Wayward

WAYWARD by Ashley Girardi SMASHWORDS EDITION ***** PUBLISHED BY: Ashley Girardi on Smashwords Wayward Copyright © 2011 by Ashley Girardi Smashwords Edition License Notes This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author's work. *****

Chapter One I despised the smell of hotdogs. Unfortunate, considering the fact that I served at least a hundred greasy plates of them to tourists on a daily basis. The odor clung to my hair, skin and clothes like rank perfume. There was no way to avoid it. Two showers a day and I still had nightmares of being served with mustard and relish on a sesame seed bun at a feast laid out in Hell. "Order up." Big Larry wasn't the devil. Still, his eyes—barely visible as he glowered at me through the grill window—might be described as faintly demonic. I sniffed faintly. No hint of sulfur, just the pungent stench of pork fat and french fries.

Gross, but my soul was probably as safe as it had ever been. "Get moving, girl," he barked, before disappearing behind a cloud of frying oil vapor. "You got it." Pissing off Big Larry was no way to start the night. Getting food to my tables as quickly as possible was my only shot at decent tips. I slid the plastic baskets out of the window, one for each hand and a third tucked into the crook of my arm. Buns rolled in their paper lining and I righted them with the ease of long practice. The food went to table six and I slid behind the counter to pull some beers from the cold case. "You're not supposed to serve those." A voice spoke from above me. Jenny, a college student home for winter break and legally allowed to serve booze, stood on the other side of the counter. She was the only other waitress on and the current bane of my existence. A piece of gum snapped between lips coated in gloss the color of cotton candy. I took my time counting out four Bud Lights before standing and slamming the case door shut with the side of my hip. My fingers wrapped tight around the necks of the bottles and I resisted the urge to reach out and smack her across the face with them. She blocked my way out from behind the bar and I sighed heavily. "If a customer orders alcohol, am I supposed to say no?" "You're supposed to give the table to me. Those customers could be undercover police officers." Jenny reached for the beers and I instinctively pulled them away. Drinks meant a higher check total for the table and thus a higher tip for me. No way was I giving that up without a fight. I shoved past her, forcing her to move or be squashed against the counter. "That one guy has like eight chins. They aren't cops." "Larry," Jenny called loudly. I winced at the strident sound. She strode to the grill window and I hurried after her. "What?" Larry's faceless grumble came from the far end of the grill. "Hess is trying to get us fined by the city." "It's Hex," I said through clenched teeth. She knew my name, but reveled in deliberately mangling it. The business end of a spatula shot through the window and came to a stop less than an inch from my nose. "Minors don't serve in my restaurant. Give the table to Jenny." "Sucks for you." Jenny pulled the beers out my hands with a smirk of smarmy satisfaction. I was really regretting not decking her when I had the chance. She turned on her heel, blonde ponytail whipping me in the face, and sauntered to what should have been my table with a switch in her hips. I watched as she served the beers, leaning over so all four men seated at the table got a good look down the v-neck of her shirt. It was disgusting but she'd probably net at least an extra five bucks. My only other table paid and left, leaving an okay tip and a pile of balled up napkins and half-empty glasses for me to clear up. The sound of Jenny's high-pitched giggle coming from a few feet away set my teeth on edge. I leaned over the counter, my arms resting against the cool glass. I stared at the clock on the wall, willing the hands to move a little faster. It was a slow shift, achingly

so, and all I wanted was to get off work and try to salvage the night. Larry insisted on keeping the diner open twenty-four hours. It was getting painfully obvious to everyone but him that we didn't have the customer base to support that. Evenings were our busiest time and I normally ran out of things to do by eight. Leno's on 56th served Chicago-style hotdogs before the dish was famous. A grimy picture of Al Capone, butt planted firmly in one of the same stools with red, cracked vinyl seats that still lined the bar, sat under the glass counter next to the cash register. These days, Leno's wasn't much more than a run-down greasy spoon, sandwiched in between a dry cleaners and a Korean grocery store, serving the same crappy food as a hundred other places in the city. Nobody considered waitressing an ideal way to make a living but the job did have its advantages. I got paid in cash, for one. More importantly, Big Larry overlooked the fact that he'd never seen my social security card or birth certificate. After the first few weeks of me "forgetting" them at home, he stopped asking. I think we were both content to keep me off the payroll. It's hard to get paperwork when you use a fake name. Jenny swept haughtily past me. "You have a table." I followed her gaze to a booth in the back corner of the restaurant that I could have sworn only moments before was empty. A lone man sat with his back to me, dark hair curling in unruly licks around his head. "Okay." I grabbed a menu from the rack next to the register. My fingers fumbled for the notepad tucked into the pocket of my apron as I wove between the tables. I had only just come to a stop at the booth when I started my greeting. "Welcome to Leno's on 56th. My name is Hex and I'll be your waitress—" The man raised his head and the words died on my tongue. "What are you doing here?" I asked coldly. West Mustela leaned back against the cracked vinyl of the booth and rested his booted feet on the seat opposite him. "You don't seem happy to see me." Dip peeked out of the corner of his smile, black tar that soured his breath and stained his teeth. I had never been happy to see West. He was dirty—black fingernails, greasy hair and a pockmarked face—one of the least attractive people I knew. Even so, I viewed him with a mixture repulsion and longing. West, for all that I found him totally repulsive, was my link to the life I left behind. One of the few reminders left of who I really was. "You're not supposed to bother me at work." "Sorry." His voice was slick as the oil running through the engines of the cars he worked on all day. He gazed pointedly around the empty restaurant. "I hate to keep you, if you're busy." West shifted his feet and caked mud trapped in the tread of his boots fell on the seat. Eyeing them with distaste, I reminded myself to wipe down the seats of the booth after he left. "You have to order something if you're taking up a table," I said finally. I had little hope of convincing him to leave,m but it was still worth the attempt. West dug in his pocket and pulled out a handful of spare change. He dropped it in front of me, coins making a dull sound as they struck the table. "What can I get for that?" I slid the coins across the table one at a time with the tip of my finger, counting

them. "Small coffee, not including tip." "Coffee it is, then." I swept the change into the palm of my hand and stuck it into the pocket of my apron. "Great." The coffee pot was almost empty, any remaining liquid turning to sludge at the bottom. I shrugged and poured what was left into a mug, barely filling it three-quarters of the way full. West would have to deal. The $1.19 in change jangling around in the pocket of my apron wasn't worth making a whole new pot. Jenny sat at the bar, eating salad out of a tupperware container that she'd brought for dinner. She raised an eyebrow as I passed. "He ordering food?" She asked, nodding in West's direction. I held up the lukewarm cup of coffee. "Just this." "You can't catch a break tonight." "Tell me about it." "Sucks." She speared a cherry tomato with her fork and popped it into her mouth, seeming unconcerned with my bad luck. "Maybe he'll want a beer," I said sarcastically, turning away. West straightened when I set the coffee mug down in front of him. He gestured to the bench across from him. "Sit." I eyed the seat warily, now liberally decorated with bits of mud and grass from the bottom of West's boots. I dragged over a chair from one of the nearby tables and turned it backwards, straddling the seat. West took a sip of his coffee, regarding me steadily over the porcelain. Every few seconds, his focus in his close-set eyes would jump to the entrance of the restaurant as if he expected someone to suddenly burst through it. A nervous tic. I finally had to break the silence. "What do you want?" He rubbed his hands vigorously together and pushed them both through his hair. The bell of the door clanged as a new customer walked in. West jumped like he'd been shocked. "You good?" I asked quietly. Jenny sat the customer at a table near the door. West watched their progress, beady eyes trained on their movements. He twitched and seemed to pull himself together, turning back to face me. "I got some action for you." "Tonight?" He nodded, picking at his fingernails. "Good action. Just for you." His movements reminded me of an addict coming down from the high, shaky and nervous, senses overloaded by even the slightest stimuli. He'd worked all day. It was starting to catch up with him. The last thing I needed was for West to lose control in the middle of the restaurant. "How much?" "Two-forty with my cut." I glanced at the clock. My shift didn't end for another hour. "When?" I asked West.

"Soon." He shivered. His entire body shook with a tremor that took several moments to subside. "Now." "Hold on a minute." I jogged back to the grill and peered through the window. "It's totally dead out here, Larry. Can I cut out early?" Big Larry stuck his head out and surveyed the nearly empty restaurant. His gaze stopped on West, who sat huddled in the corner of his booth. "You got a hot date, or something?" "Sure," I said, dryly. "Can I go now?" Larry shook his spatula at me. "Don't say I never did you any favors." "Whatever you say, boss." I untied my apron and tucked it under the bar. I pulled my backpack and jacket out from behind the register, slinging the former over my shoulder. Helping West to his feet, I braced as he fell against me and nearly stumbled to the floor. With one of his arms slung around my neck, I half lifted and half carried him to the door. "Looks like your boyfriend got started a little early," Jenny said snidely as we passed her. I glared, fed up with her attitude. It wasn't enough that she took my only decent table of the night, she had to be nasty about it. I watched her lips as they curved into a sarcastic smile. I just wanted to shut her up. Snuff out her voice like pinching out a candle flame. Jenny choked and hacked. She doubled over, gasping for air as her body seized in an intense coughing fit. I watched for a long moment as the fit faded. When Jenny finally straightened, her face was red and her eyes teared. "Are you feeling okay?" I asked her sweetly. Her voice came in a harsh croak. "Fine." "Have a good night," I called over my shoulder as I helped West limp to the door. He spoke softly once we were outside and I helped him sit down on the curb. "That was risky." "What are you talking about?" "The girl back there." I fished a set of keys out of my jacket pocket and my fingers trembled. "She just got something stuck in her throat." "If you say so." I exhaled sharply and my breath formed a misty cloud. "My bike's parked down the street. You need a ride?" "Yeah." He leaned forward, dropping his head between his legs. "Just give me a minute." The cold bit at my skin. Wind whipped in every direction, rustling through my hair and stinging my face. Dirty streetlamps dimly lit the street but I could just barely make out the dull gleam of a chrome fender. I parked my bike in the alley behind Leno's. I ran my fingers over the smooth lines of bike's body. My baby was a patch job—all spit and spare parts, mostly junk or stolen. She wasn't as pretty as a factory machine whipped off an assembly line like a Xerox copy but I built her myself from the ground up.

A little bit of open road and my bike could fly. Nothing else even came close. West waited patiently on the sidewalk as I wheeled the bike up. He climbed up behind me with little difficulty. Being outside already made him feel better. He wrapped his arms lightly around my waist and shouted directions in my ear. I was ready for some action. ***** I far preferred racing bikes for money to waitressing. Unfortunately, I didn't have the connections to make a go of it without a little supplemental income. I struck a deal with West: he hooked me up with a race and I cut him a finder's fee, extra if I won. West was on the sidelines now, watching the race with the small crowd that gathered on the sides of the street. I fixed my gaze on the length of road ahead of me. The "track" was clearcut, up to the old churchyard on Lincoln Avenue and back. A line was spray-painted onto the street at our feet, first across it took home the cash. Two hundred bucks times four riders wasn't a bad haul for a few minutes work. I laid on the throttle and smiled at an answering purr from the engine. After the abysmal night at Leno's, I couldn't go home without this money. The two guys on my right were South-side gearheads with shiny, chrome monsters that they probably got straight off a dealer's lot. I could take them easy. The last rider had a cherry-red rice rocket, a Ninja maybe. It was hard to tell in the dark. A girl in a miniskirt walked in front of us, waving a yellow bandanna like a flag. Her arm came down and we were off in a squeal of tires and a burst of engine smoke. The Ninja took an early advantage. I expected as much. He was all muscle and power with no finesse. Motorcycles were like children—they needed a feminine touch. I gained on him slowly. We approached the churchyard at breakneck speed. Tires screeched against the pavement as we made the hairpin turn in front of the churchyard. The Ninja maintained the lead as we straightened and headed back towards the finish line. As I leaned forward, the bike inched closer. The gap closed between us until we were side by side. Less than a dozen yards from the finish, I took the lead. Without warning, I lost control and the bike veered off the street. I managed to lose some speed hopping the curb in front of a row of condemned brownstones but I laid it down hard. I hit the ground and the bike slid a few more feet, scraping its new paint job all to hell. It finally skidded to stop next to a wrought-iron fence, wheels still turning slowly. "Damn it." My body groaned in protest as I pushed to my feet. No broken bones, but I'd still feel this in the morning. The race was over. The Ninja was being congratulated by his friends while the Southies wheeled their bikes around, a close second and third. None of them seemed at all concerned that something was awry. A human wouldn't have felt anything—it was a special treat just for me. I wasn't even worried about the two hundred bucks I just lost. I couldn't care less that any minute a Southie would saunter over to remind me that girls shouldn't be racing anyway. I pulled off the helmet with a gasp and let it roll to the ground. My breathing

came forced and rapid as I painfully forced my chest to expand and contract. A stench had overwhelmed my senses, strong and acrid, so hot that it seared the hair from my nostrils. The smell of burning sulfur and ancient spice. The scent of magic. As quickly as the smell had overwhelmed me, it was gone. To be replaced with the crisp scent of dead leaves and city smog. I shivered and cast my gaze in a full circle. West jogged towards me, still a few hundred yards away. Even at a distance, I could see the sudden pallor of his skin and the whites of his rounded eyes. He'd felt it too. I knew magic. The smell and taste of it was as familiar as my own reflection in a mirror. I would never mistake it. Perhaps it had been a slow-moving night creature, too dull to conceal the evidence of its passage. It may have been as simple as an unfortunate coincidence. I wanted to believe in chance and good luck, but I knew better. The Ninja wandered up with a girl under each arm. I always the only one racing but there were always other girls around. Most of them were interchangeable and impossible to tell apart. It didn't help my sour mood when he lifted his visor to reveal a perfect smile and bronze skin. Losing to the cute guys was always that much worse than eating dust from the ugly ones. The miniskirt from before clung to the front of his jacket like a cat. She insinuated herself into the curves of his body as they walked and I tamped down on a mutinous burst of jealousy. I just wasn't that kind of girl and proud of it, most of the time. I dug in the pocket of my jeans for a thin roll of bills. I peeled off the first two and handed over the rest. The Ninja waved his girls away and took the money with a nod of thanks. Even here, there were rules. You never made another rider ask for what you owed. He counted the bills with a practiced hand. Satisfied, he tucked them away in his back pocket. "Up for a rematch?" "Nah-" West appeared beside me. "Double or nothing." I elbowed him aside. Even with the stink of fear dripping off his body like sour piss, West could never turn down that chance of a profit. "I got to jet." "Come back anytime." The Ninja winked before sauntering off, two girls coiling themselves around him like snakes. I limped to my bike. Once set up, I gave it a once-over. Relief relaxed the tense set of my shoulders as I took a calming breath. Most of the damage was superficial, nothing I couldn't fix with a set of tools and some spare time. I'd be out here winning my money back from the Ninja before he even had the chance to figure out how to spend it. "Some race, huh?" West murmured from behind me. "I don't want to talk about it." "You almost had him." "Can't take home almost." "Whatever it was, it's gone." I shivered. We both knew what it was. A mystery. Something powerful enough to taint the city air with its stink and send my senses reeling. Fast enough that it was here and gone in the space of a single moment.

West watched the Ninja roar away, a girl hugged up on the back of his bike. "Bad luck." "That's the only kind I have," I said with a sigh. "Nothing to worry about." I was worried. Questions swirled through my mind, searching for answers that never came. "I'm going home." "Already." He gestured wide. "The night's still young." "I'm cutting out before my luck turns worse." West stuck his hands in the pockets of his coveralls and rocked back and forth on his heels. West worked at a rundown car garage in Ashburn and I never saw him out of the same dirty uniform, smelling like gasoline and grease, with someone else's name stitched on the breast. The crowd had already dispersed, everyone off to their separate parts of the city. Races didn't go down on any sort of schedule. They got it together quick and it was over even quicker. West stood in between me and my bike. "You're in my way." I pulled on the helmet, fitting it low on my head. He slid back. I threw my leg over the bike and slid comfortable into the seat. My fingers roamed over the controls. Riding was like breathing. The bike felt like an extension of my own body. I sighed at the feel of it. I turned my key in the ignition. With a low rumble, the bike thundered to life. A sudden blaze of brightness illuminated a small patch of darkness. A trail into oblivion. Over the roar of the engine, I almost didn't hear him speak. His voice carried to me on the wind, several moments after he spoke. A hushed whisper shared only by us. "I can find out what it was." I cut off the engine. Silence and darkness descended, thick and heavy like a weight pressed against my skin. I could see his eyes flash in the darkness. "You said it didn't matter." "Information always matters." I heard the scratch of a match before his face was illuminated in the orange glow of a cigarette. "Something big is here, it'd be good to know why." "You want to put yourself in front of a wrecking ball?' My tone was mocking but we could both hear the fear that shook my voice. "It isn't here for us." His gaze as it met mine was direct. "What's the harm?" Secrets were a cancer, growing with mindless intent until they consumed you. I could maybe trust West with my life, but never with the truth. I had to know before I gave up everything again. "Okay." His grin flashed. "Meet me at Rage." West turned away, fading too quickly into the darkness. Revitalized by the earth and sky, he used a more old-fashioned method of transportation. He'd always preferred his other form. When he ran, nothing between his body and the rest of the world. I started the engine. The bike rumbled underneath me as I stared in the shadows. My senses were attuned, searching the night for the barest hint of something familiar. My feet came up on the rests as the bike moved smoothly forward, heading towards the riverfront.

The race had been a warning. Now, I stood on the edge of a precipice. I would catch myself or fall. Even West didn't know my secret. It was my burden to bear alone. I would trust him with my life, but never with my soul.

Chapter Two Despite the name, Rage seemed relatively innocuous, at least from the outside. The building used to be a slaughterhouse, back in the days when this part of Chicago was known for more than police corruption and gang violence. The location had been chosen deliberately: a south-side neighborhood where the people had more to worry about that a nightclub that never closed and only catered to a very exclusive clientele. Shapeshifters, Witches, Demon-Born. Any creature wearing human skin that went bump in the night. Old steel faded against a backdrop of distant skyscrapers and big city lights. At night spotlights went up, painting the sky in a drunken dance. Rage drew just enough attention to itself that no one suspected it had something to hide. I'd ridden by several times, eyeing the velvet-roped crowd with a hunger I scarcely recognized. I always had enough strength to keep from actually going inside. Until now. To my surprise, West already waited outside when I parked my bike on the street. He was getting faster. I needed to remember that. He paced as I approached. His head moved on a constant swivel, looking this way and that, as if he expected something to jump out of the bushes and land on him at any moment. "You okay?" He jumped when I spoke and came to a sudden stop. "Fine. Let's go." A line formed outside the door, all humans who didn't know any better. The travel guides must have billed Rage as the most exclusive club in the city. The chances of any of them getting in were virtually nonexistent. "Do I need ID?" I skidded to a stop a few feet from the door, suddenly fearful of being carded. Rage didn't strike me as an under-eighteen sort of club. "You either belong at Rage or you don't," West said, propelling me forward. "Age has nothing to do with it." The bouncer, built like a bull with a face like molded clay, sat on a stool next to the door. Tattoos twined up the rigid muscles of his arms, many-headed snakes and dancing demons, faces contorted in angry agony. If I didn't look too closely, the ink seemed to move on his skin under the glare of the lights. Twisting in the corner of my vision, ink and skin creatures come to life. When I turned to look at them fully, I saw only simple tattoos. It had to be my imagination. My gaze rose to the bouncer's face and he gave me a leering grin, revealing sharp, pointed teeth. I looked away as West propelled me towards the door. He nodded once at the bouncer who returned the gesture with a sardonic smile. "You're letting them in?" A girl in stiletto heels and a shimmery tank top shouted from the long line. The rest of the crowd echoed her grumbling sentiment.

"Shut up." The bouncer leaned back against the wall with his arms crossed. That was the last I heard of the discontented crowd before the heavy door closed behind us. Walking into Rage felt like squeezing into a bubble of pure sound. The pulsing music crashed against my skin, beating on my heart and squeezing the air from my lungs. The music was soul-crushing in its intensity. We'd entered Rage on the dance floor, stuck in the middle of a crush of gyrating bodies slick with sweat and lost to the music. I moved through the club by instinct, narrowly avoiding any flailing limbs belonging to the dancers around me. It was quieter in the back where a long bar stretched from one side of the room to the other. Sound still beat through every cell of my body but it managed to stay on the right side of painful. West signaled the bartender and held up two fingers. "You've got to try the house drink," he said to me over his shoulder. "My treat." Getting intoxicated wasn't high on my list of priorities. Finding out what, if anything, I'd felt during the race and making sure I stayed the hell out of its way was of slightly more importance. Anxiety rolled through me but I let West order the drinks, even climbing onto a stool to watch the bartender began to prepare them. A thrill moved under my skin, tingling down my fingers like an electric shock. I'd forgotten what it felt to be in a place like this —a place that existed outside of the very human world I lived in everyday—to be around people like me. Even dirty, mangy West who always smelled like wet dog and engine oil, held that touch of the familiar. Another reminder of the life I left behind. The bartender slid a drink in front of me. Dark gold liquid swirled in a tall shot-glass, gleaming slightly in the dim light of the bar. "What is it?" I asked suspiciously. "The elixir of life. Honey from the gods. Mana from heaven," he drawled. "Doesn't matter. Drink it." "What is this?" I asked the bartender. He smirked. "Rage." I gingerly picked the glass up between my finger and thumb. Trapped liquid turned slowly round and round, hypnotizing me. The drink smelled like freshly-turned earth and sunshine. "You have to drink it in one go." West held up his own glass. "Cheers." Taking a deep breath, I downed the shot. The drink froze my lips as they met the rim of the glass and then burned down my throat to settle in my belly as a sparking lightening storm. "Good, isn't it?" West asked with a gasp. I could only nod half-heartedly, unable to speak. "Want another one?" The bartender asked. "No," I croaked. Laughing, he took the empty shot-glasses and swiped the tiny rings they left on the surface of the bar with a damp rag. The wall behind the bar sparkled. My fingers stroked the wooden counter and even the tiniest grains were rough against my fingers. "Are shots what we came here for?"

"You stay here, I'll see what I can find out." Before I could make a move to follow, West was out of the seat and lost in the crowd. I wanted to follow, but the room began to spin around me. Being planted on the bar stool was all that kept me from ending up ass-down on the floor. Gripping the edges of the bar with my fingertips, I desperately urged myself not to puke. "First time?" The bartender stood in front of me, wiping out glasses with a towel. "Is it that obvious?" I winced as the sound of my own voice clanged painfully through my skull. "You want something a little softer?" "Like engine oil," I said with a snort. "Soda water." He slid a full glass across the bar towards me. "It'll be good for your head." I took a small sip and the bartender smiled, revealing white teeth glowing under the neon lights. I resisted the urge to ask what he was. It would have been rude. It had been too long since I sat in a room full of people like me. I turned in my chair to face the dance floor, the dizziness from before already fading to be replaced with a heady euphoria. I felt like I was flying and falling and everything in between. Exhilaration tingled down my skin like volts of electricity. I saw the world through a haze. The otherworldiness of Rage wasn't readily apparent at first. Realization came to me slowly as I watched the dancers move on the floor. Skin that shimmered under the lights in way that a human's never would. Bodies coiling like snakes and twisting like predators stalking the night. The eyes gave it all away. Unnaturally bright, they sparked with a secret hunger that a human could never understand. Longing and dread mingled inside of me to form a hard knot at the pit of my stomach. The crowd parted for a brief and that's when I saw it. A mighty oak tree, so large I couldn't understand how I missed it, rose from the center of the dance floor. The tree split in half, stricken sides falling to hang above the dancers, its leaves falling to kiss the tops of their heads and decorate the floor. I traced the rise of the tree's trunk, thick enough it wouldn't be possible to wrap my arms all the way around it, to where the tallest branches traced the metal ceiling. A mural was painted there, stretching from one end of the club to the other. Jagged bolts of lightening rent a starry sky, so realistically detailed I blinked several times to assure myself that it wasn't real. "Immortal spawn of the world tree," the bartender said from behind me. I turned in surprise. He had followed my gaze to the tree, eyes bright in the dark. "What did you say?" He inclined his head towards me. "Daughter of Yggdrasil, the tree that gave birth to the world,." Dancers moved around its trunk, pagan offerings to the spirit that dwelled within. "Where did it come from?" "I think it's always been here." His voice was low, respectful. I snorted. "This used to be a meat packing plant. I'm sure they would have noticed a tree in the middle of the kill floor."

The tree was overwhelming, with its fallen leaves dusting the dance floor and the dark gold glimmer to its trunk. But I refused to believe it was a piece of some gigantic, immortal tree that the world hung off of like a Christmas ornament. "Did you notice it when you came in?" "Well, no." "You wouldn't. Not unless you've had this." He held up an empty shot-glass, stained bronze from the liquid that had been inside only moments before. "Rage," I said softly. "We make it from the tree's sap." He set the glass down and leaned over the counter to whisper in my ear. "It's like being drunk and high and having an orgasm all at the same time." "It's something," I said, leaning away from him. "I think we see the tree because it wants us too," he said meditatively. "Old magic is unpredictable." I brought the glass of soda water to my lips and sipped it slowly, feeling numb. I had a decent thing going. No magic meant no mayhem. Life was boring but this was the safest I'd even been. Coming here, where someone might recognize me for who I was, tempted fate. Fate could be an evil bitch. "Yggdrasil," I mused, uncomfortable with my own thoughts. "Is that Greek?" "Norse, actually." "Okay. There's a Norse tree with sap that makes you think you can fly if you drink it growing out of the dance floor." I grabbed my bag off a hook on the bar. "Got it." West was perfectly capable of gathering information on his own. I slid out off the barstool. My feet landed unsteadily and I took a deep breath to keep from falling over. "Easy there," the bartender drawled from behind me. I shot him a dirty look over my shoulder before turning back to the dance floor. The crowd had thickened, forming an impenetrable wall of swaying bodies. Before I could garner enough strength to push through it, West grabbed my arm. "You're leaving?" I wrenched my arm away, the skin where'd he touched me already felt dirty. "I need to go." "Wait," he said as I started to turn away. "I found someone we should talk to. He knows what we felt during the race." The temptation to go with him was too great. "Make it quick," I snapped. The euphoria was gone to be replaced with fear and a touch of anger. Anger at myself for being stupid enough to come to Rage and anger with whatever waited in the night. West led us to a back of the club, past the bar. He pushed open a door marked 'Pool Room'. A pool table sat to one side with a circle of tables and chairs directly obvious. Music from the main room was barely audible. The sounds of low laughter and clinking glasses stilled as we entered but slowly resumed. Curious, if not friendly, eyes followed us to the pool table where only a single player with his back to us wracked balls on the green felt surface. "Rabbit," West called respectfully.

Rabbit shaved his head and an inverted pentagram was tattooed on the back of his head. "Nice tattoo," I said, sarcasm dripping from the words. Pentagrams only meant something to devil-worshipping humans and the conservative bible thumpers who disapproved them. It was obvious Rabbit really wanted humans to be scared of him. He turned slowly, veiny muscles bulging in his neck. "You talking to me?" His voice was higher-pitched than I expected, like Mickey Mouse. "Hey, man." West cut in front of me before I could tell Rabbit that he sounded like a kid playing with helium balloons. "Can I play?" Rabbit grunted and turned back to the table. Taking the sound for an affirmative, West grabbed two pool cues. "Don't fuck this up," he said in a harsh whisper, shoving past me. "Wouldn't dream of it," I murmured. Rabbit seemed about as reliable as the drunk guy slumped over a table three feet away. Rabbit broke. Balls scattered across the table, at least three sinking into pockets. "Stripes," he said with a satisfied nod. "We heard you might know about something new coming to town," West said casually as Rabbit circled the table. Yeah." Rabbit shot the cue ball and it winged the ten, which hit uselessly against the side of the table. "You're up." West leaned over the table. "Can you help us out?" "Depends." Rabbit pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his shirt pocket and tapped it meditatively. "How much you got?" "You want us to pay you for information?" I asked incredulously. Rabbit grinned, revealing crooked yellow teeth. "Depends on how much you got." West scratched: the cue ball fell into the pocket followed by the four and eight. "Damn." "Pitiful." Rabbit gave a wheezing laugh as he re-wracked the balls. "I'd offer to play you for it, but that would just be cruel." "I'll play." Ignoring West's shocked expression, I pulled the cue from his limp hands. "If I win, you tell us what we want to know." Rabbit looked me slowly up and down, taking in the dark jeans and the t-shirt I wore for work, red with Leno's on 56th printed on it in white lettering. I glared back. "And if I win." I refused to say what he wanted me to say. "You get a hearty congratulations." He leaned back against the wall and crossed burly arms over his chest. "Try again." "West has forty bucks," I said, remembering his cut of the money I'd put up to race. "That's the best I can do." "No—" I cut him off with a glare before West could say anything more. "Don't fuck this up," I said, mocking his earlier remonstration. He glared back but subsided into silence. "Ladies first." Rabbit backed away from the table with a taunting bow. I circled around him, paused at the side of the table, and chalked my cue. My mother would shit a swamp monster if she saw me doing something as declasse as playing pool in a club, much less winning at it.

