Red

by Alyxandra Harvey

  “Done,” Abby said quickly.

  “Fairness is all well and good,” Bradley added. “But my goal is the safety of the entire student body, not just one troubled girl.”

  “I’m not troubled,” I muttered. “I’m in trouble. Big difference.” I stopped talking when Abby sent me her patented granny death glare. I’d swear she could make her eyes glitter like animal eyes when she wanted to.

  She nodded to Bradley. “Thank you.”

  “We’ll have questions,” he said to me. “In the meantime, I’ll be calling your employer and Brontë’s Café to verify your whereabouts this morning.”

  “Good.”

  Abby didn’t talk to me again until we were in the parking lot. “You didn’t do this, did you?”

  There was a flash of hurt that she would ask me, but I couldn’t blame her. “No, Abby.”

  “Good. Get back to class.”

  “What, now?”

  She nodded sternly. “Before the stories get out of hand. Carry on as though everything is fine, Kia. I don’t need to tell you that you can’t afford this kind of attention.”

  “I know,” I said, still smelling burning roses. “Believe me, I know.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Ethan

  I made a pass through the obstacle course to clear my head. I went through the maze of posts, scaled the brick wall, and pulled myself up one of the rope ladders until my shoulders were screaming and sweat ran down the side of my face. There were platforms set in the tree with rope bridges between them, since some monsters were better tracked from up high. I swung from a rope ladder and leaped onto a platform six feet below me, landing hard but steady.

  “Good, you’re warmed up,” Dad said from behind me. He was armed, stone jawed. He tossed me a tranquilizer gun. “Phooka’s escaped.”

  I caught the gun, training kicking in instantly. “Where?”

  “Other side of the lake. Already trampled a guard.”

  I’d heard some phookas were kind, but I suspected those were the ones who’d never been imprisoned across the ocean from their home in Ireland. The phookas here didn’t just trample humans, they tore them apart with their teeth.

  Dad had to go around the lake, since Nix, the mermaid in the lake, went savage at the very sight of him. She let me pass because I brought her musical gifts, but she tried to chew her way through the boat with her jagged fish teeth if Dad was on board.

  I started tracking without him, which wasn’t exactly challenging. Broken branches and snapped saplings oozed sticky sap. The ground was churned up in half-frozen clumps. Icicles fringed the bare branches of a birch tree, but they were already melting. The monster had passed this way, but clearly it was gone.

  “Focus,” Dad snapped when he found me staring at them.

  We followed the trail the phooka had smashed through the woods. “What the hell happened?” I asked.

  “Something spooked it. You know how it gets. It’ll tear itself to shreds on the barbed wire if we don’t bring it back here. And if it manages to get out, God knows what it will do. You’re always asking me why the Trials are necessary? This is why. Because no matter how good our wards and our fences are, sometimes they break. We have to be prepared. And who better than my own son? This is your birthright.”

  And that was as scary as any supernatural man-eating horse.

  We heard the snort and bellows of its breath before we saw it. At first glance, the phooka looked like a massive, bad-tempered black horse. Its hooves were enormous and vicious, slashing out at whatever came too close. It dragged chains; the jangling and rattling sound was deeply unsettling. Dad had a rope coiled around his shoulder, but the phooka was too fast and unpredictable. I managed to lodge a tranquilizer dart in its flank, but that barely slowed it down.

  It turned sideways, crashing toward the wards, red eyes flashing. One of the Gorgon heads was split. It happened sometimes—weather, a buck scratching its antlers, anything. This one looked as though it had been frozen, the ice splintering it into pieces and draining the magic inside the ward.

  The phooka’s tail sparked the magical perimeter. It whinnied, kicking in pain. But it didn’t stop. In moments, it would reach the broken ward.

  “Damn, we’ll have to slash its leg,” Dad panted. “Collateral damage. Hate to do it, but we can’t let it get away.” That quickly, he went from saving the maddened phooka from injury on the fences to killing it.

  It was Cabal training.

