by Chloe Neill
For a moment, I thought about walking to the front door and peeking inside, maybe offering up some excuse about it being the wrong building. I chewed the edge of my lip, considering the possibilities.
“Lils?”
I glanced back, saw that Scout was waiting at the corner, and nodded my head. “I’m right behind you.”
We slipped into the alley that separated the two buildings, and then to the left when the alley dead-ended. No—we weren’t meeting Jason and Michael in a dirty alley among Dumpsters and scattered bits of trash.
The alley held a secret.
Well, actually, it was the grass just beyond the alley that held the secret—a secret garden of lush grass and concrete thorns. It was a hidden refuge that was technically just beyond the wall of St. Sophia’s, but it carried the same sense of mystery as the convent itself.
We slithered in between the concrete columns and found Jason and Michael in the middle, sitting on a fleece blanket they’d stretched over the grass. Both of them wore their Montclare Academy uniforms. The plaid skirts were bad enough, but at least our school didn’t make us dress like accountants.
They’d already spread their lunch—or what passed for lunch for sixteen-year-old boys—on the blanket: fast food burgers, fries, and foam cups of pop.
“Welcome to paradise!” Michael said, lifting a cup. It was a high school toast, I guess.
“Shepherd. Garcia,” Scout said, kneeling down on the blanket. I joined her. Jason leaned over and kissed me lightly on the lips.
“Hello there,” he whispered.
I got a full and complete set of goose bumps. “Hello back.”
Michael munched on some fries. “How’s life at St. Sophia’s today?”
Scout unwrapped her sandwich. Little fringes of turkey peeked from between the layers of bread. “Pretty much the same as every day. Brat pack. Teachers. Lily getting her learnin’ on.”
Jason smiled and his dimple perked up. “Her learnin’?”
“Thomas Jefferson,” I said, nibbling a black olive that had fallen out of my wrap. “I do a lot of thinking about federalism.”
“It’s true,” Scout said. “She is all up in the federalist period.”
“Mad props for checks and balances,” I said, offering her knuckles. She knuckled back.
Jason snorted. “How did you two survive before knowing each other?”
“That is one of the great mysteries of the universe, amigo,” Michael said. “But since we’re all here together, maybe we should talk about the other mystery.”
“Not a bad idea,” Jason said. He half unwrapped his burger and arranged the paper so it made a sleeve, then took a bite. “At least Daniel believed us about the—what are we calling them? Rat things?”
“That’s close enough,” Scout said. “And Daniel is definitely an improvement. So far, I approve of him.”
“I’m sure he’ll be thrilled to hear it,” I said.
“Don’t tell me you’re crushing on him, too?” Jason asked, mouth full and eyebrow arched. Scout’s cheeks flushed.
She popped a corner of her sandwich in her mouth. “I don’t crush. I appreciate.”
“You should appreciate someone your own age,” Michael muttered.
Scout humphed.
Our phones chose that moment to simultaneously start ringing. If we were all getting a call, it must have been a message about Adept business.
Michael made it to his phone first. “Daniel’s called off tonight’s meeting. He’s still figuring out what to do about the vampires.”
“So we don’t end up in the middle of a turf war?” Scout asked.
“That would be my guess.”
Scout sighed, then pulled another chunk from her sandwich. “Sometimes I dream of lying in bed and spending my nights—and hold on to your hats, ’cause this is pretty crazy—sleeping.”
“At least it’s not every night,” Michael said.
“Yeah, but it’s more on the nights we do go out. More monsters, more Reapers, more ‘operations,’ ” she added with air quotes.
Michael patted her shoulder. “Someday I’ll take you on a trip, and we’ll spend our days relaxing in luxury.”
“Hawaii?”
“I’m on scholarship. How about Kenosha?”
Scout shrugged. “That works, too.” She looked down and began plucking through the paper bag and empty sandwich wrapper. “What happened to the other half of my sandwich?”
“You just ate it,” Michael said.
