Hexbound

by Хлоя Нейл

  “How is your training going?”

  If he meant training with firespell, it wasn’t going at all. But I wasn’t going to tell him that. “I’m doing fine.”

  He nodded. “Good. I don’t want you to get hurt again because of something I’d done.”

  “Why would you care?”

  He had the grace to look surprised. “What?”

  I decided to be frank. “Why would you care if I was hurt? I’m an Adept. You’re a member of the Dark Elite or whatever. We’re enemies. That’s kind of the point of being enemies—hurting each other.”

  Sebastian looked up, his dark blue eyes searing into me. “I am who I am,” he said. “I stay with Jeremiah because I’m one of his people. I’m one of them—of us.

  But you are, too.” But then he shook his head. “But we’re more than magic, aren’t we? Sure, it’s the very thing that makes us stronger—”

  “But it also makes us weaker,” I finished for him. “It tears you down, breaks you down, from the inside out. I don’t know what Jeremiah tells you about that, but whatever superhero vibe you’re rocking now, it won’t last forever.”

  “And how do you know that?” he asked. “Have you seen a member of the Dark Elite break down?”

  I opened my mouth to retort that I didn’t need to see it, that I trusted Scout to tell me the truth. But while that was true, he made a good point. “No. I haven’t.”

  “I’m not saying it happens or not. I’m just saying, maybe you should figure that out for yourself. In our world, there’s a lot of dogma. A lot of ‘this is how it is’ and ‘this is how it should be.’” He shook his head. “I don’t know how it works for your people,

  and I’m not saying we’re going to be best friends or anything. I’m just offering some advice. Take the necessary time to figure out for yourself what’s good and bad in the world.”

  We looked at each other for a few seconds, the two of us staring across a plastic table, until I finally had to look away. His gaze was too personal, too intimate,

  even for a secret lunch hour meeting at Taco Terry’s.

  “Is that what you wanted to talk to me about?”

  “Part of it. I also wanted to warn you.”

  That brought my eyes back to him. “About what?”

  “I hear you stepped into the turf war between the vampires. Between the covens.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “I know you stepped into the middle of something you shouldn’t have. But I also know you need to go back.”

  I lifted my eyebrows. “I am not going back. They nearly tore us to pieces the last time.”

  Sebastian shook his head. “You need to go back. And you need to ask the right questions.”

  “The right questions about what?”

  He looked away quickly, apparently not willing to share everything. But he finally said, “Find Nicu. Ask him about the missing.”

  Scout had been kidnapped by the Dark Elite—was that what he meant? Had the Reapers taken more Adepts? “What do you mean, the missing?”

  “That’s what you need to find out. I can’t ask the questions for you.”

  “If you’ve hurt someone, I swear to—” He gave me a condescending look. “I’ve helped you. I’m helping you again.

  Remember that.”

  I lifted my eyebrows. “You just told me to go back to see the vampires while they’re in the middle of a turf war.”

  “For your own good.”

  I doubted that, but I had questions of my own. Might as well take this opportunity.

  “While you’re being helpful, tell me about the new monsters in the tunnels. Slimy things? Naked? Pointy ears?”

  “I know nothing.”

  I shook my head; he’d answered too fast. “You’re lying. I know they have some connection to the Reapers.”

  “I’m not part of that.”

  “Wrong answer. You’re one of them,” I reminded him. “We know the monsters have been in at least two spots in the tunnels. Where are they coming from?”

  He looked away. “Just talk to Nicu.”

  That made me sit up a little straighter. “Nicu knows about the monsters?”

  “That’s all I can tell you. I have my own allegiances to protect.”

  “Well, at least you’re done pretending to be a good guy.”

  Sebastian looked back again and leaned forward, hunching a little more over the table. “This isn’t a game, Lily. This is our world, and we are different from the rest of them. From the rest of the humans.”

  “No,” I said. “We aren’t different. We have a gift—a temporary gift. It doesn’t make us different. It only makes us lucky.”

