Hex Hall Book One

by Rachel Hawkins

  Archer and I had gotten to the point where we both barely catalogued more than ten things during our hour in the cellar. The Vandy hadn’t said anything, which only confirmed my suspicion that the real point of cellar duty was being trapped down there for an hour three nights a week. After all, doing the work was pointless since everything we catalogued was in a different place the next time we arrived. We spent most of our time talking. Since Jenna had started swimming in the deep end of the pity pool, Archer was pretty much the only friend I had. Elodie and Anna had completely given up on my joining their coven, and from what I’d heard, they were looking for white witches now, a sure sign that I had fallen below contempt with them. I tried to tell myself that it didn’t matter, but the truth was, life at Hecate had gotten pretty lonely.

  “Do you think the teachers are hard on me because of my dad?” I asked Archer, looking up from the textbook spread across my lap.

  “Probably.” He hoisted himself onto an empty shelf. “Prodigium have pretty big egos. Not all of them are your dad’s biggest fan, and Casnoff wouldn’t want the other parents to think you’re getting special treatment just because your dad is practically their king.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Which makes you Crown Princess.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Oh yeah. Just let me polish my tiara and I’m set.”

  “Oh, come on, Mercer. I think you’d make a good queen. You’ve definitely got the snotty part down.”

  “I am not snotty!” I nearly yelped.

  He leaned back on his elbows, a wicked smile on his face. “Please. The first day I met you, you practically had a layer of permafrost covering you.”

  “Only because you were a jerk,” I retorted. “You told me I sucked at being a witch.”

  “You did suck,” he said with a laugh.

  And then, in what was becoming a running joke, we said in unison, “Bad dog!” and smiled at each other.

  “You’re just not used to meeting women who don’t fall all over your ass like you’re in a boy band or something,” I said when our laughter had subsided a little.

  I’d turned back to my essay, so I had to look up when I realized he hadn’t answered me.

  He was looking at me with a small smile, a strange glint in his eye. “So why didn’t you?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Well, according to you, women are always falling over me. So why didn’t you? Not your type?”

  I took a deep breath and hoped he didn’t notice. Weird little moments like this one were getting too common with Archer and me. Maybe it was all the time we spent together alone in the cellar, or how familiar we’d gotten with each other’s bodies while kicking the crap out of each other in Defense, but I was beginning to notice a subtle shift in our relationship. I wasn’t delusional enough to believe that he actually liked me or anything, but flirting had definitely entered the picture. It left me feeling strange and totally unsure of myself in moments like these.

  “Nope,” I finally said, striving for a light tone. “I’ve always had a thing for the nerdy type. Arrogant pretty boys don’t really ring my bell.”

  “So you think I’m pretty?”

  “Shut up.”

  I needed to change the subject. “What about your family?” I asked.

  He looked up, startled. “What?”

  “Your family. Do they like my dad?”

  He looked away quickly and gave a half shrug, but I could see something was wrong. “My family pretty much stays out of politics,” he said. Then he held up his list. “Have you seen Vampire Fang: D. Frocelli?”

  I shook my head.

  As I turned back to my essay I wondered what the heck I’d said to freak Archer out so much. It occurred to me that in the past six weeks we’d been working together, Archer hadn’t talked much about his family. It had never really bothered me before, but of course now that I knew he didn’t want to talk about it, I was consumed by curiosity.

  I wondered if Jenna would know anything about Archer’s past, but then I quickly tossed the idea. Jenna was barely speaking to anyone and was clearly going through some major crap. The last thing she needed was me pestering her about my crush.

  By the time the Vandy came for us, I’d already finished most of my essay, and I decided I would do the rest of it in the morning before class.

  I walked back to my room, but as I did, I passed Elodie’s open door and heard Anna’s soft, lilting voice say, “Well, I’d be suspicious if it were my boyfriend.”

  I paused just outside the door and heard Elodie answer, “I would be if she weren’t such a freak. Trust me, if Archer had to be stuck in the basement with any girl at this school, I’m positively thrilled it’s Sophie Mercer. Archer wouldn’t look at her twice.”

