12. A Brush with Death

Beatrix couldn't tear her gaze from the rider below. He sat there, unnaturally still in the saddle, steam curling from his mount's nostrils in the cold air. Though his large hood cast his face in impenetrable darkness, she could feel his eyes on her, watching, waiting.

Grey?

No. It wasn’t him. This figure was broader across the shoulders, his presence darker.

"Bea!" Autumn's voice shattered the silence. “We should head back!”

The rider’s head snapped up.

Beatrix's breath caught as he wheeled his horse around with terrible precision, melting into the shadows.

Thump-a-thump-a-thump-a-thump.

Judging by the sound of the hoofbeats, the rider wasn't retreating.

He was winding around the trees, working his way to the steep hill where she stood.

THUMP-A-THUMP-A-THUMP.

Beatrix’s blood turned to ice. "RUN!" The word tore from her throat. She spun toward Jackson and Autumn, her body already in motion. "RUN! NOW!"

The horror in Beatrix's voice told Jackson and Autumn everything they needed to know. They didn't waste time asking questions. They ran.

Beatrix could already hear the horseman bursting from the tree line below, his mount's hooves striking the earth like rolling thunder as he charged up the hill. Each galloping stride grew louder, closer, the sound hammering against Beatrix's eardrums until she could feel the ground quaking beneath her feet.

The trio crashed through the forest, ducking under branches and stumbling over loose rocks. Beatrix's heart sank as she found herself quickly catching up to Autumn and Jackson. They weren't fast enough — couldn't be fast enough. Straw flew out from Autumn’s seams as they frantically ran, the pieces trailing behind them like breadcrumbs for the hunter closing in.

Beatrix snapped her head back and saw the rider reaching the top of the hill. The dense forest seemed to slow his horse, so he dismounted in one swoop. With his scythe in hand, he pursued them on foot. And holy hells, he was fast.

Even with his heavy black robes, the rider moved through the frosty pines with ease, like he’d navigated this forest countless times before. He was closing the distance between them rapidly.

Beatrix couldn’t even push or pull Autumn and Jackson along to help them move faster since her hands were still scalding from the fire magic.

That thought made Beatrix stop in her tracks.

Autumn and Jackson, caught up in their panic, didn't notice and kept dashing through the trees, their footsteps growing fainter until she was alone with their pursuer.

Drawing in a shaky breath that misted in the cold air, Beatrix spun to face what was coming. She rubbed her palms together, focusing on the tingle of power beneath her skin as she imagined a blazing flame. The magic responded instantly, almost eagerly, as if it had been waiting for this moment. A ball of fire burst to life between her hands with a whoosh, sending dead leaves skittering across the forest floor. The flames cast dancing shadows on the surrounding trees and bathed her face in a warm, golden glow.

“Stay back! I’m armed!” Beatrix yelled at the rider, the magical flame flickering.

The rider stopped. His black horse whinnied in distress a few yards away. The horse pawed nervously at the ground at the sight of her fire, but its master didn’t show any fear.

Beatrix watched him through the skeletal branches. He towered close to seven feet tall, his billowing robes making him look even more imposing, and looking into the darkness beneath his hood was like staring into an abyss. No eyes glinted in that void, no face caught the light of her flame.

Her hands shook, causing the fire to dance and twist, but she forced herself to stand her ground. "Don't come any closer," she said, hating how her voice trembled.

The rider’s posture changed — just barely — but Beatrix caught it. He was starting to edge sideways, as if searching for a way around her.

A disbelieving laugh bubbled up in her throat. Was he afraid of her witchcraft?

She had no clue if her magic could actually harm something like him. But that moment of hesitation told her everything she needed to know.

Beatrix lifted her chin, her voice stronger now. "Yeah, that's right — back off,” she spat. “You're done stealing students' souls."

The rider’s hesitation vanished in a heartbeat. His robes whipped out around him, and suddenly he was nothing but a dark blur, racing to get past her faster than she could blink.

"Hey!" Beatrix yelled, her flame blazing brighter as she tracked his movement. "Oh no you don't— I said STOP!" Power surged through her, sending a thin flame out of her hands, which felt as exhilarating as a bolt of lightning shooting from her fingertips.

The rider ducked behind a gnarled old tree to dodge her whip of flames. The fire lit up the tree instead, turning it into a giant torch against the sky.