  Shaking his head, he sat up straight again. “We have a temporary gift now. Did you know that? That the magic hasn’t always been temporary? We’ve been losing it, Lily. Over time. Slowly but surely, each generation has their magic for a little less time than the generation that came before it. And maybe that’s because we’re blending with humans. Maybe it’s some kind of magical evolution.” He shrugged. “I don’t know. But I do know we want a different future. We don’t want to just give up something that has the potential to help so many people.”

  “You mean something that has the potential to hurt so many people.”

  He shook his head. “All of this magic—have you thought about what it could do for humanity? Do you know the things we’ve already done for humanity? All those moments in human history where someone gets some amazing insight—the polio vaccine, the understanding of relativity—you think those moments are an accident?” He shook his head. “No way.”

  “That doesn’t justify what you have to do to keep the magic. If we’re losing it,

  we’re losing it. We need to accept that and be done with it. It’s not an excuse to use people to keep the magic longer than nature wants you to have it.”

  “You think no cost is worth the price,” he said. “I disagree.”

  “Your cost is the lives of other humans.”

  “The cost for our good deeds—for saving millions by our contributions—is a bit of one person. The many are more valuable than the one. We believe that.”

  I just shook my head. There wasn’t much chance I was going to agree with him however well he justified it. I looked up at him again. “Lauren and some gatekeeper girl paid us a visit last night.”

  His eyes went hugely wide. “Last night?”

  I nodded. “You want to tell me why?”

  “I don’t know,” he began, but before I could object, he held up his hands. “I don’t.

  It could be Scout. Jeremiah was interested in her.”

  “Because she’s a spellbinder?”

  “Maybe.”

  “She’s off limits. Permanently,” I added, when he looked like he was going to object. “I’ve got firespell, and I know how to use it. Any more Adepts come sniffing around St. Sophia’s looking for her or her Grimoire or whatever else, and we won’t just leave them hexbound in the tunnels.”

  “You’ve turned vicious.”

  “Like you said, this isn’t a game.”

  “At least you’re listening to part of it,” he muttered. Then he lifted the countermeasure and pulled it over his head, relief clear in his face when he placed it on the table. “I want to show you something. Hold out your palms.”

  I gave him a dubious expression, which lifted a corner of his mouth.

  “You’re being guarded by a plastic cowboy, and we’re in a restaurant full of people.” He put his hands on the table, opening and closing them again until finally,

  eyes rolling, I relented.

  And felt a little bit guilty about it.

  I put my hands on the table, palms up. Slowly, he cupped my hands in his long fingers, then curled my fingers into fists. My skin went pebbly, the hair at the back of my neck lifting at his touch.

  “You have to learn to control firespell,” he said, voice low. “But when you can,

 
; you’ll harness elemental powers.” His hands still wrapped around my fists, my palm began to warm from the inside.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I’m teaching you.” His voice was low, lush, intimate again. Slowly, he began to lift his hands from mine, like he was making a shield over my hands.

  “Open your palms.”

  A centimeter at a time, I uncurled my fingers. There, in each of my hands, was a tiny jumping spark of green. Aware of our surroundings, I stifled a gasp, but raised my confused gaze to his as he continued to shield the sparks from public view.

  “You’ve seen the broad shot firespell can give you,” he said. “You’ve learned how to fan the power out. But you can pinpoint the power, as well.”

  He tilted my hands so that my palms were facing, and the edges of my hands were against the table. And then, ever so slightly, he began to move my hands from side to side. The sparks followed suit, the momentum pushing them back and forth between my hands like the birdie in a game of badminton.

  And just as quickly, it was over. He pressed my hands together again, the two sparks—like they were just a quirk of static electricity—somehow dissipating. He pulled his hands away again. I opened my palms, rustling my fingers as I searched for some hint of the spark.