“Nah, I couldn’t have. Not that fast.” She put a hand to her stomach, then pressed a little. “I do feel full. But I seriously don’t even remember eating it.”
“Maybe you’re also distracted.” Michael winged up his eyebrows for effect.
“You ate it, didn’t you? You ate my sandwich?”
Jason leaned toward me. “Whatever you might say about Scout, the girl’s tenacious.”
“That she is. Did you eat her sandwich?”
He made a huff. “A gentleman does not take a lady’s sandwich.”
“Are you a gentleman?”
“I am a gentlewolf. I did rescue a beautiful damsel in distress, after all.”
“You did do that. And I appreciate it very, very much. Being alive rocks.”
He lifted a hand and brushed a lock of hair from my face. His eyes were the same color as the wickedly blue sky. “Of course I did. I think you’re pretty cool, you know.”
My toes practically curled from the heat in his eyes.
Scout cleared her throat. Loudly. “Hey,” she said, bumping Michael with her elbow. “Could I talk to you for a sec?”
“I didn’t eat your sandwich.”
Scout made a sound of frustration, then grabbed Michael by the hand and helped him to his feet. “I know you didn’t eat my sandwich, but we need to talk,” she said, then pulled him between the thorns until they disappeared from view.
“What’s that about?”
“I am not entirely sure.”
We sat quietly for a minute.
“You know, we haven’t known each other very long, and we met under kind of strange circumstances.”
I glanced over at him. This sounded like some kind of relationship talk. Was he going to ask me to Sneak? My heart sped up, but I went for a casual tone. “That is true.”
“I just—I guess I think we should, you know, actually go out sometime.”
I was a little disappointed I hadn’t gotten an invite to the Sneak, but I guess an actual date of any kind would work for now. I managed a smile. “We could probably make that happen.”
“I was thinking Saturday.”
Okay, a definite date helped. “Saturday works.”
“Cool.”
Scout and Michael popped out from between the thorns. His curly hair was standing up; her cheeks were flushed. I had to bite my lip to keep from saying something snarky.
“All right, Parker. You ready for school?”
I nodded. “Let’s do it.”
I picked up the remains of our lunch, then stood up so Jason could fold up the blanket.
“We’ll walk you,” Michael said, extending his crooked elbow toward Scout. She rolled her eyes, but took it.
Jason glanced at me with amusement.
“Don’t even think about it,” I warned him, but didn’t object when he entangled our fingers together.
We walked back through the alley and past the SRF and bank building, then hit the Erie Avenue sidewalk back toward the school.
That was where we found John Creed, standing beside the low stone fence that contained the St. Sophia’s grounds, his heavy eyebrows pinched together as he gazed at the phone in his hands. He looked up when we approached, then slid his phone into his pocket.
“I didn’t know we had plans,” Jason said.
“We don’t. I had to drop by Franklin’s. That’s my dad,” he explained, gaze on me. “He’s got an office up the street.”
“How is Franklin?” Jason asked.
<
br /> “Knee-deep in money.” Creed looked at Scout. “And you are?”
“Scout Green,” Michael said. “She’s another St. Sophia’s girl.”
“Swell to meet you, Scout Green, St. Sophia’s girl.”
“Ditto,” Scout said.
“I figured I’d wait so we could walk back together. But you weren’t at the school.” His gaze followed the sidewalk to the spot where we’d emerged onto the street. “What’s over that way?”
“Just a shortcut,” Jason said, squeezing my hand as if to keep me quiet. I guess he wanted to keep the thorn garden to himself.
Creed looked doubtful, but nodded anyway, at least until we lost his attention. M.K. and Veronica crossed the street toward us, steaming paper coffee cups in hand. Figured. They seemed like the expensive-coffee type.
“I guess they made up,” Scout whispered to me.
“Guess so.”
Creed stuck his hands into his pockets. “Afternoon, ladies.”
“Hello, again,” M.K. said, giving him a catty look.
