“Yeah, back there.” Ridley jabbed her thumb over her shoulder. “The door opposite the stairs.” As Archer left the room, she let her eyes travel across the contents of Dad’s desk. Her gaze fell on the carved wooden box her mom had given him years ago. The one with the tree carving on the lid. The same tree shape that had been drawn on the outside of her letter. With her forefinger, Ridley carefully traced the pattern, thinking again of all the secrets her father had kept for so long. She imagined him and Mom talking about her when she was little, discussing whether or not they would ever tell her about the other elementals. Had Mom agreed with Dad that it should always remain a secret? Or had she planned to tell Ridley one day?
Archer’s footsteps interrupted her thoughts, and she twisted to look behind her as he walked back into the store. “Much better.” She smiled. “You look almost normal.”
“I feel almost normal. Except for—” He straightened, breathed in deeply, then grimaced and pressed one hand against the right side of his ribcage. “Yeah, except for that.”
“Bruised ribs?” Ridley asked.
“Probably.” He rounded the desk. “I think I got kicked a few times.”
“You did. I can fix that too if you want.”
He stopped in front of her as a smirk appeared on his lips. “You just want me to—”
“Oh my goodness, you are so predictable,” she said with a laugh. “Fine, yes, if it’ll boost your confidence, I just want you to take your shirt off.”
He pretended to pout. “It’s not as fun when you say it.”
“Sorry. I’ll let you say it next time, okay?”
“Thanks. Though hopefully there won’t be a next time that involves me getting kicked in the ribs.” He reached for the back collar of his T-shirt and pulled it upward, wincing and bending to the right slightly as his arms stretched over his head. He draped the T-shirt over one shoulder, and though Ridley did an excellent job of keeping her expression neutral, she had to admit inwardly that she was impressed. Whatever Archer had been doing to keep himself busy while living with the elementals in the French Prealps, it clearly involved some form of upper body physical activity.
“Right, let’s start again,” she said, looking away from his defined muscles and quickly raising her hands before he could make any stupid comments about her checking out his abs and arms.
“Hey, we don’t have to do this all over again if you want to get to bed,” he said. “I know you’ve got school in the morning.”
“Oh, no, it’s fine. Don’t worry.” She pulled at the wisps of magic that had risen away from her skin. “There’s probably a conjuration that can make me less tired.”
“You think?”
“I don’t know.” She paused, her hands frozen in the air between them. “That was a joke, but now I’m thinking I should try to find out. It would be amazing if I could give myself more rest without actually having to sleep.”
She went through the movements of the conjurations for bruising and swelling, and, once done, she nudged the magic toward the splotchy red marks on the side of Archer’s chest. The area didn’t look too bad yet, but she was guessing it would be a mess of black and blue the following day if this conjuration didn’t work. She sat back and lowered her hands. “Okay, that should do it.” Looking up, she found Archer’s eyes on her face already. “Hey, you weren’t supposed to be watching.”
“Sorry.” He gave her a sheepish smile as he reached up for his T-shirt. “I can’t help it. You’re fascinating.”
“Wow, thanks. I’ve always wanted to be stared at and called fascinating like some kind of weird, abstract artwork.”
He pulled the T-shirt over his head, and Ridley relaxed now that she didn’t have to avoid looking at the naked chest that had been directly in her line of sight. “That is definitely not what I meant when I said fascinating,” Archer told her.
“Well, anyway.” She looped her hair behind both ears and decided not to ask exactly what he meant by ‘fascinating.’ “Um, I’ll let you out now?”
“Thanks. Oh, wait,” he added before Ridley could jump off the desk. “I wanted to tell you something. I checked my commscreen while you were upstairs fetching the book.” He removed the device from his pocket. A crack was now visible down the center of it, but it still lit up at his touch. “It’s about the next person I thought we should try to speak to. Callie Hemingway. She was a singer before the Cataclysm. Do you remember her? She became famous as a teen, singing country-pop or something, and her career continued into her twenties.”