  It’s funny. I knew that Archer wasn’t interested in me, but actually hearing another person say it really, really sucked.

  “She does have big boobs,” Anna mused.

  Elodie just snorted at that. “Please, Anna. Big boobs are not enough to compensate for being short and plain. And that hair!” Even though I couldn’t see her, I imagined Elodie gave a shudder at that. I, meanwhile, was starting to feel vaguely nauseated. I knew I should walk away, but I couldn’t stop listening. I wonder why it is that we always want to hear people talk about us, even if it’s horrible stuff. And, you know, it’s not like Elodie was saying anything I didn’t know. I was short and plain and I did have crazy hair. I’d said these things about myself lots of times. So why were hot tears stinging my eyes?

  “Yeah, but Archer is weird,” Anna said. “Remember how mean he was to you first year? Like, didn’t he call you a shallow bimbo, or something? Or dumb—”

  “That’s in the past now, Anna,” Elodie said tightly, and I had to suppress a laugh. So Archer had apparently once been sensible. What had changed? Did Elodie actually have some depth to her, like he’d said? ’Cause I sure wasn’t hearing anything deeper than a bedpan.

  “Anyway, even if Archer was insane enough to have a thing for Sophie, after the All Hallow’s Eve Ball, he won’t even think about looking at another girl.”

  “Why?”

  “I’ve decided to give myself to him.”

  Oh, gross. Who says stuff like that? Why didn’t she just say “delicate flower” or “carnal treasure” or something equally stupid?

  But Anna, of course, squealed. “Omigod, that is so romantic!”

  Elodie giggled, which was a weird sound coming from her. Girls like Elodie should cackle. “I know, right?”

  I’d definitely heard enough, so I tiptoed away and softly opened the door to my room.

  Jenna was, as usual, curled up on her bed, one of her hot-pink throws pulled over her. She was doing this a lot now, pretending to be asleep so that I wouldn’t talk to her. Normally I just gave her what she wanted and didn’t attempt a conversation. But tonight I sat on the edge of her bed hard enough to bounce her a little. “Guess what I just overheard?” I singsonged.

  She pulled down one corner of the blanket, and one eye blinked owlishly at me. “What?”

  I repeated the conversation between Anna and Elodie, finishing up with, “Can you believe that? ‘Give myself to him’? Ugh. What’s wrong with just saying sex, you know?”

  I was rewarded with a tiny smile. “That is pretty stupid,” Jenna said.

  “Totally stupid,” I agreed.

  “Did they say anything about Chaston?”

  Surprised, I said, “Uh . . . no. Not that I heard, at least. But you heard what Mrs. Casnoff said at dinner a few nights ago. Chaston’s fine and resting in the Riviera or some other glamorous place with her parents. She’ll be back next year.”

  “I just can’t believe they’re gossiping about boys when one of their coven is dead, and another one nearly died just three weeks ago.”

  “Yeah, well, they’re shallow jerks. Not exactly news, that.”

  “Yeah.”

  I stripped out of my clothes and pulled on a Hecate-issue blue tank top and a pair of
pajama pants my mom had sent me last week. They were white cotton covered with tiny blue witches riding brooms. I think they were her way of saying she was sorry for the fight; I was sorry too, and had called her to tell her so. It felt nice to be on good terms with her again.

  “Wow, I really bruised your shoulders,” Jenna said, sitting up.

  I glanced down. “Oh . . . right. No big deal. They don’t even hurt.”

  They did still hurt a little.

  Jenna’s eyes were bright, and I think she was trying not to cry. “I’m still really sorry about that, Soph. I was just so freaked out and hurt, and . . . and sometimes I lose control.”

  Icy fear ran down my spine, but I tried to ignore it. Jenna was my friend. Yes, she’d vamped out on me, but she’d snapped out of it immediately.

  But you’re her friend. Chaston definitely wasn’t. And who knows about Holly?

  Nope. Not going there.