  Hell with that. I was sick of my dad and his collateral damage. He’d already sacrificed Summer and Colt. Even Sloane wasn’t unmarked, though she pretended well enough. This one creature, I could save.

  Even if it didn’t thank me.

  I nearly lost my arm when the phooka snapped its heavy teeth at me. They were red with the blood of the trampled guard. I rolled into the undergrowth, narrowly avoiding being skewered by a snapped branch.

  “Ethan, are you crazy?” Dad yelled. “Stand down!”

  The phooka smashed the tranquilizer under its hooves. I scrambled to my feet to escape the same fate.

  “Ethan, that’s an order.”

  Instead of listening, I used a branch to swing myself up onto the phooka’s back.

  It bucked, shrieking. I clamped my knees around its side, digging my fists in its mane. My spine cracked slightly as it shook and kicked. I yanked hard on the left side of its mane, forcing it to turn away from the wards and the forest that eventually led to cottages and towns. We left Dad behind, still screaming.

  “I’m trying to save your life,” I shouted in the phooka’s flickering ear. “Ingrate.”

  Small problem with my plan. I had to hold on until dawn. When the sun rose, the phooka would let me off.

  If I fell off before then, it would eat me.

  Apparently back in Ireland, the phooka helped with household chores.

  Not here.

  We thundered through the woods as I held on, jaw clacking with every jump. Cedar boughs slapped me in the face. I held on tighter. The phooka’s mane was long and tangled with leaves and pine needles. The chains smashed against my ankles. On our third circuit around the lake, Nix’s head rose out of the water. She made strange, strangled sounds. The phooka slowed after sunset, but it didn’t stop crashing through branches until long after midnight. I was bruised and scratched and aching. A wolf howled, following us. The phooka flicked its tail nervously, pushed toward the bestiary. When the sun finally rose, the phooka bucked one last time, throwing me into hard, packed mud. I could barely walk. I had to hold onto a pine tree. Sides heaving like bellows, the phooka wandered into the bestiary, where Abby waited with a tempting bucket of raw meat and carrots.

  I slept in one of the equipment sheds, too exhausted to make my way back to the house.

  I had the nightmare again, almost as soon as I fell asleep.

  Summer was alive, but only for a few moments, only long enough for her to die in my arms over and over while strange animals shrieked in the distance. I felt her blood on my hands, saw her eyes go glassy. The silver ring on her finger rolled away into the undergrowth.

  And then there was ice everywhere, in my nose and mouth, tearing up the soles of my feet, even stabbing my lungs from the inside. I was naked, running through the snow, feeling frostbite gnaw on my fingers, tasting blood from my ruined lips. I had no weapons.

  And I wasn’t even sure what was chasing me.

  Sometimes it was the Harpy I’d shot with an arrow on the night of my Trials. I could still hear her screech, could still see the way she fell like a dead weight into the lake. Dad had told me she’d killed a family camping in the conservation park nearby and that the rangers wouldn’t know how to stop her. That she’d keep killing. It wasn’t until a few months later that I’d started to wonder if he’d been lying to me. If the Harpy, as foul and vicious as she was, was actually just another creature plucked from some cave in Greece and far from home. I’d killed her before she could kill me; but we were both trophies in Dad’s m
useum.

  She drowned in green and yellow blood, and I had to drag her corpse out of the water, again and again, until Colt was there, dragging himself after me, his legs useless and heavy. I kept running. Dad threw spears at me. Kia was there, too, but I couldn’t protect her. She was too far away. She was on fire.

  And then Summer was alive again.

  Only she was chasing me, too.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Kia

  I decided I didn’t believe in werewolves.

  I had circumstantial evidence at best. Being shirtless in the woods and covered in scratches was hardly conclusive. And wolves ate rabbits every day. Real, actual wolves, not the kind that transformed under a full moon. And, yes, that was a lot of justification for a girl who could create fire out of nothing.

  I spent most of the afternoon at Brontë’s drinking lattes, brooding about my scholarly fate and researching increasingly bizarre things on the internet. I hid the burn scars on my palms with fingerless gloves. I forced myself to stop Googling werewolves and firestarters. The last thing I needed was for my laptop to be searched. I wasn’t sure if the school could legally do that, but the cops or the fire department could, if charges were pressed. My stomach roiled. I typed in Ethan’s name to distract myself. Purely out of curiosity.

