Rebel Belle

But it was only a hug. And if I maybe spent a second or two thinking that he actually smelled really nice, or that he was much more solid than he appeared, so what? I was traumatized by all the car chasing/nearly dying.

Luckily, it didn’t last long, but when I pulled back, I noticed that my heart was pounding and there was this weird fluttering sensation.

Butterflies.

No, I thought to myself. Near-death flutters of anxiety. That’s all.

Then I noticed that David was staring out the shattered wind

shield, looking as weirded out as I felt.

Oh my God, what was wrong with me? I could barely muster up the enthusiasm to make out with my own super hot boy

friend, and I was . . . oh dear God, was I blushing? Ugh. Ugh ugh ugh.

Yup, the car chase had clearly addled my brain.

I was about to say something mean to David, you know, to

restore equilibrium, when his eyes got big and he blurted out,

“Bad guys in the pool!”

Huh? Was that like thinking of baseball when—OH! Right! I pushed open my door and leapt out into my yard, taking

deep breaths, hoping the cool air and sight of people drowning

in my pool might get my hormones or whatever back under

control.

I had knocked over Mom’s birdbath. It lay in three big pieces

right under David’s bumper. And then, of course, there was the

giant hole in our fence. But those were really the least of my

problems. This biggest issue was the black Cadillac currently

sinking into my pool.

No sound came from the car, and there didn’t appear to be

any activity inside, so I guessed the impact had knocked out the

driver and any passengers he or she might have had. David was standing next to me, watching the car as the aqua

water bubbled and churned around it. “So are we, um, are we

gonna let them drown?”

I was glad he said that. We.

I had killed Dr. DuPont, and I didn’t feel bad about that. I

couldn’t. He had been seconds from killing me when I jammed

that shoe into his neck. But whoever was in that black car . . .

well, I didn’t know what they’d wanted. My gut told me they had been bad guys, but that still didn’t make me feel great about let

ting them drown in my pool.

I was also more than a little worried about explaining this

whole thing. All evidence of my fight with Dr. DuPont had mysteriously vanished, but I wasn’t sure how whoever had worked

that particular mojo could cover this up. I expected our neighbors

to start congregating in the street any minute now, like they did

when the power went out.

David gave a huge sigh and ran his hands over his hair. “Well,

this is weird. And awful.”

“Yup.” My skirt had gotten twisted around my hips somewhere in all of this, and I started straightening it. Anything to

avoid looking at the pool.

“Who are you?” David asked me for the second time that day.

“International assassin? Ninja? Vampire slayer, maybe?” I lifted my head. “No, I’m a—”

There was a slight popping sound from the pool, and David

and I both turned our attention back to the water.

Which was now empty.

And with one loud crack, the hole in my fence was suddenly

gone. I didn’t even have to look behind me to know that the

screech of metal was David’s car repairing itself. In just a few

seconds, all evidence of the insane car chase, the crash, all of it,

was gone. Then the only sound in my backyard was the singing

of birds and the rustling of the leaves.

“That really happened,” David said softly. “All that shit, it . . .

disappeared, right? I didn’t hallucinate that?”

My adrenaline seemed to vanish as completely as the Cadillac, and it was all I could do not to collapse in a heap on the grass. It was one thing to see the after-effects of stuff disappearing. It was another to see an entire car—with people inside—poof out of

existence.

“Yeah,” I replied. “That happened.”

“Do you know why?”

When I turned to him, David was still staring at the pool, the

fingers of his right hand pressed against his temple again. “No. But . . . David, something seriously weird is going on.” The hand at his temple moved up to tug on his hair as David

made a sound that was part sob, part laugh. “You think? Jesus,

Harper. You . . . you flipped Ryan Bradshaw like a pancake. You

drove a car like Jason Bourne. And then this . . .” He waved his

hand at the water. “I don’t . . . I mean . . .” His words trailed off

and he sank down into a crouch, eyes still fixed on the pool. Walking over to him, I pulled at the shoulder of his jacket.

“Okay, I get that it’s weird, and while I totally respect the need

for a PTSD moment, we really need to talk.”

He eyes moved up to my face, still kind of unfocused. “About

what? Why bad guys are chasing you, and why freaking magic is

apparently real?”

