“What should I do?” I asked.
“Nothing,” Nell whispered. She stiffened. “You two aren’t buddies, and you aren’t his servant. If you give him an inch, he’ll take a hundred miles. It’s like Shakespeare said—one may smile, and smile, and be a villain! Nothing good can come from a fiend, just remember that. And if he starts to act up again, let me know and I’ll put him back in his place.”
Whoa. Her voice had gotten harder and angrier the longer she spoke. “That’s…I mean, don’t get me wrong, I appreciate the charm you worked the other night, but…if you guys are all magic…magical things, why aren’t you on the same team?”
Nell looked horrified.
“Why?” she demanded. “What has the little worm been saying about me?”
Worm! Al sputtered. That saucy urchin-snouted strumpet!
“He…thinks you are very, uh, special,” I said. That was my mom’s go-to word for whenever a teacher or relative called me something I didn’t understand, like stolid or taciturn.
“Witches are not fiends. Fiends, by definition, are creatures from Downstairs who meddle in our world to better theirs,” Nell said, her voice so low I had to lean in to hear it. “They want servants, but more than that, they want the magic found on earth’s surface to flow down to them. They do that by inflicting misery on us, or managing to get us to inflict misery on ourselves through wars. They can’t create enough magic Downstairs. They have to steal it from us, funnel it down to run their world.”
Al was suspiciously silent throughout her explanation. Which, you know, meant what she was saying was probably true.
“So what are witches, then?”
“Witches are just women who are naturally attuned to magic in our world,” Nell said. “They can manipulate it, when others can’t even sense its presence. Moms pass the gift down to their daughters, ensuring the line continues.”
I was about to ask her why it was only girls, but she barreled on, adding, “Back in the old days—and I mean the ancient days, we’re talking, like, Greeks here—when humans finally figured out that fiends were leading them to needless battles and revenge, they began to gather gifted women into a coven to fight back. The thing you have to understand is, witches and fiends are enemies. It’s our responsibility to ensure that they don’t meddle in the lives of humans—that they stay Downstairs, where they belong.”
I was about to ask her another question, when a voice from across the room interrupted.
“Hey, Ethan! Come sit with us!” Blake jerked his thumb toward the lone empty desk beside him and his friends. An invitation for one. I glanced at Nell out of the corner of my eye, who suddenly seemed very fascinated with her pizza.
“I’m good,” I said. “Thanks, though!”
Even if it hadn’t meant leaving Nell to eat by herself, I wouldn’t have said yes. In my experience, when people were nice to me, it’s because they were planning to lure me close enough to a trash can to drop me into it. But Blake only shrugged and turned back to his friends.
Thou—you are surprised they embrace you? Alastor said. They desire your company, for you have gained that which you desire: acceptance.
All I did was answer a trivia question right, I thought back. I wasn’t about to crown myself the King of Popularity over it.
You gave them something they themselves desired; of course they welcome your company. You would be wise to accept it, should you like to walk an easier path for yourself.
You make friendship sound like a trade-off.
Every relationship is a transaction. Every so-called friendship begins with a promise that must be kept by both parties.
Like your transaction with Honor Redding?
He was silent after that. Silent enough that I could hear the cluster of girls a few seats over that Nell was plainly trying to ignore, even as she kept turning her head slightly to hear them better.
“—glasses are ridiculous, even my mom thinks so—”
“—just so weird that she lives in that house—”
“—and that she wants to play that part—like she ever would have gotten it—”
You know—here’s the thing. If you were to ask Nell what she thought of me, she’d probably say that I was better off dead, or she’d say she wished she could curse me into having a monkey tail for the rest of my days. But it didn’t change the fact that we had at least one thing in common. My Redhood Academy classmates and the kids at her school weren’t exactly falling over themselves to befriend us. If anything, they were tripping over each other to get away.
The kid on the bus had called her that terrible word—freak. I wondered how much of it had to do with any witchy-related rumors about what Nell and her mom could do, and how much was simply because she didn’t look or dress like anyone else. As my own mom said, being different—being simply you instead of what other people wanted you to be—was its own kind of bravery.
Her despair tastes of lemon, was Al’s only comment.
I shook my head. Despair, he’d said. Not simple sadness, or merely being upset. Despair. The point beyond hope and loneliness.
In all the hours I had been at school that day, I had only seen Nell talk to two people besides me: our science teacher and Norton. At home, it was just me, Uncle B, and Toad. Did she have anyone else?
Was she just…alone?
I tipped my chair back, thoughts running laps around my mind. I was only going to be here for less than two weeks. In the end, it didn’t matter what the kids thought of me, so long as they didn’t hate me enough to try stabbing me like my grandmother. But it did matter what they thought of Nell. After I was gone, she would still have to deal with them.
“Those glasses look great on you,” I told her, loud enough to catch the other girls’ attention. “My mom picked them out on Fifth Avenue, at…um…” What was the name of that store Grandmother owned a stake in? “Bergdorf Goodman.”
A piece of pizza fell out of Nell’s mouth. She stared at me like I’d just stripped off my pants and started wandering around the classroom.
“Bergdorf Goodman?” one of the girls said. “Wait—you got those glasses in New York City?”
Nell’s dark brow furrowed. “No, you nit—”
I kicked her shin under the table, leaning back again to look at the table of girls. “Oh yeah. My mom travels there for business and is always finding cool new stuff for Nell to try. She says that it’s hard for the average person to recognize amazing fashion when they see it. Some people are born with taste.” I glanced over at them again. “Others aren’t as lucky.”
Nell actually choked on her food, thumping her chest to dislodge a piece of pizza.
“Are they still for sale there?” the girl asked, a new glint in her eye.
“No, they were made for her by the designer—”