  “The power is yours to control,” he said, sliding the countermeasure into his pocket again. “Yours to manipulate. But you must be open to the power and your authority over it. It’s not always an easy burden to bear, but that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t wield it.”

  He looked at his watch. “I have to go.” He slid to the end of the booth and stood up.

  “I still don’t know what you did. How you gave me that spark.”

  “The spark is yours. I just brought it out. Remember that. You are different, you know.”

  Stubbornly, I shook my head. “Not different,” I said again. “And only lucky for a little while. We’re willing to let it go. Are you?”

  He looked away, but I had one more question. “Sebastian.”

  He glanced back.

  “How did you know I was going to be outside?”

  He shrugged. “I didn’t. I just got lucky.”

  Without elaborating, he turned and walked into the crowd of men, women, and children waiting for their tacos. The crowd—and then the city—swallowed him up again.

  I sat there for a moment just processing the meeting, rubbing the tips of my fingers against my palm. I could still feel the tingle there, and I wasn’t sure I liked it. I rubbed my hands against my skirt, as if to erase the feeling. Something about it—

  about him—just made me uneasy.

  “Probably has something to do with the fact that he’s my sworn enemy,” I mumbled, then slid out of the booth myself. I walked back across the street and toward the school.

  I couldn’t help but wonder about Sebastian’s motivations. He said he was concerned about me—but he didn’t really have any reason to be. Was he flirting? I doubted it, and even if he was, no, thank you.

  Was it because he’d given me firespell? Had the magic created some kind of bond between us that I didn’t know about? I made a mental note to ask Scout about it . . . without telling her why I was asking. I might eventually need to spill Sebastian’s interest in me, but I wasn’t going to do that now. There was no reason, as far as I could see, to raise the alarm bells.

  By the time I returned, my secretly empty sketchbook in hand, Scout was in the common room, ready to head out for dinner.

  To be honest, seeing her made me nervous. I still wasn’t sure what I should tell her. After all, I’d willingly had a meeting with a Reaper. Granted, a Reaper who’d saved my life, but given her experiences, I wasn’t sure she’d care much about the difference. I didn’t want to keep a secret from her, but I also didn’t want the lecture.

  So I decided to let it ride. I kept the dinner convo light, and steered away from all things darkly elite.

  Study hall followed dinner, and as soon as we got back to the suite, Scout hied off to her room. She walked in, and with an apologetic glance back at me, started closing her door.

  “Everything okay?”

  “Yep. Just some work to do.”

  Okay, this was, what, the second time this week she’d locked herself in her room? “What are you working on?”

  “Just some spells. Nothing personal. I just need quiet and . . . you know . . . to concentrate.”

  “Okay,” I said. I watched her disappear into her room, trying to figure out what I was supposed to do. Was I supposed to worry about her? Give her privacy? Break down the door to make sure she was okay? I mean generally, I’d be all for having time to oneself, but this girl had been kidnapped. I didn’t want to leave her alone if she was in there being held at spell-point by a Reaper.

  “She’s fine, you know.”

  I glanced back. Lesley stood in her doorway, the bow to her cello in hand.

  I didn’t want to talk about Scout within earshot, so I walked over to Lesley’s room.

  “What do you mean?”

  She plucked a tiny piece of lint from the bow. “She did the same thing earlier. She seems fine, though.”

  “Huh,” I said. “Did you notice anything odd?”

  “She has a nose ring. And her hair is dyed two colors.”

  Okay, Lesley did have a point there.

  “But I’m not sure how you are.”

  My eyes widened. “What do you mean?”

  She tilted her head to the side and gave me an up-and-down look. “You look weird. What’s going on?”

  Was she really that astute? Or was I sending out some kind of “I just had a secret meeting with a Reaper” vibe? I shrugged and hoped it looked nonchalant.

  “Nothing. Just. You know. Being me.”

  She didn’t look convinced, but when she shrugged, I figured she was moving on.