Veronica smiled at Creed, but the smile drooped a little when she realized that he was slumming with us. “You’re far from home,” she said. “Paying a visit to the convent?”
Creed smiled. “Waiting for my brothers-in-arms.”
“Cute,” M.K. said, giving Scout and me a dirty look. “And they’re just tagging along?”
“Sagamore and Scout are friends of Jason’s,” Creed said with a big smile. “And that makes them friends of mine.”
Jason leaned toward me. “Just a warning, friendship with Creed comes with a lengthy disclaimer.”
“Funny man,” Creed said. “Very funny.” He glanced over at Veronica. “How’s the party planning coming?”
“Good,” she said. “It’s going to be pretty sweet when it’s all said and done.”
He nodded dutifully at Veronica, then slid M.K. an inviting glance that deflated Veronica’s smile—but strengthened the resolve in her expression.
“Um, so how’s the boat?” Veronica asked.
“My father’s? Still pretty good, I imagine.”
The church bells began to chime, signaling the end of lunch.
“We should go,” Jason said, untangling our fingers. “We’ll see you later.”
“Later,” I said with a smile.
“Oh, crap,” Scout exclaimed. “I forgot to grab my chemistry book.” She gave me an apologetic look. “I’m gonna run to my locker. I’ll see you in class.”
I’d barely nodded when she took off running down the sidewalk and toward the front door.
“I’ll catch you ladies later,” Creed said, taking a position next to Jason and Michael. They started down the street, their escape leaving me, M.K., and Veronica standing awkwardly on the sidewalk.
“Give us a minute, M.K.,” Veronica said.
M.K. arched a questioning eyebrow.
“I’ll meet you inside.”
Apparently knowing when an order had been given, M.K. shrugged and started for the door.
When she was gone, Veronica looked back at me. “So you and Creed are friends?”
“We know each other. I wouldn’t say friends.” At least not before I heard Jason’s disclaimer. “Why do you ask?”
“I thought you didn’t know him.” Her voice was snotty, like I’d been keeping John Creed locked away from her on purpose.
“I know who he is. That’s it.”
“Mm-hmm.” There was obvious doubt in her voice. Why did she care if I knew him or not? She’d seen me holding hands with Jason. “He calls you ‘Sagamore’ like you two are close.”
“You were with me the first time I met him. You heard him call me Sagamore.”
That didn’t seem to stop her. The thing she apparently had for Creed must have been shorting her logic circuits, as it didn’t seem to compute.
“Yeah, well. I just think you need to stop playing coy.”
I almost called her out, almost reminded her that it was her best friend—M.K.—who seemed to have an in with John Creed, not me.
But before I could speak, someone else jumped in.
“Is there a problem?”
We looked behind us to where he stood on the sidewalk in jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt, stormy blue eyes trained on Veronica.
Sebastian. Reaper . . . and now stalker?
My heart began to pound in my chest, and my fingers began to tingle with anticipatory magic. The Darkening on my back warmed, maybe from my proximity to him, my heart suddenly thudding in my chest. I’m not going to lie—I was scared out of my mind. This guy was a Reaper. I mean, I didn’t think he was going to blast me right here on the sidewalk, but I could still remember how much the firespell had hurt. I really didn’t want to go through that again.
Of course, now I had firespell, too.
“What?” Veronica stuttered out, her gaze moving between me and Sebastian.
“I asked if there was a problem.” His voice was cold and smooth like marble, his steely eyes on the brat in front of me. I wasn’t sure if I should applaud him . . . or feel sorry for her.
“No.”
“Great. Probably you should get to class, then.”
She started to argue, but before she could get out word one, he’d dropped his head a quarter of an inch, leveling his gaze at her.
“We’re done,” she said, evil eyes on me, before turning and hurrying toward the gate. Since the first bell had already rung, I needed to do the same thing. But before I could bolt, he put a hand on my arm.
A shiver trickled down my spine.
“Get your hand off me.”
“I’m not done with you.”
I made myself look back at him, made myself look him in the eyes. “We’re on the street. You can’t do anything here.”
