“Wyverns are supposed to.”
“Maybe that’s just the myth. What you have is the reality.”
He was right. All I could do was make the most reasonable choice in the moment and hope for the best. I looked into the shades of silver and blue and gray in his eyes and doubted I would ever know anyone more steadfast and true.
My heart clenched.
I remembered my resolution.
And I knew it was absolutely right.
“This is what I want,” I said, and reached up to kiss Derek on the mouth.
I tasted his surprise and felt him jump a bit. His heart skipped as it never had before and mine matched that crazy pace. Although I made a clumsy start, the kiss rapidly improved from there. We melted against each other, and he angled his head so our mouths fit together better. I felt the weight and heat of his hand on my shoulder, the touch of snowflakes melting on my face, the press of his body.
And then his tongue met mine. I felt as if I’d touched an electrical wire and pulled back, my breath coming in gasps. I felt flushed and shivery at the same time.
That was only half of what I felt when Derek smiled at me. “Okay,” he said, and his voice was uneven, too. He visibly took a breath. “Okay.”
I swallowed. “Okay,” I said, and his eyes lit.
He smiled at me, a sweet smile that made my heart ache. “Do I get another ride?”
“Not just yet. I need some sleep.” I was exhausted—not surprising given that I’d been dreaming and adventuring most of the night. I yawned, unable to help myself.
Derek grinned and flung his arm across my shoulders, turning to walk me back to the Jamesons’. It felt good to have the weight of his arm around me, the heat of him nudging against my side. I felt all squishy inside, warm from his kiss and stirred up, too.
And it was good.
IT SAYS SOMETHING ABOUT MY energy level that I did sleep. Hard. Despite everything I had to do and think about.
It seemed that I’d only just snuck back into Meagan’s room and put my head down on the pillow when the alarm clock started ringing. I opened my eyes to find the sky was lighter and Mrs. Jameson was making coffee in the kitchen. Meagan went to the bathroom first, and I dozed off again.
The ring of Meagan’s messenger woke me up, because she didn’t answer it as quickly as usual. She came running from the bathroom and scooped it off the nightstand. “It’s from Jessica,” she said, then sat down on the edge of my bed to read the message. She made a face. “Mozart and King were at her door this morning. Mozart is even worse, so she’s waiting for the Oracle to come, but then she wants to talk to you.”
I was wide-awake then. “I hope they’ll be okay.”
Meagan made a face. “Maybe two gems are better than one.”
More fallout from my mistake. I had a feeling the day would only get worse.
By the time I was ready, Meagan was still making up her mind over what to wear—she was hoping that Garrett might turn up today, even though it was only Thursday—so I ended up leaving the bedroom first. It was knee-deep in discarded possibilities.
I could hear the television in the kitchen when I came down the stairs and could sense that Meagan’s parents were riveted by the news. Something big was going on for them to be so attentive. There was a potent silence coming from the kitchen, as if neither of them dared to breathe.
“Any persons with information are requested to contact the police.…”
I rounded the corner and Mrs. Jameson saw me right away. Her eyes were wide and she was pale. She gestured to Mr. Jameson, and he killed the video feed before I could hear more.
“Good morning, Zoë,” Mrs. Jameson said brightly—a little too brightly, if you must know. Her smile was definitely forced. “Did you sleep well after our little incident?”
“Yes, fine, thanks,” I lied.
She fixed me with a stern look. “And we will not have a repeat of that incident, right?”
“No. Not a chance. I just had the one and wanted to try it.” I hung my head in shame. “I’m sorry.”
“Everybody tries it once,” Mr. Jameson said. “At least it wasn’t dope.” His wife shot him a glance that might have turned another man to stone. Mr. Jameson got interested in his breakfast.
The air practically crackled in the kitchen, and it wasn’t about the cigarette.
“Something going on in the world?” I asked, nodding toward the television. The Jamesons exchanged a quick glance—which I didn’t miss—then Mr. Jameson made a fuss about leaving the table.
