“Lily, we’re done here.”
“I can’t make it stop, Scout.”
The door began to pulse with green light. Off and on, off and on, like the world’s largest turn signal.
“Lily, I need you to do something. This is starting to hurt.”
I looked over at Scout. Her hair was standing on end, a punky blond-and-brown halo around her head.
“I’m trying, I swear.”
“You can do it, Lily. I believe in you.”
I closed my eyes and pretended the magic was a faucet and I was turning one of the knobs. Unfortunately, that imaginary knob felt like it had been welded closed. “I can’t get it!”
“Then we’re going to have to do this the old-fashioned way!”
I opened my eyes and looked at Scout. The door was beginning to emit a pulsing noise. Each time it glowed it put out an electrical roar. I had to yell over the sound to be heard. “What old-fashioned way?”
“On three, we pull ourselves apart! Agreed?”
I swallowed, but nodded. “On three!”
She nodded back, and we began the countdown. “One—two—and three!”
We yanked our hands apart, but it wasn’t easy. It felt like I was pulling back a twenty-pound concrete block. I managed to untangle my fingers from hers, but the power was still pouring out, and it wanted to move. Since it couldn’t flow into Scout anymore, it pushed her away—and me with it.
I flew down the corridor and hit the floor five or six feet away. I heard the echoing thump as Scout hit the floor in the other direction.
“Ow.”
Very slowly, I sat up, hands braced on the ground to push myself upright. “Oh, crap, that hurt.”
“Seriously,” she said groggily, sitting up again, a hand on her forehead. It took a moment before she turned her head to look at me. “Are you okay?”
“I’ve been better. Are you okay?”
She checked her arms and legs. “Nothing broken, I think.”
One hand on the wall for support, I stood up, but had to wait until the room stopped spinning. “I have to say, that totally sucked.”
Scout tried to flatten down her hair, which was still sticking up in odd angles. “I guess our magics hate each other.”
“Or really like each other, since we had trouble prying ourselves apart. Either way, I don’t think we should do that again.”
“And we also probably should not tell Katie or Smith or Daniel that just happened. Lecture,” she added in explanation.
Very, very slowly—my bones aching from the fall—I moved back to the door and reached out a hand to Scout.
“Definitely don’t need a lecture,” I agreed as I pulled her to her feet. “I do need fourteen or fifteen hours of sleep and a giant cheeseburger.”
“Aren’t you a vegetarian?”
“That’s my point.”
When we were both on our feet, we looked back at the door. It still pulsed like a severed heart in a horror film.
“You know, that’s really gonna be noticeable if someone comes down here.”
“I guess we could try to ward the door upstairs to keep people from coming down.”
I gave her an exceptionally dry look. “No way am I going through that again. Got a better idea?”
“Well, the firespell fades over time—I mean, people wake up after they get knocked unconscious with it. You did, anyway.”
“I love being a cautionary tale.”
“So maybe it works the same way here, too. Cop a squat.” Without waiting for me to move, she turned her back to the wall across from the door, crossed one foot over the other, and sat down on the floor.
“We’re going to wait it out?” I could hear the grumpy sleepiness in my voice. I felt bad about it, but it was late. I wanted to be curled up in bed—or even in a wrinkled blanket on Scout’s floor—fast asleep.
“Just until we’re sure the green is fading,” she said. “If we know it’s fading, that means it’s going back to normal. And if it’s going back to normal, we’ll sleep a lot better later.”
She had a point. And it would have been pretty irresponsible to just walk away. Adepts were supposed to be a secret, but it wouldn’t be long before anyone who saw the door started asking questions.
“Fine,” I said, and sat down on the floor beside her. She immediately pulled out her cell phone and began texting.
“Daniel?” I wondered.
“Daniel,” she agreed. “We need to tell him about the breach, and we definitely need to tell him the Reapers know about the creatures. That raises all sorts of nasty questions.”
“Like?”
“Like whether they’re trying to domesticate them to use as some kind of weapon.”
I grimaced. “In the interest of my ever sleeping well again, let’s pretend that’s just not possible.”
When the texting was done, Scout put her phone away. She sighed, then dropped her head to my shoulder. “Does the door look any different to you now?”
“Not really. You?”
“Not yet.”
“We’ll just give it a few more minutes.”
If only.
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 ve
getarian, 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?”