  I managed to find snippets from local papers and some girl’s creepy fan-girl website. It was all hearts and bad poetry. Still, she blogged about things I didn’t know, like Ethan getting caught half naked in a school rowboat during a fund-raising carnival with not one but two girls. His father had then conveniently paid to have the auditorium renovated and had furnished the library with new computers. These were the first of many generous donations that happened after Ethan was caught in various offenses, from rowboats to lighting fireworks on the football field during the tenth-grade formal dance. I couldn’t blame him for that last one. Formal dances were brutally boring.

  When Sloane came in, I slammed the screen down. She ordered three cupcakes and some kind of drink that was mostly whipped cream. Ethan followed, with Justine and her friends. He leaned against the counter, his tie loosened. I tried not to stare, but it was more difficult than it should have been. I wasn’t the only girl sneaking glances. My eyeballs hurt from trying to look-not-look.

  “Kia?” Sloane poked me. “Earth to Kia.”

  “Sorry, what?”

  “What’s the matter with you?” she asked, licking cupcake frosting off her thumb. “Besides the school thing?”

  I would set my own self on fire before admitting what I’d been doing. It was way more embarrassing than believing in werewolves.

  “Oh, let me answer,” Justine interrupted. Her cloud of perfume usually made my tonsils itch long before she was in sight. She flipped her hair, and I nearly broke out in hives.

  Even Sloane’s nose twitched. “God, Justine,” she said. “Do you have to marinate in that stuff?”

  She lifted her chin haughtily. “I like it. And not all of us want to smell like a wet dog. You might try some soap at least.”

  They glared at each other for a long, burning moment and even Justine’s friends realized there was something else going on under the obvious insults. But they looked as uninformed as me. “Oh my God, Justine.” Sloane slumped in her chair like she was exhausted. I was glad I wasn’t the only one who felt drained by her. “Go away. Hasn’t this week sucked enough?”

  Justine leaned in toward me, dropping her voice. “Ethan’s out of your league, Kia. A Blackwood wouldn’t date a dropout. You should cut your losses and go back home.”

  “It’s not dropping out if she’s expelled,” Sloane pointed out helpfully.

  “Thanks,” I said drily. “And I didn’t set that fire.” I hid my hands under the table.

  Justine shot me a look of disdain and marched off, her friends scurrying behind her like loyal handmaidens. Or cocker spaniels. I took a very deep breath, and it burned all the way into my lungs. “Think arctic thoughts,” Sloane said as the windows behind us fogged up. “Justine’s not worth it.”

  “I really don’t like her.”

  “I’d never have guessed.” There was sweat darkening the collar of her shirt. “So are you crushing on Ethan, or what?”

  “What?” I squeaked. “No! Shut your face!” If he’d heard any of this, I wouldn’t have to wait to be expelled. I’d drown myself in the lake. I thought he might possibly be looking my way, but I absolutely refused to look back.

  “Most girls do, you know,” Sloane said.

  “I’m not most girls,” I replied emphatically.

  “I get that,” she returned. “I practically got third-degree burn blisters standing between you and Justine.”

  “You did? Where?” I suddenly felt nauseous. I grabbed her arms. I couldn’t see any singe marks on her clothes. Even though I drove to the factory parking lot every day, testing the fire in my hands, I still didn’t fully trust myself. At the castle, my palms itched and burned, but when I was outside and not worried about being discovered, it came much easier. I still had burns, though, and I was beginning to stink of lavender oil.

  Sloane extricated herself from my too-tight grip. “Take it easy. I was kidding,” she said.

  “Oh.” My heart was still beating fast, like raindrops on a tin roof. “Sorry.”

  “I don’t think you set that fire.”

  I smiled weakly. “Why not?”

  “Well, for one thing, you’re smart enough not to set a fire in your own damn locker.”