“Nothing important,” Mrs. Jameson said. “Yogurt this morning?”
You know, I’ve always thought I was the lousiest liar on the planet, but clearly I was going to have to surrender my number-one status to Meagan’s mom. She was a completely crap liar. I’d have to have been kicked in the head by a team of mules to not realize that something was going on and that she didn’t want me to know about it.
Which just meant that I would find out ASAP.
I agreed, she headed to the fridge, and I pulled out my messenger. I logged in and looked for headline news, and there it was.
Local Teen Murdered.
And the picture was of that kid, the one I’d seen with Trevor and Adrian, the one who the ShadowEaters had attacked. Beneath his picture, it said his name was Steve Ford.
Here was the proof that I hadn’t been making up that story yesterday, but it wasn’t proof that I wanted to see. Even if this Steve Ford had been an apprentice Mage, I thought it was awful that he was dead.
Had his body been found because I’d asked to have the veil torn?
I read the article quickly, and it seemed as it he’d been found just as I’d seen him in my vision.
Pool of blood—check.
Slit throat—check.
Vacant lot—check.
Missing liver—check.
The article didn’t mention anything about his shadow being gone. But would it?
I felt a curious mix of responsibility and relief—because how awful would it be to be dead and have no one realize you were gone? I could easily imagine that Steve had had a horrible death. I remembered the feeling of the ShadowEaters nibbling at my own shadow and shuddered. What an awful way to die.
Mrs. Jameson turned around and nearly dropped the yogurt tub in her shock. “Zoë! No messengers before school! You have a test today.”
But it was too late and we both knew it.
I shut off my messenger and put it away. “I don’t know him,” I lied, then added a bit of truth. “He didn’t go to our school.”
Mrs. Jameson sat down opposite me. “No. He went to St. Joe’s.”
The Catholic school around the corner. I met her gaze and saw her fear.
“You have to be careful,” she said, speaking hurriedly. “You and Meagan have to stick together and ride home together. Or maybe I’ll pick you up instead of you driving yourself.” She grabbed her own messenger and checked her schedule, her fingers shaking.
I reached out and took her hand, and she looked up at me.
I knew what I had to do. I summoned the flames of beguiling in my eyes and looked straight at Mrs. Jameson, willing her to believe me. She wanted to believe that Meagan and I were safe, so it should be easy to persuade her. “I’m sure it was a fluke,” I said, dropping my voice to that low hypnotic tone.
“The police are afraid there’s a killer,” she said, licking her lips.
“He was probably just coming home late,” I said, willing her to agree. “Breaking the rules.”
“Breaking the rules,” she agreed warily, then nodded. I could feel that I was losing her.
But then I was, after all, apparently a girl who knew a lot about breaking the rules. Maybe that hadn’t been the most reassuring angle.
I went for simplicity on the next try. “Meagan and I are fine.”
“Meagan and you are fine.”
“We’ll look out for each other and come home safely.”
She smiled at me
in relief. “You’ll look out for each other and come home safely.”
“We always look out for each other.”
“You always look out for each other,” she said, totally convinced of that.
“You don’t need to pick us up. We’re perfectly safe.”
“Perfectly safe.”
Our gazes held for a long moment and I sent her as many reassuring vibes as I could.
The thing was, I wouldn’t be able to fix this, to figure out what to do and banish the ShadowEaters, if I got grounded. I needed Mrs. Jameson to be calm and confident.
“Everything will be fine,” I told her, trying to believe it myself.
“Everything will be fine,” she agreed; then Meagan came into the kitchen.
“I seriously need contacts,” she complained, making yet another play to ditch her glasses. “The bow of my glasses is broken again.…”
“I’ll fix it,” Mrs. Jameson said, leaping up and breaking the connection between us. She fussed over Meagan’s glasses, Meagan impatient with the whole exercise. Her mother remained adamant that there would be no contacts in Meagan’s immediate future.