The balls broke with a loud clack. Twelve and thirteen disappeared into pockets. It was a decent start. "Stripes," I murmured. The game moved slowly. We were evenly matched. For every ball I sank, Rabbit stayed right behind me. West sat at the table closest to where we played. With every ball that slid into a leather-lined pocket, he pushed closer to the edge of his seat. By the time the cue and eight ball were left on the table, West sat practically on the floor. Rabbit's turn, and he already smiled triumphantly. "Eight ball, corner pocket." It should have been an easy shot, ball lined up perfectly. Instead of sinking home and earning Rabbit an easy forty dollars, the black eight ball bounced out of the pocket as if pulled back by an unseen hand. It rolled down the middle of the table before coming to a stop against the far edge, on the opposite side of the cue ball. "The Goddess must like me better," I said, smiling slightly. "You won't make this," Rabbit shot back, anger raising the pitch of his voice impossibly high. I walked around the table. It was a hard shot: a bank shot . The cue ball needed to get down to the other side of the table to send the eight ball in the direction it had come from. If I didn't hit it hard enough, the eight would never make it. Too hard, and it would bounce right out of the pocket like it did for Rabbit. With the end of the cue, I tapped the right side pocket. "Eight, side pocket." My breathing slowed as I leaned over the pool table. All of my attention focused on the white cue ball filling my vision and the black eight ball that lay beyond it. White and Black: all that there was in the world. I pushed the cue with a strong, quick thrust. The cue ball flew down the table, bounced off the far edge and rolled back to strike the eight ball. To me, the eight ball moved impossibly slow. It took minutes instead of moments for the eight to reach the side pocket where it fell inside with a soft clack. "Yes," West cried jubilantly, jumping to his feet. More circumspect, I settled for a small triumphant smile while Rabbit glared at us both. "You cheated," he wheezed. "Yeah, right." I slid my cue onto the rack on the wall. "Pay up." "I can't believe I lost a bet to a weasel and a fucking preschooler." Rabbit slumped into a chair with a grumble. West and I took the seats across from him. "Watch your mouth," I snapped. West may have been a weasel: always figuratively and literally about half the time, but I wasn't a child. Rabbit snorted and stuck a cigarette between his lips. "This thing you felt. It was big?" "Huge," West confirmed. "Big enough that we should have seen it," I added quietly. "There was nothing out there." "Was it a dragon?" Excitement tinged West's voice. Rabbit and I shared a small moment of perfect understanding. West was an idiot. The last dragons were killed off before the Renaissance. There was a chance a few were still left in the mountains of Mongolia but anyone who went out there looking for them never came back. Just another of life's little mysteries.

"No." Rabbit paused, his expression solemn. "Then what?" I said sharply, patience running thin. When his answer came, I wished I'd waited to hear it. Whether whispered or spoken, one word had the power to level me completely. "Blooded." I instinctively pushed my chair back from the table, muscles tensed to flee, before I forced myself to calm. West had gone still next to me. "You're sure?" he asked. Rabbit took a slow drag from the cigarette. "Sure as death." He tapped the cigarette with his thumb. Ash broke from the end to float gently to the floor. I watched it fall and thought of fire. Burning, consuming fire that laid waste to my life. "Why?" I forced the words out through the painful lump in my throat. I felt fragile as glass, a single breath and I would shatter. "I hear they're look for someone." His gaze rose to meet mine, boring into me with harsh intensity. "Wouldn't want to be that unlucky bastard." The Blooded were boogeymen, only more dangerous and far more real than any childhood nightmare. Judge, jury, and executioner all rolled into one devastating package. It was because of them that magic was kept secret: reserved for those born to it and never shared with humans. Any resistance was dealt with in as final a way as possible. Deadly and unstoppable, they struck in the night and were away again before the victim ever got a decent look. No one knew who they were or what they looked like. Violating the one law of the underworld: never share magic with a human, was the only way to meet one face-to-face. Of course, that would only be in the split second before you died. I'd only seen them in action once before. That was enough to last a lifetime. The Blooded might have been the worst thing that my world had to offer. And now they were here. "You don't know who it is?" West asked. The conversation had continued without me. I was lost to the spiraling waves of fear threatening to overtake my entire being. "Wish I did. We're talking a huge force here, enough to feel from a mile away. I want to know who pissed them off that much." "I think I'll just stay out of the way." "I here you." I was up and out my chair before my brain processed the fact that my body was moving. The club flew by around me as I ran, dodging the dancers and shoving past the heavy metal doors to get outside. Frigid air stung my face and burned in my lungs when I made it outside. The bartender eyed me curiously as I burst from the building. I slowed to a brisk walk as my heart beat painfully in my chest. It wouldn't do any good to call more attention to myself. In fact, that was a good way to get myself killed. My bike still sat parked where I'd left. Even with the lights from Rage and the perpetual splendor of a city that never slumbered, the night seemed darker—stiller— than it ever had before that moment. I felt exposed and vulnerable as my gaze passed up and down the deserted street.

No place to hide. I threw one leg over the body of the motorcycle and moved my key towards the ignition. The sooner I could away from this place the better. "What the hell, Hex." West came jogging towards me from the direction of the club, leather jacket flapping awkwardly around him. I considered revving the engine and squealing away, leaving him alone in a cloud of engine smoke. My eyes narrowed as he approached. I blamed him a little—irrational as that might have been. Coercing me into coming to Rage, forcing me to face the monsters creeping in the darkness of the city. I was better off not knowing, then there might be some chance I could sleep at night. "I'm going home," I said shortly, once he was in earshot. "I got that." He breathed hard through his nose. "What happened." "I don't want anything to do with the Blooded." My hands clenched hard on the handlebar at the sheerness of that understatement. "I might skip town for a while, until it all blows over." "You want me to make sure you get there okay?" I eyed him suspiciously. West didn't know where I lived and that was the way I liked it. Safety in numbers aside, I didn't trust West that much. Hell, I didn't trust anybody that much. "I'm good." I gunned the engine and West took an automatic step back. "We'll catch up in a few days, maybe." He nodded once, his face expressionless. I felt his eyes on me as I maneuvered the bike away from the curb, sliding smoothly onto the deserted street. My back tensed under his detached regard. I knew if I looked back, he'd still be standing there. Watching me.

Chapter Three Wind whipped around me as the bike flew down Halsted. Chill air crept through the opening of my leather jacket and numbed my lips. I loved the night. The city fell silent and still, creatures unfamiliar with the day came out of hidden places to taste the dark. Every shadow full of mystery and promise. Tonight those same shadows seethed and twisted. Unease tightened the muscles in my back and I leaned forward to urge the bike faster. I knew magic. The smell and taste of it was as familiar as my own reflection in a mirror. What I'd felt during the race was the blackest sort of a magic—thick with demon stink and darkness. I knew the dark magic, too. I would spend the rest of my life trying to forget it. Abandoned store fronts and empty lots slowly made way for neat rows of townhouses and renovated Victorian walk-ups. This neighborhood was clean and vibrant. Kids played in the streets during the day and the Jewish couple who owned the deli on the corner always remembered that I took ham on rye with spicy mustard. It was a good place to land. I was lucky. The modest apartment belonged to two Sisters of the Faith. Sisters Maeve and Sister Mohan were recent converts. They worked for my family for more than a decade —though they used different names back then—before up and disappearing five years

ago. My mother used to joke that they found religion. It took me more than a month to find them and almost that long again to convince them they could trust me. I defected as completely as they did. I bore the scars to prove it. Sister Maeve worked at a butcher shop during the day so she always came home smelling faintly of animal carcass and old blood. Sister Mohan cooked unlicensed hearth charms on the kitchen stove to sell off-market, boring stuff like healing poultices and luckstones. They made a decent job keeping under the radar. Helping me was their biggest risk. My bike parked next to a small utility shed in the grassy lot behind our building. When I cut the engine, silence descended. Usually the quiet was a comfort, but not tonight. I reached the door of the apartment and put my key in the lock before a hint of wrongness stopped me. I pushed the door softly and it moved a scant distance. Neither of the sisters would ever leave a door unlocked, whether they were home or not. Maybe for the first time, in all the time I'd known her, Sister Mohan went to the store and forgot to lock the door behind her. I doubted it. I took a deep breath to steady my nerves. With a swift kick, the door swung open hard enough that it slammed against the far wall with a loud bang. This was my worst fear confirmed. The confluence of my past and my present, spelled out in harsh relief as I surveyed the destruction of the apartment. Bookcases in the living room had been overturned, spilling their contents onto the floor. The walls were dented in places as if something heavy was thrown repeatedly against them. The upholstery on the sofa where I slept had been shredded—pieces of it littered the carpet. In the kitchen, all of the cupboards were open. Broken dishware and ripped cartons of food scattered on the counters and linoleum floor. My feet crunched on pieces of spilled cereal as I moved to the closed door of the bedroom that the Sisters shared. Concern for them drove me forward. There was still time to run and never look back. But I had to know what lay on the other side of that door. Broken bodies flung aside in a paroxysm of slumber, contorted faces one final punishment before I joined them in death. Or the creature that had done this, lying in wait for its intended prey. My heart beat impossibly fast as I touched the cool metal of the door knob, so hard that at any moment I imagined it would burst from my chest. I slowly pushed open the door, expecting the worst. The bedroom was deserted. Relief was short-lived as I surveyed the damage that lay within. Clothes were torn from the closet and lay in haphazard piles on the floor and bed. A window facing the alley between this building and the next was broken. Traces of red coated the remaining pieces of glass in the frame. There were no shards on the floor. Something—or someone—had gone out the window. Careful to avoid the sharp fragments in the pane, I peered out at the ground three stories below. The alley was empty. Bags were missing when I checked under the bed. I breathed a sigh of relief The destruction in the living room and kitchen wasn't the result of a struggle. Whoever was here wrecked the apartment in frustration at find it abandoned. The Sisters had gotten safely away.

I grabbed a backpack from the bedroom and stuffed it with a change of clothes. For good measure, I dumped the contents of the spare change jar that Sister Maeve kept under the sink into the bag as well. I doubted she'd begrudge me having it. I locked the door out of habit on the way out before I realized how little it mattered. The Sisters knew better than to come back here. I slipped the key under the mat for the poor landlord to find and hiked my backpack up on one shoulder. It was time to run again. ***** West waited at the bottom of the stairs when I burst out of the building. "What the hell are you doing here?" I asked harshly. "I followed you." My eyes narrowed. "Why would you do that?" "You didn't seem right after you left the club," he said with a casual shrug. "I wanted to make sure you were okay." I eyed him carefully, debating whether to tell him about the thrashed apartment and the missing Sisters. Months of keeping my own secrets won out over the need for a confidant. "I'm fine." He nodded at the full bag slung over my shoulder. "Leaving already." "You should, too. The Blooded aren't good for anybody." "I can handle myself." He glanced up the building. I followed his gaze to the third floor and the bedroom window of my apartment. "What about those women you live with, Sisters right?" My suspicions grew. I couldn't remember ever telling him about Sister Maeve and Mohan. There was a chance I'd mentioned them before in passing, and just as likely that I never had. "They're already gone," I said slowly. "That's good." He stuck his hands in his pockets. "You know where you're headed?" The slight rise in his voice made it a question. "I'll figure something out." I was suddenly very aware of the fact that we stood alone on a deserted street—in the wee hours where night met day, when the darkness seemed endless and inescapable. "You need money?" My eyes rose in surprise. "You offering?" The spare change jingling at the bottom of my bag represented the bulk of my current resources. "Maybe I could rustle something up." West glanced nervously down the street, looking for anything like the sly vermin for which he was named. He spent to much time in his other form and it was starting to show. "Meet me at Leno's in an hour. I'll have something for you. I watched him walk away, shoulders hunched against the winter wind. Indecision raged within me. Something wasn't right about him—maybe the Blooded coming to town had him spooked or maybe it was something else. Regardless, I knew if I turned down his offer I'd regret it later. It wouldn't do much good to avoid the Blooded if I starved to death in the process.

The bell above the door jingled as I entered Leno's. Big Larry was hunched over the counter, dirty apron still tied around his waist, tallying up the register receipts. He glanced up as I approached, greeting me with a grunt. "Didn't I let you go home, hours ago?" "Just meeting someone." I slid into a bar stool across from him and let my bag fall to the floor. Larry grunted again and ignored me. I looked around the restaurant. Empty, save for a kid in a hooded sweatshirt hunched over a cup of coffee in a booth by the window. Nancy, a pretty divorcee with two boys, worked the late shift. I nodded in thanks when she brought over a cup of coffee and set it down on the counter in front of me. "Long night?" she drawled, southern Illinois accent elongating her words. "You look like hell." I gave her a wan smile and took a careful sip of the hot coffee. "Pretty much sums up how I feel." "Something going on, sweetheart?" Concern tightened the laugh-lines in the corners of her eyes. "Sort of." I glanced over at Larry, who studiously pretended like he wasn't listening to our conversation. "I need to skip town for a few days—" I paused and my fingers clenched around the coffee mug. "Family emergency. That okay, Larry?" "You're fired," he said, not taking off his eyes off the tiny slips of paper spread out around him. "Don't mind him." Nancy waved his words away with one hand. "I'll take your shifts. Lord knows I need the money." "Thanks, Nan," I said, gratefully. She patted my hand and moved off to check on the kid in the booth. Outside, the sky was dark but I knew the sun would soon start edging over the horizon. I wanted to be out of town before dawn. That would give me at least a day's headstart. The Blooded only hunted at night. I couldn't wait any longer. A little extra money would be nice but I had more important things to worry about. I had just gathered up my bag and waved goodbye to Nancy when the bell above the door jingled again. West slunk into the restaurant, looking furtively around as if reassuring himself that it was safe to enter. "You aren't leaving, are you?" His voice came high-pitched and carried a nervous tremor. "I was about to." I eyed his hands, which he worked together without seeming to notice the anxious movement. "You got something for me?" "I just need a few more minutes." He stuck his hands in the pockets but I could still see them clenched in the fabric of his coveralls. "I don't have a few minutes." I tried to move past him. He stepped in front of me. "Please. I want to help you." I debated for a long moment and glanced again at the sky. Dawn would break at any moment. It was probably safe.

"Fine," I snapped. "Five minutes." He nodded vigorously. "No problem. I got someone coming." West led us to the same booth he'd sat in earlier in the night. He took the seat facing the door and I automatically slid into the booth opposite him. "Leaving sounds like a decent idea." He fingered a packet of Saltine crackers sitting in a bowl on the table. "I might head out, too." "Yeah." I couldn't quite bring myself to care. "I talked some more with Rabbit after you left—" his voice lowered to a whisper. "About the Blooded." The hairs on the back of my neck stood up. The muscles of my back tensed. "Is that so?" "He gave me a name." "And?" I cursed the breathy quality in my voice. "Well, part of a name—" West paused for dramatic effect. "Wayward." Wayward. I pushed up from the table. West grabbed my arm, preventing my escape. We glared into each other's eyes. "Who are we waiting for, West?" I hissed. His mouth opened but he wasn't looking at me. His eyes focused on a point over my shoulder. I heard the sound of clipped footsteps. It wasn't until that moment that I realized how completely I had been betrayed. A voice like oiled steel spoke from behind me. "He's waiting for me."

Chapter Four Anyone who'd never heard of the Wayward, never needed a favor. There were other magical families, but the Wayward had always been the strongest—the most deadly. They had outfits from here to Timbuktu. In Italy, cousin Maloccio dealt exclusively in magical malfeasance and extortion. Tokyo was home to Great-Aunt Kimiko's paranormal yakuza. Even the family's L.A office traded in assassination, soul stealing and show business. Might makes right—the only family motto. The Wayward took what they wanted— from humans, creatures of the underworld, anyone not powerful enough to stop them. In a world where the average human was happy believing in only what they saw every day, opportunities for exploitation were everywhere. The last Wayward child was fated. Seventh child of parents both born to that mystical position themselves—seventh-born of the seventh-born, twice over. That poor kid was supposed to be the most powerful witch the world had seen since Morgan le Fay trapped Merlin in Avalon. Just to be aggravating, the little Wayward twerp had the nerve to be born without magic. How did I know all this? I was that pathetic little kid. I was a witch, born without magic.

My real name hadn't been spoken to me in almost a year. I was the dirty family secret—a curse from the trickster gods to bring us down a peg or two. It didn't take long for the other families to discover that the newest Wayward was powerless, useless as any human baby. My parents never quite lived down the embarrassment. My family treated me like a scapegoat. Childhood squabbles turned deadly when magic was involved. My older siblings never let me forget that I wasn't like them. I only survived as long as I did because I never had anything that anyone wanted enough to kill me for. I would have stayed on the fringes of my family—barely surviving—forever. A year ago, everything changed. A faint sheen of sweat broke out under West's lip. His eyes darted nervously from my face to the face of the nightmare standing behind me. I hoped he recognized what he'd done. A deal with the devil never worked out for anybody. "Helena Xanthe Wayward. Do you have any idea what a difficult young woman you are to find, my dear?" "Darius." I turned to meet a face that I wished had stayed firmly in my bad memories. "It didn't occur to you that I might not want to be found?" "I see you haven't lost your spirit." Darius Aguinas, second-in-command of the Blooded and a powerful witch himself, slipped off his long coat and slung it over the back of the chair at a table next to us. He slid into the chair in an elegant motion and crossed one leg over the other. "It was so disappointing when you ran." "I didn't run from you." "Such a nimble tongue." He tipped a plastic stand on its side that held an advertisement for holiday-themed lattes—gingerbread and spice. "I wonder what it would look like in a glass case." West made a startled noise in his throat and I cut my eyes to him. "What did you think would happen," I snarled at him. "You've served your purpose, boy." Darius nodded to the door. "Off with you." Not needing to be told twice, West slid past me and was out the door faster than I realized he could move. "You never can trust a shapeshifter," Darius murmured sadly. "They'd sell their own mothers for something shiny." I swore if I survived long enough to see West again, I'd wring his weaselly little neck. "This is a public place, Darius." Nancy rolled silverware behind the counter, she hadn't yet noticed his sudden appearance. Big Larry had already disappeared behind the grill. As I stared into his eyes, so pale they were colorless, I felt only tired. "If you're going to kill me, better make it quick." That startled a laugh out of him. "I'm not here to kill you, kitten." My eyebrows rose. "Why are you here, then?" "Sit." He gestured to a chair across from him. "Life away from home has done little for your manners." I dropped gracelessly into the seat. Darius always liked to play his games. I would play along for now.

"Pleasant reunions are a balm to the soul," he said genially, his smile mocking. He picked up the tabletop advertisement again and slowly examined it. "I think I'll try the pumpkin spice latte—so festive. Would you like one?" I shook my head slowly as he rose and walked to the counter, feeling dazed. The world was tilted to the side and spinning crazily on its axis. Any moment I would fly off the planet and be lost to the universe. Darius had his back to me as he spoke to Nancy, laying on the charm I was sure. The path to the door was clear. I could run. Jump on my bike and ride until it ran out of gas. It would take a while for him to trail me. The thought was abandoned before it had a chance to fully form. It might be days or even week but eventually they would find me again. Things would only be worse for the waiting. Darius returned and slid back into his seat. He took a small sip of the cup in his hand and sighed. "Humans truly do understand the simple pleasures." He gave me a dark smile. "But you know all about that." "Why are you here, Darius?" He scooted his chair around the side of the table until we were so close that I could smell cinnamon and nutmeg from the drink on his breath. "Do you enjoy this? Running from city to city—praying to the gods that you stay one step ahead of us?" "What do you want?" I whispered. "A trade." He rubbed a strand of my hair between his fingers. "A favor now, for a favor later." I resisted the urge to pull away. "What are you offering." "Everything. I can give you your life back." "How?" Nancy turned her head at the sudden loudness of my voice. I sank back into the seat embarrassed. "Simple," Darius said as he traced patterns on the table with the tip of his finger. "You don't have to run if no one is chasing you." "You would pay my blood price?" I asked softly. He nodded once and smirked. "Why?" "You know why." His voice was sly, calculating. "I want to hear you say it." I closed my eyes as he spoke because I knew what was coming. Darius said the words I'd dreaded hearing from the moment I felt demon magic on the night air. "Because of Valentine, of course." ***** I successfully avoided Wayward family gatherings for most of my life—reunions, birthdays, ritual sacrifices. I wasn't having any of it. Until a cold day in April when my mother insisted that I attend my cousin Ferdinand's wedding. "Really, Helena. Think of your obligation to the family." My mother held the stem of an empty wineglass between the tips of her fingers as if unsure what to do with it. A

maid would be punished by dinnertime. "You've been shirking your responsibility for years. If you don't show some initiative, people will began to wonder." Wonder what? I wanted to ask. Wonder if Los Angeles living had dulled Leonora Wayward's senses. Wonder if her little pathetic daughter with no magic, and no backbone, was a product of too much inbreeding and not just a tragic mistake. Wonder if Leonora was still capable of raising appropriately cold-blooded children. Magdalen, my eldest sister, suggested to my father when I was born that he have the midwife strangle me with my own umbilical cord. Then throw my infant body in the river and let it wash away a tragic mistake. She'd been twelve at the time. My mother always took pity on me. Of all her children, I was the only one with her eyes. Dark and deep, but with a shine like polished mahogany. This time she wouldn't listen to my excuses. I was named on the invitation and it would be an insult not to attend. "It's in the south of France. You've always wanted to see the country," my mother continued. "It's important that we all be there to welcome Bianca into the family." Bianca Abell-Fantani, my cousin's fiancée and the not-so-blushing-bride, would appreciate my presence at her wedding in the same way she would rat droppings on the wedding cake. "There will be so many relatives there that we haven't seen in years." My mother said this as if the thought should make me happy. Whenever I grew especially frustrated or frightened, I felt a dark edge in my mind. A quiet voice whispered promises of strength and protection. You deserve to survive, no matter the cost. The wedding was held in a renovated chateau, built in the fifteenth century. The walls of the ballroom were made of cool stone and delicate crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling. Despite the beauty of the surroundings, I left the reception before it even began. My parents were too busy networking to notice me slip out of the grand hall. The foyer was empty and I climbed the stairs to the second floor. In company like this, I knew better than to open any closed doors. This was a night for uncontrolled festivity. The last thing I wanted was to join a private party uninvited. An open door at the end of the hallway beckoned to me. I slipped inside the room and pulled the door closed behind me. Three of the four walls were rows of bookshelves that stood twice as tall as I did. I sighed happily. I'd found a tropical island while lost at sea. I chose a book, Metamorphosis by Kafka, kicked off my too-tight shoes and curled up into an armchair. The leather warmed against my skin. I didn't hear the door open and only looked up when it softly closed. "I thought I saw you sneak up here. You never could keep up with the rest of the family." My stomach rolled as I scrambled out of the chair. Ceres Athenum-Abell, a cousin of the bride, was rumored to have joined the Blooded that year. The black dress shirt he wore would hide the scars of initiation, so it was impossible to tell for sure. He was dangerous, either way, and I was very aware that he stood between me and the only way out.

"I really didn't think you'd show your face." He leaned against the closed door. "I was just telling Bianca the other day: 'How I miss playing with little Helena. It's such a shame how her mother keeps her hidden away.'" He took a step forward and I countered by moving behind the armchair, a small barrier between us. "Did you come here for me?" "Don't do anything stupid, Ceres." My voice came breathy and I cursed the obvious weakness. "My mother will destroy you." "I have no intention of paying bloodprice for your pathetic little life, darling," His smile was dangerous. "Leonora is a terrifying negotiator." He sauntered slowly around the chair and I matched his movements. I knew he taunted me, making me think that I might get away. "Please don't," I whispered. "I'll make you a deal." Ceres stopped and snapped his fingers. "How about I only kill you a little?" He lunged and I dodged away, but not fast enough. An end table crashed to the ground, taking the lamp with it and the room became enveloped in darkness. He landed on me and I was suddenly face down with his weight pressing me into the floor. It was impossible to breathe. "What's it going to be, baby?" His breath was hot against my ear. One of his hands slipped under the skirt of my dress and his fingers slid against the bare skin of my inner thigh. "I prefer the point here, just above your femoral artery." He pinched the skin and his knuckles just barely brushed the cotton of my panties. I reared back and kicked, dislodging him for a moment. Ceres recovered and laughed, smoothing the fabric of the skirt over my hip with one hand. "I suppose you won't hold still for that." Searching fingers tickled up my neck and stroked the shell of my ear. "Just here." He bent and kissed the juncture at my neck and shoulder. My heart beat so fast that he could probably feel my pulse against his lips. With one hand, he grabbed a handful of my hair and wrenched my head painfully to one side. "Be a good girl and it won't hurt nearly as much." Pressing his body closer, Ceres sealed his lips against my skin and pressed hard. Ceres was a liar. Pain started with a thousand white-hot needles, piercing the skin of my throat and radiating down to my chest. Invisible hands tugged at my heart, trying to pull it from my body. As I resisted, fire burned along every nerve. I screamed. The fire faded slowly, starting at my hands and feet, and worked its way inward. It was replaced by the searing cold of emptiness. He sucked my soul from my unwilling body and I did nothing to stop him. Ceres could go on until every part of me was gone. He would grow stronger and stronger until I faded away, an empty husk of a body. No spirit and no life. Maybe I could have fought him off if I hadn't been so afraid. I never even tried. Ceres left me huddled on the floor, minutes or hours later. I wrapped my arms around myself in an effort to fight off a chill that came from within. He sauntered back to the party, drunk on power. Poor Kafka lay abandoned on the floor.

I made it back to the room that I shared with my sister, Aislynn, though I didn't remember getting there. My face in the mirror above the bathroom sink was gaunt with heavy bruises under the eyes. I seemed suddenly too small for the ivory gown my mother had made me wear, huddled inside the voluminous fabric. I could feel Ceres still in the edges of my mind, hear his laughter and taste his intoxicated elation. He kept a piece of my soul that I couldn't get back. The magic he worked was powerful. I understood that there was only one way to break a link between souls: Death. The party was in full swing when I entered the great hall. Ferdinand and Bianca led a waltz in the center of the room. Ceres had his back to me as I approached. He smiled and said something to the group around him, probably gloating. They were all relatives of mine or his, except for one man that I didn't recognize. No one here would interfere. That wasn't how the game was played. He must have felt my gaze because the strange man turned and cast me a knowing smile. When I glared, he raised his glass in a silent toast. I ignored him, all I cared about was Ceres. When the music ended, I crept forward. Bianca and Ferdinand joined the group around him. Their vicious smiles would normally be enough to keep me away, but not tonight. I saw my mother and father engaged in conversation out of the corner of my eye. I knew they wouldn't help, assuming the thought to try ever even crossed either of their minds. "A toast." The stranger spoke and his voice held a rich, fluid quality that made me shiver. "To the happy couple and their eternal happiness." This close, I could see that his eyes were the palest blue, the color of glacial ice. I made a small movement and Ceres whirled to face me. His gaze traveled down the length of my body. The regard in his eyes was intimate, as if the room were empty save for the two us. I shivered, but couldn't look away. Ceres took an unconscious step forward and caught himself. "If it isn't the little duckling turned into a swan." His gaze was as mocking as ever, but there was a different light in his eyes. The fool thought I wanted him. The crowd parted to admit me as if I could hold my own in this den of monsters. Maybe they were all just hoping to see a show. "Very impressive," Ceres purred, extended a hand. He was laughing at me. "That certainly was a speedy recovery." We had the attention of everyone in the room. All of them could see the angry bruise that had formed on the curve of my neck. This was all just for their entertainment. I wouldn't give him a warning. The stranger wore an expression of mocking curiosity. He stepped aside with a sardonic smile as I moved past. Bianca held her hand out to me and I allowed her to draw me into her circle. Ceres stepped behind me, not quite touching, but I could feel him like a heavy shadow at my back. He smoothed the hair next to my ear with the finger of one hand and I felt the hot

rush of his breath against the side of my throat. "I've a mind to keep her around for a while," he said to Bianca and brushed his fingers down the skin of my upper arm. I couldn't stop a shiver of disgust and Bianca smiled widely, mistaking it for passion. "You must tell me how you enjoy being Ceres' new pet, Helena." She moved to kiss my cheek in the traditional greeting, a mocking smile still playing in the corners of her mouth. Quick as a striking cobra, I grabbed her chin in a grip like a vise and forced her eyes to meet mine. Her cool brown eyes, the color of sweet molasses, sparked with anger. As we stared at each other, the anger faded to be replaced by surprise, then fear. She wrenched her face away and eyed me warily, like a particularly dangerous animal at the zoo. She had seen it, then. I touched the hand that still stroked my shoulder with light fingertips. "Cousin," I sighed. I turned in the circle of his arms and his bent face was a scant millimeter from mine. My breath whispered against his skin and I looked into his eyes for the first time. There was nothing. That dark gaze should have swamped me. A wave of pure longing should have carried me to a place where I would be his slave. But his eyes were simply eyes, there was no longer any power behind them. His expression was still smug. The idiot had no idea what was coming. I laid my hand against his cheek and Ceres smiled, thinking he had finally captured me with his pathetic parlor tricks. Smiling back, I leaned closer. "I'd like a drink. Get me one." Ceres shook his head as if to clear it and stepped back. That wasn't what he had expected. But we did have an audience, and Ceres would never allow himself to be embarrassed. As far as anyone knew, this was just part of the fun. "As you will," he murmured and insinuation laced his tone. "What would you like, cousin?" "Don't be rude, Ceres," I admonished gently. I turned to the stranger, drawn in spite of myself. "What are you having, Mr...." "Armagnac." Hair the color of unset rubies cascaded down his back and his eyes were like chips of ice. I made a leisurely appraisal of his body and returned the look in his amused eyes with more heat than a girl of my chaste upbringing had any right to have. "Is that a name or a drink?" "The drink," he replied easily. "You may call me Valentine." I brazenly offered him my hand. "Pleased to meet you, Mr. Valentine." I paused. "I'm Hex Wayward." The name came to me for the first time in that moment. I was no longer Sweet Helena, Docile Helena or Helena the Victim. I was a curse. He cradled my cold hand for longer than courtesy strictly dictated. I could feel the seductive heat of him seep through my fingers. "That seems a decidedly unlucky sobriquet, Ms. Wayward." "For you or for me?" I asked softly. Valentine smiled and took a casual sip from his glass. I spoke to Ceres without looking at him. "You heard the man, Cousin." I slid my hand out of the stranger's grip with a twinge of regret. "Bring the bottle."

