She could now look at Allison without thinking about Necromantic murderers, but it was hard. Allison hated guilt when it wasn’t her own, and Emma’s guilt was a burden; she tried to keep it to herself. Tried not to think about what Chase had said so often. Tried even harder to believe he was wrong. Friendship with Emma wasn’t a death sentence.
“Lunch not edible?” Eric asked.
“It’s not likely to kill,” she replied. She turned to smile at him. He wasn’t smiling back.
“We think we’ve got a few weeks in the clear before things get really messy.”
She wanted to quibble with his definition of not messy, because the past few days defined fear for her. She said nothing. “Emma—”
She waited, hearing the start of a question in the way he said her name. The rest of the question failed to emerge. It was clear why; Allison’s sudden increase in volume would have swamped it.
“And I think Emma would find it useful as well.” Allison had been two bites into lunch, and given the set of her lips, no more food was going to enter her mouth.
“Emma isn’t the target. She doesn’t need to know this shit. She’s—” He stopped and glared across the table at Eric. Emma guessed Eric had just kicked him sharply in the shins.
“Not the place, idiot,” Eric said, with a friendly, casual smile. Given his tone of voice, it was forced. It didn’t look forced.
“Fine,” Allison said. She stood, abandoning lunch.
Michael stood as well. He had, of course, been listening. He could listen to two streams of conversation without losing either if both were interesting, although people who weren’t used to him were often surprised or offended when he inserted himself into the conversation with no warning.
Allison, however, turned to Michael before he could leave the table. “Chase and I are going to have a fight. It will not be pleasant. I don’t mind if you come, but—it’s going to be loud and we’re both going to be angry.”
Michael sat down.
“Smart,” Eric said, as he moved to follow Allison. He was surprised when Emma caught his hand.
“Sit down,” she told him, smiling exactly the way he had.
“You don’t want to leave Allison alone with Chase. He has an ugly temper.”
“Are you saying he’s going to hurt her?” Emma demanded.
“He has an ugly temper.”
“Ally has a temper. He is not going to steamroll her. Eric?”
He stared at her for a minute and then turned to see Allison and Chase leaving the cafeteria by the back doors. “I’m not sure about this.”
“You don’t have to be. She’s not your best friend. She is mine, though, and I am certain. Look, she’s embarrassed when she loses her temper. Something about your friend makes her lose her temper. I think, overall, she’d be happier if we weren’t there to witness it.”
Eric sat. “I don’t understand women,” he said.
“You and fifty percent of the species.”
* * *
By the time they reached a spot in the schoolyard that could be considered private, Chase’s mouth was a compressed line that was white around the edges. He’d folded his arms across his chest and drawn himself up to his full height. He did not look friendly. When they stopped walking, he planted his feet half a yard apart and stared down at her.
Allison was not nearly as still or self-contained when she was angry. Most of the things that made her angry were things that embarrassed her. No one liked to think of themselves as small-minded or jealous or petty; Allison was not an exception. Or maybe she was; her sense of self-respect and consideration ran roughshod over that temper on most days.
There was nothing to repress her anger now. She tried. She tried to tell herself that she didn’t know what Chase’s life was like. She didn’t know what she’d be like if she had to live every day knowing that random strangers with bigger weapons would be trying to kill her. But looking at him now, the little voice that struggled for civility was swamped.
“Well?” he demanded, as she struggled to find the right words.
“I know you don’t trust Emma,” she said, keeping her voice even and quiet with difficulty. “But I do.”
Chase didn’t reply.
“Chase, she risked her life to save a child who was already dead. She gave his mother a chance to find a little bit of peace. She had no reason to do it—she had nothing to gain and everything to lose.”
He said nothing, but he said it loudly.
“You’re afraid she has power. Fine. She has power. What good does it do her? If she’d understood what she’s capable of doing, saving Andrew Copis wouldn’t have been so risky. Putting power in Emma’s hands is never going to be a bad thing!”
“You don’t understand,” he said.
“Then make me understand. I’m not going to take it on faith that she’s going to become something evil and heartless. I’ll take some things on faith—but not this. Yes, you have experience with Necromancers. But never as friends. Never as people. I don’t have your experience—but I know Emma Hall. She is never going to become someone who kills because it’s convenient. She’s never going to be someone who undervalues life because we all wind up dead in the end.
“And I’m always going to be her friend. I want to learn how to be—how to be less helpless. I don’t want to walk to my own death.”
“If you cared about that, you’d leave her alone. Your life wouldn’t be in danger if she wasn’t your friend. If she cared about you more, she’d acknowledge that.”
Allison’s hands were fists. “So you want us to abandon each other. Me because I’m a coward and Emma because she’s afraid she’ll lose me anyway, and it’ll be her fault.”
“That’s not what I’m saying—”
“Damn it, Chase—it is. It is what you’re saying.” She knew she was flushed; she always flushed when she was emotional. She hated it more than ever today. Because the ugly truth was that she was afraid. She’d had nightmares for two nights, and she found herself thinking about Necromancers and the thin line between living and dying when she wasn’t actively thinking about something else. She could still feel the vine tightening around her throat. She could still feel the bruises it had left.
