A month ago, I watched in horror as six of my fellow initiates died after sipping the Nectar of the gods, a heavenly drink that either grants you magical powers or kills you. I can’t believe I’m coming back for seconds.

“Sip now of the gods’ Nectar. Consume the magic of their second gift.” Nero’s eyes bored into mine. “Let it fill you, making you strong for the days to come.”

“For the days to come,” everyone repeated.

The goblet shook in my hands. Nearby, Nyx was watching me with an intensity that was almost blinding.

“This will give you the power of Witch’s Cauldron. You will need it to wield the witches’ power over potions and brews,” Nero whispered to me.

My heart stuttered when he handed me the goblet, and not just because I was scared of dying from that dose. The way he was looking at me scared me at least as much.

“You are strong,” he said in that same low whisper.

“I thought I wasn’t ready,” I whispered back with a smile.

“I am not ready. There’s always a chance…”

“As I told you so many times before, I’m too stubborn to die,” I said with a confidence that I didn’t feel—but I hoped would infect me, driving out my anxiety. Holding his stare, I took a deep breath, swallowing my fears, and then I drank.

The Nectar washed through me, igniting my magic. An exotic flavor exploded on my tongue, one that I couldn’t define but reminded me of Nero’s blood. I glanced at him, and before I knew what I was doing, my tongue flickered out to lick my lips. My whole body was alive, buzzing, singing from the high of the Nectar. Magic cascaded through me in dizzying, euphoric waves that left my mouth dry and my body pounding with an ache that was as bitter as it was sweet. A fresh rush of power knocked me off balance. Nero’s hands flashed out, catching me. A collective gasp of shock buzzed across our audience.

“Are you all right?” he asked quietly.

I steadied myself. “Fine,” I said, wetting my lips.

If I’d said anything else, I would have slurred my way through the words. I was feeling so drunk. The room was spinning like a carousel of lights and magic. I laughed, and our audience’s gasps elevated into rapid streams of shocked whispers. Nyx was at the forefront of the crowd, her arms at her sides in a balletic pose, her face impassive.

As I stood there, reveling in the Nectar’s magic, I felt like every cell in my body had been jolted awake. I was hyperaware of everything. The cool breeze coming in from the windows. The scent of flowers and sugar in the air. How close Nero was to me. I caught myself as I leaned in toward him. Through the haze of my mind, a voice was telling me that kissing Nero in front of the Legion’s entire New York office wasn’t a good idea. So I pivoted around and tried my best to disappear back into the crowd.

“The gods have tested your fortitude and judged you worthy,” Nero said to us.

A waltz started up over the speakers, the lights around the platform dimmed, and people started dancing again—much to my chagrin as I was currently standing in the middle of the dance floor. I moved around the turning couples, my steps drunken, my mind buzzing. Why was my reaction to the Nectar so different from everyone else’s? The Nectar made every other person sick, but it only made me want more. Sure, the small Nectar drops the Legion soldiers drank at parties got them high and happy, but those drops were totally diluted compared to this Nectar. This Nectar cranked up your magic, giving you the gods’ next magical gift—or it killed you. It did not leave you drunk and craving more.

Buzzing off the Nectar, I sashayed over to the bar and ordered a pineapple cocktail sans alcohol. As the bartender handed me my drink, Jace came up to the bar. His black tux sparkled with hundreds of tiny blue dots from the twinkling web of lights overhead.

I waved at him and squinting, said, “Are you wearing two bowties?”

His eyes dipped to my drink. “Are you sure you want to drink that?”

“Why?”

His brows lifted.

“Oh, I get it. Don’t worry.” I leaned in, whispering, “It’s a virgin.” I snorted.

“You get drunk on Nectar,” Jace said calmly.

A quiet, distant voice inside of me reminded me that I shouldn’t be advertising my weaknesses, especially not to my enemies. But I just couldn’t stop laughing. I was still laughing as Ivy and Drake joined us at the bar. Ivy grabbed my arm, pulling me away with them.

“What are you doing talking to him?” she hissed under her breath as we walked away.

I blinked. “I’m drunk.”

She laughed. “You think?”

“Leda, maybe eating something will kick your metabolize into high gear and help you burn off that high,” Drake suggested.

“Great idea,” I said brightly, breaking away to launch my assault on the dessert table. I found brownies. Lots and lots of brownies. And I intended to eat every single one of them.

“Hungry?”

I turned to look into Captain Somerset’s face. “They’re just so good.” I licked a brownie crumb from my index finger.

She laughed.

“You’re cool,” I told her, laughing too.

“You bet I am.”

That famous song about the witch who’d fallen for a vampire blared over the fading beat of the waltz.

“Oh, I love this song. It’s so funny,” I said, looking around. Ivy and Drake were nowhere in sight, so I grabbed Captain Somerset’s hand and pulled her onto the dance floor after me.