Running on pure adrenaline, Beatrix blasted another fireball straight at his hiding spot. The magic fed off her rage, making the flames burn blue-white at their center. A second tree erupted, fire racing racing up the trunk like it was starving. The rider backed off, putting some distance between them. Even when he was retreating, he moved like a predator.

Up ahead, Jackson and Autumn reached the perimeter fence, desperately trying to pull back the iron bar Beatrix had moved earlier.

"It won't budge!" Jackson shouted as he threw his weight against the rusted metal. No security guards could be seen despite Autumn and Jackson's shouts for help.

Beatrix looked down at her hands. Her palms were shifting from crimson to a dull orange. The magic was wearing off.

The rider must’ve sensed Beatrix's fear, because he tightened his grip on his scythe and he headed back towards her with deadly purpose. His tattered robes trailed along the forest floor, leaving decay in their wake — each step turning vibrant moss to gray ash.

The fire had taken on a life of its own now, greedily leaping from tree to tree. Its hellish glow transformed the forest into a nightmare of orange and crimson shadows and silhouetted the rider’s dark form against the growing inferno.

"Bea, come on!" An urgent tug on her shirt snapped her back to reality as Autumn yanked her through the underbrush. Autumn's voice barely carried over the roaring flames eating up the forest behind them: "This way!"

Behind them, the sound of hooves striking the earth sent fresh terror through Beatrix. The rider had remounted his steed, and he and his horse were moving as one again.

"The fence!" Beatrix's voice came out ragged, her lungs burning from exertion and thick smoke as they ran parallel to the school's perimeter. "Look for weak spots in the fence — anywhere we can break through!"

The three of them wove through the twisted maze of branches, the dense foliage their only form of protection. Beatrix's power had faded to nothing more than a sickly yellow glow, useless now as the rider’s supernatural steed carried him through the pines with fluid precision, closing in faster and faster.

In her panic, Autumn fumbled for her phone while sprinting, but her orange iCoffin slipped out of her grasp and fell to the ground. “Oh no!”

“Leave it!” Beatrix ordered.

Jackson stumbled beside them, his face a ghastly white as he fought for each breath. "There's no weak spots!" he yelled, his wild eyes tracing the endless fence stretching next to them.

“So what do we do?” Beatrix heaved, her own lungs struggling to pull in enough air.

“We have to run around to the school’s main entrance!”

“How far is that?”

“I don’t know!” Jackson wailed.

THUMP-A-THUMP-A-THUMP-A-THUMP.

The dark horse burst from the smoky haze behind them as the rider spurred his mount closer. She knew all he needed was just one clean strike of his scythe.

To her horror, the rider maneuvered his horse diagonally across Beatrix’s path, trying to cut her off from the others. Beatrix veered sharply away, her feet sliding on the leaf-strewn ground as she changed direction. She tried to conjure another flame, but only a weak spark sputtered out of her palms.

Yet somehow, miraculously, that small flicker of fire was enough to make his horse rear up with a terrified shriek. The rider’s dark robes whipped wildly as his mount bucked beneath him. For a moment, his leather-gloved hands lost their grip on the reins, and he teetered precariously in the saddle, losing control.

“Had enough yet? I’m just getting started!” Beatrix hollered at him.

She was bluffing, of course, but every second she kept the rider’s attention was another second for Jackson and Autumn to escape. And if she could just summon one more decent flame, maybe she could set those dark robes ablaze.

But once the rider steadied his horse, he didn't challenge Beatrix again. Instead, he yanked hard on the reins, wheeled his mount around, and thundered past her as if she were nothing more than another tree in his path, charging full speed after Jackson and Autumn.

Maybe her witchcraft had really freaked him out, or maybe… she was never the one he wanted.

For some reason, Autumn and Jackson were his targets.

Suddenly, a piercing whistle cut through the air. Beatrix's head snapped up as something huge hurtled from the direction her friends had fled.

With inhuman reflexes, the rider yanked his midnight-black steed's reins as he drove clear of whatever was flying at them with killer speed.

Beatrix threw herself to the side, hitting the ground hard, narrowly dodging the tree log that slammed down next to her with bone-crushing force. The impact sent splinters and debris exploding at her, and she shielded her face with her arms. Someone had launched that log at the rider with an impressive amount of force.