And she knew—she knew—that Emma was this close to retreating. To shutting herself off. To walking away from her friends for their own sake. She wanted Emma to walk away from Michael, but she wouldn’t—couldn’t—say it. Michael wasn’t a child; he could make his own decisions, just as Allison could.
She held her ground as he took a step forward. Held it, getting angrier, as he took another. She stood entirely in his shadow by the time he’d stopped moving; there was almost no space between them. It would serve him right if she punched him in the stomach.
“I didn’t start out as a hunter. Unlike Necromancers, we’re not born that way. We train. We train hard.” He lowered his hands to his sides. “We all have stories. Some of them involve the deaths of entire communities. Most of us were lucky; we only lost our families.” He swallowed. His Adam’s apple bobbed. She stared at it; she couldn’t lift her gaze to meet his eyes.
“Do you know why I survived?” His voice was a whisper.
“No.”
“She wanted to send a message. She wanted to send a message to someone, and I was it. I wasn’t a Necromancer. I wouldn’t be killed on sight. I watched, Ally.” His hands were fists; his shoulders drew in toward his body, robbing him of inches of height. His skin was always pale, but this was different. “I watched. I screamed. I begged. Not for myself. For them. For my parents, my sisters, my little brother. They killed the dogs,” he added. “Even the dogs.
“The only person they didn’t kill was me. You understand why I’m a hunter.”
She nodded. She did.
“I don’t care if I
die. I spent two years caring very much. But I couldn’t kill myself. I couldn’t do it. If I die killing them, I’ll be grateful.” He grimaced. “I have no idea why I’m telling you this.”
“You want me to understand what Necromancers mean to you.”
“Is that why?”
“Yes.”
“I wasn’t that keen on the rest of humanity, either. I don’t care for most of the hunters, but at least I understand them. I work with Eric because I want to see him kill her.”
“Her?”
“The Queen of the Dead.” He ran a hand through his hair; it was shaking. “I wanted to kill her myself, but I’m not that lucky. In the end, I’ll settle for second best. I don’t want to care about other people’s lives. I’m done with it.”
She felt awkward and self-conscious; her anger had deserted her, and she couldn’t claw it back. In its absence, she was shaking as much as Chase, and for far less reason.
“Chase?”
“What?”
“Be done with it.” She swallowed. “Stay done with it, if you have to. Leave Emma alone. I’m not a child. It’s my decision. I understand the risks, now.”
“You would have died if we hadn’t been there.”
“I know that.” She exhaled. “You hate yourself because you couldn’t do anything for the people you loved. But you want me to accept that I can’t—without even letting me try.”
He stared at her, arrested. “I’m not—I’m not saying that.”
“How is it different?” She had to look away from his expression again.
He stared at her for a long, uncomfortable moment. “I’ll try.”
“You’ll try?”
“I’ll try. I can’t promise anything. I don’t hate Emma. I hate what she is. You can’t even see it.” He turned back toward the school. “Allison—it’s been a while since I was forced to spend this much time with other people. I’m not used to it anymore. I can’t see them as anything other than walking victims. And no, Eric doesn’t count.” He stopped, his back still toward her as she started to catch up.
“I will never, ever forgive you if you get yourself killed.”
* * *
Emma was waiting for Allison by the back doors. She was trying not to look worried and mostly failing—but failure didn’t matter if no one could see it. When Chase strode toward the door, she put on her game face. She was surprised when he yanked the door open and headed straight for her.
“I don’t know what you did to deserve a friend like Allison,” he said.
Emma braced herself for the rest.
“She says I don’t understand what you give her. I’ll try. But Emma? I’ll kill you myself if anything happens to her.” The last words were soft; they were all edge. She met his expression without flinching.
“Deal,” she said.
He blinked. “What?”
“It’s a deal. If anything happens to Allison, you can kill me.” Her smile was shaky but genuine, and it grew as his eyebrows folded together in a broken, red line. “I’ll probably be grateful, in the end.”
For just a moment, she thought Chase would smile. He didn’t. Instead, he headed past her and into the post-lunch school. Allison was only a few seconds behind.
“What did he say to you?” she demanded.
Emma laughed. “He made very clear that you’re important to him, and I’m not.”
“Emma, it’s not funny.”
“No, probably not. But if I don’t laugh, I’ll cry, and I can’t cry. I’m not used to people hating my guts out, but—he’s worried about you, and I can’t fault him for that.” She caught Allison’s arm as Allison began to stride—there was no other word for that determined step—in the direction of Chase. “He said he’ll try, Ally. He promised he’d try. I’m okay with that. Don’t ask him for more.”
Allison exhaled. “He doesn’t even like people,” she said. “I don’t understand why he cares so much.”
“About you?”
Allison didn’t answer.
Emma slid an arm through hers and dragged her gently back to reality.
