Page 1 of Kiss the Filthiest King

PARTI

MISTRUST

1

ON A MERRY CHASE

Rain

When I find my best friend, I am going to murder her, even though that means I’ll be stuck paying all the bills on our apartment.

Like, seriously, what the fuck? Rina can be oblivious at times, sure. It’s not unlike her to disappear for a day or two, then text me a picturesque view, having completely forgotten to tell me her parents kidnapped her for a hiking vacation.

But it’s beendays.

The last time I saw her was Wednesday morning. She also texted in the afternoon to see if I wanted to go to Night Hall with her. I reminded her that I was tutoring coven apprentices on Wednesday evenings, and that was that.

I left early Thursday, and she’s the kind of person who hops out of bed at the last second, so we don’t always see each other first thing. But she wasn’t there in the evening. I texted. A lot. Rina’s known to be terrible at answering, averse to any form of technology, so I didn’t let it bother me at first. After all, I’ve been busy; maybe I just forgot she was supposed to go somewhere, do something.

But day after day, my messages were met with nothing but silence. By Sunday, I even called, which would have given my mother a heart attack if she knew. I don’t do phone calls unless someone’s life hangs in the balance. Which it feels like it might be.

Something is wrong, I can tell.

We often go to Night Hall weekends, and she was headed there the last time I saw her, so on Sunday night, I put on sparkly shorts over boots, a red top, and my leather jacket before heading there, though I was in no mood to party.

And Night Hall was closed.

That’s unheard of. We’ve been going there for months; it’s open every night. They’re even open on Christmas and New Year’s Day. But without warning, without a single note on the barred metal door, the place is just shut down. Quiet stillness replaced the usual sensual music, making the elegant townhouse feel desolate.

That night, I resorted to magic. I’m not even sorry. My people believe that magic is a gift from the earth, and meant to better the lives of others. We only perform spells on people at their request. It’s never meant to be selfish. The one exception is when we’re acting in self-defense. Then, all bets are off.

Not all witches feel that way, but that’s very much the policy of my coven.

Trying to find my missing best friend isn’t entirely selfish, but it’s not what I would call the greater good either. And I don’t have her authorization.

Then again, there is a reason why I’m always in deep shit with the coven. I’m pretty certain that if our matriarch hadn’t pushed me out of her vagina herself, I would have been kicked out ages ago.

I grabbed one of Rina’s hair brushes from her little vanity, and frown. There are a few strands tangled in the plastic teeth, all right. But none look like my best friend’s hair.

They’re blue.

Like, what the fuck?

Dropping the brush, I make my way to her bathroom and take the cloth she uses to dry her face back to my room.

I’m not hopeful. Darina doesn’t react normally to magic. We don’t exactly know what she is, but if someone asked me to describe her in one word, I’d say resilient. She’s unaffected by magic, as though there’s always a protective shield around her. Not that I ever tried to harm her with my powers, but we grew up together.

When I was an awkward teenager, unable to control myself, bursts of magic weren’t uncommon. One day, when a little bitch insulted me, I made a sink explode, the taps spraying everyone around the bathrooms—and Rina remained blissfully dry, when even I was completely soaked. Another time, when our science teacher was belittling me for getting our lab wrong, the vial I had in my hand shattered, spraying me and Mr. Porter, but again, Rina, standing next to me—closer than the teacher, in fact—remained untouched.

I’ve never directly attempted to perform magic on her, but the little incidents that come to mind suggest she has some sort of resistance to it.

I still try. I’m not shocked I fail.

On Monday, I go to campus, and head straight to the classroom where she usually teaches Theory of Music. Well, her job is to assist, but her boss is lazy as fuck. For once, the old, portly man is the one standing in front of his bored audience, reading out of a textbook.

I don’t linger, though I want to ask if he’s seen her since Wednesday.

I consider popping by the Thorns’, but I know Rina would hate it if I worry her parents over this. Being protective of her is a default state for all of us, but Patricia and Oliver Thorn, especially. Rina is resilient, but she’s also frail, in pain, and all logic dictates that she could just keel over in a strong wind. They spent all of her childhood driving her to physical and mental specialist appointments, prepared to lose their daughter. I can’t do that to them for nothing.

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