Rebel Belle (Rebel Belle #1)

Blythe might have had the element of surprise on her side, but she wasn’t a Paladin. I gripped the blade even harder, forcing her hand away from my throat. Red rivers were running down my forearm now, but I didn’t care. I’d deal with the pain later.

I decided to go with the same move that had surprised Dr. DuPont. Jerking my head forward, I smacked my forehead as hard as I could against her nose. The letter opener dropped to the floor as Blythe raised both hands to her face with a watery cry. Pushing myself up on my elbows, I went to shove her off me, but before I could, there was a crash and the sound of breaking glass.

Blythe slid off me, boneless, and collapsed on the floor. Behind her, David stood clutching the remnants of the desk lamp. His eyes were wild and he was practically panting.

Wincing, I pushed myself up, taking care not to put any pressure on my injured hand. Now that the fight was over, the pain was even worse. I only had to glance at the gash bisecting my palm to know it was going to need stitches. Even as I stared down at Blythe, I was wondering how I could explain this particular injury to my parents.

“Jesus,” David said, looking down at the blood dripping from my hand and arm. “Are you okay?”

When I stared at him wordlessly, he amended, “I mean, obviously you’re not, but . . . are you going to be?”

“I-I think so,” I told him, but to be honest, I felt a little faint. Not from the blood loss and the pain—although they were part of it—but from how close that blade had been to my throat. How all my supposed superpowers hadn’t counted for much when someone got the jump on me.

There was a little white cardigan hanging from the back of Blythe’s chair, and I grabbed it, wrapping it as tightly as I could around my bleeding hand. The wound in my arm still hurt, too, but it wasn’t as deep and it had already stopped bleeding.

“Why didn’t you feel anything?” David asked. “Isn’t that part of your whole deal? Like with the guys in the car?”

Staring down at Blythe, I shook my head. “Seems like I only feel that when someone’s after you. She was trying to kill me.”

David blinked. “So . . . your superpowers don’t help you defend yourself, too? That seems kind of unfair.”

It seemed a heck of a lot more than kind of unfair to me, but I didn’t say that to David. “Give me that lamp. Or what’s left of it,” I said. When he did, I ripped the cord out of the base, then nodded at Blythe, who was beginning to groan a little “Help me get her in a chair.”

Once we did, I threaded the cord through the slats in the back of the chair, tying her hands tightly behind her back. Blythe stayed unconscious through the whole thing, blood dripping steadily from her nose, leaving bright red splotches next to all those little pink and green daisies on her dress.

“I can’t believe no one heard all that,” David said, gesturing to the blood on the carpet. Frowning, I looked up from the cord.

“Yeah, me neither. There aren’t many people here, but you would think someone would’ve heard me nearly getting murdered.”

Chewing on his thumbnail, David was still staring at the letter opener. It was laying on the carpet, edge gleaming in the fluorescent lights. “This is insane,” he said at last.

I gave the knot one last tug and sighed. “Yes. As has been established.”

Now that I was certain she was pretty securely tied to the chair, I stepped back next to David and studied our captive.

“She seems . . . younger,” he said at last. “I thought she was too young to work at a college before, but now that I really look at her . . .”

She was young. Barely out of her teens, I’d guess. I looked at her crooked nose, wondering if I should feel guilty. But then I thought of her leaping over that desk, blade in hand.

Nope. No guilt here.

Moaning, she started to stir. “What are we going to do?” David whispered.

“Question her,” I replied. My blood continued to drip steadily on the beige carpet, and underneath the fluorescent lights, David looked greenish. Outside, the leaves of a giant magnolia tree beat softly against the window.

“We can’t . . . are you going to kill her?” I didn’t think it was possible for David to look any more wretched, but as he turned to me, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides, I was worried he might throw up.

And I didn’t know how to answer him. I honestly hadn’t thought about that. Meet this chick, question her, get a little more info on what was going on—that had been my whole agenda. But David was right, it wasn’t like we could just leave her here. And she had tried to kill me. Before I could think through that any further, Blythe’s eyes fluttered open.

They rolled around in her head for a second before coming to land on me. “You are a heck of a lot tougher than you look,” she said, her voice thick.

I folded my arms over my chest. “Who are you?” I’d seen enough movies to know this was the part where the bad guys usually laughed and started spitting in people’s faces, but the girl nodded at her name tag.