“Dang it! Almost a bull’s eye!” a voice announced with wild enthusiasm. "Two more inches to the left and BAM! Would've nailed him!"

Beatrix looked up and saw blue through the settling dust. It was Holt, bouncing on the balls of his feet with manic energy, wearing Jackson's prized headphones snug over his ears, heavy metal bleeding out from them.

"Come on, come on!" Holt taunted the rider, throwing quick shadow punches. "That all you got, bone man?"

"Good job, Jackson," Beatrix whispered, appreciating her friend's quick thinking.

With movements almost too fast to track, Holt whipped away through the trees, hoisting Autumn onto his back piggyback-style with much greater speed than Jackson could have managed.

Holt's log-throwing had bought them precious seconds. The rider was still wrestling to get his spooked horse under control, giving Beatrix a chance to come up with something to get them out of this. There seemed to be only one option left.

She frantically ran a finger across her ashy, glowing right palm, tracing a symbol she’d already used that day.

Immediately, Astar materialized beside her — sprawled in the dirt, limbs flailing wildly as if he was in the middle of fighting an invisible opponent.

"Get your grimy hands off me, you nasty old goblin!" he roared, kicking at nothing. Then he froze mid-swing, yellow eyes going wide as he realized he wasn't in the creepateria anymore. His gaze landed on Beatrix, and his yellow eyes narrowed, glaring at her with the hellfire of a thousand suns. “Well look who’s summoned me again—”

Beatrix pointed at the rider galloping further and further away. “I know you’re pissed but that horseman is about to kill Autumn and Jackson!”

"The what is about to—" Astar's head whipped around, taking in the looming trees and the smoke devouring the forest behind them. “Wait, where are we?”

“In the woods! Obviously!” Beatrix shouted.

“You mean we’re outside the school?”

“Yes!”

“Why in the hells—”

“We need to help Autumn and Jackson NOW!” Beatrix's voice rose to a fever pitch.

A switch flipped in Astar. His entire demeanor shifted — shoulders squaring, jaw setting, eyes gaining a predatory focus. He rose, crimson wings unfurling with a snap. He extended a taloned hand toward Beatrix. "Grab onto me."

Beatrix seized his shoulder and he locked his arm around her waist.

With a powerful flap of his wings, they shot above the treetops. A blast of wind rushed past Beatrix’s ears, and she braced herself in the crook of Astar's neck. She squeezed her eyes shut against the onslaught of pine needles and leaves that whipped past them as they burst through the canopy.

In a matter of seconds, they soared directly above the horseman. Below, the dark figure had raised his staff like an executioner's axe, ready to strike down at Autumn and Holt as they sprinted.

Beatrix felt Astar's muscles tense beneath her grip, and he suddenly tucked his wings tight against his back and plunged into a steep dive. Beatrix's stomach lurched into her throat as the ground rushed up at sickening speed.

At the last possible second, when she was certain they would crash, Astar's free hand shot out. He caught the rider square in the back, channeling all the momentum of their dive into the blow. The dark figure was ripped from his shadowy mount, and the rider tumbled violently to the earth before crashing against the base of an oak. His staff went spinning from his grip, landing with a dull thud in the grass several feet away.

His horse, now riderless, screeched and bolted into another part of the forest alone, leaving its master behind.

Astar touched down and quickly released Beatrix. “Get to the others,” he told her, his voice carrying the kind of authority that brooked no argument.

“Wait! I’m out of fire magic.” Beatrix held out her hands to him, their yellow glow pulsing weakly.

Without taking his eyes off the rider, who was still slumped against the tree trunk, Astar raised one of his hands to his forearm. Beatrix watched, confused, as he drew a sharp talon across his crimson skin, nicking himself.

The cut wept, but what flowed wasn’t blood — at least, not any blood Beatrix had ever seen. A golden substance welled, thick as blood but it gleamed like a melted down bar of gold coursed through his veins.

“Hands,” Astar ordered, his attention still fixed on their enemy. The rider was stirring now, dark robes rustling as the figure began to push himself upright.

Beatrix cupped her palms together. Astar positioned his forearm over her waiting hands and let a few drops of golden blood fall onto them, each one landing with a hiss against her skin.

Grimacing, Beatrix rubbed her hands together to apply the substance evenly.

