12
There are nightmares, and then there are nightmares. You know the dream where you’re in class, but you totally forgot to take a shower and stuff? How about the dream where you wake up beside your best friend in the basement of a private school fifteen minutes before classes start?
Long story short, that dream ends with you running through the school in yesterday’s clothes in front of pretty much the entire junior and senior classes.
Luckily, the fact that we were nearly late for class kept us from having to explain to the dragon ladies what we’d been doing in the main building so early. But I heard Scout yell “Fell asleep studying!” three or four times before we were back in our rooms.
There was no time for a shower, so I cleaned up the best I could, brushed my teeth, and pulled on my uniform—plaid skirt, button-up shirt, fuzzy boots, and a cardigan. I pulled my hair into a topknot. My only accessory was the classic—my room key on its blue ribbon.
I met Scout in the common room, both of us pulling on messenger bags and hustling through the door. I handed over a smushed granola bar. She ripped into the plastic with her teeth, then stuffed the wrapper into her bag.
“If only the brat pack knew how glamorous we truly were,” she muttered, taking a huge bite of the bar. With her wrinkled skirt, untucked shirt, and mismatched sneakers, she didn’t look much better than I did.
“Yeah, it definitely looks like you were in a hurry. It’s not like you’d wear mismatched sneakers on purpose.”
She gave me a dry look.
“Okay, except in this particular instance because mismatched shoes look awesome,” I amended. “Truly an amazing fashion choice. You’re quite the trendster.”
Scout rolled her eyes and started down the hall again. “One of these days, you’re going to respect me.”
“Oh, I totally respect you. It’s your wardrobe I have issues with.”
Issues or not, I did a pretty good job of dodging the chunk of granola bar that came my way.
We stood there for a moment, horrified, our mouths gaping, but unable to look away.
It was a Thursday lunch in the St. Sophia’s cafeteria.
It was also the near end of what had been a long and unfortunately creative week in the St. Sophia’s kitchen: meatloaf with wasabi mustard sauce; vegetable mix with parsnips, whatever those were; and roasted potatoes—the funky purple ones.
Unfortunately, the end of the week meant leftovers. And, unfortunately, leftovers at St. Sophia’s meant “stew.”
The stew was one of the first things Scout had warned me about (yes—even before the Reapers and soul-sucking). This wasn’t your average stew—the stuff your mom made on a snowy weekend in February. It was a soupy mix of whatever didn’t get eaten during the week. Today, that meant parsnips and funky potatoes and chunky bits of meatloaf.
I was a vegetarian, but even I hadn’t been spared. There was a veggie version of the “stew” that included beans and rice and some kind of polygon-shaped green thing that didn’t look all that edible.
And the worst thing? It was only Thursday. Over the weekend, it was actually going to get worse. We had three-day-old Sunday stew to look forward to.
I pointed to a green thing. “What do you think that is?”
“It looks like okra. I think the stew is supposed to be gumboey.”
I curled my lip. “I’m not sure I’m up for brave food today.” I grabbed a piece of crusty bread and a bowl of fruit salad. Compared to my other options, I figured they were pretty safe. And speaking of bravery, I should probably get started on my drawing of the building.
“Hey, I’m going to head outside after class. I need to get my drawing in.”
“You still thinking about drawing the SRF building?”
“Yeah. I’m not sure what it’ll accomplish, but it’s the least I can do. I know I have to stay low-key in terms of investigating my parents, but I still have to do something , right?”
Scout shrugged. “I think that’s up to you, Lils. You’re not even sixteen. You’re entitled to believe your parents told you the truth about themselves and their work—that they told you everything you needed to know. I don’t think you have any obligation to play Nancy Drew for the Parker family, you know?”
“That’s pretty great advice.”
“I have my moments.”
“Hmm. Well, anyway, did you want to head outside with me?” I bobbed my head toward the window and the strip of blue fall sky I could see through it. “It looks pretty nice out there. Might be fun to get some fresh air.”
