Charmfall
Page 7“I think it’s part of a camera. Is she going to call you back if she finds something?”
“Technically, she’s supposed to go through her Varsity Adepts, but yeah, she said she would.” She frowned. “Hey, you don’t think Michael has a thing for her, do you?”
“For Detroit? Are you serious? Scout, if he was any more into you, he’d quit school and start following you around like a groupie. I mean, that’s really the only other move he could make at this point.”
“Fine,” she said. “I get it.”
“I mean, he could propose, I guess, unless he already has?”
“Are you done?”
“Oh, my God, you two could totally have a winter wedding. That would be sweet.”
She lifted her eyebrows.
I put my hand over my heart. “Now I’m done. Swearsies.” And while we were on the subject of boys . . . “Hey, is it wrong that I’m feeling less motivated about going to the dance with Jason if he’s skipping out this week to maybe—possibly—go meet the girl his family’s picked for him?”
“Did he say that’s what was going to happen?”
“Well, not in so many words, but it’s on the list of things he has to do at some point.”
“Then keep the faith, Parker. I’m not denying he’s got issues about being a wolf, but he’s good people. He wouldn’t string you along. He’s not that kind of guy.”
“I just don’t want my heart to get broken, you know?”
“You’d rather bail out now than risk it, you mean? That’s not exactly the brave Adept I know and love.”
“Maybe my courage is in the same place as my magic.” I flicked my fingers into the air. “Poofed right into the ether.”
“I’ll poof you right into the ether. Now, go take a shower. You’re kind of stinking up my room with Adept funk.”
“I do not have any Adept funk.” I delicately sniffed my tank top. It smelled like laundry detergent, but I wouldn’t mind brushing my teeth. “Fine,” I said, turning my back on her and heading for the door. “I’m going. But I’m not happy about it.”
“By the time you come back,” she said, “you better have a fantastic smile on your face.”
I hoped I would.
After a trip down the hall to the shower, I climbed into my St. Sophia’s uniform. The plaid skirt was mandatory. We had some choices for shirts—button-down, hoodie, long-sleeved T-shirt, cardigan. It was chilly in my room, so I assumed it would be even colder outside. I opted for the button-down and a cardigan on top. It wasn’t exactly high fashion, but it would keep me warm in the usually freezing-cold halls of St. Sophia’s.
Thankfully, the shoes were entirely up to us. I loved shoes—especially if they came from vintage stores or thrift shops. The hunt was really the best part. The floor of my small closet was full of them—the ones I’d hauled to Chicago from New York and a few I’d found with Scout in stores in the Loop.
When my messenger bag was packed with books and my key was around my neck, I met Scout in the hallway, and we joined the horde of girls in plaid headed down to the classroom building.
Unfortunately, the junior class at St. Sophia’s was small, so we had every class with the brat pack, including art history. Over the past couple of months, I’d realized that each class had a different brat pack theme:
1. Art history: Art history was brat pack wake-up time. It usually involved putting on whatever expensive makeup they hadn’t had time to apply in their rooms and drinking coffee from the expensive Italian machine in M.K.’s room. Sometimes they also made snarky remarks about na**d male statues.
2. Trigonometry: The brat packers were usually awake by now, so this was when the text messaging began. We weren’t supposed to have phones in class, but everyone did. The brat packers usually kept theirs hidden in pencil bags they kept on their desks. Dorsey, our trig teacher, probably just thought they were really picky about their pencils.
3. Civics: The brat pack decided Mr. Forrest, our civics teacher, was a catch—probably because he was the son of a senator from Vermont. He’d come to St. Sophia’s after working on an unsuccessful election campaign, and the brat packers seemed to think he was their ticket to a fancy life as a senator’s wife. Even Amie was totally smitten, and she was usually the rational one. Forrest wasn’t bad to look at, but he was a believer. He worked on political stuff because he had real conviction, and there was just no way he was falling for brat pack flirting, no matter how much M.K. batted her eyelashes at him. (Seriously. He was, like, forty. It was gross.)
4. British literature: Brit lit was our first class after lunch, so the brat packers were finally wide-awake. Amie and Veronica actually seemed to like reading Jane Eyre and Pride and Prejudice. I guess the romance got to them. Mary Katherine just whined that “nobody actually did anything” in the books. There was really no hope for her.
5. Chemistry: This was brat pack sleepy time. I don’t know if they had an official rotation, but it seemed like they took turns taking naps in class. One day M.K. got a snooze while Amie kept watch, and then it was Veronica’s turn, et cetera. If they were in danger of getting caught, the lookout would cough really loudly. Our chem teacher probably thought we were the least healthy group of St. Sophia’s girls he’d ever seen.
6. European history: This class was boring for everyone, but the brat pack made the best of it. This was when they started prepping for another fun-filled day at the convent. Nails were buffed. Jewelry and shoe combinations for the next day’s uniform were arranged. On more exciting days, M.K. would arrange an evening meet-up with a boy who was probably too old for her.
Somehow, even though they rarely paid attention in class, they still managed to get pretty good grades. Either they were crazy smart—and hiding it really well—or they’d made some kind of deal with the teachers. Or maybe they just all copied off one another.
Probably it was that.
Today’s art history was pretty typical.
M.K. sat with her chin in her hand, looking bored and half-asleep. Amie scribbled notes furiously while Mr. Hollis, our teacher, talked about the Renaissance. Every few seconds, she’d take a sip from a paper cup that I assume held really strong coffee, because with every drink her handwriting got a little bit faster.
Veronica, the girl who had entranced a vampire so much he’d broken into St. Sophia’s just for the chance to get a look at her, stared off into space. To each her own, I guess.