“Like it says on the freaking tin. Blythe.” There was no hint of a Southern accent in her voice now.

“Yeah, right,” David muttered next to me, but I ignored him.

“I don’t mean your name.” I’d only ever interrogated one person—a freshman cheerleader named Tori Bishop. Of course then, I’d been asking about some car wash money that had gone missing, not my potential murder. Still, I figured the technique would be basically the same. Clenching my jaw, I narrowed my eyes at Blythe. “I mean . . . what are you? You’re not a Paladin—”

Blythe snorted and then winced. “Obviously. And since I’m clearly not an Oracle—” she jerked her head at David—“why don’t you use the process of elimination?”

“You’re a Mage,” David said, mimicking my pose. “Like my— Like Saylor Stark.”

Blythe surged against the cords holding her, eyes suddenly fierce. “No, I am nothing like Saylor Stark. I do my damn job. I am loyal to the people who gave me this power.”

“The Ephors?” I asked as David said, “How long have you been a Mage?”

We glared at each other, and Blythe’s gaze flicked back and forth between us. The corner of her mouth lifted in a smirk, cracking the dried blood under her nose. “Which one of you am I supposed to answer first?”

After a moment, David rolled his eyes. “Her,” he said, gesturing toward me. “Answer her first.”

But instead of answering, Blythe kept looking at the two of us. “How old are you guys?”

“Seventeen,” we answered in unison, and Blythe made a kind of gurgling chuckle. Seriously, I never wanted to break someone’s nose again, even if they were trying to stab me. It had some majorly gross after-effects.

“Me, too,” she said. While she’d seemed young, she hadn’t looked that young. David glanced over at me, and although telepathy wasn’t part of the Paladin-Oracle bond, I still knew what he was thinking: How effed up is this?

Tightening the cardigan around my hand, I stared Blythe down. “You haven’t answered my question.”

Heaving a sigh, Blythe leaned back in the chair. “Yes, the Ephors,” she said, and while she didn’t add “you idiot,” it was clearly implied. Then she looked at David. “And as for your question, about six months.”

“How do they find you?” I found myself asking. Suddenly, I was really regretting not asking Saylor more about all of this. It would’ve been nice to know that Mages could be just as homicidal and dangerous as Paladins in their own way.

Blythe looked up at me, tilting her face. “You know those tests you take in school? The things that judge aptitude for certain careers?”

“I worship those tests,” I said, leaning back against one corner of the desk.

A lock of hair had fallen into Blythe’s eyes, and she huffed out a breath. “Me too. There are questions woven into that thing that alert the Ephors to people who have Mage potential.”

David stepped back a little, nearly tripping over a jar of pens. It must have fallen during the fight with Blythe. Righting himself, David rubbed one hand over his mouth, studying Blythe. “But a Mage’s power can be passed on, right?”

Sighing, Blythe rolled her neck. “Yes, but it helps to find someone with a few natural abilities if you can. If the Ephors have time, which they did in my case. The Mage before me knew she was dying for months. Plenty of time to prepare.”

Over Blythe’s head, David and I locked eyes. That was an interesting little fact. I wondered if it worked the same way for Paladins. But before I could ask, Blythe jerked her head in my direction and said, “Now would the two of you get on with the killing me part already?”

“We’re not going to kill you,” I heard myself say, and when Blythe looked up at me, eyebrows raised, I hastily added, “I mean, not yet. So long as you tell us what we need to know.”

The letter opener was near the door, so I picked up the nearest weapon I could lay hands on: a stapler.

I lifted it, going for “menacing.” I admit it lacked a certain elegance, but hey. It was worth a shot.

David placed his hand on my arm and pushed it back down.

“What?”

“Just . . . that’s embarrassing for all of us,” he replied.

Blythe gave another one of those laughs that made me shudder. “This is such a freaking mess,” she muttered before fixing me with her dark eyes. “You don’t even know what’s really going on here, do you? What’s your name, Paladin?”

“Harper Price,” I said, good manners automatically kicking in over sense.

“Do you want to give her your address, too?” David muttered, but Blythe’s gaze stayed on me.

“Well, listen to me, Harper Price. Me, the people I work for . . . we don’t want to hurt David. We want to help him.”

I opened my mouth, but David replied before I could say anything. “Help me?” His voice was tight with anger, and he reached up to tug at his hair, never a good sign. “You killed the man who was sworn to protect me.”