Ceres returned from the bar with the brandy in one hand and a full glass in the other. He stopped short of me and looked down at his hands in confusion as if he had no idea how what he carried had come to be there. Bianca giggled. "It's a little late for hard liquor, Ceres." She seemed to have recovered her wits. "You've already had your fun with her." I took the glass from my bewildered cousin. "But, I haven't had my fun with him yet." There was a small rumble of polite laughter. The brandy slid down my throat in a trail of smooth fire. The heat of it warmed my cold insides. Ceres regarded me with the silent intensity of a newly trained puppy. It was beginning to annoy me. "Cousin," I murmured and took a small sip of my drink. "You're boring me." I pulled my mental hold on him tight. It was as if silken ropes bound his every limb and he bobbed on his toes like a living marionette. His hand rose mechanically above his head and the brandy flowed in a dark rush as he upended the bottle. Burgundy rivulets ran down his face and into his eyes. His clothes were soaked through. Liquid streamed off of him to the floor like spilled blood. Ceres took jerking steps as I made him walk through the open veranda doors and outside into the moonlight. He tried to resist my compulsion, but he no longer had any control over his own body. The silent crowd followed us. Our audience had an unrestricted view. The look of horror on his face was unmistakable as I sent him through the gate that surrounded the feasting bonfire. I turned away. Ceres screamed as his body flung itself upon the fire. The wedding party stared into the leaping flames where one of their prized son once stood. Bianca was the first to react. She screamed as if her own precious white skin was aflame. "You hell bitch. I'll kill you for this." "Shut up, Bianca." Bianca opened her mouth to speak but could only work her jaw back and forth in silence. She wrapped her hands around her throat, wide-eyed. I approached her with a sad smile. "Did you know, that Ceres stole a piece of my soul?" I tipped her chin up with the point of one finger as she stood immobile. "Should I take a piece of yours to replace it?" She backed away from me, fear widening her eyes. It was a moment worth remembering. I'd never seen terror from the other side before. The fire crackled outside as Ceres' burning husk of a body crumpled into ash. I finished the brandy and looked up to find Valentine's eyes on me. I licked the last drop of alcohol from my lips. "Such a waste." I tossed the glass into the black granite of the fireplace where it smashed into a million glittering pieces. "That was a fine brandy." The crowd parted like a wave when I made my way to the door. Valentine stood in the archway waiting. When he held his elegant hand out to me, I took it. I left the room silent as the darkness of space. The glass shards scattered on the floor were merely distant stars. For the first time in my life, I felt like a Wayward. I was a monster.

Chapter Five The phantom hands whispering a trail down my skin weren't real. I couldn't actually feel the heat of his breath on the curve of my neck. The sound of his dark laugh was only an illusion. I spent six months curled in his shadow, part partner but mostly pet. He found my newfound power fascinating and I quickly learned the dangerous allure of dark magic. I was cruel and terrifying. I understood the horrible danger that the Blooded represented because I almost became one of them. Valentine was their leader, after all. I forced my mind back to the present. Darius sipped his latte and I caught the smirk he hid behind the ceramic mug. He knew the effect his words would have on me. Valentine's name was like an incantation, summoning its bearer from the wastelands. Nancy rubbed circles on a nearby with a washrag. She glanced our way with a friendly smile. I dropped my eyes to avoid her gaze. "Valentine wouldn't send you for me," I said, my voice pitched low. "You don't think it's true love?" Darius winked Nancy and slipped a tip, a folded bill wrapped around the receipt, into her back pocket as she walked past our table. If a phone number was written on it, I hoped she had the good sense never to call it. Darius turned back to me with a twisted smile. "You are the one who got away." I did get away. I got away by fleeing into the night and never looking back. "No." I drummed my fingers on the table. "Valentine isn't the type to pine." "I shouldn't think so," he agreed affably. "What is it, then?" My finger clenched on the edge of the table. The next words out of his mouth would seal my fate. "You still owe bloodprice for Ceres's life." He stretched like a cat. Muscles tightened and corded in places where no human would have them. "How much did it come to again?" "Two hundred thousand." I spoke softly. If I couldn't hear the words than maybe they weren't real. It may as well have been two hundred million for all the likelihood that I'd ever get that much money together at one time. Ceres's worth far eclipsed mine by anyone's reckoning, which was how these things were decided. "That much?" Darius made of show of widening his eyes in mock surprise. "Mommy and Daddy can't help you?" "You know they can't," I said through clenched teeth. "Not for murder, that's right. You have to earn the money on your own, no gifts allowed." He leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest, his gaze appraising. "That really is too bad." Tension sang through me. I clenched my hands together in an effort to keep them still as shivers ran down the lines of my body. I could feel the heat of fire and smell acrid smoke. The sound of Ceres screaming rang in my ears. Leno's seemed suddenly quiet. We were the only customers, save for the kid in the hooded sweatshirt still hunched over a booth. "It's only a matter of time now." A small smile played along the corners of his lips but Darius spoke with deadly seriousness. "I found you and others will follow. The Abell

family isn't known for their forbearance." My back stiffened. "Is that a threat?" "I don't need to threaten you." Darius leaned forward so both elbows rested on the table, his hands clasped under his chin. "I just want you to understand your position. For bargaining purposes." We had finally come to it. I eyed him warily. "What do you want?" "I have served my master for longer than you can imagine." "Always a bridesmaid, huh?" I couldn't resist the barb. "That's where you come in, my dear." Darius leaned back and draped one arm over the chair behind him. The movement was casual, but the force of his gaze betrayed him. "This is politics in its simplest form. Valentine stands in my way and I want him gone." "Gone?" The incredulity in my voice made it a question. "As in dead?" "Correct." Darius said the word slowly as if he spoke to a young child. "Good luck with that," I scoffed. "I doubt killing him is even possible." Valentine was a mystery. Months with him and I never came close to unraveling it. He wasn't a witch or a shapeshifter. He didn't follow the rules that bound demon magic. "For your sake, I hope that's not true," he said with a laugh. "You're going to be the one to do it." My heart skipped a beat. "If you're trying to get me killed, you could save a lot of time by taking care of it yourself." "No trick." He spread his arms wide as if I could ever believe he was harmless. "Valentine is older than memory and he has never once revealed a weakness. Until you." I was suddenly cold. "We had some fun together for a while. That doesn't mean anything." "On the contrary, it means everything." Darius played with the lid of his coffee cup and a smirk twisted at his lips. "I won't call it love—infatuation perhaps. He opened himself up to you in a way that I've never seen before." Valentine's hands slid down my skin. His voice whispered through my mind as power raged through me like a storm of fire. I forced the memory away with an effort. "That's ancient history." I said, finally. "I couldn't get near him now if I tried." I snuck away from Valentine like a thief in the night. I could only imagine his anger at that betrayal. There was a good chance he would kill me on sight just for embarrassing him. "Ah yes, the spurned lover," Darius mused. "Going to him now would be ill-advised." "I guess I'm no use to you then." I pushed away a mutinous surge of regret. The fact that I was still taking part in this conversation made me certifiable. Or at the very least, unwilling to make any sudden moves around the coiled panther across from me. "You can't go to him," Darius said with a careless shrug. "But he might just come to you." "What does that mean?" "Here's how it's going to work: I pay your blood price, payment in advance for services rendered, and you go home." "You have that kind of money?" My voice was skeptical.

"I have my resources." "So, I just go home?" "That's right. You go back to your family—back to life as you knew it." His gaze was calculating. "When Valentine comes for you—which he will—you make good on our bargain." "And how am I supposed to do that?" "We all saw what you did to Ceres. I'm sure you can think of something." I pushed to my feet even as a wild voice inside of me screamed for me to stay. Darius offered me a chance to make the fear go away. No more hiding. No more running. The magic licked and curled inside of me like a living flame. It would be so easy to be safe again. Darius eyed me warily as I suddenly towered over him. "No deal." "You're joking." Shock and anger contorted his features into something ugly, barely human. "It's me or the noose, girlie." "I'll take my chances. Find someone else to do your dirty work for you." The door was a hundred feet away and I concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other to get there. "You won't make it out of town alive." Darius appeared in front of me and I took an involuntary step back. As I stared at him, I heard the distinct clatter of his wooden chair hitting the floor. He moved too fast. "Get out of my way, Darius." Traitorous whispers promised that I could make him move. It would take little more than the touch of my fingers to his skin. I gritted my teeth against the dark temptation. "I can't help you." Darius lifted his hand. A business card was held between two of his fingers. He tucked the card into the front pocket of my leather jacket. "In case you change your mind." I fished the business card out of my pocket and read it. The front listed only his first name and a phone number. I flipped it over. The back was blank. When I looked up he was gone. ***** I shivered in the parking lot of Leno's. Early dawn light broke over the horizon, proof that I lived another day. I still felt exposed as I jogged down the street to my waiting bike. Darius's offer tempted the dark magic that I struggled to control. The power inside of me relished the memory of fiery screams and twisted bodies. It waged in my heart like a captive storm, desperate to be unleashed. At first, it felt amazing. The taste of Ceres' heartbeat on my tongue was a heady drug. The power made me unstoppable. I was the true Wayward daughter my family always wanted me to be. But even at my strongest, I wasn't in control. The magic had a will of it's own. It raged inside of me like a forest fire, barely at the edges of my control. Valentine had relished in my uncertainty. He drank the fear from my lips like nectar

from the gods. So I ran. And I vowed to never let the magic control me again. That meant living like a human—hiding in the few places where magic didn't reach. Even the smallest exercise of power was an impossible temptation. I slid onto the bike and pulled on the gloves I kept tucked inside my jacket. The gas gauge shone in the harsh light from a streetlamp. I tapped it hard with my knuckles, hoping the reading was just because I parked at an angle. The needle twitched but landed well below the line marked "E." I barely had enough juice left to get the engine to turn over. I cursed into my helmet. I wondered how far I'd get by throwing it into neutral and letting the bike roll down the street. I had no plan and nowhere to go. The deal with Darius wasn't an option—I knew that much. I would figure things out. I always had before. Something barreled into me from one side. The force of it knocked me off the bike. I hit the ground with a sickening crunch. Pain blossomed like a hothouse flower, starting at my shoulder and radiating outward. I tasted the metallic salt of blood in my mouth. My head seemed too heavy to lift as I struggled to my knees. My vision blurred and I fought not to pass out. I searched the darkness for any sign of movement. Was I hit by a man, a monster, or a freight train? A single figure stepped into the light of a streetlamp and I saw a face that could easily grace magazine covers. Long, blonde hair topped a heart-shaped face with dimpled cheeks and full lips. Grass-green eyes glared at me from under delicately arched brows. Cynthie Athenum-Abell—the most vicious girl that I had ever met and Ceres's youngest sister. "Look what I found." Her voice was like dark honey—deep and rich with enough sweetness to fool you into thinking she was just another pretty girl. Cynthie missed the wedding, but she had been one of the most vehement voices calling for my immediate demise in the aftermath of that night. Only fear kept her from coming after me herself. Until now. "Keep frowning like that and you'll get wrinkles." My vision fragmented so that several Cynthies were glaring down at me. "I don't remember you being so clever." Her closed fist cracked across my face, knocking me back to the ground. "I hope that means you'll make this fun." A kick to the chest knocked the air out of my lungs. I stared into her angry eyes. Without magic, I was looking into the face of my own death. I had no defenses against her. "Nothing to say?" Cynthie asked pleasantly. She kicked out again but I rolled away and managed to rise unsteadily to my feet. At least with Cynthie it would be over quickly. "Would screw you help?" I painfully worked my swelling jaw. With a growl, Cynthie grabbed a handful of my hair and dragged me back to my knees. Using the hold as leverage, she wrenched my head back to expose the long line of my throat. "Blood price paid with flesh and bone." Her fingers felt along my skin until they hovered over the frantic beat of my pulse. "And it's going to hurt."

I felt the harsh dig of her fingers in my neck and she was in my mind with the cold precision of a knife blade. It wasn't like Ceres' cruel invasion. He had wanted his rape of my mind to mimic a rape of my body—a twisted manifestation of the power he wanted to have over me. Cynthie wasn't trying to control me. She just wanted it to hurt. I collapsed to the ground and Cynthie followed me down. No one would help me. There was little chance of passerby this early in the morning. And all they would see was two teenage girls wrapped around each other in a dark alley. Titillating, but unlikely to inspire a heroic rescue. Pain coalesced into a fractured point and I prayed it would just dissolve into blessed emptiness. When everything was gone, I could finally rest. You deserve to survive, no matter what the cost. My hand touched something smooth as I groped on the ground for purchase. Jagged glass sliced my fingers as I wrapped my hand around a piece of broken side mirror from my bike. Mustering the little strength I had left, I shoved up with my hand and didn't stop until I felt yielding flesh. Cynthie howled like a scalded cat and leapt back. She stared in surprised horror at the long gash I had opened in her side. Ignoring the sharp stab of pain from what I suspected was a broken rib, I slowly stood. I held the piece of mirror in front of me like a weapon. "I'm going to kill you," she growled. "Well, I'm certainly not going to kill myself," I replied, feeling lightheaded. She hit me harder than I thought. I tensed in preparation of her attack but Cynthie paused and tilted her head to the side as if scenting the wind. To my amazement, she slowly backed away, never taking her eyes off me. "This isn't over, Helena," she said softly and was gone. My hand shook and colored dots danced before my eyes. "My name is Hex," I said testily and collapsed to the ground. It took several minutes to get my feet under me. Once the blinding pain in my head and ribs subsided to a dull throb, I begin the slow trek across the street to a convenience store on the corner. I didn't want anyone at Leno's to see my like this— they'd ask questions that I didn't want to answer. The Stop-N-Shop was closed for the night but a payphone stood out front like a desert mirage. My slow limp past the gas pumps may as well have been a twenty-mile hike. When I reached the building, I leaned heavily against the cold brick. It took several deep breaths before I was sure I wouldn't pass out. Both of my hands gripped the sticky receiver and I prayed for a dial tone. The familiar sound of an active line was a relief so visceral that my knees went weak. I fished in my pockets. Had I lost it? My fingers touched the slim paper and I frantically pulled it free. The business card was crumpled but still legible. I fished a handful of change out of my jacket pocket. Each coin seemed deafeningly loud as I pushed them into the slot. Pain exploded in my head from the effort of pressing each individual button. The phone rang once. Then twice. On the third ring, sick dread coiled in the pit of my

stomach. Finally the receiver clicked and a smooth voice spoke over the line. "Yes." I forced myself to speak through the punishing tightness in my jaw. "I thought about it." Silence. It went for so long that I thought he had hung up. "That didn't take long." My ribs ached as I leaned against the wall—which was all that kept me upright. "I've been persuaded." "And?" he asked softly. "I have a few conditions." "Where and when?" I took a deep breath to mask a sound of pain. "A convenience store across from Leno's. Come as soon as you can." The line disconnected. I pressed my back hard against the wall next to the payphone, in an effort to keep my legs from collapsing. Pain was a wave that rose and crested, fading and returning stronger than before. I had to sit down, just for a minute. "You look like a homeless person." My eyes were swollen and heavy but I forced them to open. Darius stood over me with a frown on his face, morning light casting a halo around his head. "If I'd known you were planning to lay down in the street and die, I would have come sooner." He reached down and pulled me to my feet. "Not in the street," I said thickly. "This is a parking lot." "Indeed." I swayed and Darius caught me before I crashed to the ground. He wrapped one of my arms around his neck and helped me to the bus stop several feet away. "What on earth happened to you?" "Cynthie Abell." The world spun crazily as he maneuvered us into the tall glass enclosure and lowered me onto a wooden bench. "She does good work," he mused. "I assume that's why you called." "She hit me like a Mack truck." Darius eyed the bloodstain on the front of my shirt and sniffed loudly. "Without your cooperation, I have no incentive to conceal your whereabouts from the families." My head felt like it was splitting in half. "Bastard." "Quite," he said shortly. "I thought we were here to bargain." "Can't do magic." "That's nice, dear." He examined his nails. "You said you had conditions." "That's number one. No magic." My cheeks felt like they were full of cotton. I touched the corner of my mouth to make sure I wasn't drooling on myself. "Take care of Valentine yourself." "I suppose that was asking a little much of you." He eyed me disdainfully. "Fine, you find me a weakness and I will take care of the rest." He narrowed his eyes at me. "Anything else?" "You can't renege on my blood debt." I took a deep breath. "Even if I fail, my bloodprice is paid." "Is that all?" he drawled. I nodded and stars exploded in front of my eyes. "Done."

Darius stood and pulled a small envelope from the inside of his coat. He tossed it into my lap. "Your plane leaves tonight. There's money there for a cab and food." He gave me a mocking once-over. "Clean yourself up a little before you go. Your mother would not approve." I opened the envelope—plane tickets and more cash than I'd seen in a long time. I was really going to do it, fall back into the bosom of my family with no defenses and no hope. It wasn't just my family or Valentine's dark charm that I had to worry about. Returning home meant revisiting a place that I spent the better part of the last year trying to forget. I was going back to high school.

Chapter Six Both my parents waited for me at the airport. As I stepped off the plane, Los Angeles seemed brighter than I remembered. Everything glittered in the new dew of morning. The Hollywood sign loomed big on the horizon. This was a place of new beginnings and broken dreams. I shivered. The steel teeth of a trap were closing around me. Sun and breeze were a welcome relief from Chicago's freezing slush but inside I was still cold as winter's kiss. The flight was surprisingly uncomfortable. Darius didn't bother springing for even business class so I crowded into coach, wedged in a middle seat. An elderly woman had the window. She headed for Fresno, with a layover at LAX, on her way to visit the grandkids. Next to the aisle was a Wisconsin farm girl turned wannabe starlet. The grandmother slept heavy with her breasts pressed against my upper arm like down pillows for the duration of the flight. Dairy Queen fidgeted in her seat, shoving grainy headshots in my face that were taken by her art major friend from Madison in his uncle's basement studio. My father would be unhappy if he knew I didn't slip her his business card. Girls like that were an easy mark. I saw my mother first when I stepped out onto the tarmac. She wore cream slacks and a dark gold cashmere sweater. A delicate row of fresh-water pearls hung around her neck and matching bobs dangled gracefully from each earlobe. Leonora Wayward was beautiful like a marble statue in a cold museum. My mother opened her arms to give me a light embrace. It was impossible to breathe through the cloying floral of her designer perfume. "Helena, dear." She released me and her critical gaze took in the ragged state of my clothes and greasy hair that hadn't seen anything more impressive than bar soap in weeks. "You've been gone too long." Leonora played the game better than anyone. She could look death in the face and ask it in for afternoon tea. It wasn't possible to out-bluff her. "I've missed you, Mother." My father stood silently behind her, stoic and placid as always. Ethan Wayward dipped his fingers into every moneymaking pot in town. He created Hollywood dynasties and profited off each rise and fall. Ethan didn't speak now, but gestured to a black town car that waited a few hundred

yards down the tarmac, tucked under the wing of a Gulfstream. Trust a Wayward to rate more than curbside service. The driver held open the car door and I clambered in behind them. My father moved with the coiled strength of a striking cobra and my mother made the movement seem elegant and effortless, like water falling over rock. I felt like a dusty country cousin, visiting the big city from the family farm. "Where are your bags, darling?" Leonora asked me. "I don't have any," I responded with a sigh. My mother gasped, her face contorting with such extreme shock that I almost smiled. "That's ridiculous. Are you a vagrant, Helena?" She touched my father gently on the collar of his suit. "Ethan, have the driver take us to those shops I like. You can send the car for us later." I'd been tortured before. Sharp blades cutting into my skin. Blood. Pain. None of it compared to shopping with my mother. According to her, Rodeo Drive was too commercial. When you can't get to your favorite shops, she said, without passing a busload of tourists posing for pictures underneath the street signs, then it's time for a change in venue. She favored boutiques tucked into exclusive corners of the Hollywood Hills where every sales girl knew her by name. Leonora didn't so much shop as she did relax in a chaise lounge sipping tea while an underpaid shopgirl dangled delicate fabrics and expensive accessories underneath her nose. A thin proprietor in navy dress pants and a silk shirt greeted my mother as we entered a small boutique. "Madame Wayward. You come to see us again so soon." He kissed both of her hands. "Tell me, my love. How may I please you?" My mother giggled like a schoolgirl. It was vaguely disturbing. "Not for me today, Jean-Luc," Leonora replied airily. "My daughter has just returned from a year-long safari in Africa. Everything she owns is desperately out of fashion." I gave my mother a sideways glance but she pointedly ignored me. Safari in Africa? Leonora had officially lost her fashion-loving mind. I prayed that wasn't the story she circulated among the families to explain my prolonged absence. Jean-Luc eyed me with interest, as if he really believed I came straight off the savannah in a leather jacket and combat boots. "The prodigal daughter has returned." Jean-Luc grabbed my hand and brought it to his lips, laying a small kiss on the knuckles. "It is a pleasure, mon cherie." I pulled away and scrubbed my hand on my jeans. "Pleased to meet you," I replied as politely as I could manage with his spit smeared across the back of my fingers. Jean-Luc turned back to my mother. "A whole new wardrobe?" At Leonora's nod, he clapped his hands together. "How wonderful." He hustled my unwilling body towards the dressing room. "We shall transform the mademoiselle into the most beautiful of swans." Jean-Luc snapped his fingers once and two girls materialized on either side of him. "Judith. Olga. Fetch the new line of spring prints. We shall begin." The assistants wrapped and tucked me into an endless string of flowered patterns and pastel solids. There was no room for modesty as Jean-Luc circled me like a hungry shark scenting blood.

He threw on a scarf that matches perfectly the golden underlay of this fabulous cocktail dress and tossed away a frilly thing that does nothing for your skin, petite mademoiselle. Leonora sat with her legs crossed properly at the ankle in the corner of the dressing room on a rose-patterned chair. She sipped espresso from a porcelain cup that Judith/Olga had presented on a silver tray. If she noticed the fresh bruises painting my skin, my mother chose not ask any questions. When an item of clothing didn't meet with her approval, Leonora gave a little sigh and let her eyes wander around the room as if the Eiffel Tower print on the wall suddenly became intensely fascinating. Occasionally, she waved her hand idly, indicating that an item should be wrapped and taken to the counter. I stood half-naked on a raised dais in the center of the fitting room while Jean-Luc hovered behind me. He held a tuxedo shirt refashioned into a dress tight against my body to show my mother how the piece could be taken in to properly accentuate my waist. The bell above the door dinged. Another customer had entered the shop. Pity for them. Jean-Luc disappeared quickly to greet his new victim and my mother followed behind him, murmuring something about how shades of pink really brought out the color in my eyes. I began frantically searching for my old clothes. Enough was enough. I had found my shirt and one shoe when I heard a voice that I recognized. "Leonora, how nice to see you?" It couldn't be—fate wasn't that cruel. I tiptoed to the wall and peered around the corner. Clothing racks blocked most of the view but my mother's dark chignon was unmistakable as it moved among the racks. Next to it was an elegant bob the color of liquid metal. Turn around, I silently begged. The woman could be anyone. Los Angeles was home to millions of people. The chance that I would run into someone I knew on my first day in town was laughable. My mother turned toward a tray of silk scarves and the silver bob moved with her. A profile came into view, hard and angled like hawk, and then the woman faced me completely. I knew that face. I looked frantically to the front of the store and there it was: a flash of blonde hair and the low laugh of a predator. Cynthie and her mother, Dina. My shirt lay in a ball under the chair. I scooped it off the floor and pulled it over my head, so quickly that both my arms ended up through the same hole. I twisted in a frantic circle to right myself. The justice would be just poetic if they walked in on me now, still in my underwear with a t-shirt wrapped around my body like a straightjacket. Where were my pants? Discarded clothing draped every available surface, but no sign of a pair of faded jeans. The only piece of denim in the whole store should have stood out a little better. It would be just like my mother to order Jean-Luc to have them burned. Acid wash offended her more than bare feet at a dinner party.

The voices moved closer and I pressed my back against the wall of the dressing room. I could already hear Dina Abell's grating voice in my head. Leonora, why in the goddess' name is your daughter half-naked on the floor like a street urchin? Is she having a fit? I peeked around the corner and immediately spotted my jeans. Not in the fitting area where I'd almost certainly taken them off, but tossed over the back of an armchair next to a table of $200 bracelets. Less than ten feet from Dina and my mother. My fists balled in the hem of the t-shirt, pressing it hard to my thighs. If I bent over far enough it was almost like wearing actual clothing. I hugged the wall and tiptoed out of the fitting room alcove, crouching low so I stayed hidden behind a circular clothing rack. A display table was all that stood between me and a few scraps of dignity. I darted out into the open and lunged for my jeans, the soft denim a lifeline. Having them in my hands made me sigh in relief. I huddled behind the armchair and struggled into them. After waiting a long moment, I peeked around the chair. Dina stared right at me. I froze, but she merely curled her lip slightly as if smelling something disagreeable. She turned back to my mother and murmured softly about a darling skirt she'd bought the other day that would go wonderfully with this Hermés scarf. Surprise kept me frozen in place as Dina pointedly turned her back. I rose from behind the chair, my fingers gripping the upholstery for balance. Dina's neck was ramrod straight and I stared at the back of her head. The hair in her silver bob was thin and bright like Christmas tree tinsel. My mother wore a stiff smile. She caught my eye as I approached. Her eyebrow quirked slightly and we shared a moment of perfect understanding. She didn't think much more of Dina than I did. I moved up behind my mother and plastered the brightest grin I could muster on my face. "Hello, Mrs. Abell." "Helena." She cast me an unfriendly look. "When did you get back in town?" Leonora touched me gently on the shoulder. "Just this morning. I was so excited that we came here straight from the airport." Her voice was faintly chiding. I glanced quickly from my mother's impassive smile to the tense set of Dina's jaw. I was missing something. Dina cleared her throat. "How nice to have you back." Barely a day had passed since Cynthie ground my face into the pavement. Her mother's cold disdain was not the greeting I'd been expecting. Death threats, maybe, but definitely not casual conversation. As if she knew I was thinking of her, Cynthie appeared at Dina's shoulder. "I want all of these for sure, but Judith said there's some new stuff in the back that isn't even on the floor yet." "What's the occasion?" My mother asked with a small smile. Dina colored. "There doesn't need to be an occasion for me to do something nice for my daughter." She hefted the pile of clothing Cynthie dumped in her arms onto the sales counter. "School starts back on Monday. This is simply last-minute shopping." "Of course," Leonora replied with laughter in her voice. "Will Helena be back in school this term? I hadn't thought she'd graduated before

going—" Dina paused and eyed me coldly. "—on safari in Africa, was it?" Cynthie seemed to notice me for the first time and her eyes narrowed to angry slits. "African safari, huh." She looked me up and down, her gaze taking in my scruffy clothes and the grime of a cross-country flight. "Jungle sweat is a good look for you." Dina pinched her daughter sharply on the arm. Cynthie made a small sound of pain and rubbed the sore spot on her skin, but kept silent. "Helena will be there bright and early on Monday morning," my mother interjected smoothly. "You'll have to make sure that Cynthie takes care of her. Helena has some catching up to do." Cynthie's smile was feral. "No problem." My mother stared at Dina. "Why don't you come around for brunch this week, Dina? We've missed you." Dina sucked in a harsh breath. "Certainly." She grabbed Cynthie's arm and pulled her towards the door. "We're running late, Cynthie. Jean-Luc will have your new clothes sent to the suite." "Wait." Cynthie fought her mother's hold. "I still wanted to look—" "Now!" Cynthie allowed herself to be dragged away but she glared at me as she went. She spoke with saccharine sweetness. "See you at school." I let out a sigh as the bell on the door jingled merrily against the wooden frame. My heart beat too fast as adrenaline rushed through my system. I wasn't sure what I'd been expecting, but this certainly wasn't it. Leonora stared after them with a pensive look on her face. "What was that about?" I asked. "Oh, nothing." She signaled to Jean-Luc, who had been standing eagerly on the edges of our conversation for several minutes. When Leonora nodded at the neat stack of garment bags resting on the counter, he moved to the register and hastily punched buttons with a euphoric grin stretched across his face. "Dina has a very big mouth," my mother sighed. "It seems as if her daughter has inherited the same unfortunate flaw." Jean-Luc laid down a slip of paper and clicked open a ballpoint pen on the glass countertop. My mother signed the receipt without bothering to read it. I glanced over her shoulder at the total and my eyes bugged. The amount of money my mother just laid down for useless bits of fabric and JeanLuc's valuable time was enough to support the Sisters for at least a calendar year. "Come along, Helena. Your father must have sent a car around by now." She walked out of the store without a backwards glance. Judith and Olga materialized beside us and took the bags. They trotted dutifully out to the curb, like Labrador Retrievers that had just been taught to fetch and carry. I slipped into the backseat next to my mother as they loaded the bags into the trunk. Leonora stared silently out of the window, idly twisting her wedding ring round and round on her finger. For a moment, it was as if I never left. I submissively followed her on endless shopping trips and tedious social visits for years. I had always been the most obedient of her offspring. The only one over which she ever really had any control. The moment was gone. Everything had changed.

"Are you going to tell me what was going on back there?" She spared me a glance. "I have no idea what you are talking about." "Cynthie tried to kill me yesterday. Did you know that?" "I can imagine." Her gaze returned to the window. "You're not surprised?" "Should I be?" She raised a delicately shaped eyebrow. "A bargain has been struck and a price has been paid. Put it from your mind." My heart shuddered to a stop before resuming its beat. "What do you know about a bargain?" Leonora sniffed and turned away. "I leave the business end of things to your father. He understands numbers much better than I do." I stifled my laugh when she gave me a sharp look. Leonora almost sounding like she believed that nonsense. My mother was infamous among the families for her skills at the bargaining table. She could charm the skin from a serpent. Scenery rolled by as I stared out the window. I leaned back in the leather seat and forced myself to relax. My mother could lock her lips tight and throw away the key. I would find out what she knew. ***** My parents lived in Brentwood. The house took up an entire cul-de-sac off Wilshire. The Santa Monica mountains glinted in the horizon when the sun hit them right. Los Angeles stretched out below us, beautiful and dirty. All of the enchantment here had been sucked dry years ago. Every star-eyed hopeful, whose fantasies were eaten by the Hollywood machine, stole a bit of the magic away. Of course, my father still made a killing selling dreams. If I expected fanfare upon my return home, I was disappointed. My mother disappeared upstairs the moment we arrived and my father was nowhere to be found. It was almost as if I'd never left. His first floor study was vacant when I stepped into the cavernous entryway. The house felt cold and deserted, like a museum after all the workers went home for the night. A door to the basement, just off of the kitchen, was open and I crept down the stairs. Dark places never bothered me as a child, I took refuge in the cobwebs and grime. The air was several degrees colder underground. Wooden wine racks lined two walls, dusty corks from the bottles stared me down like a thousand empty eyes. Dirt crunched underneath me feet. My father stood against the far wall with a bottle in his hands. He examined the label and placed it gently back in the rack. "Your mother prefers California Merlots." His skin was a black so dark that it shined even in the low light, like an oil slick glimmering faintly with blues and purples. His eyes were a brilliant and unnatural violet, harsh in their intensity. A dark-gray Armani suit hugged his impossibly tall frame. "It's nice to see you, Father." My words rang hollow and oddly formal in my ears. I was nervous.