When the convent bells sounded after class, we all grabbed our books and headed to our lockers. Since St. Sophia’s was a fancy-pants private school, juniors and seniors had glossy wooden lockers in a separate bay outside the classrooms. Mine was right below Scout’s, my name engraved on a small metal plate on the outside.
Veronica and M.K. stood a few lockers down. Both of them had decided on lots of jewelry today. Yellow necklaces were loaded around their necks in gleaming tangles. If that was high fashion, I wanted no part of it.
M.K. had her back to a locker while Veronica pulled books from hers.
My mind on Nicu, I eavesdropped while I exchanged my books.
“I thought you wanted to go to Sneak with Creed,” M.K. was telling her. “You talked about him for, like, two weeks.”
John Creed was a friend of Jason’s, and the guy Veronica had crushed—at least before she ran into Nicu.
“I did,” Veronica said with a shrug. She paused, hand in her locker, and looked over at Mary Katherine. “I’m just not feeling him right now.”
“Um, why? He’s rich, hot, and rich. And he’s a fantastic kisser.”Ick. Turned out that when Veronica had been crushing on Creed, M.K. had been hitting on him. (I know. She was totally a class act.) Veronica looked as disgusted—and betrayed—as I felt.
“He was your type two weeks ago,” M.K. persisted. “You were totally crazy about him.”
My stomach turned nervously as I waited for her answer—and silently bet that I knew what had changed. Yes, I’d kind-of-sort-of agreed to let Nicu meet Veronica. But if she was already so smitten that she didn’t care about Creed, there was going to be fireworks. And fireworks probably meant drama for me.
“I don’t know,” Veronica repeated, her voice testier this time. Books in hand, she slammed her locker shut. “I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”
She started walking my way, and I turned my gaze back to my own locker, but not fast enough. She caught me staring and gave me a look. “You totally interrupted Lisbeth and Charlie last night. I hear you’re the one who called Foley, and you practically assaulted Charlie. What are you, some kind of freak?”
“And you were with that freak Barnaby,” M.K. threw in, like that was a crime.
Was Lisbeth’s story that we interrupted a make-out session on purpose? So much for gratitude.
“I didn’t interrupt anyone,” I said, “and I didn’t tell Foley. Lisbeth can do whatever she wants. We were just walking back to my room.”
“Liar,” M.K. maliciously said.
I glanced over and gave them a dubious look. “Have you looked in the mirror lately? You look like a jewelry store threw up on your uniform. Now, that’s freaky. Go to class.”
They threw out some snarky comments, but left us at our lockers. When I looked back at Scout, her eyes were wide.
“That totally just happened.”
It had happened, and I felt immediately guilty. My parents had taught me better than to be obnoxious just because someone had been obnoxious to me. But I’d saved Lisbeth, and I’d ended up with no firespell. Was it a coincidence? Maybe. But a thank-you would have nice.
“It totally did,” I grumbled. “And not that she’s my favorite person right now, but I think Nicu’s in luck.”
Scout frowned, and glanced back to watch Veronica walk the hallway. “Why?”
“Because she doesn’t like Creed anymore.”
“How is that news? I don’t like Creed, either.”
“I think she doesn’t like Creed because she hasn’t totally forgotten about Nicu.”
“At least he’s having a good day. Let’s see how else this day can go down the tubes.”
As it turned out, our trig teacher rescheduled our midterm exam.
To tomorrow.
I loved it when teachers were understanding.
We were on our way to civics—only one more class before lunch—when I got the text. I’d forgotten to turn off my phone and pulled it out of my bag assuming it was my parents, maybe with an apology about having to miss parents’ night.
It definitely wasn’t my parents.
It was Sebastian Born—the Reaper who’d given me firespell.
“WE NEED TO TALK” was all it said.
I pulled Scout out of the flow of traffic and showed her the phone. Her expression immediately went suspicious. Sebastian had contacted me before, and she hadn’t been thrilled about it.
“Have you been talking to him?” she asked.
I rolled my eyes. “If by talking to him, you mean reading this single text message and then showing it to you as soon as I got it, then yes, I have.”
“Har har har. I know you two are buds.”
“We aren’t buds. He thinks we’ve bonded because we both have firespell.”
“Have you texted him back yet?”
“Not yet.”
She crossed her arms and frowned like she was seriously puzzling something over. “I think you should go talk to him.”
I blinked back shock. That was the last thing I expected her to say. “Excuse me?”
“I know you’ve talked to him before. He has some kind of connection with you. I’m not saying I like it,” she quickly added, “but you use what you’ve got, right?”
I wet my lips and thought about it for a moment. She was right—Sebastian clearly wanted to contact me. While I wasn’t thrilled about setting up a meeting, at least I wasn’t doing it behind anyone’s back. And maybe he had information about the blackout.
“You’re right. I should talk to him.” I started typing a response. “But I’m going over lunch, and you’re going with me.”
* * *
Sebastian agreed to meet us beside the Chicago River, which cut through the city’s downtown. We were allowed to walk around our neighborhood during the lunch hour, and the River was technically too far away from campus. But what was a little rule-breaking between friends?
We were supposed to meet him beside the bridge on State Street. Sure, I hadn’t been here long, and I hadn’t exactly come here by choice. But there was something about this city I liked. I liked the mix of buildings in downtown Chicago, the never-ending stream of tourists who all seemed to be in awe of the city, the Italian food, and the reflection of the city on the river at night, even if I didn’t make it outside damp and chilly tunnels very often to actually see that reflection. I liked listening to Jason and Michael argue about the Cubs and Sox and whether Wrigley was better than U.S. Cellular Field.
Maybe a long winter would change how I felt about the city, but it wasn’t winter yet. For now, Chicago was pretty good.