She shook her head. “Nah, that’s okay. I need to get some work done.”
“Schoolwork? Did I miss something in class?”
Crimson crossed her cheeks. “No. I’m just working on something.”
The words sounded casual, but the tone definitely didn’t. I didn’t want to push her, but I wondered if this was going to be another one of those locked-door nights for Scout. If so, what was she doing in there? Not that it was any of my business . . . until she decided to tell me, anyway.
“No problem,” I said. “I’ll see you before dinner.”
“Go for it. And if you decide to break into the SRF building to figure out the goods on your parents, take your cell phone. You never know when you’re going to need it.”
A few minutes later, I stood on the front steps of St. Sophia’s, my sketch pad and pencils in my bag, ready to walk to the Portman Electric Company building and begin my investigation. I mean, my sketch.
But that didn’t make my feet move any faster. I felt weird about going there—not just because I was trying to be sneaky, but because I recognized I might learn things I didn’t want to know.
What if my parents were involved in something illegal? Something unethical? Something that shamed them so much they had to hide it from me? Foley certainly thought it was something that could get them in trouble. At the very least, it was something I wasn’t supposed to know about . . . or talk about.
Problem was, my imagination was doing a pretty good job of coming up with worst-case scenarios on its own. St. Sophia’s was practically next door to the SRF, and I’d seen the letter in which they tried to convince my parents to drop me off at St. Sophia’s. Plus, the SRF did some kind of medical research, and Foley had said my parents did genetic research.
And now . . . the Dark Elite had a medical facility?
That was the rock that sat heavy in my stomach, making me rethink all the memories of my time with my parents. After all, if they’d lied about their work, what else had they lied about?
I shook off the thought. That was just insecurity talking. They were my parents. They were good people. And more important, they loved me. They couldn’t be wrapped up with the Reapers.
Could they?
I know Foley told me to keep my mouth shut. I know I wasn’t supposed to ask questions, to put them at risk. But I had to figure out what was going on. There was too much on the line. That was why I kept putting one foot in front of the other, until I was outside the stone wall that separated St. Sophia’s from the rest of the world and walking down the sidewalk toward the SRF building . . . at least until someone stepped directly in front of me.
I looked up into blue eyes.
Sebastian.
He spoke before I could even think of words to say.
“I’m not going to hurt you.”
“Get out of my way.”
Instead of answering, he took a step forward. This was the closest I’d been to him, and being closer just made the effect that much more powerful. Maybe it was because he was one of the bad guys, but there was something undeniably wicked about him.
But I’d seen enough wicked. I gave him a warning look. “Don’t take another step.”
“I swear I won’t hurt you,” he said. “And we both know that if I’d wanted to hurt you, I could have already done it.” Ever so slowly, he lifted both hands, as if to show he wasn’t holding a weapon. But as long as he had firespell, his weapons were his hands.
“Why are you following me?”
“I told you why. Because we need to talk.”
“We have nothing to talk about.”
He glanced around, gaze scanning the sidewalk like he expected Adepts to attack any minute. And maybe they would. He was in our territory. “Not here. We have to talk somewhere more private.”
“You want me to go somewhere alone with you? Are you high?”
“No, I’m not high.” His voice was flat. “But I am serious.”
“So am I. I also know which side you’re on, and it’s not mine. Give me one reason why I should do anything other than blast you right where you’re standing.”
“I’ll give you two. First, we’re standing in the middle of a public sidewalk. You and I both know you aren’t going to do anything here. Second, I’ve already saved your life once, and I came to your rescue yesterday. I’ve given you a reason to trust me.”
He would play that card. And while I still didn’t trust him any farther than I could firespell him, I did wonder what he was up to.
“I’m going to need a better reason than ‘you didn’t kill me when you had the chance.’ ”
“Because there are things you need to know about firespell. And if it will ease your mind, I’ll use this.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out what looked like a flat, gleaming dog tag on a thin chain.
