2
How did you top off an afternoon of being faked out by your best friend in an abandoned tunnel beneath Chicago?
You helped snooty heiresses make party decorations.
Sure, party preparations were a little out of character for me, but that’s exactly why I was doing it. It wasn’t that I was eager to hang out with the other girls on the committee—most of them were into luxury handbags and money flaunting—but there was something seriously relaxing about playing around with glue and glitter. No rats. No spiders. No Reapers. No “workouts.” Just a little mindless arts-and-craftsing. Yes, please.
Girls in spendy clothes—my fellow members of the Sneak decorating committee—sat in groups on the shiny parquet floor of the St. Sophia’s gym, sticking beady eyes onto cutout ravens and draping faux spider web around everything that sat still long enough to be draped. There were also foam gravestones everywhere, all painted black and coated with chunky black glitter.
Sneak was the fall formal of our junior class, and the St. Sophia’s girls in charge—the brat pack—had decided “graveyard glam” was our decorating theme. (The Sneak committee guys at Montclare, our brother school that Jason and Michael both attended, got to do all the audiovisual and electronic stuff.) The idea wasn’t exactly original, but since I was a fan of dark clothes and good eyeliner, I didn’t mind so much. Besides, St. Sophia’s alumnae had rented out the Field Museum, Chicago’s natural history museum, for the party, which was this Friday. I hadn’t been there yet, so I wasn’t really sure what to expect, but with all that money and all these decorations, there was no way it wasn’t going to look sweet when we were done.
I was pretty excited about the dance. The brat pack, on the other hand, I could do without. Veronica—an every-hair-in-place type of blonde—was their leader. She was currently using a pencil to point other members of the junior class toward their glittery assignments.
I didn’t like her, but I had been paying more attention to her lately. A few weeks ago, Veronica had walked right into the middle of a civil war between two vampire covens that lived in the Pedway—a bunch of passageways that connected buildings in downtown Chicago. Marlena was the reigning coven queen, and she hadn’t been happy that Nicu, a vamp she’d made, had started his own clan. Nicu helped us save Veronica, and something seemed to pass between them. She’d been spelled to lock down her memories of the fight and the meeting, but I couldn’t shake the feeling she was a magical time bomb waiting to go off.
Number two in the brat pack was Amie. She had a bright pink room in my suite but a quiet attitude, and she was currently painting the ravens I’d been assigned to glitter.
Mary Katherine, the third brat packer, whose dark hair was now streaked with yellow spiral curls and tiny rows of rhinestones, was painting her nails a deep shade of blue. At least, I assumed they were rhinestones. Who really knew?
Lesley Barnaby, another suitemate, walked toward me, a bundle of flat, black birds in her hand. She’d been given the task of carting the birds between the brat pack and me. Since their primary goals were being top of the St. Sophia’s food chain and driving me crazy, I was more than happy to let Lesley play middleman.
“More ravens,” she said, setting them down on the floor.
She sat cross-legged beside the stack, a pair of bright rainbow socks reaching up to her knees. She also wore a T-shirt with a rainbow on it and a small pair of fuzzy black cat ears tucked into her blond hair. Lesley had a very unique sense of style.
I liked clothes, and I definitely had an artistic streak. I hated the matchy-match plaid of our school uniforms. But that stuff just made me a teenager. Lesley was an altogether different type of girl. She acted less like a teenager than like a high-fashion model transplanted from some future world, complete with strange clothes and fuzzy expression. The stuff she wore might be really cool in twenty years, but right now it just seemed odd.
“Thanks,” I said, and glanced over at the girls. The brat pack was possibly increasing from three to four. A new recruit, Lisbeth Cannon, had been hanging out with the crew.
“How’s the brat pack?” I asked.
Lesley shrugged. “See for yourself. Veronica’s handing out orders. Amie’s following them. M.K.’s working on her nails.”
“What about Lisbeth?”
“She’s learning how to be like the rest of them.”
I glanced back. As much as I found them repellant, I could admit that I was also kind of intrigued. There was a lot of fighting. They were always pairing off together, leaving one girl out until the other two got mad at each other and decided it was time to switch partners again. Some days I’d find Veronica on the couch in our suite, complaining to Amie about Mary Katherine’s dramatics. M.K. usually complained to Amie that Veronica always had to have her way.
Both complaints seemed right to me.
I was glad to have a steady BFF in Scout, but in an odd way I was a little jealous about the dramatics. What if deciding between BFFs were the only problem I had to face? No magic. No Reapers. No slimy nasties in the tunnels? Just deciding which friend I wanted to wear on any given day.
“You ever wonder what it’s like to be them?”
Lesley looked back at me. “You mean instead of having magic?”
