Their faces pinched in concentration and thought, the group of them moved around me to stare at my back.
“It’s a darkening,” Jason said, then lifted his killer blue eyes to mine. “Is it okay if I touch it?”
I swallowed, then nodded and gripped the hem of the shirt, still between my fingers, a little tighter. He stretched out his hand. His fingers just grazed my back, my skin tingling beneath his fingers. I stifled a shudder, but goose bumps arose on my arms. This wasn’t the time or the place for me to get giggly about Jason’s attentions, but that didn’t make the effect any less powerful. It felt like a tingle of electricity moving across my skin, like that first dip into a hot bath on a cold night—spine tingling.
“It’s definitely like ours,” Jason agreed, standing again. “Have you developed any powers?” he quietly asked me.
I shook my head.
“I have no idea how she got it,” Jason finally concluded, his brow furrowed. “But it’s like ours. Or close enough, anyway.”
“Yeah,” Scout said, “but you nailed it—there’s something different about hers, isn’t there? The edges are fuzzier. Like a tattoo, but the ink bled.”
“What could that mean, Green?” Katie asked.
She shrugged. “I have no clue.”
“Research is your field,” Smith reminded her. “There’s nothing in the Grimoire?”
“Not that I could find, and I checked the index for every entry I could think of.” I assumed the Grimoire was the giant leather-bound book she’d skimmed through before deciding to notify the elders.
Smith raised his gaze to me. “I understand that you’ve been provided with the basics about our enclave, our struggle, our gifts.”
I nodded.
“And you’re sure you haven’t . . . become aware of any powers since you were hit?”
“I’d remember,” I assured him.
“Maybe this is just a symbol of the fact that she was hit?” Jason suggested, frowning, head tilted as he gazed at my back. “Like, I don’t know, a stamp of the shot she took?”
“I really don’t know,” Scout said quietly.
Their conversations got quieter, like scientists mumbling as they considered a prime specimen. I stared at the wall at the other end of the room while they whispered behind me and tried to figure out who—or what—I’d become.
Eventually, Smith straightened and, like obedient pups, the rest of the group followed suit and spread out again. I pulled my shirt back down and turned to face them.
Smith shook his head. “All we know is that she’s marked. It might not be a darkening. Anything else is just speculation.”
“Speculation?” Paul asked. “She’s got a darkening, just like ours.”
“Not exactly like ours,” Katie reminded him.
I watched Michael struggle to keep his expression neutral. “Enough like ours,” he countered, “to make it evident that she’s like us. That she’s one of us.”
Katie shook her head. “You’re missing the point. She’s already told us she doesn’t have skills, magic, power. Nothing but a fancy bruise.” As if to confirm that suspicion, she turned her green-eyed gaze on me. “She’s not one of us.”
“A fancy bruise?” Scout repeated. “You’re kidding, right?”
Katie shrugged, the movement and her expression condescending. “I’m just saying.”
“Hey,” Smith said, apparently deciding to intervene. “Let it go. It’s better for her, anyway. Hanging out down here isn’t fun and games. This job is dangerous, it’s hard, and it’s exhausting. This might feel like rejection. It’s actually luck.”
The room went quiet. When Scout spoke again, her voice was soft, but earnest.
“I know my place,” she said, “and we all know this isn’t the easiest job in the world. But if she’s one of us, if she’s part of us, she needs to know. We need to know.”
“There’s no evidence that she’s one of us, Scout,” Smith said. “A mark isn’t enough. A mark won’t stop Reapers, and it won’t save regulars, and it won’t help us. This isn’t up for debate. You bring me some evidence—real evidence—that it’s a darkening, and we’ll talk about it again.”
I could feel Scout’s frustration, could see it in the stiffness in her shoulders. She looked at her colleagues.
“Paul? Jamie? Jill? Jason?” When she met Michael’s gaze, her expression softened. “Michael?”
