Excerpt 1
 

Everything is spinning. My body. My vision. My brain. I clamp my mouth shut to keep from vomiting. The cleaning crew just got the stage cleaned. Then there’s the second reason I keep my lips pressed tight. I refuse to beg Malachi for mercy.

 

My hands flail and grasp for something to hold on to, but the wind rushing between my fingers is no help. If this is what flying feels like, then it’s highly overrated. I lean forward in an attempt to go vertical, which has the ill effect of pitching me forward so I catch a brief view of how far I am from the stage. My body flips around another time. I don’t want to land on my feet and crush my ankles. I certainly don’t want to land on my head and shatter my skull. I don’t want to break anything on my body!

 

If I won this season’s prize, I could defend myself instead of swirling helplessly like the roof of a house caught in a tornado.

 

The wind rips out my hair tie and blows my braid out in an instant. Blond hair whips me in the eyes. My body begins to descend slowly, while the spinning continues in full force. The tornado fades little by little into the stage until I am set down gently and it disappears altogether. I try to remain standing while the theater seats and stage continue to spin, but I tilt to one side and misstep. Thump. I fall to the stage, sprawled out on my side. It could have been worse, though. Way, way worse.

 

It’s a little hard to feel grateful as partially digested lunch rushes up my throat. I swallow it down.

 

Malachi stomps over. “What the hell was that, Hutchins?”

 

Great. He’s using my last name. The coaches never use contestants’ last names. I must be in trouble.

 

It’s a serious effort to get to my feet, which takes outstretched arms to keep my balance, but I’m not about to listen to this lecture in a crumpled heap on the stage.

 

My loose hair tickles my cheeks. I swallow again and cover my mouth with my hand. Malachi’s not in my face, but I don’t want him scenting my vomit breath. Well, not technically breath, but whatever foul waft might originate from the leftover taste on my tongue.

 

Malachi doesn’t wait for me to answer his question before drilling into me. “First rule of magical combat—never lose hold of your wand.”

 

“You lost yours,” I mutter, which is the wrong thing to say.

 

 

 

Excerpt 2
 

“What the hell, Malachi? How could you pick that undead thing over one of our own?”

 

I blink and look over to where Carolina’s outcry originated. There’s no slinking away now, not when I’m the topic of conversation. Instead, I inch closer to the next door, which is propped halfway open. It’s marked Malachi, not that I need to read the name plaque with his raised voice coming from within.

 

“This is a spellcasting, NOT a species competition, Carolina, and Haylee clearly won,” Malachi intones.

 

I swallow. Malachi’s praise makes me feel lightheaded again. Be still my unbeating heart.

 

“She doesn’t deserve to be on the show,” Carolina snarls.

 

“She deserves it more than you.”

 

Silence smothers the hall like a black bag yanked over the head right before a body goes missing. It is shortly broken by a resounding slap. I clench my teeth.

 

Malachi’s voice is low and lethal. I have to strain my ears to hear him. “You dare strike me after I bent the rules to allow you on the show.”

 

“Allowed me,” Carolina says shrilly. “You forget yourself, Malachi. I’ve been a member of Forever 23 a lot longer than you.”

 

“I didn’t realize rank existed in F23,” Malachi answers mockingly.

 

“Exactly! We’re all equals and loyal to one another above all else. You know the damn rules.” Carolina scoffs in disgust.

 

“When it comes to Spellcaster, you’re on my turf and will not question the decisions I make on the show,” Malachi says with equal scorn.

 

“Be grateful you don’t have a master to reprimand you, Malachi, but just remember you still answer to F23. We’re a unified group—now and forever. So, enjoy your sense of authority on your stupid show, but remember who got you into your purple chair in the first place.”

 

I barely move out of the way in time before Carolina storms out of Malachi’s dressing room. She stomps off in a burst of speed. There’s a bang inside the room that sounds like a wall taking a kick from Malachi’s foot.

 

“I never asked to be in your stupid, narcissistic snub club,” Malachi growls to himself.

 

Snub club. That’s a good one—not to mention shocking coming from an F23er. He has to be the first vampire in history who isn’t on cloud nine that he belongs to the most exclusive club on the planet.

 

I start backing away. Yeah, now really doesn’t seem like a good time to speak to him.

 

When Malachi pokes his head out of his dressing room, I freeze in my tracks. The doorknob turns violently as it’s twisted from inside, but then Malachi goes still. I grit my teeth as the vampire sniffs the air. He releases the door and steps into the hallway, narrowing his eyes in my direction.

 

“Haylee, I can smell you.”

 

I’m too furious to worry about being caught eavesdropping. I unspell myself out of invisibility and put my hands on my hips.

 

“Why? Because I reek of zombie?”

 

Malachi’s shoulders lift and fall on a heavy sigh. “No, it’s your perfume. It’s nice—whatever it is. I smelled it on you earlier.”

 

“Well, that’s just—” It takes my brain three words to catch up and realize that Malachi Rayne is in fact telling me that I smell nice.