ames sized the girl up. “Not a Witch, so…” She ticked off the cliques on her well-manicured fingers. “Bitch, Stitch, or Glitch?”

Oakley’s bloodless lips dropped into a little O. “I’m sorry, what?”

Embry smiled while Ames laughed at herself.

“Oh right, homeschool. None of the usual cliques, I’d imagine? Let me show you.” Ames grinned and hooked an arm around Embry’s shoulders. “First and most exclusively, you have the Witches. We’re the best, obviously.”

“Obviously,” Embry echoed with a laugh.

Ames waved an arm across the dining courtyard, moving from left to right.

“Over there you have the Bitches—shifters like werewolves, kelpies, selkies, et cetera, basically all the big animal energy. And there are the Stitches, aka zombies and Frankenstein’s monsters, and ghosts when we have them, but you know how that goes—ghosts are always busy trying to fulfill their final tasks and usually that task is way bigger than high school.” Ames laughed. “The Glitches are basically a catch-all group for everyone else.”

Oakley mouthed all the names of the groups again. Witches. Bitches. Stitches. Glitches. “So in the Witches is it just the two of you or…?”

“Oh no. There are at least a dozen of us,” Embry assured her. This was part of the reason the Witches were an elite group at Raven’s Head—they held major pop culture cachet and their numbers were low enough to be considered exclusive. “Fairfax and Alistair and all the baby witches from the coven, too.”

As if on cue, the boys appeared a few steps away, balancing lattes and lunch trays.

“Alistair is technically a Glitch because he’s a diviner but he’s hot, so it works,” Ames amended in a whisper. And when she caught Embry’s smirk, she added in a rush, “Look, just because I have a boyfriend doesn’t make me oblivious to how fine that transatlantic piece of magic is. And, honestly, Fairfax is probably admiring him right along with me.”

The boys sat down; introductions were passed around.

Tall, dark, and totally suave, Fairfax Mirza was Ames’s longtime boyfriend with the unfortunate ability to make any interaction seem like flirtation. He was the type of witch who didn’t need to spell anyone to like him; he had charm in spades, and exactly no interest in turning off that charm ever. Which was a problem if you were the one dating him. Embry was half-certain Fairfax had a spell that gave his Desi James Bond vibe an invisible boost. Especially because he was actually from Texas.

Meanwhile, Alistair Elton-Bentley was exactly as his name implied at face value. Old money, well-groomed, exquisitely mannered, and, as Ames had said, totally hot. Soft hazel eyes, aristocratic features, and a body built by hours of laps in the pool, which Embry could appreciate even though they were just friends. His out-of-school activities included gallivanting about Europe, blowing the oodles of cash his moms sat upon, using their skills as diviners to place bets on everything from the newest technology to racehorse stock, because why not?

“So, are you two a thing?” Oakley wiggled a finger between Embry and Alistair.

“Oh, us? No!” Embry waved her hands so dramatically she almost knocked over her iced cardamom latte. “That’s a common mistake because we’re together all the time.”

“And we look extremely good together, too, of course,” Alistair told Oakley with a wink for her, and a shoulder nudge for Embry.

“Embry isn’t interested in dating high school boys,” Ames clarified, unfolding her napkin. “It’s a nonstarter and everyone knows it.”

Alistair smirked. “As unobtainable as possible, our Raven’s Head queen bee.”

“That’s me,” Embry agreed with a self-effacing shrug.

She’d spent three years here already and had never once been tempted. No mess of gossip was worth that—and for as high as she sat on the pecking order at Raven’s Head, the whispers alone would be deafening. Most especially as a senior, it made no logical sense. Setting people up, however? That was another matter entirely. Embry thrived on giving couples a shove in the right direction. Successful matchmaking was its own magic.

Ames grinned expectantly at Oakley over her cold brew. “Sooo, not to be rude, but…”

“But what am I?” Oakley asked, brow raised. “Well, I’m a vampire.”

“A vampire? Seriously?!” Ames squealed, maybe a little too hard. People were suddenly staring again. “That’s so cool! Why didn’t you just say so?”

It was cool. Very cool. As far as Embry knew, Oakley might be the first vampire ever to attend Raven’s Head. They were a very small, very secretive magical sect. The only one Embry had ever heard of was the old guy who represented them on the Table—and he’d been in that seat for two hundred years at least, without a single vampiric apprentice or aide. Now the homeschooling totally made sense, even if the sudden attendance at boarding school didn’t.

When Oakley began to blush, Ames cuffed the vampire’s wrist and leaned in, suddenly horrified. “I know you have to be secretive out there—we all do—but the school’s protective wards are top-notch, and everyone here takes magical secrecy very seriously. We would never out you and not just because of the oath of silence.”

“Oh, no, I mean, I know. The headmaster made me take the oath, too. And even if she didn’t, this school is the best and most discreet on the East Coast. It’s just…”

“It’s what?” Ames prodded.

“It’s just that whenever I tell people what I am they make a face.”

“This face?” Ames asked, pointing to her own concerned expression.

“No, the one you had before…” Oakley’s gaze scanned the dining area. “Oh, that one.”

She nodded to someone