“Her name sounds vaguely familiar,” Ridley said, twisting a few strands of hair around one finger.
“Well, anyway, she’s retreated from the public eye in recent years. I can’t figure out where she lives. She seems to have hidden that pretty well. But there’s an event this Friday—a birthday party for Jurenza, that singer with the super weird fashion sense—and my mom and Lilah are organizing it.”
“Because your mom and Lilah are such great friends with Jurenza?”
“Apparently. Lilah said they hung out over the summer. So she and my mom have been talking about the guest list for days, who’s RSVP’d and who hasn’t, and how rude it is to not reply when the RSVP date was weeks ago. Blah, blah, blah, drama. Anyway, when I looked at the list, Callie’s name jumped out at me immediately because I’d just been reading about her. She hadn’t confirmed yet, but I see there was a message from Lilah to Mom earlier tonight.” He peered at the device as he thumbed it again, adding, “She likes to copy my dad and me in on these things, in case we have any major objections to any of the guests. But my point—”
“Which you seem to be taking a long time to get to,” Ridley muttered.
“Right, sorry. My point is that Callie’s on the final list. Let me confirm I wasn’t seeing things earlier …” He tapped and scrolled a few times. “Yes, her name’s definitely there.” He lowered the commscreen. “Great news, since she seems to be somewhat of a hermit these days. Who knows when she might attend a public event again.”
Ridley pulled her jacket tighter around herself and crossed her arms over her chest, ignoring the ache across her back and shoulders. “So you’re breaking our agreement already and doing this one on your own? Because that’s not how this is supposed to—”
“No, that’s not what I was planning. I figured you’d insist on coming with.”
“Oh. Good. And no one will have a problem with me being there?”
He gave her a quizzical look. “Why would someone have a problem with you being there? People usually have a date for these sorts of things. Lilah’s already got my name down with a plus-one next to it. I’d be conspicuous if I didn’t take someone.”
“Right. Of course.” Ridley unfolded her arms and pushed herself off the desk. “How could I forget about the endless string of girls always attached to young Mr. Davenport’s arm?”
“Well, it’s generally only one girl at a time who—”
“Yeah, okay, whatever.” The last part of ‘whatever’ was swallowed up in a yawn, which Ridley managed to cover with the back of her hand. She blinked a few times and added, “Okay, I’ll let you out now.” Archer followed her, grabbing his damp jacket from the desk chair on the way. In the back room, Ridley glanced out of the window beside the door to the alley, remembering the moment she’d looked out and seen Archer and the man who’d ended up murdered. Had that only been last week? So many things had happened since then. Her entire world had shifted. “Earlier this evening,” she said, turning to face Archer, “one of your friends mentioned Lawrence’s memorial is tomorrow. I assume you’ll be there?”
“Yes, along with the rest of my family. We have to show our support for the Madsons. According to the media, our families are close.”
“And in reality?”
“My mother doesn’t like the mayor’s wife. Which means my dad isn’t allowed to like her either. But it’s a secret,” he added in a whisper, “so don’t tell Mrs. Madson.”
Ridley
chuckled. “I’ll be sure to keep that one to myself next time I sit down for tea with her.” She reached for the key in the door, her expression turning somber as she added, “I haven’t heard much about the investigation into Lawrence’s murder.”
“Probably because no one knows much,” Archer said. “As you and I are both aware, the guy who did it is long gone, and I guess the cops haven’t found anyone else to pin the blame on yet.”
Ridley nodded as she quietly turned the key, her thoughts turning to Shen. She tried to imagine where he might be, but her mind came up blank. How could she picture what her friend might be doing right now when it felt like she barely knew him?
“So, the party on Friday …” Archer said.
“Mm hmm?”
“Do you think you can manage to look the part?”
Ridley pulled the door open, then turned a deadpan expression toward him. “I’m not completely unfamiliar with that way of life, in case you’ve forgotten. I think I can manage to fit in for a few hours.”