Lesley was one of the few people without magic who was allowed to know about Adepts and Reapers. I wasn’t sure if she knew the entire story, but there was an advantage to not knowing too much—having all the details about the world of underground magic apparently put a Reaper target on your back. Lesley might have been a little odd, but she’d been a friend to us when we needed it, so I certainly didn’t wish that on her.
“I mean to be popular, and for how you look to be the most important thing on your mind.”
Lesley painted lines of glue onto the raven’s feathers. “I play the cello,” she said. “Sometimes I help you and Scout. I speak four languages, I’m super good at physics, and I will probably get into whatever college I want.” She looked up at me, and it was clear she wasn’t bragging. She was just giving me the facts. “So why would I want to spend my time worrying about whether everyone else thinks my shirt is cool enough?”
Like they were following a script, raised voices carried from the brat pack corner of the room.
“I’m trying to do it right,” Lisbeth said. She was attempting to carve a piece of foam into the shape of . . . Well, I’m not really sure what it was supposed to be. A gargoyle, maybe?
Veronica, who’d made her way over to the group, wasn’t buying it. “It certainly doesn’t look like it. You’ve been working on that thing for, like, an hour now.”
“Seriously,” M.K. said. “It looks like an angry terrier, and that’s really off-theme.”
I doubted M.K. cared whether the decoration was right or not. She probably just liked having someone to terrorize. And Lisbeth definitely looked terrorized. She burst into tears and ran from the room, leaving the brat pack rolling their eyes behind her.
“She is so moody,” M.K. complained. “I was just being constructive.”
Lesley and I exchanged a glance.
“See what I mean?” she asked.
I definitely did.
* * *
When the drama was over, we all went back to Sneakifying. Earlier, Veronica, as head of the planning committee, had told us Sneak got its name because St. Sophia’s girls of old used to sneak out every year and host an impromptu prom in an old storage building behind the dorms. (The school used to be a convent, so even the storage building was antiquey and cool.) Add twenty years, lots and lots of money, and parents who didn’t want their heiresses playing dress-up in an old storage building, and you had the modern version of Sneak.
I wasn’t one of those heiresses; I’d been sent to Chicago from my home in New York when my parents went to Germany for research work.
Well, that was their story, anyway. I wasn’t exactly buying it. I thought they knew more about magic than they let on, and that they’d sent me to St. Sophia’s specifically because our headmistress, Marceline Foley, also knew magic existed. It wasn’t something we chatted about regularly, and I don’t think Foley was thrilled to be in the know, but she gave us a little bit of room to take care of business.
I poured glitter over the lines of glue Lesley had made. I’m sure I didn’t exactly look like your average teenager—too much eyeliner and weird vintage shoes for that. But I didn’t exactly look like a teenage witch, either. The only real sign I was anything other than a junior at St. Sophia’s School for Girls was the Darkening on my back, a strangely shaped pale green tattoo that had appeared after I’d been struck by a shot of firespell—and had ended up being able to wield the power, too.
Sure—having power was better than ending up the pitiful victim of a Reaper. But was it better or worse than worrying only whether I was as pretty as the girls in Vogue and if my clothes were hot enough?
Lesley had clearly made up her own mind about that one. Scout had, too. She came from money and could have afforded the same stuff the brat pack wore. But she was one hundred percent Scout, and not the type to worry about what anybody else thought. Keeping the world safe from Reapers was number one on her agenda.
I shook the excess glitter from the raven and put it on the floor beside the others.
“Do you have a date for the dance?” I asked Lesley.
“No. I don’t really know any boys. I’m saving that kind of thing for college.” She looked up at me. “Are you going with Jason?”
“That’s the plan.”
“Do you have a dress yet?”
“Not yet.” Spending my evenings trying to save the world—or at least some of the teenagers who fell victim to Reapers—didn’t leave a lot of time to check out the fashion scene. “Scout and I were going to look this week. What about you?”
She shrugged. “I have some ideas.” She stretched out her legs, revealing a worn pair of Converses. “But I’ll probably go with these. They’re so comfortable. And if we’re going to be dancing all night . . . or running from bad guys . . .”
I looked up at her. “What makes you think we’ll be running from bad guys?”
She shrugged. “I’ve seen television. Bad guys always attack the night of the big dance.”
I made a doubtful sound and grabbed another raven, then sprinkled glitter onto its wings. “Yeah, well, that’s not going to happen this time. There will be all sorts of Adepts there, and there’s not a Reaper in town who’d attack a party full of high-society teenagers. They don’t want that much attention.”
At least, that was what I hoped . . .