  Instead I said with mock confusion, “Lose control of what? Your bladder? Because you might want to get that checked out. I’m so not loaning you any sheets.”

  “You’re such a freak.” She giggled.

  “Takes one to know one!”

  For the next couple of hours, we chatted and attempted to study for Magical Evolution. By lights out, Jenna seemed almost like her old self again.

  “Night, Jenna,” I said when the lights finally blinked off.

  “Night, Soph.”

  I stared at the slanting ceiling, my head full of thoughts: Archer, Elodie and Anna, Jenna, that conversation with Cal by the pond. I fell asleep wondering if Archer knew he was about to become the proud recipient of Elodie’s virginity.

  I didn’t know what time it was when I awoke to find the girl in green standing at the foot of my bed. My heart in my mouth, I was sure I had to be dreaming, that there was no way this could be real.

  Then she gave a exasperated sigh and, in a British accent, said, “Sophia Mercer. What trouble you’ve been.”

  CHAPTER 21

  I sat up in bed, blinking.

  It was the girl I’d been seeing since I’d started at Hecate, but she didn’t look anything like a ghost; she looked very much flesh and blood.

  “Well?” she asked, raising one perfect eyebrow. “Are you coming or not?”

  I glanced over at Jenna. All I could make out was a dark lump. By the sound of her steady, even breathing, I knew she was still asleep.

  The girl followed my gaze. “Oh, don’t worry about her,” she said with a dismissive wave. “She won’t wake up and sound the alarm. No one will; I’ve taken care of that.”

  Before I could ask what she meant, she turned and swept out the door.

  I sat frozen until she reappeared in the doorway and said, “Oh, for Christ’s sake, Sophia, let’s go!”

  Now, I knew that following a ghost was a Very Bad Idea. Everything in my body said that. My skin felt clammy and my stomach was in knots. But I found myself pushing off my covers, grabbing my Hecate blazer off the back of my chair, and catching up to her at the top of the stairs.

  “Good,” she said. “We have a lot of work to do and not much time.”

  “Who are you?” I whispered.

  She flashed me that irritated look again. “I told you, you don’t have to whisper. No one can hear us.”

  She stopped on the stairs and threw her head back, shouting, “Casnoff! Vandy! Sophia Mercer is out of bed and up to mischief with a ghooooooooooost!”

  I instinctively crouched down. “Shhhh!”

  But just as she’d promised, there was no sign that anyone had heard her. The only sound was the muffled ticking of the grandfather clock in the main foyer and my own hard breathing.

  “See?” she said, turning to me with a bright smile. “Taken care of. Now come along.”

  She ran down the last few steps, and before I knew it, we were outside on the front lawn. The night was cool and damp, and the grass squished unpleasantly under my feet. I looked down to make sure I was only standing on grass and noticed that my feet seemed a weird shade of green. Then I noticed I could see my shadow even though there was no moon.

  I whirled around to look back at Hecate and gasped. The whole house was encased in a huge opalescent bubble that glimmered with dull green light. The bubble was in constant motion, undulating and shooting off pale green sparks. I had never seen anything like it; never even read about a spell like that.

  “Impressive, isn’t it?” the girl said smugly. “It’s a basic sleeping spell that renders the victims totally insensible to the world for at least four hours. I just . . . enlarged it.”

  I didn’t like the way she said “victims.”

  “Are they . . . are they okay?”

  “Oh, perfectly safe,” she answered. “Just sleeping. Like in a fairy tale.”

  “But . . . Mrs. Casnoff has spells all over the place. No one could just come in and do a spell that big.”

  “I can!” the girl said. Then she grabbed my hand. Hers was as solid and real as mine. I was sure Mrs. Casnoff had said ghosts couldn’t touch us. But before I could ask, the girl started pulling me away from the house.

  “Wait. I can’t go anywhere with you until I know who you are and what you’re doing here. Why have you been following me?”

  She sighed. “Oh, Sophia, I had hoped you were a little more perceptive. Isn’t it obvious who I am?”