“I don’t doubt that. I just mean …” His dark eyes bored into hers before looking away. “Nothing.” He stepped outside, draping his jacket over his shoulder. Clearly the chilly air didn’t bother him the way it bothered her. “I’ll see you then.”
“Okay,” she answered, the word slipping out on a sigh. There was definitely something Archer wasn’t saying, but it was late and she was tired, and if he didn’t want to spit it out, she wasn’t about to force him.
“Hey, wait, one more thing.” He leaned back inside. “Are you sure you’re okay? You hit that wall pretty hard earlier tonight.”
She raised her hand to the lump on the back of her head. One or two of the conjurations she’d used on Archer would probably work to get rid of it. “I’ll be fine,” she told him, moving her hand to stifle another yawn. “See you Friday night.”
“Yeah, okay. See you.”
Archer’s quiet footsteps disappeared into the night as Ridley shut the door. After making sure it was securely locked and bolted, she almost turned away. But something held her back. She peered out the window, leaning to the side so she could watch Archer walking away until he disappeared from view.
She realized there was a small smile on her lips, which she hastily banished before returning to the store to turn off the lamps. She had no business smiling like that for someone like Archer Davenport. With him gone from her mind—sort of, maybe not entirely—she finally headed upstairs to bed.
9
Ridley made it to Friday afternoon without anything going wrong. She didn’t accidentally give away any secrets to Meera, Dad didn’t find out she and Archer were looking for elementals, and no one tried to kill her. All in all, a perfectly normal few days.
She sat at the kitchen table with a mathematics textbook open on her commpad as she diligently worked through her homework. Her world might have tilted on its axis recently and never quite realigned itself, but she still had a scholarship to maintain if she was hoping to make it through the rest of the year as if nothing had changed. At least, that’s what she was planning to tell Dad if he walked in and asked why she was working so hard on a Friday afternoon. But in the back of her mind, she was hoping she and Archer would be able to spend the weekend tracking down the other elementals. If that happened, there’d be no time for homework.
Her commscreen pinged, and she paused to read a message from Malachi. He wanted to meet up the following day to see what conjurations they might be able to teach each other. He used the word ‘skills’ instead of conjurations, which Ridley was grateful for; she never knew if her messages were as private as she wanted to believe. She stared at the screen for a while, trying to figure out what to say. This was the kind of thing Dad had warned her about. This was why he’d said it would be better to stay away from other elementals. If they hung out together, the temptation would be to play around with their magic, and that only increased the risk of getting caught. In the end, she dictated a quick reply saying she’d let him know the next morning.
It was a little after five when Ridley finished her homework. Not bad, she thought. The rest of senior year would probably not be this chilled. She gathered her notebooks, pens and commpad and carried them to her bedroom. She’d just checked her commscreen for the details of tonight’s party when she heard footsteps—lighter than Dad’s—in the living room. “Ridley, I’m here,” someone called out to her.
Meera? Confused, Ridley hurried out of her bedroom and along the passage. Walking into the living room, she found Meera, also still in her school uniform, placing her commpad and notebooks on the upturned crate. Ridley hadn’t heard a knock on the back door; Meera must have come in through the front of the store, which Dad was currently manning. “Um … hi?” Ridley said.
Meera looked up. At the sight of Ridley’s confused expression, her face fell. Her hands moved to her hips. “You forgot, didn’t you.”
“I, um …”
“We made a plan to get started on the literature assignment. After you told me you couldn’t do it on Tuesday night because you were busy with your dad. Remember? We said we’d do some work this evening and then get pizza and watch a movie.”
“Right, yes.”
Meera’s thick eyebrows climbed a little higher. “So when I left for Debate Club after school and said, ‘See you later,’ and you were like, ‘Yeah, okay,’ were you just … not even thinking?”
“I guess not? Crap, I’m so sorry. I, uh …” Ridley scrambled for an excuse, but she was so tired of all the secrets she already kept from Meera. Maybe this one could remain as close to the truth as possible. “I have a date,” she admitted.