* * *
It was late when Lesley and I headed back toward the dorms. The rest of the girls had left an hour before we had, but I’d been having too much fun with glitter and glue. We left the decorations in the gym, but I carried back the messenger bag that I took pretty much everywhere. Lesley, bucking the trend again, carried a small round suitcase covered in stickers. It was pea green and looked like something from the 1970s that she’d nabbed from a thrift store. Strange, but a pretty good find, actually.
The walk from the gym to the dorms wasn’t far. The campus was made up of a handful of buildings, and the entire thing was surrounded by a fence with a key-carded gate. Foley’d only just had the gate installed. Probably a good idea even without the Reapers. There were weirdos in every city, and most of the St. Sophia’s girls didn’t have firespell to protect them.
The air outside was cool. Winter was coming, something I definitely wasn’t thrilled about. Winters in upstate New York were nothing to laugh at, but I’d heard the wind off Lake Michigan was pretty miserable. I planned on using the emergency credit card my parents had given me to invest in the thickest, downiest coat I could find. I might look like a lumberjack, but at least I’d be warm.
Lesley and I walked quietly past the classroom building. There was a bench outside, where a girl in St. Sophia’s plaid and a dark-haired boy in street clothes—jeans and a long-sleeved jacket—sat. His arm was around her shoulders, and he was whispering in her ear. She stared blankly ahead while he twirled a lock of her hair. I realized it was Lisbeth, the brat pack’s new recruit.
It wasn’t exactly unusual for St. Sophia’s girls to sneak out of the building to meet with a boy. There was an old root cellar door I’d used to sneak out before—although for world-saving-type reasons.
But this seemed different. There was sadness in her eyes, and while he seemed totally into her, she seemed really, really unhappy about it. She gave off a vibe of desperation. That was quite a change from her brat pack bonding of a little while ago . . . but maybe not from the moodiness they’d accused her of.
When we passed them, I pulled Lesley around the corner of the building, my heart beginning to pound.
“That’s Lisbeth,” I whispered. “Who’s the boy?”
“I’ve never seen him before.”
“Did she seem okay to you?”
“She looked sad. Like she didn’t think she’d ever be happy again.”
That rung a bell. It sounded exactly like the effect of a Reaper stealing someone’s soul. In my two months at St. Sophia’s and as an Adept, I hadn’t actually seen any Reaping. I’d seen the effects—girls at school whose motivation was gone, who seemed depressed, who were tired and sleepy and unhappy all the time. That was the effect of having your soul—your will to live—ripped away by a Reaper intent on keeping his magic.
I glanced around the corner, where the couple still sat, almost motionless except for his fingers raking at her hair. He leaned in like he meant to kiss her . . . but their lips didn’t touch. Instead, he whispered something to her, and as he did, white wisps of smoke began to slip from her mouth and nose.
No, not wisps . . . her soul. It was her energy, her essence, her life’s blood, that was seeping away, and this Reaper was using her for it. That explained her depression. Soon, she’d be little more than a shell of a girl with no hope, no energy, and no interest in anything.
Adults thought hormones made teenagers tired and moody. As if.
My heart pounded with fear, and the hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. This guy—this teenager—was a slow killer, a drainer of energy and taker of things that didn’t belong to him.
He wasn’t even supposed to be doing this. He was too young. I’d been told only adults did the Reaping because they were the only ones who needed the magic. This guy still had all of his powers, so he shouldn’t have needed the extra energy.
But even if it didn’t match what I’d been told, I knew what I was seeing. I had to stop this, had to interrupt it. I couldn’t let him drain this girl right in front of me, right in the middle of Adept turf. My hands shook with fear, but I reminded myself that the scariest times were the only times bravery mattered. I firmed up my courage, stepped around the corner, and cleared my throat.
The guy looked up, his expression irritated as I interrupted him. And then his eyes narrowed and sharpened . . . and flashed red.
I didn’t know who he was, and I didn’t know exactly what the flash of color meant, but if he was willing to show off his magic, he must have known who I was.
A chill ran through me. But it was too late to turn back now. “Kind of the wrong gender to be at St. Sophia’s, aren’t you?”
“This is none of your business,” he growled. Lisbeth cast a bored glance in my direction, and then looked away again. She seem almost hypnotized, like she was in some sort of magic-induced stupor.
“Actually, it’s precisely my business. You’re too far from your sanctuary, and I’m not thrilled about that.” Sanctuaries were Reaper headquarters. Adepts had Enclaves.
His eyes flashed again, and this time he stood up. Lisbeth, her body limp, slumped on her seat when he moved. The boy took a step toward me. He was still five or six feet away, and I wasn’t sure if he was brave enough to stay right here, but I began to feel out my own power just in case.