The effect was immediate and overwhelming. The fading glow of her original fire magic roared back to life with a vengeance. Beatrix squinted, spots dancing in her vision as her palms shifted through the color spectrum — first a harsh yellow, then a deep orange, and finally a blaring red.

Aggressive heat distorted the air around her hands like mirages above hot pavement. A tingling sensation spread across her palms, building to an electrical intensity that made her skin feel too tight.

“Now go!” Astar commanded, sounding like a battlefield general.

Beatrix didn't hesitate. She turned and sprinted after Holt and Autumn, but couldn't resist throwing one last glance over her shoulder.

Out of thin air, a bright red pitchfork materialized in Astar’s grip, its three wickedly sharp prongs gleaming. He dropped into a warrior's stance and advanced to corner the rider with measured steps, wielding his pitchfork like a spear.

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The rider brushed off his dark robes and pulled himself upright against the tree trunk. The hood of his cloak slowly turned, tracking Astar as the devil moved in a careful arc around him.

Even with the rider towering over him, Astar didn’t look afraid.

As Beatrix ran deeper into the woods, the forest swallowed the scene behind her — the demon and horseman disappearing from view behind a veil of leaves and branches. She strained to hear the clash of weapons but caught nothing. How long would their standoff last?

Astar will be fine, she told herself. It’s not like he’s got a soul to lose.

Beatrix’s hands pulsed with their new surge of fire magic as she ran, and behind her, smoke continued to trail into the sky.

Astar's golden blood shimmered on her palms as reds, deep crimsons, and striking oranges ebbed in and out. The bright colors looked far more intense and erratic than her first round of fire magic. Each shade seemed to fight each other for dominance, creating a dizzying light show that extended down to her wrists, claiming more surface area on her skin than last time.

She accidentally brushed a hand against a branch, and it immediately burst into flames with explosive force. The wood blackened and crumbled to ash in seconds, leaving only wisps of smoke behind.

"Shoot!" Beatrix cried, stumbling backward as the flames began to leap to nearby branches. She curled her hands into themselves and booked it.

“Autumn! Holt!” Beatrix called out, crashing through the brush and ducking under low-hanging branches. Her eyes darted frantically through the thicket, searching for any flash of Holt's blue skin.

“Bea! Up here!” Autumn's whisper voice floated down from above, accompanied by the faint pulse of metal music leaking from Jackson’s headphones.

Beatrix spun in a circle, scanning the canopy until she spotted Holt and Autumn perched on a thick branch high up in a massive pine.

“Autumn! How did you—”

“Holt brought us up here! Is it safe? Is the cloaked guy gone?”

“Yeah, Astar’s handling him, but we need to move — hurry!” Beatrix urged.

“Hold on tight, spidermonkey,” Holt said with a playful grin, helping Autumn climb onto his back piggy-back style again. Autumn wrapped her arms around his neck as he began to scale down the pine, using branches as footholds for each step. When they were about ten feet up, Holt leaped down with casual athleticism, landing in a theatrical crouch that made Autumn yelp and smack his shoulder.

"Thank goodness you’re alright," Autumn said, sliding off his back and rushing to Beatrix. “I didn’t know where you went — whoah, what’s up with your hands?”

“Astar gave me a power-up. I'll explain later. Right now we need to get out of here." The itching beneath her skin was getting worse, getting harder to ignore.

“Hey, now that the freaky-robe-guy’s gone, we can throw a rager out here!” Holt hollered, still riding high on adrenaline and heavy metal. “I know some mansters and ghouls who'd be down to—”

“Not now,” Autumn said, clicking the power off of Jackson’s blasting earphones and tugging them off Holt’s ears. Holt shuddered and hunched over as his vibrant blue skin and flaming red hair melted away, his entire form rippling as the transformation reversed.

Jackson doubled over with a groan, pressing his palms against his temples. "Ugh, is it over?"

"Which part?" Autumn asked, trying to inject some lightness into her voice. "Holt's time in the spotlight, or the murderer hunting us down?"

"The latter. Definitely the latter."

“We’re safe now,” Autumn reassured, patting Jackson’s back as he got his bearings, adjusting to being back in control of his body.

Beatrix shifted from foot to foot, desperate to return to the perimeter fence. The sensation in her hands had evolved from uncomfortable to excruciating — what started as ant bites now felt like wasps attacking from beneath her skin. She clenched her teeth, fighting back tears.