That was when my mom called. Fortunately, it wasn’t my dad, because he would have heard all the unspoken nuances in my news update, and I still had to confer with the guys about involving the older Pyr. Even my mom clearly had her suspicions—I could tell by her tone—and I thought she’d probably call Mrs. Jameson back later.
So she’d hear about Steve Ford and about me cutting class.
I felt bad about not sharing the news with my dad, but I knew that Derek was right. I knew this was our test to prove ourselves. We were the ones who had fought these enemies before. We had the data and I had the responsibility. We had to get rid of those ShadowEaters ourselves and we had to do it ASAP.
When I sat down to finish my breakfast, there was a news update on my messenger. Another kid had been found dead, throat slit, similar to Steve Ford. (He still had his liver, so Skuld must have missed out.) I didn’t know him, either, but he’d gone to Central and played in the band.
Band. Was he another apprentice Mage?
One thing was for certain: the ShadowEaters were wielding the NightBlade in our realm—in a very icky and effective way.
FIVE THINGS I KNOW ABOUT THE NIGHTBLADE:
1. It’s an ancient ceremonial knife, supposedly made from a meteorite, used by Mages to cut the shadows away from the spellbound bodies of shifters.
2. Kohana seized the NightBlade intending to destroy it, but couldn’t even scratch it.
3. The NightBlade appears to have a mind of its own, or a power of its own, at least under certain circumstances. Kohana believed the NightBlade turned the Thunderbird elders against one another, poisoning their thoughts with its own desires. I’d seen it leap out of Kohana’s grip to cut the ShadowEaters free.
4. The NightBlade can cut spells like butter.
5. King had known immediately that Kohana wouldn’t be able to destroy the NightBlade before he even tried.
I tapped the lip of my messenger, considering the list.
I didn’t know where the NightBlade actually was at this point in time. I had to assume that the ShadowEaters had it, wherever they were.
Kohana might know more, but I didn’t know where Kohana had gone. In my experience, I never could find him; he found me when it suited him. He also told me very little unless it suited him.
Where was Trevor and what did he know? Could I read his memory again? I’d done that in the fall. He was still functioning, so his memory hadn’t fused with the Mage hive memory before its destruction. Still, it seemed like a long shot that I could poke around in his thoughts twice. He’d be on guard against me after the day before.
I considered number five again. Was the Bastians’ knowledge of the NightBlade part of the reason Mozart had been attacked?
Talking to Jessica became much more important.
Updating Meagan would help, too. I’d tell her everything as we drove to school. You never knew—she might figure it all out before I could.
CHECKLIST FOR A TYPICAL DAY IN THE LIFE OF A TEENAGE WYVERN
1. Breakfast well. You never know what the day will bring or when you’ll get to eat next.
2. Pinch an extra chocolate-covered granola bar from the kitchen, just in case you have to spontaneously manifest elsewhere and need a sugar hit to recover. Put it in your pocket: you might not have your backpack in the crisis du jour.
3. Ensure that Skuld’s weapon is well wrapped and disguised. Under no circumstances reveal possession of said shears. Expulsion attracts parental attention and disciplinary measures, both of which interfere with the successful completion of all Wyvern missions.
4. Check in regularly with Muriel and smile frequently in these encounters.
5. Find out from Jessica whatever the Bastians know about the NightBlade.
6. In the quest to figure out how to banish ShadowEaters forever, begin by hunting down Trevor and getting the truth out of him. (Alternatively, score his liver for Skuld.)
7. Cram for math test, despite no real hope of getting more than a C.
JESSICA WAS WAITING AT THE entry to school, and I could see from her expression that something was wrong.
“Aren’t King and Mozart okay?” Meagan asked right away.
Jessica nodded. “The Oracle is treating them. She thinks they’ll recover.” That wasn’t all of it, though. Her gaze kept flicking to me. Jessica peered at me from under the visor of her baseball cap, her eyes seeming darker than usual. “Did you have a dream last night?”
I had an idea why she was asking, but had to know. “Why?”