He looked down for a moment, considering, then up at her again. “I’m sorry, Scout, but I’m with Smith on this one. She’s not like us. She wasn’t made the way we were. She wasn’t born with power, and the only reason she has a mark is because she got hit. If we let her in anyway, if we play devil’s advocate, she takes our attention away from everything else we have to deal with. We can’t afford that right now.”
“Her being damaged isn’t reason enough,” Katie put in.
I arched an eyebrow. Scout may have had to play nice for hierarchy reasons, but I (obviously) wasn’t part of this group.
“I am not damaged,” I said. “I’m a bystander who got wrapped up in something I didn’t want to be wrapped up in because you couldn’t keep the bad guys in hand.”
“The point is,” Smith said, “you weren’t born like us. The only thing you’ve got right now is a symbol of nothing.”
“There’s no need to be harsh,” Michael said. “It’s not like she got branded on purpose.”
“Are you sure about that?”
The room went silent, all eyes on Katie.
“Are you suggesting,” Scout bit out, “that she faked the darkening?”
Katie gazed at her with unapologetic snarkiness. This girl had college brat pack written all over her.
“So much for ‘all for one and one for all,’ ” Scout muttered. “I can’t believe you’d suspect that a person who’d never seen a darkening before faked having one forty-eight hours after she was put in the hospital because she took a full-on dose of firespell and managed to survive it. And you know what’s worse? I can’t believe you’d doubt me.” She pressed a finger into her chest. “Me.”
The JV Adepts shared heavy looks.
“Regulars put us all at risk. They raise our profile, they get in the way, they serve as distractions.” Jason lifted his chin, and eyes of sea blue stared out. He gazed at me, anger in his eyes. My slight at the mall must have hurt more than I’d thought.
“Until we know more, she’s a regular, and that’s all she is. No offense,” he added, his gaze on me.
“None taken,” I lied back to him.
“We have other business to discuss,” Smith said. “Escort her home.”
“That’s it?” Scout’s voice contained equal parts desperation and frustration.
“Bring us something we can use,” Smith said. “Someone we can use, and we’ll talk.”
Scout offered a sarcastic salute. “Let’s go,” she said to me, her hand on my arm, leading me away as the group turned inward to begin their next plan.
We were fifty yards away from the room before she spoke. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s not a problem,” I said, not entirely sure if I believed that. I hadn’t wanted to be the victim of the firespell attack, hadn’t wanted to find the mark on my back, hadn’t been thrilled about being dragged to a meeting of Adepts, or becoming one. I knew what Scout went through. Late-night meetings. Fear. Worry. Bearing the responsibility of protecting the public from soul-sucking adults and hell-bent teenagers—and not just your run-of-the-mill soul-sucking adults and hell- bent teenagers. I’d seen the exhaustion on her face, even as I appreciated her sense of right and wrong, the fact that she put herself out there to protect people who didn’t know she was burning the candle at both ends.
So even though it wasn’t something I’d asked for, or something I thought I wanted, it was hard not to feel rejected by Smith and Katie and the rest of Enclave Three. I was already the new girl—a Sagamore fish out of water in a school where everyone else had years of history together and lots of money to play with. Being treated like an outcast wasn’t something I’d signed up for.
“I’ll have to keep an eye on you,” she said as we reentered the main building and headed across the labyrinth, “in case anything happens.”
“In case I get attacked by a Reaper, or in case I suddenly develop the ability to summon unicorns?” My voice was toast-dry.
“Oh, please,” Scout said. “Don’t take that tone with me. You know you’d love to have a minion. Someone at your beck and call. Someone to do your bidding. How many times have you said to yourself, ‘Self, I need a unicorn to run errands and such’?”
“Not that often till lately, to be real honest,” I said, but managed a small smile.
“Yeah, well, welcome to the jungle,” she said again, but this time, darkly.