Thump-a-thump-a-thump.

The sound froze them all in place. Jackson and Autumn clutched each other, their faces draining of color at that now-familiar sound. But… the sound wasn't coming from where Astar had been squaring off with the rider. Instead, it echoed from up ahead, from a different spot in the woods, the hollow beats bouncing off trees until they seemed to come from everywhere at once.

Through the treeline came a steed with a narrow, angular frame, and with it, a second horseman.

This rider was different from the first. This one’s frame was gaunt, skeletal, its sharp joints pressed against tattered black robes like knives threatening to tear through the fabric. In one bony hand, he held a crooked black staff, its surface chipped and scarred from what could only have been frequent and violent use.

Despite his leaner build, this horseman radiated a malevolence that made the first seem almost tame in comparison.

“T-two…” Jackson stammered in disbelief. “Why are there two?”

Autumn trembled beside him as Jackson fumbled for his headphones, ready to bring Holt back, but before he could, Beatrix dashed in front of them both, summoning another flame between her palms.

However, instead of a precise stream of fire, raw power erupted from Beatrix’s hands. The force of it whipped her hair back as a massive wall of flames exploded forward, engulfing both the rider and the pines in front of her, transforming the forest into a writhing curtain of fire that reached hungrily for the sky.

A shriek could be heard through the roar of the flames — the rider’s horse. Beatrix's heart pounded. Had she actually done it? The wall of fire completely obscured her view, but for one wild moment, hope surged through her chest. Maybe she'd actually managed to—

"Look out!" Jackson yelled.

A wave of thick, black smoke rolled over them like an avalanche. Beatrix doubled over, chest heaving with violent coughs that tore at her throat. Her eyes burned, tears streaming down her face as she struggled to breathe.

Beatrix heard Jackson shouting, and through the smoke, she saw him wrestling with his jacket. He threw the jacket to the ground, stomping to extinguish the fire that had already devoured half of it.

"Bea! BEA!" Autumn's shriek made Beatrix's blood run cold. She spun to see one of her friend's straw braids had caught fire. Autumn wailed, but she didn't dare try to pat out the flames — one wrong move and her entire straw-filled body could go up like kindling. The flames on Autumn’s braid were threatening to spread to her collarbone.

Beatrix tried to call out to Jackson to help the scarecrow, but her smoke-filled lungs betrayed her. Black spots danced at the edges of her vision as she fought for air. Then, through the suffocating haze, a shadow approached.

A wide set of wings cast a silhouette through the smoky film surrounding them, and Astar burst through the smoke. His yellow eyes widened as he took in the burning chaos.

"What the hell did I miss—" Astar cut himself off as he spotted Autumn. Without hesitation, he ripped off his t-shirt and lunged toward her, smothering the flames on her body.

When he pulled back, the fire was out. Autumn's braid was scorched black, her collarbone a mess of charred straw, wisps of smoke still rising from the damaged part of her body. She trembled, clutching Astar's arm.

A horse's scream pierced through the roaring flames, but Beatrix couldn't pinpoint where it was coming from.

"Asta—" The words caught in Beatrix’s throat, transforming into violent coughs that racked her body. She forced air into her burning lungs and tried again. "ASTAR!"

The moment his name left her lips, the wall of flames before them exploded outward. Through the cascade of orange and red emerged the rider she'd blasted earlier, his tattered robes ablaze as he charged toward them on foot. Flames licked at his tattered robes, but he moved as if they were nothing more than a mild inconvenience.

Her earlier attack had seared part of his hood, but he wasn’t backing down. There was no way he was letting them get away. She couldn't tell if this rider had the same agenda as the last one — was he just after Jackson and Autumn too?

She considered standing her ground, challenging him like she had the previous one. The power surging through her hands could probably blast him off the mountainside. But the spreading inferno made her hesitate — any more damage to the forest would send the flames straight toward Monster High. Besides, each breath felt like swallowing shards of glass. She wasn’t going to last long at this rate.

Through streaming eyes, Beatrix sprinted to Astar and grabbed onto him. "Get us out of here!"

Astar moved swiftly, scooping up Autumn with one arm. Jackson awkwardly tried to find a place to hold on, finally settling for clinging to Astar's leg like a terrified koala. Just as the rider closed in, Astar launched them above the treetops — but their takeoff was clumsy. The combined weight of three passengers dragged at Astar's wings, forcing them to skim the treetops instead of soaring above them.