“Sure I could,” Sebastian said. “But I won’t.” He glanced back at Veronica’s bobbing form. “Is she giving you trouble?”
“You’re giving me trouble,” I told him. “I knew I saw you on the street the other day. Why are you following me around?”
“Because we need to talk.”
At least he wasn’t going to deny it. “We have nothing to talk about.”
“We have firespell to talk about.”
“No,” I corrected, “we have firespell, period. End of story. There’s nothing that needs to be talked about.”
“Really.” His voice couldn’t have been drier. “Because you’re an expert in using it? In manipulating it? In creating the spark?”
“In creating the—”
“The spark,” he interrupted. “You know nothing about your power. And that’s ridiculously dangerous.”
I crossed my arms and huffed out a breath. “And what—you should be the one to teach me?”
The look he gave back suggested that was exactly what he thought he should do. But then his eyes clouded. “The world isn’t nearly as black and white as you believe, Lily.”
I’d actually begun to ask him what he meant until I remembered who he was and whose side he was on. That made me turn my back and start down the sidewalk again. I wouldn’t run away from him. Not again. But that didn’t mean I was stupid enough to stand around with a sworn enemy.
“Quit following me,” I called back, loud enough for him to hear. “We’re done.”
“No, we’re not. Not by a long shot.”
I shook my head, forcing my feet to the ground even as my knees wobbled. But that didn’t stop me from glancing back when I was inside the gate.
This time, he was gone.
I kept my head down in class, my eyes on my books, glad that Scout sat behind me. I wasn’t sure I should tell her about Sebastian—either that he had been following me, or that he’d tried to save me from Veronica.
He’d tried to intervene.
What was that about?
I mean, he was a Reaper. The sworn enemy of Adepts, the folks who thought it was okay to buy a few more years of magic with someone else’s soul.
And yet he
was also the guy who’d given me the clue to using firespell and who’d stepped into a near-fight with Veronica.
Something strange was going on. I wasn’t sure what—I certainly didn’t think he was some kind of Robin Hood of magic—but whatever it was, I wasn’t ready to tell Scout.
No, this was going to need a little more time.
I hoped I had it.
10
Dinner was Tex-Mex food, which St. Sophia’s managed pretty well for a snotty private boarding school in the middle of downtown Chicago. And as a vegetarian, it was usually a favorite of mine. Tex-Mex at St. Sophia’s meant tortillas and beans and peppers and cheese, so it was usually easy to whip up something meat-free.
We had an hour after dinner before study hall for Scout and, according to Foley, art studio for me, so we headed back to our suite for some time off—and so I could get my materials together.
When we got in, Amie’s door was open, the light off. Lesley’s door was shut, cello music drifting from beneath the door. She played the cello and spent a lot of time practicing. Luckily, she was really good at it, so it was kind of like having a tiny orchestra in the room. Not a bad way to live, as it turned out.
When Scout and I walked in and shut the door behind us, the music came to a stop. A few seconds later, Lesley emerged from her room. She wore a pale green dress with a yellow cardigan over it, her blond hair tucked behind her ears, her feet tucked into canvas Mary Janes. She stood in her doorway for a moment, blinking blue eyes at us.
Lesley was definitely on our side, but she was still a little odd.
“What’s up, Barnaby?” Scout asked, dropping onto the couch in the common room. “Sounds like the cello playing is going pretty well.”
Lesley shrugged. “I’m having trouble with some of the passages. Not as vibrant as I want them to be. Practice, practice, practice.”
I took a seat on the other end of the couch. “It sounds good to the plebeians.”
“Ooh, nice use of today’s Euro-history lesson,” Scout complimented.
“I am all up in the vocab.”
Lesley walked around the couch and sat down on the floor, her skirt fluttering as she moved. She wasn’t an Adept, but she was pale and blond and had a very old-fashioned look about her. It wasn’t hard to imagine that she’d stepped out of some fairy tale and into modern-day Chicago.