Meera’s mouth dropped open as her eyes grew even larger behind her glasses. “Oh my goodness, why didn’t you tell me? Is it Derek? Did you change your mind about him?”
“No. I didn’t tell you because I didn’t think you’d approve.”
“Oh dear.” Meera screwed her face up as if she’d just tasted something unpleasant. “It’s not that library monitor guy with the mole, is it? The one who kissed you at that horrible club you dragged me to last year?”
“That club was not horrible. It was just a bit loud. The wind dancing tunnels were seriously cool.”
“Yeah, okay, whatever.” Meera plopped onto the couch. “So who’s the guy?”
Ridley crossed the room and joined Meera on the couch. Her lips stretched into something that was more grimace than smile. “Archer Davenport.”
Meera was silent a moment too long. Then she started laughing. “Okay. Funny. Who is it really?”
Ridley folded her arms and leaned back against the cushions. “I am honestly attending a party in the Opal Quarter with Archer Davenport.”
Meera’s smile slowly faded. “You’re being serious?”
“I am.”
“But … he’s Archer Davenport.”
“Yeah, so?” Ridley asked, feigning ignorance.
“So,” Meera said, “aside from all the stuff the net articles say—billionaire playboy with nothing better to do than waste his parents’ fortune—there’s the fact that you don’t like him.”
Ridley shrugged. “He’s actually not that bad. We’ve spent a little time together recently—”
“You have? When?”
Crap. More secrets she couldn’t share. “Just, I don’t know, here and there,” she said vaguely, bending forward to pull her school socks a little higher.
“Have you forgotten how he framed Shen for that murder?” Meera demanded.
For a moment, Ridley couldn’t say a thing. She’d lived with the truth for several days now, and hearing the version of the story that Meera believed—that pretty much everyone else in the city believed—was jarring. “That wasn’t Archer,” she told Meera. “It was his lawyers and his father. He didn’t know what they’d done until afterwards. And he told the truth about it in the end, remember?”
Meera exhaled sharply through her nose. “So what are you saying? You like him?”
&nb
sp; “Not in the way you mean,” Ridley said, partly to Meera and partly to herself. Her subconscious needed to understand this so it wouldn’t mess around with her dreams again like it had on Tuesday night after Archer had left. She would have been totally fine with a restful, dreamless sleep, but her brain decided to replay Archer standing with his hands braced on the desk on either side of her. Getting inappropriately close and invading her personal space. Which, for some reason, the dream version of herself hadn’t seemed to mind at all. The dream version of Ridley had actually reached out, fisted a hand in his T-shirt, and pulled him closer. Perhaps because dream-Archer’s face was utterly perfect, not a bruise or blemish in sight, and dream-Ridley had had the crazy urge to kiss that beautiful face.
“This date is more of a friends thing,” she continued, shoving aside the memory of her dream. “It’s a party his mom is hosting. He needed someone to go with, and I happened to be around when he was making plans. I don’t know, it just sort of happened.” She shrugged. “It’s not a big deal.”
“Oh. Okay.” Meera looked around the room. “Well … can I at least help you get ready? We can pretend we’re still friends for a little while longer.”
“Meera!” Ridley launched across the couch and tackled her friend in a giant hug against the cushions. “Obviously we’re still friends. What are you talking about?”
“Well if you’re hanging out with people like Archer now—”
“Don’t be so silly!” Ridley grabbed one of the cushions and smacked the side of Meera’s head. “There. Did that knock some sense into you?”
“Hey, my glasses!” Meera’s hands flew up to protect her face.
Ridley pulled away and lowered the cushion to her lap. “Your glasses are fine.”
Meera adjusted the enormous frames so they sat a little straighter on her nose. “Is it something I did?” she asked. “Please just tell me that. Because you’ve been distant for days, and I still haven’t heard anything directly from Shen, so now I’m wondering if maybe I’m the problem, and neither of you—”
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