It was nearly midnight by the time I was tucked into bed in a tank top and shorts, the St. Sophia’s blanket pulled up to my chin. One hand behind my head, I stared at the stars on the ceiling, sleep elusive, probably because I was already too well-rested. After all, I’d spent half the weekend either hunkered beneath the sheets, an ostrich with its head in cotton, or ignoring my best friend by lollygagging on Michigan Avenue. I’d self- medicated with luxury goods. Well, by watching other girls buy luxury goods, anyway.
I wasn’t thrilled with what I’d done, with my abandonment. But, whether I was the perfect best friend or not, the sounds of traffic softened, and I finally, oh so slowly, fell asleep.
15
I woke to pounding on the door. Suddenly vaulted from sleep, I sat up and pushed tangled hair from my face. “Who’s there?”
“We’re running late!” came Scout’s frantic voice from the other side.
I glanced over at the alarm clock. Class started in fifteen minutes.
“Frick,” I said, adrenaline jolting me to full consciousness. I threw off the blankets and jumped for the door. Unlocking and opening it, I found Scout in the doorway in long-sleeved pajamas and thick blue socks.
I arched an eyebrow at the ensemble. “It’s still September, right?”
Scout rolled her eyes. “I’m cold a lot. Sue me.”
“How about I just take a shower?”
She nodded and held up two energy bars. “Get in, get out, and when you’re done, art history, here we come.”
Have you ever had one of those days where you give up on being really clean, and settle for being largely clean? Where you don’t have time for the entire scrubbing and exfoliating regime, so you settle for the basics? Where brushing your teeth becomes the most vigorous part of your cleaning ritual?
Yeah, welcome to Monday morning at St. Sophia’s School for (Slightly Grimy) Girls.
When I was (mostly) clean, I met Scout in the common room. She was sporting the preppy look today—Mary Janes, knee-high socks, oxford shirt and tie.
“You look very—”
“Nerdy?” she suggested. “I’m trying a new philosophy today.”
“A new philosophy?” I asked, as we shut the common room door and headed down the hall. She handed over the energy bar she’d shown off earlier. I ripped down the plastic and bit off a chunk.
“Look the nerd, be the nerd,” she said, with emphasis. “I figure this look could boost my grades by fifteen to twenty percent.”
“Fifteen to twenty percent? That’s impressive. You think it’ll work?”
“I’m sure it won’t,” she said. “But I’m giving it a shot. I’m taking positive steps.”
“Studying would be another positive step,” I pointed out.
“Studying interferes with my world saving.”
“It’s unfortunate you can’t get excused absences for that.”
“I know, right?”
“And speaking of saving the world,” I said, “did you have a call after we got back last night? Or did you just sleep late?”
“I sleep with earplugs,” she said, half- answering the question. “The radio alarm came on, but it wasn’t loud enough, so I dreamed about REO Speedwagon and Phil Collins for forty-five minutes. Suffice it to say, I can feel it coming in the air tonight.”
“Dum-dum, dum-dum, dum-dum, dum-dum, dum, dum,” I said, repeating the drum lead- in, although without my usual air drumming. My reputation was off to a rocky-enough start as it was.
We took the stairs to the first floor, then headed through the corridor to the classroom building. The lockers were our next stop. I took the last bite of the energy bar—some kind of chewy fruit, nut, and granola combination—then folded up the wrapper and slipped it into my bag.
At our lockers, I opened my messenger bag and peeked inside. I already had my art history book, so I kneeled to my lower-level locker, opened it, and grabbed my trig book, my second class of the day. I’d just closed the door, my palm still pressed against slick wood, when I felt a tap on my shoulder.
I turned and found M.K. beside me—grinning.
“Fell down the stairs, did you?”
Scout slipped books into her locker, then slammed the door shut before giving M.K. a narrow-eyed glare. “Hey, Betty, go find Veronica and leave us in peace.”
M.K. looked confused by the reference, but she shook it off with a toss of her long dark hair. “How lame are you when you can’t even walk up a flight of stairs without falling down?” Her voice was just a shade too loud, obviously intended to get the other girls’ attention, to make them stare and whisper and, presumably, embarrass me.