  In any event, time to change the subject. “So, I’m gonna work on my drawing for studio. How’s yours coming along?”

  Lesley shrugged. “I’m done.”

  “Already? We don’t have class again until next week.”

  “I’m not running secret missions at night. I had time.” She turned on her heel and headed back into her room. “And now it’s time for practice,” she said and shut the door behind her.

  You had to admire that kind of focus.

  Since Amie’s room was empty and Lesley’s cello-playing made a pretty good soundtrack to creativity, I grabbed my sketchbook and started drawing. Sebastian might have interrupted my afternoon plans, but he wasn’t going to take over my evening.

  13

  Scout’s room was empty when I woke up the next morning. I showered and pulled on my plaid, grabbed my bag, and headed to the cafeteria. I found her at the end of a long table, surrounded by empty chairs. There was a tray in front of her, and a half-eaten muffin on the tray. A couple of notebooks were open beside it.

  I plucked a box of chocolate milk and a carrot-raisin muffin from the buffet, then took the seat across from her. “You got an early start.”

  She glanced up from the notebook. “Yeah. Sorry—was I supposed to wait for you?”

  I pulled out a raisin from the muffin and dropped it on the tray. I liked carrots, but raisins were just weird. Like little wrinkly fruit pebbles. No, thank you.

  “Well, we didn’t have a contract or blood oath or anything, but you usually wait for me. Should I ask what you’re working on, or is it secret, too?”

  She blew out a breath. “Not secret. Just a spell.”

  Three more raisins hit the deck. “I see,” I said, although I really didn’t. “How’s it coming along?”

  “I’m not really sure.”

  Since she wasn’t playing chatty, I finished cleaning out my muffin and downed the bit that remained. When the bell rang, we grabbed our books, dumped our trash,

  and headed out to pretend to be normal high school juniors.

  I thought about Sebastian pretty much all morning long. I didn’t mean t
o; he just kept popping into my head. I felt pretty weird about that. I was talking to Jason, after all.

  And when I got a text message from Jason with the deets about our first official date, I felt that much worse.

  “FOR OUR DATE SATURDAY—HOW ABOUT LUNCH?” he asked.

  “LUNCH WORKS,” I texted back.

  “ANY PREFS?” he asked.

  I thought about it for a second, but decided I wasn’t picky. As long as we got out of St. Sophia’s, I’d be happy. “UR PICK,” I told him.

  “IF I COULD, I’D PICK YOU,” he said. I swooned a little.

  And speaking of secrets, since I’d been interrupted yesterday, I still had art studio homework and Sterling Research Foundation business. Mom and Dad business.

  After morning classes, I invited Scout to head outside with me. She said no again, and since she was pretty well focused on whatever spell she was working on, she didn’t seem that worried about the fact that I was leaving her alone at lunch again. And this time, I really did plan to be alone. I put a couple of sketch pads and my watercolor kit into my bag, firmed up my courage, and headed out.

  The sky outside was overcast, like a gray blanket had been tossed over the city.

  And because of the clouds, there weren’t any shadows. It made everything seem a little weird—a little flatter than before. The St. Sophia’s flag hung limply above the school, no wind to stir it up.

  I started down the street, walking past the bank and slowing when I reached the STERLING RESEARCH FOUNDATION Sign. For a couple of minutes, I stood outside and made myself focus on the architecture. The shape of the windows. The lines of the building. The little details that the original architect had put into it.

  Because I really did have an assignment to do, I made myself think about shapes and shades, and not about the stuff that might lurk inside it.

  The information.

  But I was here, and I had a chance. I made a split-second decision, then brushed my fingers against the SRF sign, like that little touch could give me luck. And then I walked inside.

  A bell rang when I pulled open the front door. The receptionist, who sat behind a long wooden desk, glanced up. She looked pretty young, with short, curly blond hair and blue eyes. The nameplate on her desk read LISA. She took in my plaid skirt and St. Sophia’s hoodie, then smiled kindly.