“A dog tag?”
“It’s a countermeasure,” he said, slipping the chain over his head. When the flat of the metal hit his shirt, he squeezed his eyes closed like he’d been hit with a shock of pain. When he looked up at me again, his stormy eyes seemed dull.
“It neutralizes magic,” he said, his voice equally flat. If he was telling the truth, then it was like the magic had actually permeated his personality. Take the magic away, and the spark disappeared.
“It’s more effective as a protective measure if you’re the one wearing it,” he explained, “but I’m guessing you’re just suspicious enough to say ‘no’ if I ask you to put it on.”
“I’m careful enough,” I corrected. “Not suspicious.”
“Then both,” he said. “I can appreciate that.”
I gave him a look that I figured was plenty suspicious, partly because this guy was just likable enough to make me nervous. He wasn’t supposed to be likable. Scout might have been the one to pull me into the world of Reapers, but Sebastian was the one who made sure I couldn’t get out again.
“Ten minutes, Lily,” he repeated.
I took a moment to consider his offer, then blew out a breath. One way or another, I was going to have to get off the street. If Scout—or anyone else from St. Sophia’s or Montclare—saw me talking to him, there were going to be lots of questions.
“I’ll give you five minutes. And if I don’t like what you have to say, you can kiss consciousness good-bye.”
“I think that’s fair.” He glanced around, then nodded toward a Taco Terry’s fast food restaurant across the street. The restaurant’s mascot—an eight-foot-high plastic cowboy, lips curled into a creepy smile—stood outside the front door. >
“Why don’t we go over there?”
I looked over the building. The cowboy aside, there were a lot of windows and a pretty steady stream of customers in and out—tourists grabbing a snack, or workers out for lunch. I doubted he’d try anything in the middle of the day in the middle of the Loop, but still—he’d supported Scout’s kidnapping and he’d put me in a hospital for thirty-six hours.
He must have seen the hesitation in my eyes. “It’s a public place, Lily. Granted, a public place with paper napkins and a really, really disturbing cowboy out front, but a public place. And it’s close.”
“Fine,” I finally agreed. “Let’s try the cowboy.”
Sebastian nodded, then turned and began to walk toward the crosswalk, apparently assuming I’d follow without blasting him with firespell along the way.
I wiped my sweaty palms on my skirt and made the turn from the school grounds onto the sidewalk on Erie Avenue. I was willingly walking toward a boy who’d left me unconscious, without even a word of warning to my best friend.
But curiosity won out over nerves, and besides—in between his leaving me unconscious and asking me here, he had managed to save my life. In a manner of speaking, anyway.
The only way to find out what was up and why he’d helped me was to keep moving forward. So I took one more step.
We made our way across the street in silence. He held the door open for me, and we maneuvered through the tourists and children to an empty table near the window and slid onto white, molded plastic seats. Sebastian picked up the foot-high bobble-headed cowboy—that would be Taco Terry—that sat on every table beside the plastic salt and pepper shakers. He looked it over before putting it back. “Weird and creepy.”
Not unlike the Reapers, I thought, and that was a good reminder that it was time to get things rolling. “I don’t have a lot of time. What did you need?”
“You have firespell.”
“Because of you,” I pointed out.
“Triggered by me, maybe, but I couldn’t have done it alone. You had to have some kind of latent magic in the first place.”
He lifted his eyebrows like he was waiting for me to confirm what he’d said. Scout had told me pretty much the same thing, but I wasn’t going to admit that to him, so I didn’t say anything. Besides, this was his gig. As far as I was concerned, we were here so he could give me information, not the other way around.
“How is your training going?”
If he meant training with firespell, it wasn’t going at all. But I wasn’t going to tell him that. “I’m doing fine.”
He nodded. “Good. I don’t want you to get hurt again because of something I’d done.”
“Why would you care?”