  I studied her knee-length flowered dress and bright green cardigan. Her hair was shoulder length, curly, and held back from her face with bobby pins. Glancing down, I saw that she was wearing heinous brown shoes. I felt a little sorry for her: ghost or no, no one should have to go through eternity in ugly shoes.

  But then I looked into her eyes. They were large and wide set, and even though the green light was reflected in them, I could tell that they were blue.

  My eyes.

  British, from the forties, and had my eyes.

  “Alice?” I asked, my heart in my throat.

  She smiled broadly. “Excellent! Now, just come with me and—”

  “Wait, wait, wait,” I said, holding a hand to my head. “You’re telling me that you’re the ghost of my great-grandmother?”

  That irritated look again. “Yes.”

  “So what are you doing here? Why have you been following me?”

  “I haven’t been following you,” she answered hotly. “I’ve been appearing to you. You weren’t ready for me before, but now you are. I’ve worked very hard to get to you, Sophia. Now, can we please stop all this chattering and get down to business?”

  I let her drag me away, mostly because I was afraid she might zap me if I didn’t, but also because I was genuinely curious. How many people get pulled out of bed by their great-grandmother’s ghost?

  We walked away from Hecate and down the steep hill toward the greenhouse. I wondered if she was taking me there for training, but when we arrived, she veered off toward the left and pulled me into the woods.

  I’d never been in the forest that surrounded Hecate, and for very good reason: it was spooky as hell. And of course it was doubly so at night. I stepped on a rock in my bare feet and winced. When something soft brushed against my cheek, I gave a little shriek.

  I heard Alice murmur a few words, and suddenly a large orb of light appeared in front of us, bright enough that I had to shade my eyes. Alice muttered under her breath, and the orb jerked upward as if someone had it on a string. It floated away until it was about ten feet over our heads, casting light in all directions.

  You would think that the light would make the woods less creepy, but actually it was worse. Now shadows moved across the ground, and I caught the occasional flash of animal eyes. We came across a dry creek bed, and to my surprise, Alice leaped nimbly into it. I followed, a lot less gracefully, tripping on loose soil and cursing.

  If I’d thought the woods were spooky, they had nothing on the dry creek. Rocks were sharp against my bare feet, and it seemed that everywhere I looked, there were dark hollows and exposed roots that
looked like the entrails of some giant animal. In the end I just grabbed Alice’s hand and kept my eyes shut until we came to an abrupt stop.

  I opened my eyes and immediately wished I hadn’t.

  In front of me was a small wrought-iron fence flecked with rust. Behind the fence were six gravestones. Four were slightly crooked and covered in moss, but the other two stood straight and were as white as bone.

  The gravestones were unsettling enough, but it was the other thing in this tiny graveyard that had my heart in my stomach, and the metallic taste of fear in my mouth.

  The statue was about eight feet high, maybe a little taller. It was an angel carved in light gray stone, its wings spread wide. They were so finely carved you could make out every feather. Likewise, the angel’s robes seemed to ripple and float in a nonexistent wind. In one hand it held a sword. The hilt was carved out of the same stone as the rest of the statue, but the blade was some sort of dark glass, which shone brightly in the light from the orb. The angel’s other hand was held out in front of it, palm forward, as if it were warning others to stay back. The look on its face was one of such stern authority that it would have put Mrs. Casnoff to shame.

  The angel was very familiar to me, and I realized with a start that it was the same one depicted in the stainedglass window at Hecate. The angel that cast out the Prodigium.

  “What . . .” I broke off and cleared my throat. “What is this place?”

  Alice was gazing up at the angel with a faint smile. “A secret,” she answered.

  I shivered and pulled my blazer tighter around me. I wanted to ask her what she meant by that, but there was a steely look on her face that told me I probably wouldn’t get an answer. Hadn’t the brochure said that one of Hecate’s big rules was to never go into the woods? I’d just assumed the woods were dangerous or something.

  But maybe it had been more than that.

  The wind picked up, rattling the leaves and making my teeth chatter. Why hadn’t I thought to grab shoes, I wondered as I rubbed one numb foot on top of the other.