The rider’s staff whistled through the air below them. Jackson yelped as it missed his dangling feet by inches.

"I-I'm losing my grip!" Jackson freaked as his hands started to slip.

"Stop moving!" Astar's neck corded with strain, sweat beading on his forehead. Each wingbeat was a battle, sending them bobbing up and down in sickening dips.

The perimeter fence loomed ahead, its iron spikes glinting dangerously. Beatrix's heart leaped into her throat. "The spikes! Don't let us hit the spikes!"

She could see the trimmed lawns of Monster High beyond — so close, yet terrifyingly far with the rider still in pursuit. The staff whipped through the air again, and Jackson let out a strangled cry as it nearly caught his shoes.

Right before the rider tried for another swing, Astar made it over the perimeter fence, and Jackson curled his body just in time to avoid the iron spires that reached for them like hungry teeth.

As they tumbled back inside the school, Beatrix, Autumn, and Jackson each dropped in a different spot on the grass, fighting to catch their breath.

Beatrix barely registered hitting the ground. All she could focus on was the maddening sensation consuming her hands and wrists — an intense burning itch that made her want to claw her own skin off. Her fingers twitched and spasmed uncontrollably.

Through the haze of pain, Beatrix remembered how to discharge the fire magic. She frantically pressed her hands to the frost-covered grass. Steam rose where her burning skin met the earth. Relief came slowly at first, then all at once. As she ground her hands against the ground, the burning sensation drained away like poison being drawn from a snakebite. The searing pain gave way to a merciful numbness. She lifted her hands to find that the angry red glow had subsided, but the skin remained tender and inflamed. Strange, welt-like markings covered her palms, looking less like ordinary burns and more like some kind of magical rash.

A heavy silence drew Beatrix’s attention to Autumn and Jackson, still frozen where Astar had dropped them. Their eyes were wide and unblinking as they stared beyond the perimeter fence. Beatrix followed their gaze to the second rider standing motionless on the other side of the fence. His robes hung in tatters from her fiery blast, thin wisps of smoke still rising from the charred fabric. Through the trees that partially concealed him, Beatrix could see his fingers clenched around the chipped staff.

But he made no move to cross the boundary into the school.

Like he couldn’t get through.

Ghoulia’s textbook was right.

Death can’t enter Monster High.

Through the iron bars of the fence, the rider stared at Beatrix from beneath his hood. Though she couldn't see his face, she felt his gaze like ice water down her spine.

Then, he silently stepped away and vanished into the burning forest, melting into the shadows as if he'd never been there at all.

None of them moved.

“Guys…” Jackson said, his face white as chalk. “People are coming…”

He was referring to the growing mass of Monster High students and faculty pouring out of the creepateria to see why the forest on the south side of campus was burning down.

Sirens blared as the on-campus firefighting team, composed entirely of aquatic monsters, roared across the field in their emergency vehicle. The first responders directed powerful streams of water into the forest, dousing the flames.

No one had noticed Beatrix, Autumn, Jackson, and Astar yet. And they needed to leave before anyone did.

~ o ~ O ~ o ~

The last traces of ash on Beatrix's hands swirled down the drain in hypnotic spirals. She watched them disappear, still hardly believing what they'd survived. They were safe now, away from the horsemen, their lethal scythes, the suffocating smoke and flames. Yet safety felt fragile, temporary, like a bubble that could burst at any moment.

Leaning over the bathroom sink, Beatrix let the water soothe her inflamed skin. The blotchy rash stretching from the tips of her fingers to her mid-forearms showed no signs of fading, even though almost an hour had passed since their encounter with death, or deaths, in the woods.

She was in Astar’s bathroom, which was connected to his private suite in the boy’s dormitory — a special living arrangement reserved exclusively for the marquess of the fifth circle of hell. The only other dorm on campus as nice as this belonged to Cleo. However, while Cleo's room was likely spotless, Astar was a total slob.

Crusty streaks of toothpaste residue lined the sink, nail files for his talons were scattered on the countertops, and dirty clothes and towels lay crumpled near his shower in heaps.

There was a knock at the door. Jackson’s voice came from the other side. “Beatrix? You okay in there?”