"Yes." He took down a different wine. "We're not used to an empty nest. Your mother misses you." "That's what she said." I couldn't keep my body still and shifted slightly on the balls of my feet. Damn nerves. "She seemed to enjoy shopping for me again." "Nothing ever changes, I suppose." He tucked the bottle in his hands underneath one arm and took down another: German Riesling. "You'll learn that eventually." He looked at me expectantly. "Are you coming upstairs?" I took a steadying breath. "Mother did say something odd today." "About?" "It wasn't so much what she said as what she didn't say." My father stared at me silently. I tried again. "We saw Dina and Cynthie at the shop this morning." He raised an eyebrow. "Is that all?" "They were acting odd. Mother practically threatened to put Dina on the rack." "That's something I'd like to see." His smile was faint. "She also mentioned a bargain." My father eyed me coldly, his expressionless face gave nothing away. "Spit it out, girl." I braced myself. I had to know how much my family knew, how deep Darius' power play ran. "I had a run-in with Cynthie yesterday, before I decided to come home. What do you know about that?" "What makes you think you have the right to question me?" His voice came low and dangerous. My heartbeat sped like I ran a marathon. "I've been gone a long time, Father. Things have changed." I never spoke to him this way. No one did. We stared at each other for a long moment. I could see the wheels turning behind his eyes as he tried to decide whether my insolence was worth hurting me over. "Tell me," I said softly. "I gave Darius the money for your blood price." A thrill of shock ran through me. "You've never tried to help me before. Why now?" "Our business interests have aligned." The bottle of merlot shifted under his arm and the wine inside moved dark and thick like old blood. "What does that mean?" I asked, afraid I already knew the answer. "I have ruled this city since it was little more than an orange grove, always from the shadows." His sharp movement encompassed the house on its enchanted hill and all of the dirt and beauty below. "I have influenced thousands, pulling strings as the puppets dance. Most of them will never know my name." "So—what? You want a parade down Hollywood Boulevard?" Power. Money. Privilege. It was never enough. Not for a Wayward. "Something like that." "And Valentine is in the way?" "Valentine." My father spit the name out like a curse. "It's because of him that we huddle in the shadows like wraiths. If humans do not know magic, how can they know us as their betters?" "I thought it was the Blooded—"

My father interrupted me sharply. "Valentine is the Blooded. They do as he wills. When he is out of the way, everything will change." I was already shaking my head before the words slipped from my lips. "I won't be your pawn." I could run further this time, find a better place to hide. "Don't be an idiot." He spit out, as if reading my mind. "If the Abell's find out that money came from me, your blood payment is void. They will fall on you like wolves and there won't be a place left in this world where you can hide." "And you'll make sure they know all about it?" I asked softly. He spoke with deadly precision. "If you are not with me, then you are my enemy." Angry tears burned my eyes. I shouldn't have been surprised at the betrayal, but it hurt just the same. "Yes, sir." I could feel his gaze on my back as I mounted the stairs. I left him there to the darkness and his own desires. It was no secret that Ethan Wayward cared more for money and power then anything as fleeting as love or family. When my father looked at me, he didn't see a daughter. He saw a weapon. I wouldn't forget that again.

Chapter Seven I had faced some of the more horrible things that the world had to offer. Monsters that slithered in the night and haunted dreams. This was just high school. At least that's what I told myself as the front gate of Pennyworth Academy loomed in front of me. Instead of blood and gore, the monsters here were draped in tennis skirts and Tiffany bracelets. I refused my mother's offer of the town car for my first day. I'd worried about drawing attention to myself, but looking around the parking lot it was obvious that was a silly concern. Throwaway luxury cars shined bright under the California sun—Mercedes, Lexus, Italian makes I didn't know the names of. The modest Toyota I'd chosen from the garage—the one my mother intended the housekeeper to use for runs to the grocery store—seemed paltry in comparison. I'd been away for long enough, living on the edge for long enough, that it all seemed so much more disgustingly decadent than I remembered. I already missed the bike I had to leave behind in Chicago. Why anyone would want to face beautiful open road in a steel cage was beyond me. My father chose this school specifically, a place for the offspring of moguls and household names. All of my siblings attended Pennyworth before me. He wanted us to see the best the human world had to offer so we understood it was all ours for the taking. Paved pathways under arched canopies connected the buildings. Students lounged on the large patches of grass between, exchanging gossip from the holidays. I felt like an alien stranded in an unfamiliar world. Faces blurred together, foreign and unknowable. A group of guys in rugby jackets pushed past me and I stumbled. The passage of time had only been a dream. I was once again invisible and broken— useless.

A smiling girl that I remembered from sophomore English waved at me. She motioned for me to join a small group clustered underneath a large oak tree. My heart lifted. Tires screeched on the asphalt as a red convertible barreled towards me at full speed. I leapt back onto the sidewalk as the car made a hairpin turn in the spot where I had just been standing. It came screeching to a halt in the handicapped space next to the gate. Cynthie pushed open the driver-side door and slid out of the convertible, her blonde hair floated around her head like a wind-tossed halo. Two girls slipped out of the car after her and my eyes narrowed. Noelle Deville's family owned a Paris fashion house. They could weave an enchantment into a piece of clothing so strong that a woman would blind herself before she considered ever wearing anything else. Jade Matsumoto came from a quiet family. Quiet in the sense that they kept their business to themselves. My father used to pump me for information until he realized that I was someone Jade barely deigned to speak to. It was unlikely in the extreme that I'd be privy to any juicy family secrets. She was actually a distant relative of my Great Aunt Kimiko's, but it was a connection neither of us cared to acknowledge. Cynthie and I were day students, but Noelle and Jade boarded at Pennyworth. Ostensibly it was for an American education, but where the Wayward went, the other families followed. Always. Cynthie's smile turned feral when she caught me watching them. I turned away, but not fast enough. She fell into step beside me. Noelle and Jade shadowed us. "If you want a tour just say the word," Cynthie said with mock cheer. "We'd be happy to reacquaint you." Noelle giggled. "We used to have so much fun, remember?" Being at school had never quite been as hard as being at home. Noelle always did her best to tip the balance. Transforming my clothes into a garden snake after gym class. Poisoning my apple cider at homecoming, so I did the chicken dance for two hours straight. I turned and approached Noelle slowly. She didn't back down but her eyes widened just a touch. "I remember when you had that awful nose. Looks like the surgery went well." Reaching out, I laid my fingers lightly on Noelle's cheek. The carefully laid illusion that smoothed her profile and turned her wide nostrils into something more generic faded away. Noelle had a face like a pit bull, nose flat as if she'd run headfirst into a brick wall. "Oh, never mind. Maybe next year, right?" Noelle clapped both hands over her nose with a horrified shriek. She took off running towards the nearest building, probably hoping to fix the problem with a makeup bag and the bathroom mirror. It was going to take a little more than concealer— industrial-grade spackle maybe. Cynthie snorted as Noelle shoved past a group of curious freshmen. "Too funny." I realized with a start what I'd done. Such a small bit of magic, practically harmless. It was only a small step—how many more before I fell?

"This might be fun, after all," Cynthie murmured, looking me up and down. "Said the girl who tried to kill me." We were in public and surrounded by humans but I couldn't keep quiet. Hopefully, any passerby would think it was hyperbole. "If I'd wanted to kill you, you'd be dead." She examined her perfectly manicured fingernails. "It doesn't matter, anyway. You paid your blood price. It's over." Her lips stretched in a cold smile. "For now." "And now you have a shiny new car to show for it." I said harshly. Cynthie mounted the steps to the administration building. Jade followed behind her, a silent shadow. She glanced back at me, her expression sardonic. "Something like that." I felt a pang as she walked away—unease or guilt. It was hard to imagine anyone missing Ceres. Most of me still believed that he deserved what I gave him. Still, he was a cousin, a brother, a son. What right did I have—did any of us have—to decide another's fate? "Helena, right?" The smiling girl from under the oak tree stood next to me. She had wavy brown hair and a sweet smile. "Call me Hex," I said with honest enthusiasm. "I'm sorry, I don't remember your name." "Sam Douglas," she responded easily. "I didn't see you around last term. Were you sick, or something?" "No." I cursed my mother. "I was on safari in Africa." Sam laughed. "Wow. That's a weird thing to do." "Yeah." We started up the steps and Sam hefted a stuffed bag high on her shoulder. "Are you still a junior too, since you missed a term?" I looked at her in surprise. She'd always seemed pretty studious in the classes we had together freshman and sophomore year. "You got held back?" "Sort of." She shrugged. "My mom was diagnosed with breast cancer last April. Dad had to work so I missed a ton of class while she was going through chemo. Now, I don't have enough credits for senior standing." "I'm sorry." Cancer wasn't something I ever needed to worry about. Magic protected us from human sickness, even pathetic witches like me. I'd never had so much as a sniffle. "Thanks, but she's in remission now." Sam's smile was sad but she quickly brightened. "Maybe we'll have some classes together." "That would be cool." A buzzer sounded over the loudspeakers discretely planted behind shrubs and bushes along the paths. "Is that the bell?" "Oh, no." Sam quickened her pace. "Where are you headed?" "I still need to pick up my schedule." "Better hurry. You don't want to be late." "Sure. See you." Sam hurried off, dripping with nerd desperation for prime seating in class. If the administration wanted me to hurry, they should have hand out roller skates. I was late to first period US History. Mr. Biggs, his eyes half-blind from cataracts, didn't notice my reluctant arrival as he read the attendance sheet in a dull monotone.

Sam sat in the front row of the classroom with an empty desk on either side of her. She gave me a small wave and I slid into one of the seats just as Mr. Biggs called my name. "Wayward, Helena." "Present." Mr. Biggs bent over the desk like a turtle hunched in its shell as he read the last name on the list. "Yarrow, Zachary." "Here." Sam pinched me hard on the arm and I glanced in the direction she pointed. "So?" I mouthed silently. She fanned herself dramatically with one hand as if suddenly overcome with feminine vapors. I rolled my eyes, but craned my neck for a decent look. Zachary was cute, but not typical California, no golden hair or sun-kissed tan. Instead, nut brown skin and dark hair that he kept cropped close to the sides of his head made him seem vaguely exotic. He wore a black turtleneck and dark jeans, like some art college bohemian or a fledgling member of the trench coat mafia. He stared straight ahead as if the blackboard deserved his undivided attention. Pass. I turned my attention to Mr. Biggs, who hobbled painfully slow down each row of desks and handed out stapled worksheets. "This is a pop quiz," he said. The class groaned. "It won't be graded. Your results will focus our studies for the semester." Only Sam groaned at that. Class ended quickly and I was out my seat like a shot the moment the bell rang. I'd forgotten how tedious high school could be. Being homeless on the streets seemed more attractive every minute. Students jostled each other in the hallways and I wove carefully through the throng. I counted down the row of lockers until I came to the bay with the same number as the one printed in bold letters on my schedule. The plan was to stick my history book in my locker and leave it there for the rest of the semester. Zachary Yarrow leaned against my locker and smiled at me. Sam was walking beside me and gave me a sharp nudge when she caught sight of him. She gave me a thumbs up and, before I could stop her, rushed off to her next class. "You're in the way." I made a shooing motion with my hand. "Hi." His smile turned shy. "I'm—" "Zachary. I heard in class." I stared meaningfully past him to my locker. "Move, please." "Oh, right." He sidestepped and stumbled a little. "I just transferred. Think you could show me how to get to my next class?" "Sorry." I spun in the combination written on a piece of paper stapled to my schedule. I threw my history book into the locker with more force than I intended and it came crashing back out to land on the floor. Embarrassed, I picked up the book and placed it back inside, more gently this time. "I'm still finding my own way around.

Someone else can probably help you." I tried to walk away and Zachary slid in front me. "Are you sure? It might be fun to get lost together." "I think you can get lost all by yourself," I replied pleasantly and strode past him. He fell into step beside me. "You really like to make guys work for it, huh?" "I don't know what you're talking about." I stared straight ahead but he didn't seem deterred. "Helena is a really pretty name." He pushed open the double doors leading outside and held them open for me. "It's Hex," I said sharply and immediately regretted it. I should have just given him a written invitation to keep bothering me. "Okay, Hex. Call me Zach." He stuck his hands in his pockets, a reaction against the brisk wind rustling through the trees. "It's nice to meet you." I resisted the urge to say something unfriendly. The warning bell sounded in the distance. "You're making me late." "Easy fix." He loped along beside me. Converse sneakers slapped against the sidewalk. "Give me your phone number and we can save this conversation for later." "Not interested." I stopped so suddenly that Zach bumped into me. I glared at him. This close, I could see that his russet eyes lit with flecks of green. He towered over me, all long legs and sinewy muscle. I pushed rogue thoughts away before they fully formed. "You seem like a decent guy." I said, ignoring the temptation of his eyes. "But you're wasting your time." I slipped past him, stumbling down the path towards my next class. I resisted the urge to look back, but an irresistible force turned my head. Zach stood at the crest of the hill. He was smiling. With a wave, he turned on his heel and mounted the steps leading to the science pavilion. English, Chemistry and Calculus passed by in a blur. Sam and I only shared first period US History so I spent most of the day in a bubble of self-inflicted isolation. As loath as I was to admit it, even Cynthie's face would have been a welcome sight. But she, along with Noelle and Jade, had senior standing. I was stuck repeating the classes I never finished last year, alone in a sea of unfamiliar faces. By the time last period rolled around, I was actually looking forward to going home. At least my mother talked to me. My schedule didn't list a class, only a room number and the word "elective" handwritten in block letters. This close to the start of term, all of the good classes were full. My guidance counselor made it abundantly clear that I would take what I could get and be happy to have it. I prayed for something easy like art or weightlifting. The number on my schedule belonged to a music room off the auditorium. I breathed a sigh of relief. The twins, Adrian and Aislynn, took Music Appreciation their senior year for an easy grade. According to them, the whole class consisted of sitting around for half the period listening to music and then talking about how it made you feel. Not a bad way to spend the last hour of the day. I walked into the classroom. A cacophony of sounds assaulted my ears—the twang of tuning strings, scales running up and down piano keys and the unsteady beat of a bass drum.

"Can I help you?" A dark-haired teacher stared at me appraisingly from behind a desk next to the door. I held out the paper in my hand to her. "I think I'm in this class." "Great. I'm Ms. Tripoli, the music teacher." She made a note in the notebook on her desk. "Where's your instrument?" "Instrument?" "This is Advanced Jazz Band." She glanced down at my schedule. "Ms. Wayward. We play music here." Great. "I don't have an instrument. I don't play anything." Ms. Tripoli blew air hard out of her nose. She held my schedule with two fingers as if it smelled bad. "Go to Guidance and have your elective switched." "There aren't any other electives. Everything's full," I said, resigned. "That's why I'm here." "I wasn't aware my classroom had become a dumping ground. Take a seat in the back until I figure out what to do with you." Chairs and music stands crowded the small room. I tripped over a trumpet case and almost landed face first in a snare drum. I caught my balance and managed to make it to the back row of chairs without destroying any instruments. Only one other chair this far back was taken and its occupant sat hidden behind a large piece of sheet music. I plastered on a friendly smile until the sheet music came down and Zachary Yarrow's grinning face was revealed on the other side of the music stand. "You." I said, unhappily. "I was all set for you to play hard-to-get. Now you're following me?" "Get over yourself. I'm stuck here." "It's not all bad. Ms. Tripoli seems pretty cool." He waggled his eyebrows, forcing a laugh from me. "And you've still got me." "Joy." My voice was dry but he'd managed to cheer me up, if only a little. I gestured to the large case at his feet. "Is that a cello?" "This is band, not orchestra." He flipped the catches on the case open with one thumb. The lid tipped open to reveal an acoustic guitar settled gently in velvet lining. "Guitar? How original." "What can I say? It makes the girls go wild." He smiled sheepishly. "Actually, I'm a singer. This thing just makes pretty background noise." He closed the lid with his foot. "You're in a band?" I was being drawn into conversation despite every part of me that screamed a warning. I'd never even had a boyfriend, unless you considered Valentine's twisted obsession with me dating. If I was a normal girl, Zach was the kind of normal guy I'd want to date, but I wasn't normal. I wasn't even human. "Yeah, actually. We do metal covers of 80's pop songs." "Wow." "Glam Banshee. You should check us out sometime." Ms. Tripoli saved me from answering when she stood up in front of the class. "Welcome to Advanced Jazz Band. Most of you know how we do things here. Right now is independent study for the Senior Showcase this March, in which most of you will be performing. I give you a lot of freedom here, but I expect to see an effort. Get to work."

She disappeared into the storage room and I glanced at Zach, who was hunched over an open composition notebook. "I guess we dodged a bullet with this showcase thing, huh?" I knew I should be ignoring him but I didn't do well with boredom. It certainly didn't mean I was at all interested in him. "Not me," he said with a quiet laugh. "You're a senior?" I asked with surprise. "Yeah." My eyes narrowed. "Then why are you in my history class?" "The credits from my old school didn't transfer." He shrugged. "I have to make it up." "Oh." It was a lot easier to write him off when I thought Zach was a year younger than me. This wasn't good. "What are you going to perform?" I'm working on a song, should be done in time." His lips quirked in a smile. "You'll have to come cheer me on." I looked away to see Ms. Tripoli weaving expertly through the chairs, heading straight towards us. "This is band class and everyone has to play. Here." She held out a thick piece of folded metal. "The triangle?" I could definitely use it to call the family home for dinner out on the farm. For music, not so much. "The triangle is a respectable musical instrument. And it's the only thing I could find in the storage closet. Enjoy." Zach hid a guffaw behind his sheet music. I stared forlornly at my sad excuse for a musical instrument. Maybe Zach's band could use a solid backup triangle.

Chapter Eight The curtains were pulled back in my bedroom. Morning sunlight streamed through the window. Even in the bright shine of a new morning, the room was cold and impersonal. I didn't have posters on the wall or pictures of friends in brightly colored frames like a normal teenage girl. Dark mahogany furniture and minimal decoration did nothing to warm the room. I might as well have slept in a furniture store window display. A trunk at the foot of the bed was the only bit of personalization. It held a few books and papers, keepsakes from childhood. The only bit of me in the entire house. I pushed out of bed, my body groaning in protest. Rising with the sun should have been outlawed, it was practically torture. A cream-colored envelope sat on the dresser next to single lavender rose in a crystal vase. In a room so cold and pristine, they seemed grossly out of place. The paper of the envelope was thick against my fingers. Black slanting script on the front spelled out my name. I ripped open the envelope and pulled out a stiff card. Simple black typeface on a white background. Date. Time. Occasion. In less than a month, my parents would host a feast for End-of-Winter. The most important event of the new year, it was a symbolic celebration of the reawakening of spring—life from dormancy. This would be the first time the End-of-Winter celebration had been held on

American soil in years. The Wayward family last hosted before I was born. It was a time for extravagance and excess. Representatives from all of the families would attend, descending on the house like a flock of vultures. Flowing wine and spilled blood. Merriment and mayhem. Families vied for the chance to host. It was an honor and a chance to show-off. It couldn't be a coincidence that this year it would be held here. My hand shook as I set down the invitation. Valentine would be there. I knew it as surely as I knew my own name. Twenty-five days and we would be face-to-face for the first time since I left him. I could only imagine his rage at the betrayal. Would he try to hurt me? Or worse, ignore me completely, his obsession turned to disdain. I'd get my answer, whether I wanted it or not. My mother sat alone at our long dining table when I came downstairs. She had her back to me but I saw her clearly through the archway between the dining room and foyer. A light buffet was laid out in the center of the table, but only a single slice of buttered toast sat next to her on a small plate. Her fingers clenched around the delicate handle of a porcelain teacup. I raised the full backpack higher on my shoulder. If the books inside didn't shift around too much, maybe I could get out of the house without attracting her attention. My feet moved soundlessly on the tile floor. "Would you like me to call the driver to take you to school?" The front door was within reach and I briefly considered making a break for it. I glanced in the dining room where Leonora was turned around in her chair to face me, eyebrow raised in faintly disapproval. I jingled the keys in my pocket. "Thanks, but I can drive myself." My hand touched the doorknob. "Bye." "Come sit. You should eat something." With a sigh, I trudged into the dining room. My bag fell off my shoulder and crashed to the floor next to the table. Leonora winced at the sound. I slid into the chair on her right. Leonora pushed a plate, with a grapefruit half and a single slice of bacon on it, in front of me. To her that was a veritable banquet. "Did your first day back at school go well?" "Peachy." She drummed her nails on the table, a ruby the size of a robin's egg glinted on her ring finger. "Do you have any classes with Cynthie?" "No." Thank the gods. "I hope you recognize that this is an opportunity," she sighed. "Now is a time for gathering allies." Some allies. "Cynthie tried to kill me, remember?" "We aren't human, Helena. Don't forget that." She seemed momentarily lost in thought. "There are so few of us left." I pushed the plate away and stood. "I'm going to be late." My mother rose gracefully and came around the side of the table. She grasped my hands. "You're so strong. Of all my children, you've always been the strongest." "Don't be silly, Mother." I gently pulled my hands away. "We both know that's not true.

Not magic—not power." My mother touched her hand to my chest, my heart beating against her fingertips. "None of the others could survive as you have." "Thank you." My voice was soft. She retreated back to the table and pulled the dressing gown she wore tight around her thin frame. "I only have one thing to ask, Helena." I swallowed. "What?" Her finger pointed to the floor at my feet. "I would like to know what those are doing in my house." The offending article was a pair of scuffed Doc Martens I'd found hidden in the back of my closet. "What's wrong with them?" "I can't be expected to vet your wardrobe every morning. You're old enough now to know what is appropriate." She sank into a chair and flipped the tail of her robe over her knees with a quick swish. "Go and change." "Mother—" "You will go upstairs and change into shoes that are less atrocious. Go now, before you're late." I didn't leave the house for another twenty minutes. It took three tries before my mother finally allowed that I was fit to be seen in public. She agreed on the black Mary Janes but only if they were paired with sturdy nylons. Then came the dissertation on the key differences between tights and pantyhose, and their lack of interchangeability. It took long enough that my mother noticed the graffiti designs on the t-shirt I wore under my school blazer were made with actual paint and not just designer detailing. The shirt also had to go, to be replaced by a crisp button-down. I got outside only to be met with another surprise. A motorcycle idled in the loop of our driveway. The good news: the bike was a restored Indian that gleamed in the sunlight and purred like a lap kitten. The bad news: the driver who revved the throttle with hands covered in sleek riding gloves was none other than Zachary Yarrow. "Are you stalking me, now?" He smiled. "You want a ride?" I did a slow circle around the bike. Shiny metal showed no signs of rust. The idling engine sounded clear and low with no hint of buildup. I brushed my hand down one of the skirted fenders, painted red like a fire truck. "Is this a '53 Chief?" "One of the last ever made." Zach patted the fender like a proud father. "Replaced the transmission and split the exhaust. Still got the original engine, though." "V-twin?" "You know it." I suppressed a shiver. "It's yours?" "My dad's." He gave an embarrassed shrug. "He lets me take it out on special occasions." "Is it your birthday, or something?" I started walking down the driveway. The gate at the end stood open, which must have been how Zach managed to get up to the house. "Not exactly." He powerwalked the bike beside me, letting pull from the transmission move the motorcycle forward as he came on and off the throttle. "I waited for awhile. Did you spend too much time fixing your hair?"

I laughed, my curls must have been spiked in a dozen directions. My hair was lucky to see a brush every day, much less any sort of style. "Not exactly," I mimicked him. Zach grinned but didn't respond. "How did you know where I live?" "I broke into your file at school." "Really?" I wouldn't have thought he had it in him. "No, not really," he admitted. "They actually have these things called phone books." "Funny." I kicked a pebble on the sidewalk. "So based on my obvious interest, you came all the way here expecting me to hop on the back of your bike like some bimbo in a music video?" He rubbed his leather-clad hands to together. "That pretty much sums it up." "You're not so good with taking hints, are you?" "Hope springs eternal." "And you're one more overused quote away from the end of this conversation." "It's not over yet?" He feigned surprise. "I must be doing something right." I blamed the Indian. I couldn't possibly be expected to look past its gleaming, humming glory and it just wasn't right to blame a bike for its rider. "Do you want a ride, or not?" Zachary stopped the bike and glanced at his watch. "You won't make it to school on time walking." With a start, I realized that we had made it down the winding driveway and out to the street. Keys for the Toyota jangled uselessly in my pocket. I didn't relish the uphill hike back up the driveway. I refused to let Zach know he knocked me off balance enough that I forgot the step between walking out of my house and driving the car to school. "Tell you what." I grabbed the spare helmet hanging by its strap from the backrest. "How about I give you a ride to school?" "What—" I stepped off the curb and swung my leg over the body of the motorcycle, forcing Zach to scoot back or get a size-9 to his face. My hands slid over the controls. I revved the engine and small shivers ran through my body at the sound. "Hang on," I called. "I'm not turning around if you fall off." I released the e-brake and rolled the throttle. We were flying. Cold air rushed over my skin as if we forced our way through storm clouds. I wanted to ride forever. The bike maneuvered easily through traffic, skirting slower-moving cars and hugging turns like a glove. I floored it through any open space I could find. Each time I came especially close to someone's bumper or scared an unwary pedestrian, Zach's arms tightened around my waist. That made me smile. It took every bit of my willpower to slow down for the turnoff towards school and pull into the full parking lot. I slid against the curb in front of the gate and hopped the front tire onto the sidewalk. Zach stumbled off the bike and barely caught his balance enough to avoid falling on the pavement. I tossed him the spare helmet so it hit hard against his chest. Warning bell had already rung but I might still make it to class on time. "Hey," Zach called as I started to walk away. "You didn't even park it."

"Don't want to be late," I yelled over my shoulder without turning back. "You can thank me for the ride later." Zachary didn't arrive in History until well after roll call. Mr. Biggs met him at the door with a gentle scolding and extra homework for a week. He glared at me as he took his seat. Sam leaned across the aisle. "Making friends quick?" "I guess the romantic dinner date is canceled." She chuckled. "Ms. Douglas. Ms. Wayward," Mr. Biggs said from the chalkboard. "Whenever you are ready, the rest of us would like to begin class." "Yes, Mr. Biggs," we echoed in unison. "Talk at lunch?" Sam asked in a whisper before straightening. "Sure." Zachary was conspicuously absent in the hallway after class. He'd rushing out the door before the bell even finished ringing. I may have just scared him away for good. Apparently, forcing a guy to ride sidesaddle on his own bike made him lose all interest in courtship. Go figure. Sam met me outside of third period English and we walked towards the lunchroom together. Only seniors were allowed to leave school grounds during lunch so both of us were stuck with grainy cafeteria food and bad track lighting. "So, Zachary is a definite dead end, huh?" She asked as we stood in line. "Most definitely," I responded. "Dead and buried." "But he's so cute." I smiled at her wistful expression. "He's all yours." "Right." She rolled her eyes. "I am not the girl that a guy like that picks out of a crowd." "And I am?" My voice was droll. Sam may not have found the right guy to appreciate her girl-next-door sweetness, but I wasn't exactly drowning in offers either. "Totally," she said, as if that should be obvious. "You're cool and tough. Guys like that." "Not as many as you seem to think." Sam grinned. "At least we can drown our sorrows in curly fries." "Definitely." "There you are, Helena. We've been looking all over for you." Cynthie and her loyal followers appeared behind us in line, shoving aside a sophomore who didn't move out of their way fast enough. "What do you want?" I asked with a sigh. She smiled, revealing sharp teeth. "We have lunch plans. Did you forget?" "Must have," I said, rolling my eyes. "Take a rain check. I'm eating with Sam today." Cynthie took in Sam with a narrow glance. "Hello, anonymous unimportant person. You're dismissed." A bit of power rolled off her in a wave, skin-tingling and nerve-jangling fear creeping over us. Sam's eyes widened and I quickly stepped in front of her. "Shove it, Cynthie. No one here is scared of you." Hopefully, she couldn't tell I was lying. "It's okay, Hex." Sam stumbled back a step. "I just remembered I have a paper due

in English. I have to go to the library." I tried to catch her arm but Sam wrenched it away and disappeared into the crowded hallway. I turned on Cynthie with a snarl. "Do you have to be a total bitch all of the time?" "Probably not," she replied smoothly. "But why risk it? We have a table at Mode. Let's go." I snorted. "You hate me, remember?" "That was yesterday. Today we have reservations for lunch. Try to keep up." "I'm not a senior. I can't leave school." "Don't be such a baby." Noelle and Jade stood behind her, their expressions equally empty. My mother's speech about gaining allies rang through my head. "Fine," I said tightly. How bad could lunch possibly be? Mode was a trendy bistro two blocks from school on Canal, specializing in French fusion and art deco design. It was the type of place where a goat cheese salad cost as much as a blue collar paycheck. The hostess led us to a table in the back with a white placard on top marked reserved. I took the seat facing the exit and flipped open the menu. None of us spoke as the hostess filled our water glasses. "We need a round of melontinis and a plate of olive oil bruschetta to start." Cynthie spoke to the hostess without looking at her. The girl didn't ask for IDs, just stammered something agreeable before scurrying off. "It's 11:30 in the morning," I said drily. "Live a little." Noelle checked her makeup in the reflection on her spoon. "Hard liquor makes fourth and fifth period go by way faster." I looked from one of them to the other. Noelle, who would follow Cynthie off a cliff, just because she was too dumb to know any better. Jade stared off into space as if she found the whole world supremely uninteresting. And Cynthie, herself. I could only imagine what hid behind her devious smile. "What is this all about?" I asked finally. Cynthie raised an eyebrow. "You need to be more specific." The waiter came around with our drinks and the appetizer. She waved him away impatiently when he asked if we were ready to order. I waited until he was gone to speak again. "This make-nice routine. It's starting to get a little weird." "You spent too much time slumming with humans. It made you forget how things are supposed to be." She cocked her to the side and eyed me curiously. "Would you really rather be eating cafeteria meatloaf with Samantha Douglas right now?" "Leave her out of this," I snapped. "Wake up, Helena." Cynthie slapped her menu closed and tossed it onto the table. "We're not here to play house with humans. We're here to learn how to control them. You might not want to admit it, but you're not one of them—" her gesture took in everyone at the table "—you're one of us." "Don't compare yourself to me." I stood so quickly that the martini glasses jumped, coming perilously close to tipping over. "I'm going back to school." "Running away again." Jade's soft voice carried over the restaurant din of loud conversations and clinking glassware. She folded up the napkin that had fallen into my

chair when I stood and set it neatly next to my appetizer plate. "What do you know about it?" I asked caustically. Jade smiled slightly and took a microscopic bite of bruschetta. "Sit down," Cynthie sipped her melontini. "You're making a scene." We had attracted the attention of the tables nearest us. The waiter hovered by the hostess stand, watching us with a wary expression. I picked up a melontini and brought it to my lips, downing it. The drink was thick and sweet like expensive cough syrup. "This was great, girls. Let's not do it again." Cynthie's voice washed over me as she spoke a final warning. "It's only going to get worse." ***** The lunch period wasn't quite over when I made it back to school. I found Sam in the library, sitting at a table surrounded by a wall of periodicals. I dropped my bag on the table and she jumped at the sound. "Sorry," I said when her startled gaze flew to me. "How's the paper coming?" "Fine. How was lunch?" "About as good as you'd expect." I pulled out a chair and dropped unceremoniously into it. "Meaning horrible." "It wasn't fun? I figured, with Cynthie..." she trailed off. "What? You thought I'd get sucked into her gravitational pull and go all automaton on you?" Sam smiled shyly. "Maybe." "No chance. The only thing that Cynthie and I have in common is how much we hate each other." "That's good," she said, brightening. "But why hang out with her at all?" It was impossible to explain. "Our families are...close. You could say we're like distant cousins." That was the safest explanation I could think of, hopefully Sam wouldn't ask for details. "I can't exactly avoid her. Unfortunately." Sam twisted a silver ring she wore on her thumb. "Is she always so mean like that?" "Think of her like a rabid animal—best not to engage. But if you're cornered, always aim for the head." "Thanks for the advice," Sam said with a laugh. "I'll remember that for next time." I wished it was possible to explain that Cynthie was no ordinary schoolyard bully. She wasn't the type of problem that could be solved with a trip to the school guidance counselor and a video on self-esteem. "You'll do fine." I leaned back in the chair and noticed the tall stacks of books that sat on either side of her. "Are you building a fortress?" Sam blushed and looked down at her notebook. The pages were crowded with cramped handwriting. "It's research." "You were assigned thirty books to read for English?" I asked, incredulous. "Not just English," she said quickly. "We also have that research paper for History." "The one that's due in four months? I can see why you'd want to jump right on that." She began rearranging the books into neat piles, pulling them out of my reach. "There's nothing wrong with a head start."