* * *
Reality these days had its own problems. Amy Snitman careened around a corner, walking in the militaristic fashion that made people of any age move out of her way as quickly as humanly possible. Emma had already stepped to the side, but Amy came up short in front of her, glancing once at Allison and nodding curtly.
“Have you heard the news?”
“No—who died?”
“No one, but only barely. Mr. Taylor is in the hospital, and he’s unlikely to be out of traction in the next three months.”
“Oh, my god—what happened?”
“He was apparently driving under the influence.”
Emma frowned. “Mr. Taylor drinks?”
“I’d’ve bet against it,” was the curt response. “We’re sending flowers,” she added. “Your share is twenty dollars.”
Emma immediately fished a wallet out of her computer bag. “Are you going to visit him?”
“Mrs. Esslemont says he’s not taking visitors at the moment.”
Which wasn’t a no. In general, Amy expected the natural world to conform to her sense of generosity. “What’s happening with the yearbook committee?” Mr. Taylor was the supervising teacher; all school committees and clubs required one.
“It’s up in the air. Mr. Goldstein has offered to step in.”
Emma hoped she didn’t look as horrified as she felt. Mr. Goldstein was this close to retirement, and most of the students privately felt it was on the wrong side. He was also condescending in a parental way, and it grated.
“You’re right,” Emma said.
“Of course I am. Which particular flavor of right?”
“It’s an emergency.” And in a peculiar way, Emma felt grateful for it. It didn’t involve dead people. It didn’t involve the near murder of her best friend. “Have you talked to Mr. Hutchinson?”
“Not yet. Heading that way.”
“I’ll come with you.” She turned to Allison, who wasn’t on the yearbook committee but was well aware that Amy was in a foul mood. “I’ll see you in class?”
Allison nodded.
* * *
Mr. Hutchinson was the principal. Amy believed in going straight to the top when she wasn’t happy with a situation. Since it was impossible to teach at Emery—or to be breathing anywhere in its vicinity—and not know Amy Snitman, most of Amy’s friends were assumed to be caught up in Amy’s tide. Teachers might hope for and expect a certain amount of intellectual independence, but they weren’t idiots; they knew that peer pressure counted for a lot. Emma had never been on Amy’s bad side.
Then again, you didn’t land on Amy’s bad side unless you were extraordinarily stupid or thoughtless. If it weren’t for the social pressure exerted by Amy Snitman, Michael’s life might have been a lot harder at Emery. If you were the idiot who was stupid enough to bully Michael, that spelled the end of your social life for a few weeks.
And the petty pleasure of bullying Michael was not worth the price.
Mr. Hutchinson was in his office; he was eating lunch there. His desk was a fabulous clutter of slips. Emma caught sight of an application for transfer floating on top of them. The principal was almost as old as Mr. Goldstein, but on Hutchinson, the age didn’t show. He met all of Emery’s many inhabitants as if they were people, rather than excuses to draw a paycheck.
“What can I do for you, Amy?” he asked. He nodded at Emma, but he was busy, and he knew who was in charge. Emma didn’t resent this. One couldn’t and remain Amy’s friend.
“I’m here on behalf of the yearbook committee.”
His smile faded. “Yes?”
“I’ve heard rumors that Mr. Goldstein has volunteered to overse
e it.”
“He has.”
“If I can find you another teacher, will you take him instead?”
“Amy, Mr. Goldstein—”
“Yes, I know. He’s experienced and well-respected.” She folded her arms across her chest.
“As it happens, I’ll be interviewing the temporary replacement for Mr. Taylor. He’s new to teaching, and he’s been working as a substitute; he could start, without causing difficulty for another school, within the week. He’s indicated a willingness to undertake Mr. Taylor’s extracurricular activities within the school.”
Amy’s arms tightened. She couldn’t exactly demand to be present for the interview. She could find adults who served as trustees, and they could bring pressure to bear where necessary—but it wouldn’t be immediate.
“Give him a chance, Amy. If you have concerns after you meet him, we can talk about a suitable replacement.”
“Fine.”
* * *
By the time school dragged its way to a close, the entire student body had heard of Mr. Taylor’s accident. Michael was concerned because he took a class with Mr. Taylor, and he was comfortable in that class. A new teacher often created a mess of subtle problems until he or she was accustomed to Michael.
It was Emma’s job to speak with whoever the replacement was about Michael’s current classroom needs—not that Mr. Hutchison wouldn’t have most of them covered. Pippa had offered, but Amy turned her down; she felt that the replacement was likely to listen to Emma because it was already Emma’s job to get Michael to school on time.
Not that he needed it anymore. But he clung to the familiar when things got strange—and given Necromancers and dead people, they were pretty damn strange at the moment.
Emma almost headed home but remembered at the last moment that her efforts to avoid talking about Jon Madding had her “eating dinner at Allison’s.” She walked Michael and Allison home and paused at the foot of Allison’s drive, waving once to Mrs. Simner before she walked away.
What she wanted, even though it was November and it was cold, was to see Nathan.
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