  “Right?” I was offended all over again. “A little credit would be nice. Just saying.” I reached for a piece of cupcake off her plate. She slapped my hand. Hard. “Ouch.”

  “Mine.” She crammed the rest in her mouth.

  “Girl Chokes to Death on Cupcake,” I told her when her eyes watered. “I’ll light a candle in your honor.”

  She chewed slower. I waited until she’d swallowed before asking, “Sloane, do you know what a cabal is?”

  She coughed again and guzzled half her drink. “Went down the wrong way,” she croaked. “And I gotta go.”

  She was in the parking lot before I realized she hadn’t answered my question.

  I lifted the laptop screen again, and any questions I might have had about whether or not Sloane knew more about Ethan’s weird midnight rituals were instantly forgotten. Ethan’s stalker fangirl page was still loaded, and one of the links jumped out at me.

  Summer Kirihara.

  When I clicked on the link, it brought me to the local newspaper’s article on the tragic death of Ethan’s girlfriend. Missing, presumed dead after a long, exhaustive search. Blood found in the forest. Claw marks on the trees.

  Mauled to death by a wild animal.

  Maybe I did believe in werewolves after all.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Kia

  I barely slept that night. I had to answer questions from the fire marshal and then I tried to search for more information on Summer, but every time I logged on and typed her name into a search engine, my connection failed. I finally looked up the word “cabal” in my dictionary: a small group of plotters.

  That didn’t exactly make me feel any better.

  I spent the night sitting in the window seat outside Ethan’s room listening for strange noises. I wasn’t sure what I was expecting or what exactly I thought I’d do if a wolf came padding out of his bedroom. In the end I just sat there and freaked myself out.

  I finally sneaked back to my own bed when I heard one of the security guards doing his rounds. I didn’t want to explain why I was lurking outside Prince Charming’s room. I wanted that conversation almost as much as I wanted to explain how I could start fires. But up in my attic, I still couldn’t sleep. Instead of watching for Ethan or Ethan-as-wolf, I sat at the window and gave myself a headache looking for the white-haired ice monster.

  “Oh my God, I need to get a grip,” I finally told myself, crawling under my blankets and pulling a pillow over my head. I was going to have to do
something. Anything. I couldn’t sit around feeling crazy or I’d really end up being crazy. I was going to have to search the woods.

  After I searched Ethan’s room.

  No way either of those things could go horribly wrong.

  Great. Even the voice inside my head was sarcastic.

  By morning I was bleary-eyed as I shuffled into the kitchen. Abby lifted an eyebrow. “Aren’t you going to be late for school?”

  “Probably.” I was not able to fit algebra and historical dates in my head at the same time as werewolves and dead girls. There just wasn’t enough space. But since I had to go and sign in with Bradley to prove my perfect attendance, I filled a cup with coffee. “So sleepy.”

  “You need a good breakfast,” Sara decided, piling various gooey pastries onto a plate along with one small cupcake that looked as if it was made entirely out of pink frosting. Apparently her idea of a good breakfast was mostly sugar. I could love a person like that.

  Clare shook her head. “She should have some sort of fruit.”

  “There’s fruit in the blueberry Danish,” Sara scoffed.

  I grabbed the pastries before someone threatened to take them away. I didn’t like the way Abby was eyeing them. I should eat them before she remembered to get all maternal about it. I shoved in a big bite. “Have you ever noticed anything weird about Ethan?” I asked.

  “Weird? Like what?”

  I stared at Abby. “Hello? Where to start? Look around.” I nodded to the fancy cappuccino maker. It was worth half a year’s rent. And easier to explain than bloody scratches and bad attitudes.

  “When you’re wealthy, it’s not being weird, it’s being eccentric,” she explained. “Ethan’s a good boy. He hasn’t had it easy.”

  I looked incredulously at the gleaming marble counters, the freshly cut organic strawberries in the crystal bowl, the limo parked in the driveway outside one of the windows. “Oh, yeah,” I agreed sarcastically. “He suffers.”

  “I hope you don’t think being rich equals being happy,” Abby said quietly.