I was either really relaxed or totally getting used to my magic, because I hardly felt the pull of power at all. But there was no mistaking his. His eyes flashed red again, and he took a menacing step toward me, one hand outstretched. Reddish light began to dance along his fingertips. “I’ll give you one chance to run away and forget that you saw anything.”
I glanced to the side to make sure Lesley was safely around the corner, and called my power up. I could usually feel the energy as I pulled it up through my feet . . . but this time there was nothing. Not even a tingle. Of course, I was standing in front of two non-Adepts and facing down a really angry Reaper alone. I chalked it up to nerves and kept up my bravado.
“The thing is, St. Sophia’s is my school, and I don’t appreciate bottom-feeders using our students like protein shakes. I’ll give you one chance to run for the gate. If you make it before my firespell hits you, you win.”
His eyes widened at the mention of firespell, and I could all but see the gears turning in his head. My powers had been triggered by a shot of firespell from Sebastian Born, a Reaper, so word had traveled about me and my power.
“Yeah, I’m that girl,” I admitted. “So take your magic and run.”
My voice was all bravery—but he wasn’t afraid. He held out his hands. Little bursts of red lightning now shot among his fingers.
“That really doesn’t look promising,” Lesley said, stepping out from around the corner.
“No,” I agreed. “It does not.” I moved over and back a little, giving my firespell a clean path. Hitting Lisbeth wasn’t going to help the situation.
“I think you have the order of things confused, you bratty little anarchist.” He used his magic like an exclamation mark, throwing out his hands—and a red snake of energy—in our direction.
Lesley screamed; I threw her to the ground as the magic flew above our heads, a hot streak of power. I glanced up and watched as it hit a metal garden angel a few yards away . . . and turned it to solid stone.
My chest turned cold with fear. Being turned to rock was not going to help me meet my graduation requirements.
“Stay here,” I whispered to Lesley, and stood up again. “That was rude.”
“You deserved it, troublemaker. Maybe you should spend a little less time planning parties and a little more time practicing.”
All right, I’d had enough. I focused my energy and thrust out my hand, waiting for the sheet of firespell to fly through the air.
But nothing happened.
My heart pounded, my palms suddenly sweating from fear. This wasn’t possible. I had firespell—I’d had it for months now. I’d done the same things I’d always done, prepared the throw the same way I always had.
Maybe I was just nervous—maybe fear had made me mess it up somehow. My heart pounded, and I tried frantically again, throwing out my arm and hoping firespell would burst from my hands and fly toward him. . . . Again, there was nothing.
My stomach spun, panic beginning to seep through and shut off my brain. I was too scared to think, and for a split second I had no idea what to do.
And then Lesley called my name. “Lily! He’s gonna do it again!”
I looked up from my hands to his. The magic was beginning to bubble around his hands again.
I shook off the fear and decided I was a fighter even if I didn’t have firespell. I’d made it nearly sixteen years without it, after all.
I grabbed my messenger bag—dumped when I’d hit the ground—and slung it at him. He threw up a shoulder to block it, but it was heavy and landed on his arm with a thud. He stumbled backward a few feet, giving me enough time to reach out and grab Lesley’s suitcase.
I ran toward him, swung the suitcase, and nailed him in the head.
He hit the ground like a sack of potatoes.
“What in God’s name is going on out here?”
I looked back.
Marceline Foley, the headmistress of St. Sophia’s, stood in the open doorway of the building where classes were held. She had a perfect bob of blond hair and always wore a suit. Today the suit was crimson red, and it matched the color in her cheeks. She looked furious.
She might have been angry about the commotion I’d caused—and the assault I’d just perpetrated. But there was something that would anger her even more.
“He’s a Reaper,” I said, putting the suitcase on the ground. “He was working on Lisbeth.” I pointed to the bench where she still sat, hunched over the arm.
“Oh no,” Foley said, running in her skirt and low heels to the bench. She sat down beside Lisbeth, gently moved her head, and looked into each of her eyes. “Weak,” she said, “but she’ll manage.”
Foley looked back at Lesley. “Go to my office. There’s a number on speed dial—it’s the first one on the phone. Call it. Tell the man who answers that I need him.”
Without a word, Lesley nodded and ran for the door.
Foley stroked a hand over Lisbeth’s face. She knew all about magic and Reapers and Adepts. Her daughter had been one, but she’d died in the line of duty.
“It was bold of him,” she said, then looked over at me. “To be out in the open.”
“Maybe they’re working on infiltrating the school. They’ve tried to take Scout’s Grimoire—her book of magic—before.”
“I remember.”
“I tried to get him away from her.” I shivered involuntarily, thinking of what I’d seen—the Reaper actually stealing her soul, one wisp at a time. “He was already in the middle of it.”
“So I see. Why did you hit him with a suitcase? Why not use your own magic?”
That was my question, too.