I tipped up the dusty cover of one before she could move it. "Nature Rituals of the Black Forest." I raised an eyebrow and flipped through the pages. "This is for History?" "Don't laugh," she cried desperately, reaching for the book. "I'm not laughing," I said as a large grin spread across my face. "What else do you have?" "I know it's silly." Her face was crimson. "I guess I just like to think that there's a part of the world I can't see. Is that weird?" "It's not weird." I scanned the spines. Subjects ranged from sacrifices of the ancient druids to demonology in Abrahamic religions. "You found all of this in the school library?" "We have a great reference section," Sam said cheerfully. "In the middle ages, people actually believed that demons walked the earth, eating the souls of nonbelievers. There are so many myths and legends. What if some of it was real?" Her face glowed as if a fire burned behind her eyes. I recognized that look. Belief. Belief that maybe there was something wonderful out there in a place just beyond what your eyes could see. All you had to do was trust in a world beyond your vision. I almost envied her. I grew up surrounded by magic, desperate to grasp just a small bit of it for my own. I didn't need belief when I had stark reality. I'd seen real magic. There was nothing wonderful about it. My family would see Sam as weak, naive and infinitely exploitable. She was a pawn in a game that she didn't even know was being played. I closed the book and slid it towards her across the table. "You never know." I shrugged. "What's the harm." She hugged the book to her chest and gave me a bright smile. "I'm glad you came back, Hex. It's nice to have a friend that understands." Sam wasn't ruined or broken. She could see true beauty and not want to possess or destroy it. I saw a girl I wanted to be. But it was too late for me. A horrible notion took shape in my mind. Something even I, the blackest of the family sheep, had never contemplated. I remembered the severe beating I received as a child from my father for presenting my beloved and very human third-grade teacher with a perfect yellow rose, enchanted to never wilt or fade. I stole it from our breakfast table. The heritage must always be protected, my mother said as I cried. Our power lay in our secrets. "I have an idea," I said so loudly that Sam jumped. "What?" she asked with a bewildered smile. "We should do this together." I tapped the side of the book. "I've always wanted to try out a Black Forest ritual." "You really don't think it's dumb?" Her expression was hopeful. "The druids weren't dumb," I said quietly. "Maybe there's a whole new world out there." I wrote my address and phone number in the corner of her notebook page. "Come over whenever." "This is so great." Sam clapped her hands together. "We can get together after school sometime and work on it." Her excitement was contagious and I felt small bubbles of effervescent happiness

rise up inside me. My mother had been right about the need for allies, but I planned to choose my own.

Chapter Nine Cynthie waited for me at the bottom of the steps after school. Noelle and Jade flanked her on either side, like a less morally upright version of the three musketeers. "Are you forming a posse?" I asked sarcastically, approaching them. "You're so witty, Helena. Stop it." Cynthie said with a tight smile. She gestured to her cherry-red convertible, pulled up to the curb behind her with the engine idling. "Let's go." "I'm not going anywhere with you." "We discussed this at lunch." She waved her hand impatiently. "You're one of us now." "No thanks." I pushed past her. "I don't see your car. Planning to walk home?" I gritted my teeth. "I'm riding shotgun." The car was a two-door so Noelle and Jade climbed in first. I was barely settled when Cynthie peeled out of the parking lot, wrenching the wheel hard to make a sharp turn into traffic. "Drive much?" Noelle yelled from the backseat, trying to keep from crushing Jade into the side of the car. Cynthie winked at me. "I like to think of speed limits as helpful suggestions." We sped down Mulholland Drive with the top down. Wind whipped through my hair and blew hard against my face. It was almost as good as being on the back of a motorcycle. I felt a small pang of regret as we slowed to pull up the long driveway. Cynthie rolled up to the house and killed the engine. I pushed open my door and, to my surprise, she followed suit. Noelle and Jade scrambled out behind her. "What are you doing?" I asked, afraid I already knew the answer. "We always hang out after school," Noelle said cheerfully. "This is as good a place as any." "I don't think so." I turned to Cynthie. "Why can't you go to your mom's penthouse?" "We don't have the penthouse anymore." Her mouth set in a grim line. I'm sure your parents won't mind." "No." "You can't stop us." She eyed me coldly. "Grab the bags, Noelle." Cynthie and Jade swept past me into the house before I could utter another word of protest. Noelle went to the trunk and popped it open. She pulled out two shopping bags and gave me a mocking smile. "Let's go put on a show." I heard Cynthie's voice as we entered the house. I traced the sound to the kitchen, where she and Jade sat with my mother on barstools pushed up to the marble-topped island in the center of the room. "Helena." My mother's voice chided me as I entered. "I wasn't expecting guests." "Neither was I, Mother." I grabbed Cynthie's arm. "They won't be staying long."

Cynthie smiled at Leonora. "It was a surprise. We thought we might help Helena pick out a dress for End-of-Winter. I'm sure she got some great stuff from Jean-Luc's." I wanted to smack the sycophantic smile off of Cynthie's face but managed to resist the urge. "I have a lot of homework. Maybe we should reschedule." She ignored me. "Have you picked out something for yourself yet, Leonora?" "Not quite." My mother looked over at me and sighed. "We'd welcome your help, Cynthie dear. It's always been so difficult to get Helena excited about these sorts of things." "I'm excited right now." I gripped Cynthie's elbow and propelled her out of the room. "Let's go." Cynthie gave my mother a cheerful wave as I pulled her out of the kitchen. "What the hell is wrong with you?" I hissed when we reached the top of the stairs. "There's no point in doing what your mother wants, if she's not around to see it." I swallowed my anger as I pushed open the door to my room. Noelle pushed past me and threw the shopping bags onto the bed. "This place is like a prison cell," she said, her lip twisted in disgust. "I'll be sure to tell my mother what you think of her decorating, Noelle." Noelle ignored me and flung open the doors to the walk-in closet. She pulled out a red sweater dress and held it up the light. "At least she still picks out most of your clothes. This isn't so bad." Jade sat gingerly on the edge of my bed. Cynthie opened one of the shopping bags. I half-expected her to pull out makeup or hair products. I'd watched too many 90's teen movies. Instead, she carefully removed a small book. It was thin with a brown cover. She opened it and flipped through the pages. I tried to look over her shoulder. "What's that?" "Back off." She slammed the book shut with a snarl. Calming when I moved back, she held the cover up for me to see. It was inscribed with a name that I didn't recognize. "This was my grandmother's journal." "Your grandmother?" "The most powerful magic-worker in generations." She shot me a disdainful glance. "More powerful than anyone in your family." "She died?" I'd never heard of her. "Nobody knows." Cynthie shrugged. "She disappeared almost thirty years ago. I found this when we cleaned out the library." "What's in it?" I asked, hoping I sounded casual. "Amazing things. Everything she knew, she wrote in here. It's the closest thing my family has to a grimoire." Her gaze turned calculating. "I could show you." "What do you want in return?" "I thought we were friends now, Helena." Cynthie fingered the leather cover gently as if it were still living skin. "Friends do nice things for each other." "Right, you wouldn't know nice if it bit you in the ass and left fangs." I regretted the words the instant they passed my lips. "Fine." Cynthie grabbed the shopping bag and stuffed the journal back into it. "If that's how you feel then I guess we're done." She gave me a disdainful once-over. "You aren't strong enough for it, anyway."

"Wait." The journal was like a siren song. My fingers itched to touch it. The dark voice that whispered inside of me was desperate for its secrets. "What do you want me to do?" I imagined myself standing on the edge of a precipice. Could I walk the cliff's edge without falling into darkness? Cynthie opened the book, running the tip of one finger slowly down the binding. "There's only a few things in here that I haven't tried." She held it out so the open pages were inches from my face. I reached out to take it but she pulled it back with a cold smile. "Uh-uh. Don't touch." With an exasperated sigh, I leaned closer to read the faint script. Much of it was practically illegible, spidery words twisted and faded on the page. I read the title words slowly and it took a long moment for their meaning to clear the fog in my mind. I shoved Cynthie away with a snarl. "Get out of my house." Her eyes were wide and innocent. "What's wrong?" Anger and fear churned in the pit of my stomach. Fear of Cynthie and the things that she wanted to drive me to do. "I don't want anything to do with this." "I managed to find all of the ingredients," she said softly. "I'll even supply the blood so your precious skin is safe." "Then you don't need me," My mouth set in a thin line. "It takes four people to complete the circle." She pressed the journal closer. I turned my face away as if the words could jump from the page and do me physical harm. Fear and desire tightened my chest and set my heart to race. I wanted to grab the journal from her hands and drown in its secrets. I also wanted to run as far as my legs could take me. I read the twisting words on the page again as they coalesced into a simple and ominous title. A Spell for Summoning. "You know you want to," Cynthie whispered. Half an hour later, the four of us gathered around a ragged circle drawn on the hardwood floor of my bedroom with white chalk. The bed and dresser were shoved against the wall to make room. Noelle and Jade kneeled on the floor at the east and west sides of the circle with an unlit candle sitting before each of them. I stood to the north. I placed a glass bowl on the line of the circle in front of me to mark my place. Cynthie stared at me from across the circle, taking the position representing south. A red candle the size of my forearm held her position. As long as that candle stayed lit, the circle would hold. In theory, at least. "You're going to say the incantation." She passed me the journal, watching like a wary predator as I held it in my lap. The paper was thin and brittle underneath my fingers. It felt as if it would fade to dust if handled it too forcefully. I could only translate half of the words and I tried to pronounce the unfamiliar ones. "Stop stalling." Cynthie's voice cut through my thoughts. "Okay, jeez." I bent to wrap my fingers around the thick glass bowl at my feet. I shoved it at her with more force than strictly necessary. "After you." A knife sat next to her on the floor. Wrapping her fingers around the hilt, Cynthie moved the blade to rest against the opposite wrist. She gave me a condescending

smile. "It has to be warm." With a quick movement, she slashed into the meaty flesh in the heel of her palm. For a moment, the cut was only a stretch of whiter flesh. It filled slowly with dark blood that inched down her skin in a thick line. "Gross," Noelle said sourly. "Shut up or you're next." Cynthie picked up the bowl and held it close to the edge of her wrist, catching the flow of blood. "Get on with it." I nodded at Noelle. She picked up the matches and lit the small white candle in front of her. Trembling slightly, she held her hand over the candle just out of reach of the flame but hesitated. Cynthie bared her teeth in a silent growl as she wrapped a length of white cloth around her still bleeding wrist. "Don't make me do it for you." Noelle quickly lowered her arm so the flame licked over the delicate skin of her wrist. Making a small sound of pain, she pulled her arm back and whispered into the circle. "An offering of flesh." With a small smile, Cynthie lit her candle. She dipped a finger into the bowl of her own blood and flicked her fingers over the candle's flame so droplets fell and sizzled softly. "An offering of blood." Cynthie licked her finger clean and placed the bowl in the center of the circle. She winked at me. Jade picked up a bowl of dried chicken bones and placed them in front of her. She lit her match and dropped it into the bowl. Smoke rose in a delicate tendril from the center. "An offering of bone," she whispered. "You're not going to rip out a femur?" I asked sarcastically. Jade's eyes narrowed. She slid the matchbox across the floor so it skittered to a stop in front of me. Only one match was left. I flicked it hard against the box. It didn't light. I tried again, striking hard enough that flakes of red phosphorous rubbed off and floated to the ground. I tossed it away in disgust. Ignoring the other girls' contemptuous gazes, I wrapped both hands around the base of the candle and pressed it close to my face. My lips brushed against the wick as I spoke. "An offering of spirit." I blew softly, imagining as I did it that I breathed out a living flame. I felt it burn through my chest with raw heat. My eyes opened and I held a lit candle. "Impressive," Jade murmured. Cynthie made a low sound deep in her throat and Noelle softly gasped. I set the candle down, careful not to disturb the flame. It flickered and curled in the air but remained lit. I picked up the journal and opened it to the page that Cynthie had marked. The words were guttural and unfamiliar. As I spoke them, pressure built around us, thick and creeping. It was a language of the underground, spoken by things that slunk in the dark to hide their movements from human senses. Most of the words were beyond my ability to comprehend. A sharp wind picked up, seemingly unimpeded by the closed door and windows. It licked at the candle flames and rustled the pages of the journal. I couldn't lose my place. An incantation only half-spoken was a dangerous thing. Cynthie cupped her hands around the flame of her candle to protect it from the

wind. She stared at me, her expression wild. Noelle hunched over her position as if she could somehow make herself a smaller target. Jade remained still, but her eyes widened. I took a deep breath and spoke the final word of summoning. A horrible force built in the air. It pressed against my chest and paralyzed my limbs. I half-collapsed on the floor and gasped through the pain. Invisible hands pressed in on me from all sides. Noelle screamed into the thick silence and Cynthie's hands fisted in her hair as if the pain could bring her back to herself. At the moment when it was almost too much, when it felt like my chest would cave in and my lungs would rupture, the burden eased. I knelt on the floor with my hands splayed in front of me. My fingertips touched the chalk line of the protection circle. I heard a rattling breath and looked up into several rows of sharp teeth. Backpedaling quickly, I landed on my butt several feet away. The creature launched itself at me. It hit the invisible wall of the circle and recoiled, making an angry sound of pain. It sniffed at the chalk outline and growled. Noelle had scurried to the farthest part of the room and now she curled on my bed, huddling against the headboard. "Will it get out?' She asked in a whisper, as if afraid to draw the creature's attention. "Of course not," Cynthie snapped, but her voice lacked its normal sureness. "This is what was supposed to happen." "What in the hell—" I hovered on the edge of the chalk circle, careful to keep every part of me on the outside of the line. The creature followed me on all fours, drool oozing out of its mouth. "This is a demon, Cynthie." The creature's skin was a mottled gray and beaded like a reptile. It stood no higher than my waist but its hands were the size of dinner plates. Its open mouth was filled with hundreds of razor-sharp teeth, underneath a nose turned up like a pig's. A red stripe ran down its back like a banner of fresh paint or fresh blood. "Don't be ridiculous." Cynthie's voice shook only slightly. "It's probably a bog or maybe an imp." "Send it back," I said, glaring at her. She skirted around the circle and grabbed the shopping bags off the bed. "My mother will slay me if I'm not home by dinner." "I don't think so." I blocked the door. "You're not leaving until you fix this." "Noelle and Jade have to get back before dorm curfew." Cynthie pushed past me with a hard shove and opened the door. "Besides, this is a simple problem. I'm sure you're fully equipped to handle it." Noelle squeezed by me, Jade following behind her. They practically ran after Cynthie down the hall. "I'm borrowing the sweater dress," Noelle said over her shoulder. "See you tomorrow." I heard Cynthie's voice from the staircase. "We'll do lunch." "I won't forget this, Cynthie." I slammed the door shut as hard as I could. The imp stood still in the center of his circle and stared at me. His mouth was stretched into the paroxysm of a grin and spittle dripped from the points of his jagged teeth. "You are an ugly little bugger," I said softly.

The thing bent low and lapped at the bowl of Cynthie's blood that still sat in the center of the circle. Yellow eyes followed me from over the rim as I crept to the bed, my back sliding against the wall. They'd left a mess of supplies scattered on the coverlet. I saw, horrified, that candle wax had left a bright red spot on the fabric. My mother would not be happy. A demon in my bedroom was one thing. Stains on the 350-thread-count bed set were something else. I wondered darkly if there was some way to enchant the imp so it jumped out of Cynthie's locker at school and ripped off her face. A candle slipped through my fingers and rolled under the bed. I heard a crackling sound as it swept through a pile of dust on the floorboards. "Damn," I cursed in a whisper. The imp gave a guttural bark of laughter. "Shut up," I said with a growl. My hands pushed under the dust ruffle and slid along the grimy floor. Imagining my mother's face, if she ever discovered the maid was sweeping dust under the bed, cheered me considerably. My searching fingers touched something soft and flat. It wasn't a candle. I couldn't see in the darkness under the bed and I forced my hands deeper, searching for a proper hold until I could slide it out. The book's cover was coated in dust, the supple leather rough like sandpaper to the touch. Cynthie's grimoire. I held the book reverently between my hands. I felt as if it would burst into a cloud of dust and slip through my fingers if I so much as turned a page with anything less than absolute gentleness. There was no magic to it, at least none that I could feel, just words on paper. Still, I hesitated to open it. My fingers tingled with the effort it took to resist tearing away at the pages like a drowning man with his hands on a life preserver. My mind swam with possibilities. This must have been the source of Cynthie's incredible strength. There could be spells for might and power. Enchantments for speed and magic. The temptation was almost too much to resist. There was no other way to figure out how to expel the demon, I reasoned. Banishing spells weren't exactly the sort of thing that came up as part of polite dinner conversation. I'd never seen it done before. Cynthie and her friends weren't exactly falling over themselves to help me. There just wasn't any other way. Inside were pages of childlike scrawl. Time and wear left much of it unreadable. The page for the summoning spell was marked and I flipped past it. Spells for protection and luck, charms for beauty and desire, hexes for defeating a rival. None of it could help me. Another useless page. I had little use for an incantation that ensured a bountiful harvest for two and twenty seasons. I flipped quickly to the end and closed the book with a sigh. The imp growled from its metaphysical cage. I watched it carefully. Demons and witches were linked. According to the stories, Wayward were the first to call demons from the underworld and take their power for our own. Whether you believed that or not, it was certainly true

that the Wayward family produced powerful witches. Just having the name meant something. Most witches hyphenated their last names, one name that traced the female line and the other for the male ancestors. The older the family, the more prestigious the birthright. That sort of thing mattered for determining bloodprice or matchmaking. I only had the one name: Wayward. Both of my parents could trace their lineage to the circle of witches who first danced under the light of a waning moon. It wasn’t something anyone would ever dare say to their faces, but Ethan and Leonora Wayward were practically what the humans called “kissing cousins”. But neither would ever give the name up. Being a Wayward meant something. To everyone but me. Lesser demons, like this one could be summoned for a small time. Eventually they faded back into the ether, unable to remain without a link to our world. Occasionally you'd hear of particularly powerful demons taking possession of unwitting mortals—using them as hosts in the physical plane, slowly siphoning their life as energy. For a time, I'd thought Valentine was demon-born. But every creature of the underworld had a weakness. Valentine had none. Unlike shapeshifters—merely cursed humans—and witches who gained their power by birthright, demons didn't belong in this world. The link keeping them here was tenuous—easily broken. With all the enemies Valentine had amassed, I imagined at least one had tried a simple exorcism. I stared at the imp, glittering teeth bared in a macabre grin. Valentine wasn't a demon. He worked their magic, but any witch willing to bear the stink of the damned could do that. He had to have a weakness, every creature did. I just prayed I would find it. ***** My parents were already seated when I came down the stairs for dinner. They waited in silence, sipping red wine from thick crystal glasses. "This is a surprise," I said softly, glancing carefully from one to the other. "You're home early, Father." Ethan regarded me steadily over the rim of his glass. "Good evening, Helena." I sat down and carefully flicked a white linen napkin into my lap. "Is there an occasion?" I asked. When my mother spoke, her voice came measured and emotionless. "Does there need to be a reason for us to have dinner as a family, darling?" "Of course not." I resisted the urge to move out of the way when a maid leaned over the table to pour me a glass of burgundy. That had always been one of my mother's cardinal rules: You do not move for the help, the help moves for you. "I'm surprised you didn't invite the girls for dinner," she added. The girls? Were we kicky septuagenarians on an eighties sitcom? Or a team of plucky crime fighters? "They had to leave, rather unexpectedly." I took a careful sip of wine. "Maybe there was some sort of emergency."

My mother had a knowing smile as she adjusted the napkin in her lap. "Perhaps next time then." Silent servants served the appetizer, salmon croquettes in a white wine sauce. I picked up my fork and pushed it through the food. I caught my mother's wince as the silver tine scratched against bone china. I returned the fork to its place setting and scrubbed my hands hard in my lap. "Is there something you wanted to discuss, Mother?" Her fork was halfway to her mouth. She set it down and regarded me steadily. "What on earth do you mean?" "You arranged this charming family scene and dragged Father home before midnight." I took a small sip of wine and smiled at my mother. "There must be something on your mind." "You've become so crudely direct, Helena," my father murmured, drawing my eyes to the other side of the table. "Have you tossed away everything that we taught you?" "I kept what I needed," I said softly. "So I see." His tone was as even as mine. "We talk so little since you've been back," my mother said. "How is school?" "Great. Everyone's been so nice to me." I picked up my fork and dipped it into the salmon croquettes. "It's almost supernatural" I took a large bite. My mother coughed and set down her wineglass. "It's very nice to know that you're making friends. We wondered how you would handle the transition." Her smile was gracious. "What transition?" I asked with feigned confusion. "Oh, you must mean coming back to all this glitz and glamour after hiding out in the streets like a sewer rat." I glanced around the dining room, my gaze taking in the antique furniture, heirloom china and crystal chandelier. "Not much has changed, really." My father slammed his wineglass onto the table. Red wine sloshed onto the tablecloth from the force of his movement. "You are not going to sit there and insult this family, Helena." I lowered my eyes so my father wouldn't see the anger burning in my gaze. "My apologies. I meant no insult." Standing, I placed my folded napkin carefully on the chair. "Actually, I'm just beginning to understand what being a Wayward truly means." His eyes widened but he said nothing. "I'll excuse myself." I was halfway across the room when I paused and turned back. "By the way, there's a pit demon locked inside my bedroom. Someone should probably warn the maid." I left the room before either of them could respond. My heart pounded hard in my chest as I climbed the stairs. I never spoke to either of my parents that way. No one did. I'd been back for a matter of days and already I could feel old urges rising inside of me. The anger and the power were almost impossible to ignore. The grimoire was hidden in a loose floorboard underneath the bed. With the demon inside my room as a sort of guard, the book was relatively safe from detection. My fingers tingled at the thought of touching it again. All that power there for the taking. I didn't need power. Power was dangerous. If I told myself that enough times, maybe I'd start to believe it. The End-of-Winter invitation still sat on my vanity table, not just an invitation but a

promise. Time was running out.

Chapter Ten I slept in a guest room that night. Cynthie was powerful but I wasn't confident enough in her abilities to construct a protective circle to sleep in the same room as a trapped demon. When I cracked open the door of my bedroom the next morning, I expected to see disaster. At the very least, an angry imp ready to jump out at me, teeth bared. The lit candles holding the circle together would have certainly gone out at some point in the night. I peered around the doorframe. Everything was in its place—bed still neatly made and gossamer curtains fluttering in the breeze from the open window. The floorboard had been scrubbed clean, no evidence of the chalk circle remained. The demon was gone. My mother worked quickly. The idea of a demon rampaging through her house must have seemed entirely unseemly. Trust Leonora Wayward to know the mechanics of banishing a hell-creature back to the netherworld. With a sigh of relief, I closed the door quickly behind me. That had not been something I looked forward to dealing with on my own. Of course, that meant my mother had been in my room. What if she found the journal? I rushed to the bed and knelt. My hands ran over the wooden floor underneath it, searching for the board that sat slightly higher than the others. I pried it up and slipped my fingers inside the small space. When I felt the leather cover, relief shivered through me. I sat back on the floor and hugged it to my chest. I couldn't leave it here. My schoolbag lay next to me on the passenger seat as I drove to school. The grimoire was tucked inside. I thrummed with awareness of it, as if another being sat with me in the car. I couldn't keep it. The temptation to plumb its secrets was too great for me to resist. But, I couldn't give it back to Cynthie. Goddess only knew what she'd do with it. Like just thinking of her was an incantation, Cynthie waited in front of the gate when I pulled into the school parking lot. As always, Noelle and Jade stood behind her like living shadows. Still sitting in my the car, I pulled the backpack onto my shoulders. The book inside pressed reassuringly against my back. Cynthie watched me approach. They stood in the opening of the gate, blocking my path. When it became clear none of them had any attention of moving, I stopped and crossed my arms over my chest. "Problem at the O.K Corral?" I asked, my voice dry. After a long moment, she finally spoke. "Did you have fun last night, Helena?" "Fun probably isn't the right word." I said cheerfully. I sidestepped and pushed past Jade, forcing her to move aside or be run over. Jade

raised an eyebrow but stepped back. All three followed me up the steps. "I think I left some stuff over at your house." Cynthie hurried to catch up with me. "Really?" I asked over my shoulder, forcing myself to sound casual. "Like what?" "Some candles and maybe a few bunches of sage," she replied, just as nonchalant. "Would you mind if I swung by your place after school to take a look." "I would love it so much." We entered the main building. I stopped at my locker and spun the combination, enjoying myself immensely. "But no. I'm busy." I grabbed a stack of books without looking at them. "Busy with what?" she asked sharply. My hand froze on the locker door. In the euphoria of cutting Cynthie down a peg or two, I may have let myself get carried away. The grimoire burned into my back, its presence impossible to ignore. "Who are you, my social secretary?" I forced myself to laugh airily. "I'm just busy. Drop it." Cynthie's smile was predatory. "If I didn't know any better, I'd think you had something to hide." "Don't be silly," I said quickly. My mind cast around frantically for an excuse. If Cynthie showed up at the house, she'd know for certain that I was hiding the grimoire and probably succeed in taking it back. "It's a little embarrassing." Cynthie took a step closer, the light in her eyes feral. "Do tell." I took a deep breath, my mind running frantically. "I have a date." The flare of shock in Cynthie's eyes was almost worth it, but only for a minute. "A date," Noelle broke in, her voice incredulous. "But what about—" "That's great." Cynthie cut her off with a sharp glance. She smirked at me. "Who's the lucky guy?" "The guy?" I repeated slowly. "Yes," Cynthie said, raising an eyebrow. "It is a guy, right?" "Of course," I said quickly. I probably should have seen this coming. I cursed my constant inability to think before speaking. "It's really kind of personal." Jade ran her fingernails down the wall of lockers and I winced at the sound. When she spoke, her voice was low and smooth like steel dipped in chocolate. "Friends don't keep secrets." She stared at me with empty eyes. I was instantly reminded of the old adage about friends and enemies and staying the hell away from both of them. Jade stood separated from the rest of the group, leaning casually against the locker bay like a coiled snake. I wondered if even Cynthie knew what to expect from her. I faced them like a firing squad. Cynthie gave me the calculating stare of a hunter spying injured prey. Jade casually inspected her fingernails as if nothing we said was of the least bit of interest. Noelle stood behind them, her smile cunning and oblivious. My arm came up of its volition and pointed down the hall at the only other person besides us, who hadn't disappeared into class at the tardy bell—Zachary Yarrow. He was at his locker, rifling through the messy stack of papers shoved haphazardly inside. "Him?" Noelle laughed. "Who is that?" Cynthie asked, her face twisted as if a bad smell wafted under her nose. "Some loser," Noelle said with a dismissive wave of her hand. "Who cares,

anyway?" "You always did have interesting taste, Helena." Jade's expression was unreadable as she spoke. "His name is Zachary Yarrow." I inched carefully towards the door for History. I prayed this would be enough for them to let it go. "We have first period together." "He's a junior," Noelle cut in, disgust written all over her face. "That's gross." "Zach's a senior." We may have only been fake-dating but I still had to defend him. "He's just making up US History." Jade suddenly stood up straight and began walking down the hall towards Zach. "Let's have some fun," she said softly. "Wait," I called desperately as the other girls followed Jade down the deserted hallway. "We're going to be late." Cynthie glanced back over her shoulder. "We care?" I looked through the window of the classroom door. Mr. Biggs faced the board as he wrote with furious intent. A cloud of chalk dust formed a halo around his head. I caught Sam's eye with a quick wave and she gestured frantically at the clearly visible wall clock. It was tempting. I could quietly sneak into the classroom and take my seat. As long as I spent the rest of the day avoiding Cynthie and her cronies. I could even hide in my locker during class changes, if absolutely necessary. Of course, that also meant leaving Zach at their mercy with no witnesses. Not a pretty thought. I was relatively sure that none of them would actually hurt Zach, we were in school after all. Then again, I remembered a story my mother used to tell me about my brother Marco's fourth grade teacher. The woman had a psychotic break after claiming the classroom was filled with diseased rats and venomous snakes that no one else could see. She ran screaming from the room and never taught school again. I threw Sam an apologetic smile and chased down the hallway after them. Zach saw us coming but showed little reaction. He kneeled in front of a locker, methodically stacking his books on the floor. He glanced up briefly as Jade approached, but turned back to what he was doing. "Running late, Yarrow?" she asked softly. The restrained coldness in her voice sent a chill running through me but Zachary responded dispassionately. "I have a pass." "We're not the police," Cynthie said with a broad smile. "Actually, we wanted to congratulate you. Helena told us the good news." Zach looked warily from one face to another. He was surrounded on all sides and still knelt on the ground. He glanced at my face for a moment but looked away. "What are you talking about?" He asked finally. "Don't play coy," Noelle said. She kneeled, coiling next to him on the floor with a movement lithe like a cat's. Her face pressed very close to his. "We know all about your date tonight," she breathed throatily. "It's so cute." "What—" He trailed off as he caught sight of my frantic signaling over Cynthie's shoulder. Please, I mouthed. My hands pressed together against my chest in mock prayer. "What about it?" Zach finished dully.