He had the grace to look surprised. “What?”
I decided to be frank. “Why would you care if I was hurt? I’m an Adept. You’re a member of the Dark Elite or whatever. We’re enemies. That’s kind of the point of being enemies—hurting each other.”
Sebastian looked up, his dark blue eyes searing into me. “I am who I am,” he said. “I stay with Jeremiah because I’m one of his people. I’m one of them—of us. But you are, too.” But then he shook his head. “But we’re more than magic, aren’t we? Sure, it’s the very thing that makes us stronger—”
“But it also makes us weaker,” I finished for him. “It tears you down, breaks you down, from the inside out. I don’t know what Jeremiah tells you about that, but whatever superhero vibe you’re rocking now, it won’t last forever.”
“And how do you know that?” he asked. “Have you seen a member of the Dark Elite break down?”
I opened my mouth to retort that I didn’t need to see it, that I trusted Scout to tell me the truth. But while that was true, he made a good point. “No. I haven’t.”
“I’m not saying it happens or not. I’m just saying, maybe you should figure that out for yourself. In our world, there’s a lot of dogma. A lot of ‘this is how it is’ and ‘this is how it should be.’” He shook his head. “I don’t know how it works for your people, and I’m not saying we’re going to be best friends or anything. I’m just offering some advice. Take the necessary time to figure out for yourself what’s good and bad in the world.”
We looked at each other for a few seconds, the two of us staring across a plastic table, until I finally had to look away. His gaze was too personal, too intimate, even for a secret lunch hour meeting at Taco Terry’s.
“Is that what you wanted to talk to me about?”
“Part of it. I also wanted to warn you.”
That brought my eyes back to him. “About what?”
“I hear you stepped into the turf war between the vampires. Between the covens.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I know you stepped into the middle of something you shouldn’t have. But I also know you need to go back.”
I lifted my eyebrows. “I am not going back. They nearly tore us to pieces the last time.”
Sebastian shook his head. “You need to go back. And you need to ask the right questions.”
“The right questions about what?”
He looked away quickly, apparently not willing to share everything. But he finally said, “Find Nicu. Ask him about the missing.”
Scout had been kidnapped by the Dark Elite—was that what he meant? Had the Reapers taken more Adepts? “What do you mean, the missing?”
“That’s what you need to find out. I can’t ask the questions for you.”
“If you’ve hurt someone, I swear to—”
He gave me a condescending look. “I’ve helped you. I’m helping you again. Remember that.”
I lifted my eyebrows. “You just told me to go back to see the vampires while they’re in the middle of a turf war.”
“For your own good.”
I doubted that, but I had questions of my own. Might as well take this opportunity. “While you’re being helpful, tell me about the new monsters in the tunnels. Slimy things? Naked? Pointy ears?”
“I know nothing.”
I shook my head; he’d answered too fast. “You’re lying. I know they have some connection to the Reapers.”
“I’m not part of that.”
“Wrong answer. You’re one of them,” I reminded him. “We know the monsters have been in at least two spots in the tunnels. Where are they coming from?”
He looked away. “Just talk to Nicu.”
That made me sit up a little straighter. “Nicu knows about the monsters?”
“That’s all I can tell you. I have my own allegiances to protect.”
“Well, at least you’re done pretending to be a good guy.”
Sebastian looked back again and leaned forward, hunching a little more over the table. “This isn’t a game, Lily. This is our world, and we are different from the rest of them. From the rest of the humans.”
“No,” I said. “We aren’t different. We have a gift—a temporary gift. It doesn’t make us different. It only makes us lucky.”
Shaking his head, he sat up straight again. “We have a temporary gift now. Did you know that? That the magic hasn’t always been temporary? We’ve been losing it, Lily. Over time. Slowly but surely, each generation has their magic for a little less time than the generation that came before it. And maybe that’s because we’re blending with humans. Maybe it’s some kind of magical evolution.” He shrugged. “I don’t know. But I do know we want a different future. We don’t want to just give up something that has the potential to help so many people.”