Rather than using one of Astar's nasty towels, she carefully patted her hands dry on her black jeans. Even that light pressure made her wince. When she turned the handle, pain shot through her raw skin. She bit back a curse and pulled the door open to find Jackson looking like he'd been through a war zone. His glasses sat crooked on his face, smeared with soot, and his usually neat hair was a wild mess of leaves and broken twigs.

“I’m okay,” she said, then held up her arms, showing him the angry red welts. "But this isn't getting any better."

“You definitely overdid the fire spell,” Astar said from across the room. The devil sat cross-legged on the floor next to Autumn, both of them leaning against the foot of his bed. He was dabbing carefully at the scorched area of Autumn's collarbone with a damp cloth, trying to clean the burn marks from her canvas skin. Although Autumn had escaped the forest in one piece, the smell of singed straw still clung to her.

Since the boy’s dormitory had been the closest refuge, they were all hiding out in Astar’s room until the chaos on the south side of the school died down. Through his window, they could hear the distant shouts and commotion of the firefighting effort.

“You mean you overdid the fire spell,” Beatrix countered, unable to keep the accusation from her voice.

“Ha! That’s funny. You must’ve hit your head out there, ‘cause that's not how I remember it,” Astar said. He nudged Autumn with his elbow. “Come on, Patches. Back me up here.”

“Don’t drag her into this,” Beatrix scolded. Besides, Autumn was being noticeably quiet at the moment.

"Guys, stop it," Jackson tried to interject. "This isn't helping. We need to figure out what to do now that—"

“You're the one who begged for my help, and I delivered,” Astar sneered at Beatrix.

Beatrix glared back at him. “Your blood, or whatever that gold stuff was, it boosted the magic too much. I didn’t want to burn the whole forest down!”

“And whose fault is that?” Astar snapped. “You ditched me, so now we’re even. Normally, I would’ve put more ash on your palms to counteract the ichor, protect your skin, and give you better control over the flames. But wait, I couldn't do that because… oh yeah, you knocked me out cold and then had the audacity to demand I save you. I woke up to that old goblin lady dragging me across the floor, trying to stuff me in a kitchen closet!"

“Greta? The lunch lady?” Jackson questioned. “Why was Greta…”

“You told me the magic was supposed to last an hour,” Beatrix said, her anger flaring as hot as the flames she'd wielded earlier, “but it fizzled out after a few blasts! That’s why I needed to summon you again!”

“An hour was just a rough estimate. How long the magic lasts depends on how much power you expend. That’s witchcraft 101! Don’t you know anything?” Astar countered.

“Of course I don’t! My aunts barely taught me any magic! Funny, I thought you knew. Didn’t you and your mom keep tabs on me before you showed up?”

Astar didn't respond to that accusation. Instead, he shot to his feet and stomped over to Beatrix, getting in her face, “I think you’re forgetting who I am. I’m not one of your silly aunts. I’m here to hone your abilities. So let this be a lesson: don’t run off after using me to learn a spell.”

“I didn’t trust you to help us get past the fence!” Beatrix argued. She knew she was being stubborn, but she couldn’t stop herself from shifting the blame.

“You guys need to be quiet! People will know we’re hiding in here!” Jackson shushed them, his eyes darting nervously to the door.

Astar's voice dropped as he leaned even closer. “Going past that fence is my job, not yours. The whole reason I’m at this school is to keep you from getting kicked out.”

“How noble of you,” Beatrix huffed.

“Yes. It is noble of me. Not a single vampire has messed with you since I got here.”

“You may be a good bodyguard, but you suck at everything else,” Beatrix said. “You’ve been here for months watching the perimeter. How come you never crossed paths with those horsemen?”

The question hit its mark. Astar's confident mask slipped for just a moment, looking thrown.

Before he could recover, Beatrix asked, “And what happened to that first Reaper you fought? Did you see his face? Find out who he was? Tell me what happened!”

“I scared him off. You don’t need to worry about him anymore,” Astar said curtly. His response carried the hollow ring of a lie, or at least a partial truth.

“So there’s still two killers lurking in the woods,” Beatrix pressed, watching Astar's face carefully.

His yellow eyes flicked around, as if looking for an escape from the conversation. “I told you, I beat him up. He’ll be too chicken to come back.” Each word fell flat, unconvincing.