"We wanted to introduce ourselves." Cynthie's voice was smooth as melted butter. "We're all friends now, right?" He stood, several books in his arms, and regarded her levelly. "I know who you are," he said with a small smile. "I'm late for class." "We have something for you," Noelle called in a sweet voice. She approached him slowly, her smile wide and innocent. A card appeared in her hand in a movement too quick to follow. She could pass it off as good sleight-of-hand but there was nothing hidden up her sleeves. Her hand stretched towards him and I could see she held a dime-store tarot card. "I tell fortunes. Here." Zach took the card without looking at it. "Thanks," he said with a bemused look on his face. "My pleasure," Noelle purred in a seductive whisper. "See you around." She turned and followed the other girls down the hall. Before turning the corner, she gave me a notso-subtle wink. I sighed in relief and turned back to Zach with an apologetic smile. "Thanks. They can be brutal." I needed to get out of the hallway as soon as possible, before I drowned in a sea of my own embarrassment. "See you later." His voice stopped me before I could take a step. "I don't think so." I turned around slowly. "What?" "I have a week of detention for being late because of that stunt you pulled yesterday?" He hefted the books higher in his arms and regarded me sourly. "Now you've got me covering for you with your squad of bitchy friends. You're like a psycho ex-girlfriend and we've never even dated." "I did say I was sorry," I said lamely. "That's great," he replied sarcastically. "For a while there, I actually thought you might be a really cool girl." He pointed fiercely down the hallway where the others had disappeared. "But, you're just like them. It doesn't matter who you hurt as long as you get what you want." Maybe I really was no better than them. I didn't hurt Zach on purpose, but I took what I wanted from him when I needed it. Was that really any different? "You're wrong," I said softly. Zach shrugged as if it didn't matter one way or the other. "I'm late. I need to go." The words spilled out of my mouth before I could stop them. "Let me make it up to you." He turned back with a grimace. "This should be good." "Let's go out," I said, pushing the words out before I had time to regret them. He raised an eyebrow. "My treat," I added quickly. "Anywhere you want. Just name it." "You think I want to go out with you?" He asked with a forced laugh. "Probably not, but I feel bad. Really." I shrugged. "Worst case, you can hit me up for a free dinner and the entertainment of your choice. What do you say?" "I'll think about it." He turned away, hefting the stack of books higher in his arms. "Wait," I said again, something occurring to me. "Can I see what Noelle gave you?" He dug in his pocket and produced the wrinkled tarot card. "Some joke."

I smoothed the thick card between my fingers and turned it over to see the face. The Hanged Man. "You know what it's supposed to mean?" Zach asked. "It's a tarot card." I balled up the card and stuck it in my pocket. "Like when you get your palms read at the carnival, or something. Stupid." "What does it mean?" Zach asked again as he moved closer. "It's just a symbol for change or reversal." I tried for a reassuring smile. "It's nothing, really." "Yeah, sure." He looked unconvinced. "First period is half over," I said softly. "You should go." Zach turned away, the large stack of books swaying precariously as he moved. He glanced back at me from the door of the classroom with a small half-smile. "See you around." I stood for a long moment in the abandoned hallway. The distant noise from full classrooms only made me feel more alone. I wrapped my hand tightly around the ball of thin cardboard in my pocket. I didn't need to look at it to see the picture of a man, hanging upside down from a tree branch. His body caught in the motion of swaying limply in the breeze. If I pulled the card out and looked at it, I knew I would see Zach's face, frozen and dead. In fortune telling, The Hanged Man carried one additional meaning. Sacrifice.

Chapter Eleven The house was quiet when I got home after school. My mother wasn't in the kitchen, enjoying her habitual afternoon cup of Darjeeling. There was no maid arranging flowers in the foyer. I moved through the house, my senses suddenly on alert. I felt like a horror movie heroine easing toward her first confrontation with the Big Bad. The French doors leading to the sitting room were firmly closed with ruffled drapes drawn over the glass. My hand touched the door and I could hear an imaginary audience in my head yell a warning. Taking a deep breath, I pushed open the door. My mother sat on a puffed sofa with a complete tea service spread out on the coffee table in front of her. She seemed more serene than I had ever seen her. I was immediately suspicious. But Leonora wasn't looking at me. Her beatific expression focused in the corner of the room behind me. Even as my internal chorus screamed for me to run, I turned slowly to face the object of my mother's attention. How bad could it be? A slim figure relaxed in a Tiffany armchair, long legs wrapped in tailored slacks were casually crossed. Sharp features regarded me from under a wave of dark hair and a sardonic smile thinned the lips of a wide mouth. "Marco," I whispered. It was worse. "Little sister." He rose, arms wide in a mockery of welcome. His voice hadn't changed in the years since I'd last seen him. The hissing sibilance of a venomous snake mixed with the slick oil of a used car salesman. I let him hug me, putting on a show of sibling welcome for our mother's benefit.

Marco was the eldest—by a mere minutes, Magdalen and Marise came in a close second and third—firstborn and perfect son. He was the only one of us that my mother never criticized or judged. I couldn't imagine that the sadistic teenager who'd tortured me as a child had changed much in the intervening years. And he was home again. "What are you doing here?" I asked, pulling away sooner than was strictly polite. "I hear that End-of-Winter will be celebrated in true Wayward fashion." His smile widened. "I don't want to miss the party." "Isn't it wonderful." Leonora cried, springing from the chair to envelop us both in her thin arms. "If only I could have all my children together again." I shuddered to think of it. Marco made a noncommittal sound in his throat but I caught his sarcastic grin over my mother's head. "Yes, mother," I said softly. Not if there truly was a God, I wanted to add. "I called your father and he'll be home early," Leonora continued. She suddenly clapped her hands and the excitement rose in her voice. "I'll have Consuela prepare something extra special for dinner." She clapped her hands again and disappeared into the hallway, calling for the housekeeper as she went. Marco relaxed back into his chair. "It's been too long, baby sister." I glared at him. "What do you want, Marco?" "Is that any way to welcome me home. It's been years." "Not enough." With a smirk, Marco pulled a slim flask out of the inside pocket of his jacket. He added a generous draught to the teacup on the end table next to him. "It's good to be home." I watched him carefully as he relaxed in the armchair. My brother was an angler. He tricked schoolgirls out of their lunch money on the playground when we were little and now he crashed foreign markets and organized hostile takeovers. Marco would never come home without a reason. "Do you have plans for this little vacation?" I reached for the plate of cookies sitting on the coffee table. "Rape and pillage, perhaps?" Marco's thin lips spread in a slow smile. "You've changed." "That's right," I said with as much conviction as I could muster. "You missed Bianca's wedding. Now that was a party." "So I've heard," Marco replied. He seemed unmoved by my efforts to bait him. "I won't miss out this time." I shivered and looked away. Damn him. I felt like I had a target on my back and all of my secrets were written on my face. Did he know everything? Was he here to watch me make a fool of myself? "May End-of-Winter bring you joy," he added with a smile. The traditional greeting sounded hollow in my ears. I refused to meet his eyes. "To you as well." There were too many people that I couldn't trust. Enemies circled closer and closer like sharks scenting blood. I tried to remember Darius's promise. Safety and protection. If I lived long enough to enjoy it. The doorbell rang and I jumped. Marco smirked. "Expecting someone?" "No." I rose quickly from the chair. I didn't want to find out what Marco would do to

an unsuspecting girl scout hawking cookies. "I'll get it." "Please," Marco said, and slid smoothly past me. "Allow me." He reached the door before I could stop him and flung it open. Horrified, I caught a glimpse of Sam standing on the porch before the door swung closed and Marco fit himself into the narrow opening. I pulled hard on the door but his hand gripped the wood and it refused to budge. "Hello there," he murmured as I frantically tugged on the door. "Hi," Sam replied, chipper as always. The little idiot. "Is Hex home?" "I'm afraid she's not." I could picture Marco looking her up and down like a stalking panther. I pulled on the door again but he held it fast. "Is there anything that I can do for you?" "Do you know when she'll be home?" "Very soon, I'm sure." There was a dangerous note in his voice. "Why don't I come out and wait with you. It's such a beautiful day." Marco slammed the door shut almost catching my fingers. I tried to turn the handle but he held it from the other side. Muttering a curse, I slammed my hand against the door. I wondered if screaming through the wood for Sam to run for her life would do any good. Probably not. I turned and ran for the kitchen door that led into the backyard. I forced myself to calm down as I walked around the side of the house, past the tennis court. What was the worst that could happen? It was broad daylight. Marco wouldn't eat a high schooler on our parents' front porch. Then again, I didn't want to stake Sam's life on Marco's sense of restraint. The porch came into view as I rounded the corner. My brother leaned casually against the railing but there was no sign of Sam. My heart stopped. I let out a sigh of relief when I heard her laugh. "I didn't know Hex had a brother. How long are you going to be in town?" To my amazement, Sam had her head tilted coquettishly to the side, a flirtatious smile pulling at her lips. "I'm feeling an urge to stick around for a while." Marco reached out a hand to brush his fingers lightly against Sam's cheek. "Things suddenly seem much more interesting." I approached quickly, determined to put an end to this farce. Reaching the stairs, I climbed to the porch and moved in between them. "Marco," I said with a tight smile. "Mother needs you in the house." "Really," he said, leaning back across the railing. "I didn't realize she was home." "Just arrived," I shot back. "Go now." Marco leaned close as he slid past me, whispering too low for Sam to hear. "Game on, little sister." As soon as the door shut behind him, Sam was on top of me. "Why didn't you tell me you have such a gorgeous older brother?" She grabbed my shoulders, punctuating each word with a shake. "You have to hook us up?" "Marco?" I asked, as if there was someone else in question. "You don't want him." "Why not?" Her eyes turned dreamy. "He's mature and sophisticated, not to mention absolutely beautiful." She shook me again on the last word for added emphasis. She forgot the part about him having no soul. I fumbled for a good excuse to keep Sam as far away from my brother as possible. He'd have her for breakfast. Literally. "My brother can't date one of my friends. It would be too weird. I mean, what if you had a

bad break up? I'd be stuck in the middle." At the crestfallen expression on her face, I wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "Besides, Marco only dates idiot girls. You're way too good for him." Sam laughed and gently pushed me away. "You're probably right," she said with a sigh. "I can always dream." I had a full on vision of Marco gallivanting through Sam's dreams as some white knight on a silvery unicorn. I shuddered at the thought of what he'd do to an actual unicorn if he ever managed to get his hands on one. "So what's going on?" I asked Sam, forcing a casual tone. I had to get her out of here as soon as possible. It never occurred to me that my family would start trickling into town so early. Sam pulled a book out of her bag and waved it in my face. "The nature rituals. I thought we could work on them today." With Marco here, that would be like inviting a lamb into the lion's den. "I can't today. Maybe later this week. We can meet at your house." Sam had to stay as far from here as possible until End-of-Winter was finished. "Okay," Sam said, obviously disappointed. "I guess I'll just see you in school tomorrow." "Sorry," I said softly and meant it. "See you in school." I watched her walk down the steps and out to an old Dodge Neon parked in the driveway. She waved as the car wound its way down to the gate and out onto the street. I stayed on the porch until she was out of sight. I had an irrational thought that Marco lied in wait in the shrubs lining the drive, prepared to jump onto the roof of her car like a rabid dog the moment my back was turned. Sure that Sam was safely away, I entered the house and slammed the door hard behind me. "Marco," I yelled as I walked through the foyer. My voice echoed through the house. "You rang." I jumped at his voice and whirled to find Marco behind me, leaning against the front door. "What are you playing at?" Marco shrugged. "You're the one who had dinner delivered." "She's off limits, Marco. I mean it." He stepped closer but I stood my ground even as the air started to feel cold. "Is that a challenge?" He asked softly. "Don't make it one." "Accidents happen." He smiled. "I'd forgotten they came so young." "Stay away from my friends, Marco." I spoke with a harshness that I never would have dared to use with my brother before. "Don't make me tell you again." He reached out as if to touch my cheek and I reared back with a snarl. "It's so good to be home." His laugh followed me up the stairs. In my room, I dropped my bag on the floor and collapsed onto the bed. It gave comfortably under my weight, enveloping me in pillowy softness. I just wanted to sleep forever, lost to a dreaming world without pain and strife. Sam wanted the dashing knight to sweep her away to a land of fantasy. When my

eyes closed at night, I dreamed of peace and silence. A part of me—so small I barely acknowledged it—never wanted to wake again. I rose to a sitting position and stared at my rumpled reflection in the mirror above the dresser. My eyes were dull and lifeless like a porcelain dolls. Dark circles bruised the skin underneath them and my lips were pinched thin. I looked like hell. The stress was getting to me. Staying with my family, going to school, making friends with girls just as likely to smile as stab me in the back—pretending that everything had stayed the same. As if I wouldn't face the stuff of my nightmares in less than two weeks time. It was more than I could bear. A wave of fear and dread threatened to overtake me and I forced the emotions away with an effort. If Valentine would grant me anything, it was a death wish. I couldn't afford to be weak. Petals littered the top of the dresser as the rose wilted in its vase. I moved to sweep them into the trash can when something caught my eye. A wooden box sat behind the vase, pushed all the way back against the wall. It was rough and hand-carved, remarkable only for a complete lack of ornamentation. It hadn't been there when I left for school only a handful of hours before. Opening it was a bad idea. There were a dozen different ways the box could be booby-trapped. It could be I never noticed it there before. Or, more likely, it was just a nasty surprise from Marco. I gripped the lid with my fingertips and pulled it off. The box was empty. Only a black velvet lining that seemed oddly ornate against the simplicity of the wood was all that lay inside. I stroked one finger over the bristly softness of the velvet. Something hard lay underneath, in between the cloth and wood. Gently untucking the cloth from the sides of box, I pulled it free. I turned it over in my hands. It wasn't a lining at all but a bag with a tied drawstring. Inside of it, I felt something small and smooth. When I upended the bag, a heavy chain fell into my hands. On it was a pendant the size of my fist; a dark stone surrounded by glittering diamonds. I knew it immediately. Thick paranoia rose through me and I turned in a slow circle, as if enemies would jump from the corners. I tore into the box again and found something else. A handwritten note lay folded at the bottom of the box. A gift returned. The note wasn't signed but it didn't need to be. Only one person would dare come into my parent's house to leave this here. My family wouldn't recognize the necklace as a piece of any significance. Cool air blew through the open window. I suddenly felt vulnerable and over exposed. I went to the window and closed it firmly, pulling the curtains shut. Darius could be watching me even now, keeping track of his investment. I turned the necklace over in my hands so it shimmered delicately in the light. Thick strands of silver wove together to form the chain and a black star sapphire hung from the center. It was light to the touch but I knew once it touched my neck, the jewels would grow heavy and hang from me like a weight. The necklace was a message. Darius knew as well as I did that Valentine would want little to do with me as I was—powerless and pathetic. I had to prove to him that

things could be the way they were. I would have to play the old games again. The sapphire glowed from the center of the pendant and it burned as if lit from within. My face reflected back at me in its fiery depths and I was lost. ***** Time runs together when I try to remember. The days come and go like ocean waves, steady and overwhelming, impossible to number. Valentine knows I waver. When we're together the world is heady and intoxicating. When he is gone, I begin to see myself for what I am. We live in an abandoned castle on the Scottish moors. Something unfortunate happened to the previous occupants. Their screams echo off the walls. I hear their phantom cries at night, invisible specters ease through the darkness. This place stood empty long before I arrived. I do not know what became of them. I stand in a room with no windows. Candles burn in sconces on the walls. Flames crackle in the fireplace but bring me no warmth. A man lies at my feet. He is surrounded by blood but carries no visible wounds. His mouth dark, as if he ate ripe berries and forgot to clean his face. Trails of blood run from his nose and ears to pool on the floor. "Is he dead?" Valentine stands behind me. My dark shadow. "Yes." The sound of my voice startles me. It is too deep and slow to be my own. I hear myself from a great distance. Like the light of far-flung stars, my own words take eons to reach me. Hands touch my shoulders. They caress my arms and slide down to touch my wrists. "He offended you so much, then?" "I --" I falter. Who is this man? I do not know his name or recognize his face. He only lies motionless on the dirty floor. I want to reach out and touch him but my body remains still. Panic wells inside of me. It is muffled, then quieted, suffocated out of existence before I have a chance to relish in the emotion. There is no life here. "What have I done?" I ask softly. Valentine squeezes my hands. His voice washes over me, enveloping me in the sound like a warm bath. "What you wanted to do." I shake my head and the earth tilts on its axis. My eyes close as the world spins without me. An image is burned behind my lids: the man, a stranger, collapses to the ground as I will his life's blood to the surface. "I have no right—" My body turns in a dancer's spin. I open my eyes. Valentine is so close that our lips touch when he whispers. "Your power is your right." His breath caresses my cheek. "There is no right but what you say." He turns over my hands so the palms face dim candlelight. I am surrounded by blood but my hands are clean. Destruction is my gift. Heavy chain settles around my neck. I bring my fingers to the pendant that hangs in the hollow of my throat. The stone is cool to the first touch but warms as I slide my fingers across its smooth face. "A gift." His fingers trace down the woven chain. I shiver when he touches the exposed skin at the curve of my throat. "You please me so."

His lips will be cool when they touch mine. I sway closer. I want to be lost in this moment forever. ***** I awoke with a gasp. My cheek pressed against the hardwood floor of my bedroom and I panted for breath. I pushed up on my elbows and looked frantically around the room. The sky behind the curtains was dark. I was alone. The necklace lay several feet away, its black center winking at me in the low light. I could taste Valentine on my tongue, that curious mix of forest and darkness. As if he was in the room with me, close enough to touch. Only two weeks left.

Chapter Twelve I stood on the front porch and watched the empty curve of our driveway. It would be just my luck to be stood up. Especially since I only offered up a date in the first place because of my nagging conscience. My family might actually be onto something when it came to getting rid of the good angel on your shoulder. My parents left the house that morning and Marco was safely ensconced in the guesthouse, drinking the blood of blessed virgins or whatever it was that he did in his spare time. I could feel the window to sneak away unnoticed quickly closing. Zach spent the last week treating me like we hadn't ever met. He never stayed to chat after History and moved his chair to the front row in band class, ostensibly to better hear the lectures Ms. Tripoli never gave. To my surprise, he approached me after class on Friday and asked if he could still cash in my offer of a free outing. We agreed that he'd pick me up at noon on Saturday. It was now twelve-thirty and I started to suspect this was just his roundabout way of exacting a little payback. I heard the purr of a 400cc engine before the Indian wound its way up the driveway. I sighed in appreciation. When the gods invented boys, they should have used horsepower and classic American engineering. Zach groped at his side to unhook the spare helmet before sliding gracelessly off the motorcycle. His bootstrap caught on the seat when he swung one leg over to dismount, almost bringing the bike down. Recovering his balance, Zach offered me the helmet with an embarrassed smile. "Hey." It was cute watching him fumble around, like an eager puppy. I grabbed for the helmet before the realization of how attractive I found him settled in completely. "Let's go." "In a hurry or something?" He swung back onto the bike as I slid into place behind him. "You're not even trying to drive." I wrapped my arms around his middle instead of answering. All the breath escaped me when we rounded the corner and my parents' house was out of sight. Zach shouted something but it was lost in the heavy wind that whipped through my hair. I missed riding, even when I wasn't the one actually in control.

I tightened my hold on Zach. My hands rested lightly above his belt and I could feel his abs contract and relax as he maneuvered us through LA traffic. My front pressed tightly against his back as we leaned into a tight turn. I could suddenly smell him—the musky and surprisingly sweet scent of apple and pine needles. The ride was over too quickly and we slowed down to turn into the entrance of Brentwood Park. Zach slid past the full parking lot and pushed the bike up onto the grass, parking it next to a tree. I handed him the spare helmet, smoothing the messy curls that were squashed underneath it with my other hand. Somehow, my hair managed to feel both flat and poufy at the same time. Abandoning all hope of looking even reasonably presentable, I surveyed the parking lot. The concrete expanse was overflowing with a few hundred cars. Most of them were beaten-up, bumpers covered in colorful stickers. "What's going on here?" I could hear screaming voices and a heavy drumbeat coming from the direction of the park grounds. Zach glanced up from stuffing his helmets into the bike's sidebag. "Music Festival. I thought you might be into it." I looked back at him. "You think you know me that well?" "I'm into it." He shrugged. "So at least one of us will have a good time." I resisted the urge to smile. "Nice." We picked our way down the hill towards the center of the park. The music grew louder as we drew closer. The stand of trees gave way to a large crowd. Someone handed out glow-stick necklaces and I grabbed one, wrapping it loosely around my head. Zach leaned forward and adjusted it slightly so the plastic fell over my eyes. "Trippy." The crowd of people grew denser. Cooked food smells wafted from stands scattered around the park's edge. The stage rose proudly above the throng and I squinted at it into the sun. "Who's playing?" I tried to make out the words scrawled across the drumkit on stage. "Can't see from here." He grabbed my arm and pushed through the crowd. We walked closer into the center where people moved with the beat. Zach swayed in time to the music and bobbed his head up and down, hands in his pockets. I couldn't move to a rhythm. My body just wasn't capable of what my mind told it to do. I glanced at Zach out of the corner of my eye but his gaze was focused on the stage. Maybe he didn't notice I was the only still body in a crowd of swaying, jostling hipsters. I sighed and looked around. The music was good and the atmosphere festive but I felt hyper alert. The sort of skin-tingling, hair-raising feeling that made me stare hard into dark corners and jump at shadows. Today the sun shone bright and in the wide open spaces of the park there was nowhere to hide. Even surrounded by so many people, I was still tense. Zach shouted something but we stood too close to the speakers for me to make anything out. Smiling quickly, I turned back to the stage. High decibel sound definitely made dating easier. It would be hard to put my foot in my mouth if Zach couldn't hear a word I said.

A skinny girl, with long hair and over-sized sunglasses, slammed into me from behind, spilling beer down the back of my t-shirt. The wet cold hit me like a brick and I spun around angrily. She had already moved on, bouncing her whole body to the music, too drunk off the vibe to notice the stain on the back of my jeans that looked like a preschool toilet-training accident. Cursing under my breath, I waved away Zach's concerned glance and pushed my way out of the crowd surrounding the stage. Port-a-johns dotted the park and I gave a disgusted shiver at the thought. Seemed like a good way to make a bad situation worse. I waddled to an isolated drinking fountain next to a stand of trees, trying to keep the wet denim from rubbing against the tender skin on the backs of my thighs. I balanced on the edge of the fountain and splashed water down my back. Making myself wetter seemed a bit counterintuitive but it might at least take care of the reek of crappy domestic beer. I didn't fancy smelling like the wrong end of a weeklong bender. "Such a graceful child." My arm came down hard on the spigot, shooting a spray of water into my face, drenching my hair and the front of my shirt. I spun around quickly, my vision red. Darius' form coalesced from the shade under the trees. In less than a moment, he was suddenly as real as if he'd always been standing there. He'd managed to find the only bit of darkness under the full sun. Blinking water out of my eyes, I glared at him. I was too angry for fear or caution. "What the hell do you want?" "It's nice to see you too, my dear." Darius straightened the cuff of his suit jacket with manicured fingers. In a sea of high-top sneakers and skinny jeans, his three-piece suit should have stood out, but Darius melted into the shadows. Unless you looked closely, he wasn't there at all. I turned my back on him and began wringing my shirt out over the water fountain. Adding wrinkled to smelly and stained made the day seem that much brighter. Before my senses could comprehend the movement, Darius was at my back, the line of his body pressed against me. His hand wrapped around my neck and squeezed tightly enough that stars danced in front of my eyes. "Never turn your back on me, girl." Darius leaned in close and his lips brushed the shell of my ear as he whispered. "I am the darkness that eats the light." Storm clouds moved in from the horizon, as Darius bent nature to his whim. Rolling shadows and a strong wind blew through the park, stinging my skin. I heard screams as a loud crack of lightening shot across the sky, directly overhead. Cold air hit my lungs and my body seized. I struggled to breathe through the storm. Chunks of ice lodged in my throat and I couldn't choke any air past them. My vision blurred as the world slipped away. I was beyond intimidation. All of the fear and tension of the past few weeks coalesced inside of me into cold intent. I touched the hand at my throat with gentle fingertips and breathed in deeply. I imagined as I inhaled that I could swallow his darkness. Warmth touched my skin as my eyes slowly opened. Sunlight shone bright between the trees underneath a clear blue sky. The wind was refreshing and cool. A light breeze blew softly through the leaves. Darius backed away from me and I turned to face him. "Don't threaten me," I

whispered. He gave me a small nod. "Impressive." I eyed him warily. It was a small victory and just one more step down a dangerous path. "What do you want from me, Darius?" "End-of-Winter is coming." He touched a finger to the nearest tree. New leaves withered and fell from its branches, floated limply to the ground. "Are you ready?" "Ready," I repeated the word slowly. "To do your dirty work for you, you mean." "We have a deal." "I haven't forgotten," I snapped. "My life for his, yadda yadda." I heard my name floating on the breeze. Zach appeared on the top of the hill, his eyes scanning the park. He couldn't see us in the shadow of the trees. Darius glanced back at me with a smile. I didn't like the look in his eyes. "Friend of yours?" he asked, slyly. "Go away, Darius." We were still out of sight of Zach, but not for long. "End-ofWinter is in one week. I don't want to see you until then." Instead of responding, Darius sketched a low bow with a mocking smile. As I watched, he melted into the shadows. His body faded into the shade until he was gone. I pasted a smile on my face as Zach caught sight of me. He waved and jogged to meet me as I started back up the hill. "Everything cool?" He asked, a hitch in his breath. "I've been looking everywhere for you." I opened my mouth to tell him all about the rude girl, her liquid missile attack and my subsequent fountain bath, but the words died on my tongue. The realization that I hadn't waddled up the hill washed over me. I patted the back of my jeans and smiled, surprised. I was completely dry. He raised an eyebrow at me. I realized I may have looked a little odd standing there with my hands covering my butt. I hastily stuffed them in my pockets. "I'm good. You're missing the show." Zach followed me as I trudged up the hill toward the stage. My foot caught on a root and I stumbled. He grabbed my elbow. My breath caught at his touch. His hand was warm and his grip firm as he guided me upright. An easy smile touched his lips. I turned away before he caught me staring. I walked faster to put some distance between us. Zach was mundane. Nothing there but humanity and weakness. I didn't need another distraction in my life and Zach distracted me more than anything else. He caught up with me and I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye. He wore a black, zippered hoodie that fit tightly on top of faded jeans. His sneakers were covered in multi-colored doodles, probably made with permanent marker during class. "Why are you staring at me?" he asked, startling me. I looked away. "I'm not." "Not now, but you were." He grinned and a dimple I never noticed before appeared in his cheek. "Do you think I'm gorgeous?" Heat burned my cheeks. "Yeah, right." So much for the witty comeback. Zach laughed and grabbed my hand. "Are you hungry?" I wanted to pull away as he guided me towards the concession stands, but couldn't quite bring myself to do it. My hand in his felt right, normal. For a minute, I could almost

pretend that I was a regular high school girl out for a date with a cute guy. Darkness edged in and I couldn't stop it. There was no normal life for me. The smell of circus-quality hotdogs assaulted my nostrils as we approached a group of food stands. I made of show of peering intently at the offerings and pulled my hand away from his. Zach glanced back with a quizzical expression. "You okay?" "I'm good." I gestured to the man behind the counter of the hot dog tent. "I think I want a foot-long." We found an empty spot that still had a decent view of the stage. Zach made himself comfortable on the grass. I sank down next to him and he handed me a hot dog. We ate as the music beat cheerfully against the air. "What made you change your mind about hanging out?" I took a small sip of my soda. As much as I hated to admit it, his perpetual avoidance had bothered me. "I guess I felt a little bad." He balled up a napkin and batted it around on the grass. "I shouldn't have compared you to Cynthie and her friends. You're nothing like them." "Is that a good thing?" "Definitely." He frowned and leaned back on his elbows. "The other guys don't see it, but there's something seriously off with those girls. Something evil." My heart stuttered to a stop before resuming its beat. "Evil, huh?" "Okay, maybe not evil," he said with a laugh. "Definitely not good, though. You're better off staying away from them." "Way ahead of you," I murmured. Zach sat close enough to me that the side of my leg gently touched his. Would he get offended if I moved away? Was it flirting if I didn't? All of those elementary courtship rituals were completely beyond my scope of understanding. I took a big bite of my hotdog and casually crossed my legs, putting some space between us. He lounged back in the grass and pressed his arm against mine. I froze in confusion. Was he touching me on purpose? If I moved away now, he'd definitely notice. I shot up with the speed of a slingshot and Zach stared up at me in surprised confusion. "I'll take your trash." I grabbed the empty hot dog wrappers and half-ran to the bank of garbage cans. When I came back, Zach was standing. He grabbed my hand and spun me in a circle. I was very aware of my arms and legs as we moved to the music. Dancing brought our bodies close and I looked up at his face. His eyes seemed very bright against the backdrop of a clear sky. Zach grinned and then he was kissing me. The kiss was simple and sweet. His lips tasted like peppermint gum with a hint of mustard and it was nice like twinkling lights and sunshine. I didn't realize my eyes had closed until Zach pulled away. The lids parted and my vision filled with his shy smile. "Should I apologize?" he asked softly. "No," I paused and forced myself to back up a step. "But, you probably shouldn't do that again." His face fell. "No good, huh?" It was wonderful, but I couldn't tell him that. Getting close to me would only get him hurt.