“I actually think the bad guys might be chasing you, but yeah.” David staggered backwards, and sat down heavily on the

grass. As he did, he nearly overturned Mom’s statue of two little

girls reading on a bench, but I was able to grab it before it fell. His sleeves, too short as usual, fell back from his thin wrists

as he rested his elbows on his knees, hands tugging at his hair.

“Hold up, what? You think those guys were after me? Why?” “I don’t know. Do you know why?” I towered over David, my

shadow falling on his body.

Dazed, David shook his head. “I can’t—”

And then I saw it. Something flickered across his face and he

flinched.

“You do know,” I said, yanking him to his feet. “David, what

is it?”

He swallowed heavily. “Nothing. It’s nothing.”

At that moment, I really hated that my superpowers prevented

me from shaking the crap out of him. I settled for balling my fist

up in the front of his shirt and pulling him down to meet my

eyes. “David, look around you. This? This is crazy-sauce. And if

you know anything that could help me figure out why I’m suddenly Wonder Woman, I need to know it right. Effing. Now.” I actually said the word that time, and David’s eyes went so

wide I wondered if that had shocked him more than the disappearing Cadillac.

But he never got a chance to answer me.

“Yoo hoo!” a voice called out from the other side of my fence,

and David and I both went still.

“Is that?” I hissed.

“My Aunt Saylor,” he gulped.

The back gate swung open, and suddenly Saylor Stark was

standing there, a pair of Chanel sunglasses pushed down her

nose as she took in the sight of me, shaking and sweaty, clutching

the front of her nephew’s T-shirt.

“Oh my,” she said, and two syllables had never contained so

much dismay. “What exactly is going on here?”

David and I practically leapt apart as Saylor moved into the

yard, her high heels sinking slightly. The late afternoon sunlight

flashed on her silver hair as well as the silver and turquoise jewelry around her neck. Other than a slight grass stain on the hem

of her beige trousers, she looked as immaculate as ever. “I was over at Anne Beckwith’s, and I thought I saw your car

tearing down the street, David James Stark,” she said, pushing

her sunglasses back into place with one finger. “But I told myself,

‘Of course not, Saylor. David would never drive so irresponsibly.

Besides, he’s meant to be in school right now.’”

She turned her head to me. “As are you, correct, Miss Price?” “Yes ma’am,” I said feebly. “I . . . I felt sick, and David offered

to drive me home.”

I couldn’t see her eyes behind her dark glasses, but I had a feeling they were very cold. “Really?” she said. “How odd. Because

right after I had the thought that David would never, ever drive

his car in such a manner, I noticed that he was not the one behind

the wheel.”

Oh, God. Of all the people to see me doing my Dale Earnhardt, Jr., impression, it had to be Saylor Stark.

“She asked to drive it,” David said, speaking up for the first

time. He still seemed a little out of it, and his voice wasn’t as

strong as normal, but he was still good at thinking on his feet.

“She’d never driven one like it before, so she, uh, wanted to.” As one, the three of us looked over at David’s pathetic Dodge.

Even without its fender and back door mangled, it didn’t exactly

scream, “DRIVE ME.”

Maybe David wasn’t that great at thinking on his feet. And why did he even own a car like that, anyway? Saylor surely could’ve afforded something nicer. It was probably a point of

pride with him, like his weird thrift shop wardrobe.

“I’m sorry, Aunt Saylor,” he continued. “I shouldn’t have

ditched school, but Harper, uh, was sick. And you’re always

going on about good citizenship.”

I tried not to let surprise show on my face. That was actually

a pretty good save. Certainly better than “chicks really want to

get behind the wheel of my Stratus.” And the fact that he’d been

able to do it after nearly getting killed and dealing with what appeared to be magic was impressive.

“Good citizenship doesn’t have to come at the cost of your

own morals, David,” Saylor snapped. “You know better than to

skip class, and I am very disappointed in you. And of course, we

haven’t even gotten into the completely reckless way you two

were driving. I think you and I will be having a long talk when I ns class="adsbygoogle" style="display:block" data-ad-client="ca-pub-7451196230453695" data-ad-slot="9930101810" data-ad-format="auto" data-full-width-responsive="true">