"Why are you being so weird about this?" Beatrix stepped closer, her suspicion mounting. "You expect me to just believe you? You took down a seven-foot-tall Reaper, and now everything's fine? You can’t be serious."

"If you're thinking of going back out there—don't." Astar's voice hardened. "I could barely hold him off. It's too dangerous to face one of them again." He paused, letting the words hang in the air. "Unless..."

The room fell quiet. The distant sounds of the firefighting seemed muffled as Beatrix held her breath for Astar's next words.

“... unless you bind yourself to me permanently,” Astar finally said.

Beatrix could only stare, stunned.

"If you sign your soul over to me, a Reaper can’t collect it," he continued, taking on a smooth, practiced tone. "An official devil's contract makes you immortal — no Reaper could touch you then. That way, you'd be free to investigate, confront the horsemen, whatever you want to do out there."

Heavy footsteps echoed in the hall outside Astar’s dorm, steadily approaching, but the sound barely registered with Beatrix.

She glowered at the devil. "If that's true," she said slowly, "then why did the Reapers ignore me earlier?"

Beatrix noticed Astar’s expression change, a subtle sheen of sweat forming on his forehead.

Jackson tilted his head, lost. “They ignored you?”

Beatrix turned to Jackson. “The first Reaper rode right past me to get to you and Autumn, and I bet the second one would’ve done the same! They weren’t interested in my soul at all.”

“Maybe your temporary contract with Astar’s already protecting you?” Jackson thought aloud, trying to make sense of it.

“What? I… I don’t have a claim on your soul yet,” Astar wavered. “... Not officially. You’re as vulnerable to Reapers as anyone else…”

The approaching footsteps grew louder.

“Stop lying! You're trying to trick me into thinking a devil's contract is the only way to survive those Reapers!” Beatrix scoffed. "I bet permanently binding myself to you wouldn't change anything."

Jackson attempted to get a word in. “Wait, I don’t get it. If you’re not officially bound to Astar, why did the Reapers leave you alone—”

“You’re making a lot of assumptions, Bee!” Astar's voice rose to a shout, drowning Jackson out.

“Why haven’t you exposed those killers? Why are you playing mind games with me? Is claiming my soul all you care about?” Beatrix rattled off, seeing red. “You’re such a snake!”

“Wow, the pot calling the kettle black!” Astar said, his dark eyebrows scrunching together.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You risked your friends’ lives for what? To prove a point? To show everyone you can handle things alone?” Astar spat. “Don't pretend this is about anything but yourself. You don’t actually care about the monsters here. You only care about getting ahead, gaining power. Face it — you and I are birds of a feather."

Beatrix stopped. The devil knew exactly which buttons to push to trigger her insecurities. She did have something to prove: she wanted to show her aunts they were wrong about her. She'd always believed she was meant for more than being a typical witch. Or at least, she hoped she was. More often than not, she was selfishly motivated. It was hard to swallow, but Astar was right.

“You don’t care about any of the monsters here, Astar?” Autumn spoke up. She was still resting against the foot of his bed.

Everyone looked at the scarecrow.

Beatrix realized that Astar had, in fact, implied that he didn’t care about anyone at Monster High.

A strong hand thudded at the door.

“Uh, shouldn’t we answer that?” Jackson asked.

“I didn’t mean…” Astar softened as he spoke to Autumn. “I… I care about you.” This admission seemed to surprise even him.

Autumn’s lip quivered. “But not anyone else?” she asked. “What about Jackson? Frankie? Abbey? Toralei? You don't care about them getting killed?”

The devil looked very torn. His wings drooped, but he said nothing.

Another hard thud rattled at the door. “Astar! I know you’re in there!” a deep voice boomed from the hallway.

“Autumn, Jackson, we’re leaving,” Beatrix said.

"Wait—" Astar's fingers closed around her wrist.

Although his grasp wasn’t tight, her damaged skin swelled with pain. Beatrix cried out, "Agh! Let go!"

Before she could free herself from him, the door slammed open.

Grey stormed into the room.

With a powerful shove, he sent Astar stumbling back. The devil's wings snapped open, fighting for balance. Beatrix, Jackson, and Autumn jolted away, startled by the sudden violence.

Grey seized Astar by the front of his shirt, slamming him against the wall with enough force to rattle the windows.

“Get off her.”