I gave him a casual punch on the shoulder. "We're friends, right?" "Of course." His voice was mellow. "You want me to take you home?" "Sure." I wondered if he could see the regret in my smile. ***** I made Zach drop me off on the street below the house. I shrugged off his questioning gaze and climbed off the bike onto the sidewalk. He watched me slip past the gate and shut it behind me. His gaze was a knife in my back. The foyer was empty as I entered the house, but I heard indistinguishable voices coming from the sitting room. Panic squeezed my heart. Guests would start trickling into town any day now. My siblings and cousins, all of the families. I wasn't ready for it. I sprinted up the main stairs, my footsteps muffled in the carpeting. There was one place in my parents' house where no one ever found me. A small space in the den of wolves where I could hide. My bedroom door had a sturdy lock on the knob but it was no real deterrent. I went to the closet and tore open the doors. When I pushed aside the layers of clothing that hung neatly on the rack, a small door was revealed in the back wall. It was painted over and I had to pull hard to break the glue-like seal. I managed to wrench open the door and the opening yawned into darkness. I crawled inside and shut the door behind, cloaking myself in consuming gloom. My hand felt in the dark for the wall and I followed it until I ran into a staircase. The steps creaked underneath my feet as I climbed. I groped above my head in the dark for the pull cord of a single bare light bulb that hung overhead and clicked it on. Small light revealed more shadows than illumination. Piles of dusty boxes stacked high to the ceilings. Remnants of my family's past were abandoned here, rotting and forgotten. Our attic was extraordinarily mundane. An old bassinet lay on its side in the corner and a set of wooden blocks was on the floor underneath it. Dirty sheets covered old pieces of furniture and heavy trunks with thick locks that I was never brave enough to break open. There was still a blanket bundled up on the floor, musty with disuse. A burnt out candle sat next to it and droplets of old wax still dotted the floor. This was my secret place. No one ever came up here. I doubted anyone could even remember where to find the key to the attic door, if they were ever inclined to enter. I was the only one who knew about the secret passageway in my bedroom closet that led to the attic stairs. I guarded that secret like my life depended on it, in case it ever did. I escaped here as a child to hide from my siblings, until they decided to do something besides torture me. Until Magdalen forgot how much she wanted to set the plaits in my hair on fire. Or Adrian lost interest in making me swallow the pancreas he'd carved out of a stray cat because Silus said that eating cat pancreas turned your skin purple. I settled down onto a blanket on floor. The familiar smell of mothballs and lavender rose from folds in the fabric to settle around me in a welcoming cloud. A stack of books sat next to me. It had collected much less dust than anything else in the attic. I must have set it up there before I left. Most of the boxes contained books,

some useless and others less so. I used to sit up here for hours and comb through them all. I couldn't escape my family, not physically, but I always hoped to find something that would take my mind away. Now I was the prodigal daughter returned. I'd been to a literal hell and back. I was changed. So why was I still that scared little girl, hiding in the dark? I picked up the first book in the stack and idly flipped through it. It was a handset volume, penned by one of my mother's great aunts. Cramped notes filled the margins of each page, circling elegant drawings of lines and curves. The first page of the book bore its title. The Casting of Lots I remembered it. In her time, Great-aunt Hagal was an oracle. She had a hard-line directly into the ether. I only met her once, mere months before she died. My mother and I visited her in early summer. This was during a phase my mother went through in which she firmly believed my powerlessness was a curse that could be broken. If only she could consult the right authority, we would finally find a cure. I could still become the powerful being the fates had promised her. We traveled to a remote cottage on the green, Icelandic countryside. Hagal lived alone and isolated. She had sat behind a heavy table with her hands resting heavily on its surface. One hand touched the wood and the other covered a leather bag tied with a length of cord. Her face was wrinkled and worn with age but her hands were smooth and soft, girlish even, untouched by time or hardship. She opened the bag and upended its contents. Blank tiles spilled across the table, skittering and clacking against the wood. They looked like polished stones or worn bone. "These are cut from the wood of the World Tree." Great Aunt Hagal's hands hovered in the air over the tiles, moving over them in a gentle swaying motion. "As Odin hung from the windswept tree and spied the first runes, so must we pierce the veil between worlds." Great Aunt Hagal's eyes never left the table's surface. With lightning speed, she turned over three tiles. Black markings were carved on each. She touched the first, a letter c made of straight lines with an extra swipe on the top and bottom. "Perth. This is your situation as it is. Perth is the rune of initiation and change." Her hand moved over the second tile, a tilted cross. "Nauthiz. This is the action you must take. Nauthiz is the rune of pain. Its role is to identify your weakness." I shivered at her words. My mother stood behind me and her hand closed hard on my shoulder. A warning against speaking out of turn. Great Aunt Hagal touched the last piece. Two triangles faced each other with their points touching. It looked like a distorted version of the symbol for eternity. "Dagaz. This is what will be. Dagaz is the rune for transformation. You must ready yourself for the spirit. She has much in store for you." Hagal swept the tiles back into the leather pouch and tightened the cord. The bag disappeared into the voluminous folds of her dress. She rose painfully slow from the table and turned away, disappearing deeper into the house. I was summarily dismissed. My mother led me out of the house and back to the car. We left Iceland that evening

to return home. Her disappointment at Hagal's murky fortunetelling was a palpable thing. Rune casting could be a powerful bit of magic or it could be as useless as a takeout fortune cookie. Oracles were notorious. Their advice was only useful in hindsight, when it was time to enumerate all the ways in which you went wrong. Their information only made sense if you already knew what the hell they were talking about. I felt along the floor, feeling without enough light to pierce the shadows. Cobwebs stuck to my fingers and the dust that painted my hands. I'd almost given up, resolving to come back later with a flashlight, when my fingers touched smooth leather. My body folded underneath an antique armoire to reach the prize that was squeezed in next to the wall. The bag was heavy as I pulled it out and dumped out the contents. Rune stones spilled into my open hands. They were warm to the touch and I could feel the heat radiating out from my palm to tickle down my skin. I held a Wayward family relic, an item of power. I knew exactly what to do with it.

Chapter Thirteen I didn't catch up with Sam until lunch on Friday. I'd seen her in the halls with a large stack of books cradled in her arms, weaving through the crowds with a hurried deftness. She showed up in History moments before the tardy bell and was the first one to leave. She'd smile and wave, but rushed off in the direction of the library before I had a chance to get so much as a word in. Sam sat alone at our usual table. One hand held a hardcover open on the tabletop while the other shoveled florescent-orange nachos into her mouth. She didn't see me approaching. "Hey." Startled, Sam jumped and her elbow landed squarely in the plastic container of pasteurized cheese product. "Oh man." "Sorry." I grabbed a handful of napkins from the dispenser at the center of the table and passed them over. "Does cheese stain?" "Don't worry about it." Sam dabbed gingerly at the fabric of her sweater, but the orange blot refused to budge. She threw the dirty napkins onto her tray and closed the book. "I'm done anyway." I pushed the soggy mass of chips and cheese away with one finger. "School lunch not doing it for you, huh?" Sam slung the strap of her bag over her shoulder and half-rose from the table. "I need to head to the library before next period. I'll see you later." "Hey, wait." I couldn't tell if Sam was angry or upset. She studied me with a gaze that was very carefully pleasant. I missed her normal chatter. "I brought you something." "Oh." She gave me a neutral smile and sat gingerly on the bench of the lunch table. She gave her watch a surreptitious glance. "That's really sweet." I dug in my bag. Momentary hesitation made my fingers grip the leather volume without pulling it out. What I was doing was so foreign to the nature of my family that I

couldn't think of a single instance of it happening before. Family secrets belonged in the family. Knowledge was part of our power. Power was everything. My fingers brushed the fingers of the other book I still kept secreted away in my backpack. An electric current ran through me, threatening to stop my heart. Knowledge was power. I forced myself to pull out Hagal's book and the bag of rune stones with it. I placed them in the center of the table between us and forced a cheerful smile. Sam would never understand the significance of what I was doing. "Here." She reached for the slim book with a confused smile. Flipping it open, her eyebrows rose in surprise at the cramped text and spidery symbols. "What is it?" "It belonged to my great aunt. She used it to cast runes." "Runes?" I took the book and held open the first page. "It's like fortune telling. Each symbol represents a letter of the divine alphabet." I closed the book and slid it across the table, ignoring the voice in my head that wouldn't shut up about the trouble this gift was about to rain down on both of us. "I thought you might be into it." Sam finally gave me a real smile. "I am. Thank you." She picked up the book and tucked it gently into the front pocket of her bag. "Don't forget the rune stones." I pushed the leather bag towards her. "The book's useless without them." Sam took the bag into her hands and her eyes widened. "It's warm." I felt a small twinge of unease. "Maybe it's magic." "Now you're just making fun of me." "I brought you the book, didn't I?" Her smile was sheepish. "So you don't think I'm crazy." If Sam was crazy then I was due for a straightjacket and shock therapy. "Not even a little bit." "I just really feel like there's something out there, something bigger than me, you know." She rested her chin in her palms as her voice took on a dreamy quality. "I always believed." Guilt was not a new emotion for me but this was the first time I'd ever felt like I was playing a trick on someone. No matter how much I wanted a human confidante, my friendship with Sam wasn't enough to overcome a lifetime of my family's brainwashing. What good is power that everyone has? I might lead Sam in the right direction but I couldn't tell her everything. I wasn't strong enough to face the consequences. "Mind if I join you?" Zach stood behind her, a loaded lunch tray balanced in his hands. Sam raised an eyebrow, but moved down to make room. I shot her a look that I hope conveyed a promise of more information later if she didn't embarrass me too much now. "What's up?" Zach asked as he sat down. "Not much," Sam answered, pleasantly. "Hi." My voice broke. What was wrong with me? I wasn't prepared to see Zach again so soon. I remembered his kiss—the soft sweetness of his lips against mine. He made me think of silly things like picket fences

and rolling fields of blooming daisies—all things I couldn't have. "Any plans for the weekend?" Zach asked. Aside from the saving the world, or at least my world? Not much. "Just some family stuff." "Really?" Sam broke in, sounding disappointed. "I wanted to hang out and show you some of my research. Are you busy all weekend." "Pretty much." The thought of the very human Sam anywhere near a Wayward celebration more than scared the hell out of me. Virgin sacrifice would be the least of her worries. "Maybe we can get together next week." Late next week after all our guests had crawled back under their respective rocks. "That's fine, whatever." Sam wrenched her tray off the table, sending her plate of congealed nachos sliding precariously before she righted it. "I've got to go." She stomped away. Zach watched her leave. "Is she mad at you?" "I guess so," I said with a sigh. He popped open a container of yogurt and licked the lid. "Family stuff sounds fun." Yeah right. "You have no idea." I found myself wanting to talk more than I knew I should. "I guess it's like a reunion, or something." "Sounds cool. Do you have a lot of relatives?" "Thousands." Representatives from every family would come to celebrate End-ofWinter. Actual attendees would probably only number in the hundreds. If I was lucky. He slanted me a look that said he didn't believe me. "That's a lot of family." "I'm the youngest of seven." "You have six brothers and sisters!" He laughed, but his expression was shocked. "Yeah." I was inexplicably proud of ruffling him. "Marco, Magdalen and Marise are the eldest. Then there's my brother, Silus, and the twins, Adrian and Aislynn?" "Wow," he whistled. "I thought only really religious people and hillbillies still had big families like that. I'm an only child." I thought of Marco, who was probably right now sitting in my parent's house and plotting something unfortunate. End-of-Winter was less than twenty-f hours away. Zach was giving me an odd look. "You're lucky," I murmured. "Not close, then?" His voice made it a question. Aislynn conjured hissing snakes into my pigtails as I blew out the candles on the cake at my seventh birthday party. "Close enough." "Maybe I'll get to meet your brothers and sisters sometime," he continued. Not if I could help it. "They've all moved on. We don't get together much." "Doesn't matter." He shrugged. "I'm mostly just interested in you." I stared very hard at the table. Heat rose in my face as my cheeks reddened. I prayed that he didn't notice. "The Natural History Museum has got a great exhibition of native art going on right now. We should check it out next weekend, if you're not busy." His voice was casual. "What, like a date?" I risked a peek at his face and his eyes hadn't left mine. My blush deepened. "Not if you don't want it to be." He waggled his eyebrows at me and I laughed. "We're friends, right?" Friendship was a dangerous thing. But I liked his smile. I didn't want to see it fade

away. "Right." "If one friend wants to take another to the Natural History Museum, then it's alright." He idly stirred the gravy into his mashed potatoes with a plastic spork. "And if that first friend wants to kiss his new friend a couple of times, just to show her how much their friendship means to him, then that's probably cool too, right?" I smiled through my sudden sadness. "One step at a time, hotshot." There was so much about normal life that I didn't understand. I didn't know anything about love. I was nothing like an average teenage girl, falling in and out of puppy love like the tides pushed the ocean. My family taught me obligation. Valentine taught me obsession. I didn't know anything about love. The first bell echoed hollowly off the cinderblock walls. Zach shot up and grabbed one more huge bite of Salisbury steak before grabbing his plate. "Later," he said, voice garbled around a mouthful of food. "Have fun this weekend." I gave him a limp wave as he disappeared through the lunch crowd. The cafeteria emptied quickly, but I took my time scraping my lunch tray and dumping it into the plastic bins. Salisbury steak, with its congealed layer of fat, slid slowly off the plate and I had to pry the mashed potatoes off with a fork. I looked up to see Cynthie standing in the doorway next to a poster for the winter formal. I sighed. The day was getting better and better. She approached me with a smirk. "Ooh la la. I think love is in the air." "What are you talking about?" "You're braver than I thought, actually. Taking up with a human is bad for your health." I expected to see her perma-posse round the corner to back her up, but Cynthie was uncharacteristically alone. None of the other girls were anywhere to be seen. It was unnerving. "Did you want something in particular or are you just out spreading sunshine, like usual?" "I saw you with him. So sweet." There was a dangerous note in her voice. "Zach and I are friends. You should try it sometime." Her eyes narrowed and she reached back, slamming closed the double doors that separated the lunchroom from the hallway beyond. The metal and wood crashed together so loudly that I jumped in surprise. It reminded me forcibly of our meeting in Chicago—Cynthie all force and fury and me defenseless. Things had changed. "End-of-Winter is only a night away." She advanced slowly, a cruel smile playing at the corners of her lips. "Should we invite your little friend? He looks like so much fun to play with." Fear curled its way through the pit of my stomach but I stood my ground. If I couldn't at least face down Cynthie, then I would stand no chance with the other families. "Cut the crap. I don't want to be late for class." "So go then." Her voice was even. I wouldn't turn my back on her. We both knew which one of us was stronger. "What do you want?" "I know about your deal." My heart stopped. "What deal?" I asked and tried to sound nonchalant. "I really thought I'd get the pleasure of killing you," she continued casually. "And

then you paid your bloodprice." She spit the words out in the same a way a normal person would talk about clubbing baby seals. Being robbed of the chance to murder me was apparently akin to the world's greatest injustice. I was silent. Her face pressed so close to mine that I could feel her breath against my face, hot with the force of her anger. "Everything comes back around, eventually. Remember that." The tardy bell rang and it was distant as if the sound came from another world. "Get in line." I moved forward, forcing Cynthie to step aside or have me run into her. I pushed open the double doors and her voice trailed after me into the hallway. "Watch your back." Sam ignored me for the rest of the day. She looked away when I saw her in the hallway during the break between Calculus and Band. I slammed my locker closed a little too hard when she walked by with her head deliberately turned the other way. The bang startled a pair of seniors necking by the janitor's closet and they shot me very dirty looks. My talent for alienating the people around me was becoming finely honed. I even scanned the parking lot at the end of the day for Zach's motorcycle but the Harley was already gone. Apparently, simple friendship would only take us so far. I drove home slowly. For once, I didn't mind the heavy afternoon traffic on the interchange or the slow crawl of rush hour. My house seemed peaceful on its isolated hill when I pulled through the gate. No storm clouds gathered in an ominous cluster over the roof. If a sinkhole, leading straight to the pits of hell, had appeared in the front yard, I couldn't see it from our driveway. Winter sun cast gentle light through the air and I could even see bits of color in the grass where spring flowers were beginning to bloom. It was a beautiful scene that did nothing for my mood. Most of the families wouldn't arrive for another day, I reminded myself. There was no choice. I had to handle this. I didn't even make it to the front door. Marise sat on the porch swing, her feet barely brushed the ground as she swayed with the breeze. Everyone always likened her to a porcelain doll. Her hands and feet that were exquisitely small proportions like a woodland sprite. She did everything in her power to enhance that illusion of delicacy, favoring loose dresses and full skirts that wrapped her tiny frame in layers of linen and lace. Finely boned bare feet that seemed impervious to the chill wind peeked out from under ruffles of fabric. I couldn't see her face behind a fall of chestnut curls but I knew what I'd find. Deceptive eyes—clear blue like ocean waves—that invited unwary men to dive into their depths and drown. Her pink, Cupid-bowed lips spoke the prettiest lies. She looked up as I approached, her gaze coquettish and her smile feral. "Helena." She held up her arms like a small child wanting to be picked up. My sister's voice was like cubes of ice tinkling in a crystal glass—sweet and cold. "Marise." I leaned over the swing to embrace her. My body felt large and ungainly as we embraced, her form too slight in my arms. Marise was like Helen of Troy, inspiring legions of men to do battle for her honor. She cast a long shadow. "I've missed you." Her bones dug into my skin as we hugged. "Remember how

much fun we used to have." I suppressed a shiver. I wasn't a child anymore and Marise didn't frighten me. There were much worse things going bump in the night. "I'm very upset with you, sister dear." My arms crossed over my chest and I resisted the urge to sigh. Marise made no move to make room on the porch swing. She wanted me to feel like a supplicant to her queen on a gilded throne. "Why is that?" "So much time and you never come to visit. We miss you." Marise worked Taipei, encouraging unrest against the Communist Chinese government while simultaneously smuggling Taiwanese national artifacts to shady dealers on the mainland. I wouldn't dare go within one hundred miles of her power center, even if my Mandarin was any good. "How's Buppy?" I asked, changing the subject. "Oh he's fabulous." Marise clapped her hands together in childish excitement. "I'll show you pictures. My little baby grows so fast. He eats everything in sight." Buppy was a 250-pound white tiger that my sister treated like a beloved housecat. He'd been a gift from the Chinese president after a group of eco-activists mysteriously disappeared from a logging site outside the Forbidden City. Buppy always had a ring of dried blood around his mouth, hopefully from the whole pheasants he ate as an afternoon snack and not something more sinister. Everyone but Marise gave him a wide berth. My mother wouldn't allow him in the house. I affected a look of great shock. "You left him alone?" "Of course not." Her expression was scandalized. "I found a sitter." I could only imagine the look of horror on the poor nanny's face when she met the creature Marise described as her "bouncing baby boy". Marise scooted to one side of the swing and patted the seat next to her. "Come sit with me, little sister." There was little choice but to obey. I lowered myself gingerly onto the seat, careful not to touch her as I settled myself into the swing—not that the distance could do anything to protect me. She smelled faintly of vanilla and cedar. I wondered if it was a small glamour or just really nice perfume. My second-oldest sister had always been a master of the personal magics. She could make herself seem like anything to anyone. Marcus and Magdalen were like the sun, their power bold and unmistakable. Marise, youngest by less than a minute, shone like the palest moon. Her magic crept past your senses like a forgotten thought. I never quite figured out which was more dangerous. I focused on her voice. It was as if she spoke from underwater or from miles away. I shook my head to clear it. Recognizing her magic was little protection against it. "Mother insisted we come for End-of-Winter." Her face held no emotion. "A proper welcome home for the baby of the family." "Should I be expecting a true family reunion?" I kept my voice carefully neutral. The thought of confronting all my siblings at once shook me to the core. "I doubt it. Marco and I are the best Mother could do on such short notice." Relief swept through me. "Mother is sentimental."

Her eyes flashed. "You're not sentimental, are you Helena?" I felt like a movie hero about to cut the red wire on a bomb that ticked seconds away from zero. "No. I'm not." She laughed. I winced at the sound. "I love a good party," she murmured. I mumbled something unintelligible and stood. Dealing with Marise was like navigating a minefield. She didn't follow me into the house and I sent a quick blessing to the Goddess. My relief was short-lived. I pushed open the French doors and was met by a veritable circus. The caterers had arrived. Workers in pressed uniforms scurried through the foyer, pushing stacks of warming trays. I dodged an aproned minion wielding a stack of table linens as she careened towards the dining room .The house was full-on pandemonium. My mother stood in the center of it all, issuing orders like a better-coifed General Patton. All she lacked was a backdrop of the American flag and a war to fight. It should have been easy to sneak past her, busy as Leonora was. I was confident in my ability to blend in with the faceless lackeys sent in to remake our suburban house in the Hollywood Hills into my mother's version of a springtime wonderland. "Helena Xanthe Wayward." Her voice cracked like a whip and I froze in my tracks. My mother was suddenly in front of me, her critical gaze taking in my dusty school clothes and unwashed hair hanging messily around my face. "Where have you been, young lady? School released over an hour ago." I opened my mouth to answer but she beat me to it. "Tonight is the midnight dinner, our guests will begin arriving at any moment. There is a dress laid out on your bed, go upstairs and put it on." She made a gesture that took in my hair and scrubbed face. "And do something with all of that." "Mother—" She cut me off. "If you are not back down here in thirty minutes then I will send Marise upstairs to help you along." That threat was enough. I practically raced upstairs. The only thing that stopped me from undressing as I sprinted down the hallway was the presence of the Sweet Sun Valley catering service. Even with the threat of spending more quality time with my sister looming over my head, I took my time in the shower. As the water cascaded down my head and back, I imagined that it washed part of me away. All of the fear and uncertainty swept down the drain like the suds from my shampoo. Something new was left behind. Leaving the towel on the floor for the maid, I approached the bed with a sigh. My mother was amazing in her manic attention for detail. She'd laid out a complete outfit for me, down to underwear and an appropriate pair of shoes. I pulled the dress roughly over my head and winced at the strained sound the thread made as I stretched the fabric. Leonora would not be happy if I came downstairs with a ripped seam. I smoothed it down and turned to face the mirror. Made of a light chiffon, the dress was low-cut and fitted in front with an empire waist that flowed gently into a knee-length skirt. The shimmering fabric was the color of sunkissed wheat and brought out the flecks of gold in my eyes. If there was one thing my mother knew: it was fashion. Leonora would disapprove

but I shook my hair out over my shoulders, letting it curl as it dried. The face that stared back at me was pale and drawn, with eyes too hard to be so young. I wondered, as I often did, if I could have done something differently—been someone different. It didn't seem to bother Marise who she hurt. Marco never sat down and pondered the nature of good and evil. They knew exactly who they were. Valentine's necklace sat on top of the dresser. The star at its center winked in the light, as if we shared a secret. I slipped the chain over my head. The pendant came to rest in the gentle curve of my collarbone, heavy and cool against my skin. I turned away from the mirror with a small sigh. There was no room for regrets. Endof-Winter had begun.

Chapter Fourteen Marcus and Marise flanked me in the receiving line that my mother set up in the foyer. She and my father stood closest to the door. They were the first to greet our guests as they entered the house and guide them past us to the refreshment tables or out to the backyard where softly glowing lanterns decorated the gazebo. It was a blur of faces, some surprised and others sinister, as they passed. I couldn't meet anyone's gaze. Instead, I stared at a spot on the far wall above eye level and murmured the traditional greeting. "Well met, may End-of-Winter bring you joy." Valentine had yet to arrive. Each time the door opened my heart skipped a beat. I needed the waiting to be done, but I was also desperate to never see him again. My heart was sick with the warring emotions. The front door opened and I automatically gave the traditional greeting. I wasn't expecting the response. "Cousin Helena!" I blinked and met the bright eyes of my favorite cousin. She was suddenly in my arms and her taffeta draped body was like a buoy in an ocean storm. "Emily Anne." I hugged her tighter. "I'm so glad you're here." "You're crushing me like a Georgia peach in an apple press." She pulled back with a laugh. "How you been, dahling?" I squeezed her hands. "Great now that you're here." Emily Anne Wayward-Bowman hailed from West Virginia. She was the same age as my brother, Silus, and her open honesty was always a welcome haven during family gatherings. Her father, Willard, was a local legend in their small mountain town. He brewed up a moonshine so strong that it made a man think he could grow wings and fly like an eagle. Whether these were just potent hallucinations or something more mystical in nature was a question still up for debate. No one wanted to travel to West Virginia badly enough to investigate further. "You look sick, Helena." She grabbed my shoulders and studied my face. "You don't have any makeup on. Girl, you might as well be out here without a face." "It's fine," I murmured. She grabbed my arm and propelled me out of the receiving line. "Let's go."

Leonora cast us a sour glance as Emily Anne pushed me up the main staircase but manners required her to stay silent. A guest was a guest. Willard and Emily Anne were distant relations on my father's side. My mother called them our country cousins—not exactly a compliment—but Emily Anne had always been nice to me, sweet even. She and her father never acted as if magic gave them the right to hurt people. She led me to the vanity table and I sank gratefully into it. Her whirlwind energy was exhausting. She stood behind me and my gaze met her glowing eyes in the mirror. My lips curved to answer her wide smile. Emily Anne was larger than life—a true Southern pageant princess—with big hair, a big voice and an even bigger personality. Her fingers ran through my hair, fluffing the tight curls. "You have such pretty hair." She dug in her purse, coming out with a small makeup case. "But your skin looks like wax paper." I was silent as she swept shadow over my lids, the applicator brush a light tickle against my skin. Emily Anne was patting my lips lightly with gloss when she spoke again. "Daddy and I heard about Valentine." A sick feeling sunk deep into the pit of my stomach. How many different ways could I tell the same story? "What about him?" The Bonham-Waywards declined to attend Bianca's wedding. All Emily Anne knew was the gossip spreading through family circles. It must have taken all her willpower to not blast me with questions the moment she walked through the door. Our eyes met in the mirror. Her gaze was direct, mine solemn. "Will he be here?" she asked. "I'd stake my life on it." And I was. "Be careful." Emily Anne turned away. "That man is a devil in disguise." "It's End-of-Winter." I regretted my next words the moment my lips moved to form them. "What's the worst that can happen?" Her eyebrows shot up her forehead. "Dangerous words on a night like this." Tension had built up in me for so long—my emotions like a pressure cooker—that there was no space for more. I had no more room for fear. "I guess." Emily Anne regarded me cautiously. She must have seen the new resolve that hardened my features. "I know who I have to be." I patted her hand as I rose from my seat at the vanity. "Wish me luck." My confidence had waned by the time I wandered through the dining room, my eyes searching the faces in the crowd. It was pointless. I would know if Valentine were there before catching glimpse of a dangerous smile. We had enough of a connection left for at least that. Unease curled down my spine to settle in a lump at the pit of my stomach. I was like a virgin bride on her wedding night, the wait was far worse then anything that came after. The house was full but I moved through it in an impenetrable bubble. If there was some new tension in their eyes, it didn't stop my relatives from ignoring me as they always had. Before I was invisible. Now I was little more than a featured exhibit in the

world's most dangerous petting zoo. I sensed Darius behind me before I spun to face him. He stood so close that the hem of my dress brushed his legs as I turned. The smile that stretched his face was predatory. "Save your threats," I said before he could speak. "I can't help if your man's a noshow." "Valentine will be here. I merely wanted to offer you blessings for End-of-Winter." His voice slid down my spine like a trail of ice. "You're going to need them." My eyes never left the seething crowd. "You sound as if you expect me to fail." "My master will swallow you whole," Darius replied with a snort. "But before he does, Valentine might reveal something that helps me destroy him." "Thanks for the vote of confidence." I thought I caught a shock of copper hair but when I blinked it was gone. "What's stopping me from telling him all about his treacherous second-in-command?" Darius slid even closer, until his breath left a trail of goosebumps on my skin. "Because, then it would only be a matter of which one of us kills you first." "Enough." I waved him away. "Unless you've got something useful to say, stop distracting me." He cast me a mocking smile before turning away. I caught his murmur as he disappeared into the crowd. "Perhaps you should stop looking with your eyes." There was an energy to the room, subtle but palatable. Everyone here used a bit of themselves to unconsciously cast a small aura of protection. They all surrounded themselves with a shell of power, slight and fragile as a soap bubble. The crowd thinned as a I moved past. Party guests sidestepped gracefully out of my way, the look in my eyes was enough to make them wary. The force of them tickled along my every nerve as I moved through the house. I reached out with my senses. Almost every inch of the house and grounds oozed with power. The magic was an electric cloud, sparking and hissing on the edges of my mind. There was only one place I felt nothing. Outside, a thousand lights twinkled on the gazebo. I could see it glittering dimly in the night as I stepped off the back porch and into the yard. I walked as if in a trance. Distantly, I felt the grass tickle the sides of my feet through the openings of my sandals and the dew settle on my skin like a cold kiss. Maybe the garden was empty or perhaps the guests milling in the dim light slid carefully out of my path. I only saw the lights growing brighter as I walked forward. Every step moved me closer to the inevitable. I followed the fence line to the end of my parents' property. The lot backed up to a small copse of trees that protected it from nosy neighbors. Noise from the party faded into the hum of cicadas and wind whispering through the trees. My shoes sunk deep into the wet grass. I slipped them off next to a wilted rose bush, still yellow from the melting winter frost. The cold sent a shiver up my spine. When I reached the gazebo, heart beating like a trapped bird, my gaze scanned the shadows. I mounted the stairs slowly and winced as the wood creaked beneath my bare feet. My head turned on a constant swivel, waiting for the smallest hint of movement. The gazebo was deserted.