“You mean something that has the potential to hurt so many people.”
He shook his head. “All of this magic—have you thought about what it could do for humanity? Do you know the things we’ve already done for humanity? All those moments in human history where someone gets some amazing insight—the polio vaccine, the understanding of relativity—you think those moments are an accident?” He shook his head. “No way.”
“That doesn’t justify what you have to do to keep the magic. If we’re losing it, we’re losing it. We need to accept that and be done with it. It’s not an excuse to use people to keep the magic longer than nature wants you to have it.”
“You think no cost is worth the price,” he said. “I disagree.”
“Your cost is the lives of other humans.”
“The cost for our good deeds—for saving millions by our contributions—is a bit of one person. The many are more valuable than the one. We believe that.”
I just shook my head. There wasn’t much chance I was going to agree with him however well he justified it. I looked up at him again. “Lauren and some gatekeeper girl paid us a visit last night.”
His eyes went hugely wide. “Last night?”
I nodded. “You want to tell me why?”
“I don’t know,” he began, but before I could object, he held up his hands. “I don’t. It could be Scout. Jeremiah was interested in her.”
“Because she’s a spellbinder?”
“Maybe.”
“She’s off limits. Permanently,” I added, when he looked like he was going to object. “I’ve got firespell, and I know how to use it. Any more Adepts come sniffing around St. Sophia’s looking for her or her Grimoire or whatever else, and we won’t just leave them hexbound in the tunnels.”
“You’ve turned vicious.”
“Like you said, this isn’t a game.”
“At least you’re listening to part of it,” he muttered. Then he lifted the countermeasure and pulled it over his head, relief clear in his face when he placed it on the table. “I want to show you something. Hold out your palms.”
I gave him a dubious expression, which lifted a corner of his mouth.
“You’re being guarded by a plastic cowboy, and we’re in a restaurant full of people.” He put his hands on the table, opening and closing them again until finally, eyes rolling, I relented.
And felt a little bit guilty about it.
I put my hands on the table, palms up. Slowly, he cupped my hands in his long fingers, then curled my fingers into fists. My skin went pebbly, the hair at the back of my neck lifting at his touch.
“You have to learn to control firespell,” he said, voice low. “But when you can, you’ll harness elemental powers.” His hands still wrapped around my fists, my palm began to warm from the inside.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m teaching you.” His voice was low, lush, intimate again. Slowly, he began to lift his hands from mine, like he was making a shield over my hands.
“Open your palms.”
A centimeter at a time, I uncurled my fingers. There, in each of my hands, was a tiny jumping spark of green. Aware of our surroundings, I stifled a gasp, but raised my confused gaze to his as he continued to shield the sparks from public view.
“You’ve seen the broad shot firespell can give you,” he said. “You’ve learned how to fan the power out. But you can pinpoint the power, as well.”
He tilted my hands so that my palms were facing, and the edges of my hands were against the table. And then, ever so slightly, he began to move my hands from side to side. The sparks followed suit, the momentum pushing them back and forth between my hands like the birdie in a game of badminton.
And just as quickly, it was over. He pressed my hands together again, the two sparks—like they were just a quirk of static electricity—somehow dissipating. He pulled his hands away again. I opened my palms, rustling my fingers as I searched for some hint of the spark.
“The power is yours to control,” he said, sliding the countermeasure into his pocket again. “Yours to manipulate. But you must be open to the power and your authority over it. It’s not always an easy burden to bear, but that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t wield it.”
He looked at his watch. “I have to go.” He slid to the end of the booth and stood up.
“I still don’t know what you did. How you gave me that spark.”
“The spark is yours. I just brought it out. Remember that. You are different, you know.”
Stubbornly, I shook my head. “Not different,” I said again. “And only lucky for a little while. We’re willing to let it go. Are you?”