She shuddered. “Because I had an awful one. I was bound, helpless, just the way I was in the fall.” She met my gaze with horror. “But worse, I couldn’t shift.”
“The ShadowEater spells block my shifter powers. I couldn’t shift in my dream, either, but it was okay when I woke up.”
Jessica shook her head. “I can’t shift anymore.”
Meagan and I exchanged a glance.
“Then how’d you get free?” I asked Jessica.
She licked her lips, glanced to the left, then the right before she answered me. “Kohana came into my dream with his thunderbolts,” she admitted in a whisper. “I don’t know how he did it.”
“He can move in dreams. He’s done it before.”
“Well, he says I owe him.” I could see that she was worried about what or when he might collect.
I tried to sound cheerful. “I owe him, too. We’re in it together.”
“He’s always keeping score,” Meagan muttered. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he set this up, just so you would owe him.” She opened her locker and slammed the door hard. “I don’t trust him.”
“He’s still part of the alliance,” I reminded her. Meagan rolled her eyes, but I turned to Jessica. “Are you sure you can’t shift?”
“Positive.”
“There must be a spell bound to you still.” I looked her over but couldn’t see it. Would it be visible in her cat form? Visible to me in my dragon form? If it was there—and it must be there if she couldn’t shift—I had to be able to see it somehow. “Good thing Skuld gave me her scissors. We’ll cut you free.”
Jessica looked confused, so I explained to her, even gave her a peek. “Let’s find a place where you can try to shift.”
“It’s still early,” Jessica said. “We could go to the gym right now and get it over with before class starts.”
“No,” I said. “The gym’s too big. Anyone could walk in. Let’s use a bathroom.”
Meagan nodded. “Let’s go down to the other end of the hall to that one no one uses much.”
As we walked down the hallway, I was struck by an unexpected sense of foreboding. Theoretically and intuitively, our plan made perfect sense. I knew it was the right thing to do. But the idea of Jessica deliberately attempting to shift at school made me squirm. I rationalized that I was still spooked from the day
before.
How was I supposed to know that my foresight had finally arrived on the scene?
You’d think I could have gotten a formal announcement or something.
Chapter 8
The girls’ bathroom we’d chosen was deserted, just as expected.
It smelled strongly of bleach and faintly of both cigarettes and perfume, which was also as expected. They’d removed all the dead bolts from the doors after my shifting incident in the fall, which didn’t exactly inspire confidence in our long-term privacy.
“Just be quick,” Meagan said. “I’ll be the lookout.”
Jessica took off her baseball cap and shook her hair out of her ponytail. It’s funny, but I forgot how gorgeous she looked at Halloween in that costume that emphasized her curves. It almost seems like she’s a different person, or one who lives in her brother’s discarded baggy clothes. But just that act of shaking her hair free made her look sensual and feminine. It seemed that the curve of her lips was riper and more sultry and that her gaze turned knowing. She unzipped her hoodie and I saw the gold necklace lying against her skin like the precious and ancient relic it was.
She was suddenly exotic and beautiful, at ease with a femininity that she kept hidden away. I thought of her at the birthing the day before and felt young and awkward in her presence. I was pretty sure she could sense it.
I pulled the shears out of my backpack and unwrapped them carefully. We exchanged a look, Meagan confirmed that the coast was clear, then Jessica flung out her hands and tipped back her head.
I knew she was summoning the change.
I knew what to expect.
But nothing happened.
Her eyes widened and she swallowed, and I heard the nervous skip of her heart.
“Don’t think about it too much,” I said. “Breathe deeply; don’t question or doubt your powers. I’m sure you can do it.”
She nodded and brushed her fingertips across that necklace. I saw her lashes flutter and heard her murmur something in another language. Maybe it was a prayer.
Then she tried again.
And this time, I saw the golden silhouettes of a hundred cats swirling around her ankles. They took form out of nothing, just long enough that I caught glimpses of them, then faded from view so quickly that I thought I was imagining them.