He looked away, but I had one more question. “Sebastian.”
He glanced back.
“How did you know I was going to be outside?”
He shrugged. “I didn’t. I just got lucky.”
Without elaborating, he turned and walked into the crowd of men, women, and children waiting for their tacos. The crowd—and then the city—swallowed him up again.
I sat there for a moment just processing the meeting, rubbing the tips of my fingers against my palm. I could still feel the tingle there, and I wasn’t sure I liked it. I rubbed my hands against my skirt, as if to erase the feeling. Something about it—about him—just made me uneasy.
“Probably has something to do with the fact that he’s my sworn enemy,” I mumbled, then slid out of the booth myself. I walked back across the street and toward the school.
I couldn’t help but wonder about Sebastian’s motivations. He said he was concerned about me—but he didn’t really have any reason to be. Was he flirting? I doubted it, and even if he was, no, thank you. >
Was it because he’d given me firespell? Had the magic created some kind of bond between us that I didn’t know about? I made a mental note to ask Scout about it . . . without telling her why I was asking. I might eventually need to spill Sebastian’s interest in me, but I wasn’t going to do that now. There was no reason, as far as I could see, to raise the alarm bells.
By the time I returned, my secretly empty sketchbook in hand, Scout was in the common room, ready to head out for dinner.
To be honest, seeing her made me nervous. I still wasn’t sure what I should tell her. After all, I’d willingly had a meeting with a Reaper. Granted, a Reaper who’d saved my life, but given her experiences, I wasn’t sure she’d care much about the difference. I didn’t want to keep a secret from her, but I also didn’t want the lecture.
So I decided to let it ride. I kept the dinner convo light, and steered away from all things darkly elite.
Study hall followed dinner, and as soon as we got back to the suite, Scout hied off to her room. She walked in, and with an apologetic glance back at me, started closing her door.
“Everything okay?”
“Yep. Just some work to do.”
Okay, this was, what, the second time this week she’d locked herself in her room? “What are you working on?”
“Just some spells. Nothing personal. I just need quiet and . . . you know . . . to concentrate.”
“Okay,” I said. I watched her disappear into her room, trying to figure out what I was supposed to do. Was I supposed to worry about her? Give her privacy? Break down the door to make sure she was okay? I mean generally, I’d be all for having time to oneself, but this girl had been kidnapped. I didn’t want to leave her alone if she was in there being held at spell-point by a Reaper.
“She’s fine, you know.”
I glanced back. Lesley stood in her doorway, the bow to her cello in hand.
I didn’t want to talk about Scout within earshot, so I walked over to Lesley’s room. “What do you mean?”
She plucked a tiny piece of lint from the bow. “She did the same thing earlier. She seems fine, though.”
“Huh,” I said. “Did you notice anything odd?”
“She has a nose ring. And her hair is dyed two colors.”
Okay, Lesley did have a point there.
“But I’m not sure how you are.”
My eyes widened. “What do you mean?”
She tilted her head to the side and gave me an up-and-down look. “You look weird. What’s going on?”
Was she really that astute? Or was I sending out some kind of “I just had a secret meeting with a Reaper” vibe? I shrugged and hoped it looked nonchalant. “Nothing. Just. You know. Being me.”
She didn’t look convinced, but when she shrugged, I figured she was moving on.
In any event, time to change the subject. “So, I’m gonna work on my drawing for studio. How’s yours coming along?”
Lesley shrugged. “I’m done.”
“Already? We don’t have class again until next week.”
“I’m not running secret missions at night. I had time.” She turned on her heel and headed back into her room. “And now it’s time for practice,” she said and shut the door behind her.
You had to admire that kind of focus.
Since Amie’s room was empty and Lesley’s cello-playing made a pretty good soundtrack to creativity, I grabbed my sketchbook and started drawing. Sebastian might have interrupted my afternoon plans, but he wasn’t going to take over my evening.