I wanted to scream in frustration. All the waiting and the terror, the build-up to some epic showdown between good and evil was more than I could take. I wished Valentine would swoop down like a crazed night terror and finally get it over with. With a sigh, I slumped onto the curved bench built into the wall of the gazebo. The wood was warm beneath my feet and I rubbed my toes absentmindedly against the grain. Harsh laughter carried from the house and I shivered in the cool breeze. There was no way I could go back. I could run again. They were all distracted. It would be too easy to sneak upstairs and pack a bag; the last bus out of Los Angeles couldn't have left yet. The coward's way out was tempting. My blood price had been paid. Despite all his posturing, even Darius couldn't undo that. Cynthie's family had obviously already spent the money. Without Ceres's murderous relatives dogging my steps, I might manage to find some measure of peace. Valentine wanted nothing to do with me. Not my fault. With a mental shake, I stood up and leaned against the gazebo rail. Cool air blew across my skin, raising goosebumps. The trees swayed in the wind as if alive. This wasn't the sort of night to be alone in the dark. There should have been a creak of the floorboards or a shift in the wind to mark his presence. I was alone and then a familiar voice wrapped around me like a death shroud. "Well met." My body froze. My gaze locked on the tops of the trees as they danced in the breeze. "Greetings for End-of-Winter," I whispered. I turned to meet him, his eyes obscured by the darkness, unfathomable as black ice. "Valentine." A long braid trailed over one shoulder. The soft fall of hair should have been feminine, but it only served to heighten the hard angles of his face and the cruel smile that played at the corners of his lips. Valentine brushed the back of one hand lightly down the side of my cheek. "You seem well." His voice was smooth and hard like steel dipped in chocolate. I was very aware of the wooden bench pressed against the backs of my legs and the forbidding forest that moved in to surround us. There was nowhere to run. "You as well." His smile widened. "Do you often come out alone in the dark? These are dangerous times." "Are the festivities not to your liking?" I slipped past him so the gazebo opening was at my back. "My mother will be devastated." If Valentine saw through my bravado, he didn't let on. "I was surprised to hear that you would be here." "News travels fast." I shrugged casually, though my heart felt like it beat hard enough for him to hear. "Did you come to see me?" He cocked his head to the side like a bird of prey spotting a mouse darting through the grass. "Considering our last meeting, I should be quite upset with you." I leaned back against one of the poles next to the gazebo stairs and my hands gripped the wood, tight enough to hurt. "But you're not?" His gaze slid down me and stopped to rest on the cabochon pendant that hung in the deep V of my neckline. I looked down as he traced his fingers along the smooth

surface and a shock of heat ran through me as the sapphire warmed to his touch. The star at the center of the stone moved and twinkled in the meager light. My breath came in a soft sigh. His fingertips touched my chin and then slid down the curve of my cheek. My vision filled with his gaze. Fire licked and curled deep in the darkness of his eyes and I was mesmerized. As his face drew closer, words spilled from my mouth in a rush. "They want to kill you." I was suddenly pressed against him, his arms wrapped around me like a vise. His face was inches from mine, cold and emotionless like a marble statue. He said nothing as his eyes bored into mine. "You have enemies." I struggled to breathe as his arms tightened harshly around me. Stars danced on the edge of my vision. "They brought me here because they want you dead." Valentine released me and I fell back on the bench, gasping for breath. He crossed to the other side of the gazebo and stood with his back to me. I lay frozen on the wood, terrified to move or speak that I might draw his attention back to myself. He spoke without facing me. "And you? Are you a hunter or a weapon?" I didn't answer. "I cannot be slain." He turned and his gaze burned into me. "Did they plan to pit you in an epic battle against me like David to Goliath? Were you meant to be my undoing?" "My father told me once that you were demon magic made flesh. Untouchable." Words rose from me, unbidden. "Are you?" "Knowledge is never free, Helena." On his tongue, my name sounded like a caress. "What do you offer me in return?" I shook my head forcefully. "I gave you a secret. You owe me." "True." Valentine chuckled and the sound sent a shiver up my spine. He sidled closer, his movements graceful like a cat. "What would you ask of me?" "I'm sick of running." He made a neutral sound and gestured for me to continue. "And?" I stood on the edge of a cliff, moments before the inevitable plunge. "I want your help." Valentine laughed. The sound sent a shiver trailing down my spine. "You always ask for so much." He circled me and I waited, my body tense. "What will you give me in return?" I knew it was the wrong answer as my mouth formed the words but I couldn't do anything to stop them from spilling from my lips. "What do you want?" "A drink," he replied casually and moved away. "Does your mother still keep that lovely Rioja in the wine cellar?" I felt immediately bereft as the warmth of his nearness faded. He was on the path leading back to the house before my mind connected the fact that he left me alone. My head cleared as he disappeared over the hill. The intoxication of his touch was only a distant memory. Valentine was like a drug. The further away he went, the easier it was to forget how he made me feel. My father named him demon. Darius claimed he was impervious to silver and steel. I couldn't begin to fathom what it was they expected of me.

But I panicked and said too much. Valentine would never let me close to him again. I leaned against a post and rested my head on the wood. My hand reached up and clenched around the star sapphire. I wanted to yank the pendant from around my neck and hurl it into the darkness, never to be seen again. The stone was cool to the touch. The star in the center had dimmed to a mere shadow. I sighed and gripped it tighter until the metal setting dug painfully into the skin of my palm. I stared up at the sky. Heavy cloud cover obscured the moon, dispersing its light into a dark haze.

Chapter Fifteen I woke to harsh sunlight, illuminating the gossamer curtains that hung on the windows of my bedroom. I blinked and groaned, wishing I could will the light into nonexistence. I rolled onto my side and met a purple satin facemask underneath a wild fall of chestnut curls. Marise lay spread-eagled next to me on the bed, taking up the vast majority of it. A trail of drool oozed unbecomingly from the side of her mouth. I shoved her none to gently but she only snorted loudly and rolled on her side. As the morning fog slowly cleared from my head, I distantly recalled her barging into my room at some point in the night with a large body pillow tucked under one arm and a scowl on her face. Apparently my mother gave her room away to one of our many visitors and we were now forced to share. I slid carefully from the bed, as if she wasn't sleeping with the depth and delicacy of a hibernating bear. I couldn't risk waking her. It'd been years, but I couldn't imagine that her disposition would be sunny if I woke her before she achieved the requisite amount of beauty sleep. My dress from the night before hung limply over the closet door. I caught a slight hint of a familiar scent as I moved past. Sandalwood, ginger and fresh-turned earth. Valentine. A shiver ran through me despite the warm sunlight streaming through the window. Shaking off the sudden feeling of dread, I moved quickly to the dresser. I winced at the sound of wood against metal as I pulled open the top drawer. I shot a glance back at the bed, but Marise lay unmoving, still snoring. The first thing my fingers touched was an old UCLA sweatshirt and I pulled it quickly from the drawer along with a pair of faded jeans. My footsteps were whispers across the wooden floor as I closed the door on my sister's snores. I could still hear her nasal growl through the wall. That was Marise— ladylike and delicate to a fault. The house was eerily quiet as I walked down the main stairs. I breathed a sigh of relief. All of our guestrooms were full but it seemed as if I was the only one up. As tradition dictated, the party continued until dawn broke the sky. I retired to bed long before then, exhausted and discouraged. I didn't see Valentine again. Throughout the night, I would catch a whiff of his unique and intoxicating scent but every time I turned to look he was gone. Only his

laughter would trail back in the wind as he stayed one step ahead of me. While Valentine laughingly eluded me, I spent most of the evening avoiding Darius. It was too much to ask that he would understand my failure. I had nothing that Valentine wanted. I would have to find my own way to protect myself. I padded across the foyer towards the kitchen, the tile cool against my bare feet. A bowl of sugarcoated cereal would do wonders for my mood. The kitchen was bright and clean. There was no evidence of the raucous activities of the night before. Reaching high above the fridge, my fingers touched the box of Honey Sugar Bears I kept hidden in a dusty spot between the top of the refrigerator and the cabinet. My mother would have a fit if she found it in her kitchen. Happily crunching on a mouthful of milled corn and high fructose corn syrup, I walked into the dining room. I came up short. My father sat at the head of the long table, one leg folded over the opposite knee and the business section of the paper unfolded in front of him. I swiped at a dribble of milk that trailed from one corner of my mouth and tried to speak without spitting out bits of food. "Good morning, Father." He cleared his throat and turned a page in his paper without looking up. "Good morning, Helena." I sat gingerly on the edge of a chair on the opposite end of the table. My cereal bowl made a loud clinking sound against the wood of the table and I glanced over at him. He studiously ignored me. We sat in silence for several minutes. "Tonight is the spring sacrifice." His voice startled me and I froze with the spoon halfway to my mouth. I swallowed before speaking softly. "I know." In years past, the spring sacrifice was human. Since the advent of modern forensics and the furor that missing virgins tended to cause among local news outlets, we'd switched to livestock. At the beginning of every spring, a yearling goat was ritually cleansed and beheaded as an offering to the gods. It was a good idea to stand back at least fifteen feet to avoid the spray. My father closed his paper and leaned back in his chair. "Have you made any headway with the issue we discussed?" "Nope." I took a large bite of cereal and chewed slowly. "Is that it?" He was giving me the look of condescension and faint disappointment that had been a staple of my childhood. "You've given me an impossible task." I tapped my spoon lightly against the bowl. "Do I owe you something else?" I expected anger but his voice remained even. "Valentine has been a thorn in my side for a very long time." I wanted to ask how long but good judgment kept my mouth shut. "We slide through the dark, playing shadow games with the humans." His voice was tight and barely controlled. "We are better than humans. We shouldn't live in their world. They should live in ours." The intensity in my father's eyes was disturbing. I swallowed sharply. "Valentine doesn't seem to have much love for humans. I'm sure you can figure something out." Ethan stood and crossed to the window, parting the heavy curtains. From the table I

could just make out the street below, sedate on a Saturday morning. A little boy chased a red ball down the sidewalk. "Valentine is old guard. He is compelled to play by some ancient set of rules that only he understands. Humans walk the earth, oblivious and blind, while magic remains hidden. Valentine sees no gain in a new world order." My father turned away and faced me, his eyes hard as obsidian. "Valentine rules the Blooded. Whoever kills him takes his place. With our warriors behind me, I can control the world." "Does Darius know about this part of the plan? I didn't get the impression that he planned to trade one master for another." "I will take care of Darius. All you need worry about is the task you've been assigned. Find a weakness. Leave the rest to me." "I hate to derail your carefully laid plans for world domination, Father." I pushed away the bowl of Honey Sugar Bears, my appetite a distant thought. "Valentine doesn't want me." "Convince him." His voice was laced with threat. "You don't have a choice, Helena." "Is that all I am to you?" I whispered. "A tool. A weapon." "You are what you were meant to be." Ethan's hands clenched the back of his chair, knuckles white. "Prove that you are one of us. Or I will treat you as if you are not." With that, Ethan left the room. The folded newspaper lying limp on the table was the only evidence of his presence in the room. A few Sugar Honey Bears left floating in my bowl mocked me with their molded smiles. I grabbed the bowl off the table and walked into the kitchen, dumping the contents into the sink. The house was beginning to come alive, the sounds of low voices and the creak of the floorboards floated through the walls. I needed to get out of the house. My clothes were embarrassing to say the least, but I couldn't risk the dragon's lair upstairs to get something out of my room. Marise would only stay asleep so long. With my bag slung over one shoulder, I grabbed a pair of rubber galoshes out of the mudroom and pulled them on. I caught sight of myself in a mirror hanging next to the coat rack. My sweatshirt had a bleach stain running down the front and my jeans were worn out in the knees. The purple rain boots only added to my air of homelessness. At least I didn't smell bad. Sunlight warmed my face when I opened the front door. My messenger bag bumped against my legs as I jogged down the driveway and out onto the street. I didn't have keys for any of the cars lining the driveway, but there was a bus stop four blocks away. A city bus rolled up as soon as I reached the stop. I dug in my pocket for a couple of crumpled dollar bills and plunked them into the fare machine. I slid into a plastic seat with a sigh and rested my bag on my legs. I glanced around the bus. Except for a Hispanic woman in a housedress who leaned against the window, obviously asleep, the bus was deserted. Streets passed by in a blur and a robotic voice announced each stop as we past. The voice and rhythmic thumping of tires on pavement were soothing. I almost wanted to join the woman in the back in la-la land. The public library loomed on the corner of Hollywood and 5th. I pulled the cord and the bus rolled to a smooth stop. I jumped down the stairs with a hasty thank you and

jogged up the large stone steps. As soon as I entered the airy interior of the library, I immediately felt more peaceful. There was a certain serenity to the hushed interior of libraries. They were one of the few places where I knew I could find undisturbed quiet. I found a table upstairs, lost deep in the reference section. I pulled up a chair and sank gratefully into it. I reached into my bag for Cynthie's grimoire and it thrummed beneath my fingers, an audible hum that I feared could be heard all the way to the periodicals. It flipped open on its own when I placed the book on the table. The neat handwriting called to me like a siren song. I mouthed the words slowly as their meaning sunk in. A Spell for Binding. I read quickly through the description. The spell detailed a way to exchange a part of the caster's soul with another willing person, transferring their power with it. I had enough power to worry about, I didn't want to deal with anyone else's. Useless. I turned the page. The next entry seemed more promising. It was a detailed account of how to erect a circle of protection. If only I could figure out how to build one of those around my entire life. "Hex?" I jumped and slammed the grimoire shut, my heart in my throat. I turned to see Sam standing behind me with a stack of books held in the crook of one arm. "Hey, Sam," I said with a wan smile. She raised an eyebrow and slid into the seat next to me. "I thought you were busy this weekend." I caught the faint hint of accusation in her voice and immediately jumped to reassure her. "I had to get out of the house. Too much family time, you know." Sam made sound deep in her throat and shrugged. Her gaze came to rest on the book still laying closed in front of me on the tabletop. "What's that?" My hand moved protectively over it before I had time to think of a response. "Nothing," I said quickly, hoping she couldn't hear the caginess in my voice. I gestured to her stack of books. "What are you up to?" "More research," she said with a shrug. Sam tapped the first book in the stack with one finger. "These are all about Wicca." I glanced down the titles on the spines. All junk. "Have you looked through the book I gave you?" I tried to keep my voice casual. "Not really," she said sheepishly. "All that fortune telling stuff seems a little silly. I want to find something that feels a bit more real." "Real," I repeated. The irony was deep. "Yeah, sorry." She started rifling around in her backpack. "You can have it back if you want." "No thanks," I said with a sigh. "Hang onto it." I wasn't sure what I expected, a real ally perhaps. But the chances of Sam stumbling on something useful, from a book she checked out of the library no less, were slim to nonexistent. "So you never told me about your date with Zach," Sam said. "How was it?" I could feel my cheeks redden. "It went okay." "That's it?"

"No, I mean yes..." I stopped before the stuttering got out of control. "It was a nonevent." "So will we be seeing this non-event around more often?" Sam asked slyly. The last thing I could think about was something as mundane as high-school courtship. Where I would sit in the cafeteria, and with whom, seemed of distant concern when I was still worried about surviving the weekend. But I liked Zach. I liked him a lot more than was safe. I liked the way his fingers played over the strings of his guitar. I liked that being around me always made him a little bit nervous and his cheeks would go red. I liked that he never seemed to know what to do with his hair. I liked Zach. Valentine's face swam into my vision. The colors in his eyes swirling like whirlpools and a cruel twist to his lips. He still owned a part of me. I couldn't move on until I managed to exorcise him from my life and my family wouldn't let me do it. I shook my head to clear it. Sam was giving me a knowing a smile. "Got it that bad, huh?" "No. Maybe. Can we change the subject?" I asked desperately. Sam slid her fingers across her lips, miming the motion of turning a key in a lock and throwing it away. She hummed the bridal march just loud enough for me to hear, but stuck her head firmly in a library book when I glared at her. I turned back to the journal and was about to flip it open when I caught a small movement behind the high shelves at our side. Sam and I sat in a deserted corner of the library, tucked between religion and social sciences. On a quiet Saturday morning we had the floor almost entirely to ourselves. Still, some instinct had me sweep the grimoire into my bag and zip it closed. Moments later a voice spoke from behind me. "This is the best hiding place you could find?" I turned to see Cynthie saunter down the aisle. Her fingernails made a harsh scratching sound against the metal as she trailed her fingers over the shelves. Sam looked up with a stricken expression on her face and leaned back from the table, prepared for trouble. "What do you want, Cynthie?" I asked as she came to a stop next to the table. "Leonora is looking for you." She wagged her finger in my face, punctuating each word. "She's not too happy." "And she sent you?" I asked with a sigh. Cynthie played with the books on the closest shelf, tipping them out and letting them fall to the floor one by one. "She knew I could find you." "Like a hound dog?" "Very funny," she said with a grim smile. "We should leave now. We're missing the party." The emphasis her voice placed on the word party did not make it sound like a good time. "Yeah, I got it," I said finally. Cynthie was turning away when her gaze lit on the pile of books Sam had brought to the to table. She gave Sam a once-over and then cast me a significant glance. "Hurry up," she said over her shoulder, disappearing between the stacks. I stood and slung my bag over my shoulder. I was about to murmur a goodbye to

Sam when she suddenly spoke. "I thought you had family stuff this weekend." The accusation in her voice surprised me. "I do." "With Cynthie?" Sam stood and started slamming the books together. "Yeah, she's like a distant cousin." "Why don't you just say it, Hex?" "I don't understand." "You practically push me out of your house the other day so I won't meet your family." She gathered the books up into her arms and glared at me. "Is being my friend really that embarrassing? I know I don't fit into your high society." I was so dumbfounded by her accusations that it was difficult to formulate a reply. "You don't understand. It isn't like that at all." "Whatever." Sam pushed past me. "I'm sure Cynthie and her friends will have some fabulous lunch that you can go to, so don't bother looking for me tomorrow. I'd hate to embarrass you." With that parting shot she was gone. I couldn't deal with another crisis. Making up with Sam would have to wait until school on Monday, assuming I managed to make it through the weekend. Cynthie waited for me at the bottom of the library steps. Her car idled on the street in a clearly marked no parking zone. I slid into the passenger seat. The moment the door closed behind me, she floored the gas pedal and roared into traffic. We drove in silence for several blocks. Cynthie spoke first. "You should be careful." I was staring out the window as the scenery flew by. "What are you talking about?" "Your little friend," she added. "You should be careful. Secrets should stay where they belong, you know that." "I haven't told her any secrets." Which was technically true. "She doesn't know anything about us." "That's why I don't make friends with the humans." Cynthie never took her eyes off the road. "It makes things complicated." "I thought it had something to do with the fact that you consider humans lesser life forms, like earthworms or bed bugs?" "That too," she replied with a small smile. We pulled up to the house and Cynthie had to park at the bottom of the full driveway. She cut the engine and we sat together in the silent car. "You should go in the back," she said, giving me a disdainful once-over. "You look like a monkey dressed you in the dark." She pulled a dress bag out of the trunk and followed me around the house. We used the servants entrance and managed to make it to my room without running into anyone. A dress was laid out on the chair in front of my vanity table. The maid must have come through while I was gone because the bed was neatly made and there was no hint of the trail of clothes Marise had left on the floor as she stumbled to bed the night before. "Leonora wants me to do something with your hair." Cynthie began stripping off her clothes. She stood in her underwear and bra and glared at me. "What are you waiting for?"

I yanked off the scruffy sweatshirt and jeans and pulled the dress from the chair over my head. The seams made a sound of protest as I strained the fabric. After a few moments of struggle, in which I'm sure I looked ridiculous, I finally smoothed the fabric down over my hips. Cynthie eyed me. "Not bad." The dress was typical of my mother, tight-fitting fabric that highlighted the curve of breast and hip before falling in elegant waves to the floor. "My mother picked it out." "Of course she did," Cynthie scoffed. "But red is your color," she added more gently. Cynthie was being nicer than I'd ever seen her. I wanted to ask her why, but something told me not to question my good fortune. I sat down at the vanity table and she stood behind me, running her fingers through the short strands of my hair. "This isn't a horrible shade of brown, you know," she said. She worked a strand between her fingers. "And it isn't as coarse as it looks." There was the Cynthie I knew and despised. "Do what you can," I murmured sarcastically. She worked quickly, twisting my hair up and pinning it so a few strands curled down to frame my face. It actually looked pretty good. She dumped out her makeup bag and tubes and palettes tumbled across the table with a clatter. She swiped color across my lids and cheeks, and then lined my eyes with a thick black pencil. I met Cynthie's eyes in the mirror above my head. I wasn't sure how much gratitude to show, her attitude was unpredictable. "Thanks." She turned away, expression unreadable. Cynthie stuffed her street clothes into the dress bag and zipped it up with more force than strictly necessary. "I want my grandmother's journal back." I swallowed hard. Cynthie could take back the grimoire by force if that's what she wanted to do. I couldn't just give it back. "I don't have it." I twisted a strand of hair around my fingers, avoiding her gaze. "You can look around for it if you want." She didn't seem convinced. "You really haven't seen it?" "Nope." I kept my mind very carefully blank, projecting soothing thoughts of innocence. "Sorry." I kept up a mantra in my head. I don't have it. I don't have it. I don't have it. Cynthie blinked and nodded slowly. "I'll see you downstairs." My reflection stared back at me in the mirror. The makeup felt heavy and fake on my skin and I longed to scrub my face clean. The dress was tight in the bodice and I had to force out every breath. An image exploded onto the mirror's surface. My dress was torn. My skin bleeding and bruised. I blinked and the image was gone. I shivered and pushed back from the table. This wasn't my first family function and I knew from experience that the only way to make it through was to muster as much bravado as I could. I slipped on the heels that were set out in front of the open closet door. A gauzy scarf hung over a hook on the wall and I tossed it over the vanity table, obscuring the mirror. The small door hidden behind my clothes wasn't closed all the way, I could see the subtle differences in the wood as it cracked open. The idea of crawling inside and

spending the evening hiding out in the attic was too tempting for words. My heart constricted at the thought of going downstairs and facing everyone. Half of them actively wanted me dead and the rest would consider torturing me at least a reasonable form of entertainment. But I'd faced them all before. Hiding out wouldn't change a thing.

Chapter Sixteen Downstairs, most of the guests had arrived. Representatives from every magical family in the country sipped fine wine and pretended they weren't all secretly plotting against each other. My mother was at my side the moment I descended the stairs. "Where have you been, young lady?" Leonora cast her critical eye over me. "You look lovely." "Thank you." "I'm announcing dinner in just a moment." My mother didn't look at me as she spoke, clearly distracted. She wrung her hands together as she scanned the room. Her hair was caught up in an intricate knot at the back of her head. The look should have been severe but she managed to project an aura of casual elegance, something I knew I'd never be able to emulate. I suddenly felt an inexplicable need to reassure her. "Everything looks great, Mother." I patted her awkwardly on the shoulder. Leonora swept me up in an unexpected hug, made more awkward by the fact that I towered over her by several inches. "My darling." She patted me on the cheek. "Go find your place at the table." The dining room was softly lit by dozens of tapered candles. Flames licked in the mirrored surfaces of silver flatware. Ever a master of detail, my mother had placed a placard above each setting with a name written on it in careful script. Trust her to plan a seating chart. Guests slowly filtered into the room. My father strode past me without a glance and took the seat at the head of the table. People that I didn't recognize surrounded him but their sycophantic conversations floated clearly down the table. He was powerful. There was always someone trying to curry favor. Emily Anne slid into a seat across the table and gave me a jaunty wave. My relief was short-lived. She was immediately caught up in conversation with her dining partner, Countess Alexa Von Strausberg-Canton. The countess was an aging and dotty Manhattanite with questionable ties to Russian royalty. She talked loudly and often. Emily Anne would be stuck until at least the main course. The flow of guests finding their seats began to ebb. I sat in the corner of the table with only one neighboring chair. With dawning horror, I noticed that the seat next to me remained conspicuously empty. I snuck a glance at the name placard next to mine and almost gasped aloud. I should have known. Red-hot anger washed over me. I caught my father's eye and he returned my gaze with an expressionless stare that spoke volumes. At least I wasn't surprised when my dining partner slid into his seat and draped the

embroidered napkin over elegantly crossed legs. Valentine's smile was sardonic when I turned to face him. I gestured to the glass that dangled from his long fingers. "I see you found the wine cellar." He swirled the liquid so it coated the sides of his glass. It sparkled in the candlelight like garnet. "It's an acceptable vintage." "You'd prefer the blood of the innocent?" I was goading him. I knew it was dangerous but I couldn't seem to stop myself. Valentine surprised me with a small laugh. "Perhaps." Stone-faced servants laid out the appetizer, salmon paste with stone-ground bread and chutney. It barely resembled food. I pushed the plate away and stared down at my hands, clenched hard in my lap. His whisper washed over me like a cold rain. "Do you remember Tuscany?" I remembered the warmth of his hands on my skin. I remembered the feather-light touch of his voice in my mind. "I remember pain." I cursed the breathy quality of my voice. "Pain and desire are two sides of the same coin." I risked a glance at him and he stared me down. Only the licking candle flame reflected in the darkness of his eyes. His fingers stroked my cheek, a touch that could caress or kill. "Don't you miss it?" he asked softly. The world around us slowed and stopped. We were alone in the universe. "Miss what?" His breath tickled across my skin as he leaned close. "The power." His fingers smoothed a strand of my hair. "You were a wonder to behold. Once." I pulled away. "The world isn't ours for the taking." "There are rules to the game," he agreed pleasantly and lounged back in his chair. "That doesn't mean we can't have fun." My mind was in turmoil. It had been so long that I'd forgotten what it was like to be near Valentine. He had a pull on me that I couldn't deny. I was a moth to his flame. The wait staff moved silently down the table and our plates were taken away untouched. I couldn't stomach the thought of eating and Valentine rarely did. I'd never seen him so much as nibble on a piece of bread. Valentine gestured and a waiter materialized over his shoulder with a bottle, the label worn with age. He raised an eyebrow and I slid my empty wineglass to the edge of the table. Dark liquid spilled into it, thick and red like fresh blood. I held the glass up to the light. Colors swirled and coalesced in its depths and I was mesmerized by the intensity. My fingers clenched on the crystal stem and I downed the wine in one long draught. Our eyes met as I lowered the glass and Valentine smiled. "That was a very bad idea." My hand was a little unsteady as I placed the glass back on the table. A waiter appeared as if by magic and tipped the bottle over it, refilling it almost to the brim. The sound of a spoon lightly tapping against a water glass floated down the table. Conversations quieted as Marco rose from his seat.

"We drink in the spirit of brotherhood." He held his glass aloft and spoke with an uncharacteristic solemnity. "May End-of-Winter bring bountiful harvest." The blessing was repeated along the table. I took a sip and wine slid down my throat with a slow burn. When Marco spoke again a sly smile played in the corners of his lips. "In the spirit of brotherhood, I've brought a guest to join us. Everyone please make her feel welcome." My heart stopped. If I hadn't been so wrapped up in my own personal drama, I would have noticed earlier. Sitting next to Marco, looking pretty and fresh in a pink dress obviously recycled from the most recent school dance, was Sam. She was in my house at the worst possible time. There was absolutely nothing I could do to protect her. Sam caught me eye and I tried to convey the sheer terror I felt for her. She merely cast me a confused smirk and turned back to my brother, hanging on his every word with sycophantic attention. Marco sank back into his seat, accompanied by a smattering of applause. Attention riveted on Sam, the mood in the room turned suddenly predatory. Her cheeks colored and she giggled, the innocent sound was like a beacon in the night. "A spring lamb has wandered into the lions' den," Valentine murmured from beside me. I glared at him, anger quickly winning out over fear. "This ends now." Valentine leaned back against the chair and gestured with his wine glass. "I'm always up for a show." I stared at them during dessert, spooning chocolate torte mechanically into my mouth. Marco kept Sam near to him. His arm played along the back of her chair and he leaned in close to whisper in her ear. She probably thought he was being romantic, but I saw through it. He was staking a claim. The moment that my father announced that dinner was adjourned, I was out of my chair like a shot. I heard Valentine's laugh as I maneuvered past him. I shoved my way through the crowd, ignoring the gasps of outrage and comments about my alarming lack of couth, following the bob of Marco's head as it rose over the crowd. Marco stood with Sam in the corner of the dining room, surrounded by a group of our cousins. A sardonic smile stretched across his lips when he saw me approach. He murmured to the man standing next to him and Sam was suddenly whisked away in an improvised waltz. Her laughter trailed behind them. I tried to follow but the group quickly closed ranks around me. "What are you playing at, Marco?" I asked through clenched teeth. "And good evening to you too, dear sister." Marco folded his arms over his chest and leaned back against the wall. "To what do I owe the pleasure?" "Where's Sam?" I demanded. "Sweet Samantha—" He closed his eyes as if savoring the taste of her name on his tongue. "—is otherwise occupied. What can I do for you?" "I'm only giving you one warning. Stay away from her."

"You're warning me?" Marco eased closer, a dangerous light in his eyes. "You're the one that brought her here." "I did not." "You dangled her in front of my face like a scrumptious dessert." Marco circled behind me as he spoke. I held my ground and he leaned in close. "Can you blame me for taking a taste?" "I'm taking her out of here." I swung around to face him and pushed my hands against his chest. It was like trying to force my way through a brick wall. "You won't stop me." "It's almost the witching hour." He easily pinned my arms to my sides. "You wouldn't want to miss the festivities." I saw it clearly. Sam lying spread-eagled on the grass, still and lifeless, the bubblegum pink of her dress gone dark with blood. A fitting sacrifice for End-of-Winter. Marco released my arms so quickly that I stumbled. "You can't just kill an innocent girl," I whispered. "Her parents will call the police." "What do I care about human authorities?" he asked with a careless shrug. "Try again." "So it's a game then?" A dark smile stretched his face into something inhuman. "You hide and I'll seek." I found Sam in the ballroom. One of Marco's cronies led her in an intricate step around the dance floor. I waited until the harpist played a final chord and the couples bowed low, before swooping in. Ignoring her startled expression, I grabbed Sam's arm in an unforgiving grip. "Let's go fix your makeup." Her partner made a sound of protest but I was too fast. I pulled Sam out of the ballroom and down the hall into the first floor powder room, closing and locking the door behind us. Sam stumbled into the room and turned on me. She tried to smooth the ruffles in her dress. "Are you crazy?" I pressed my back against the door, the flimsy wood and push lock did nothing to reassure me. "You have to leave." "Marco said you'd do something like this." She made a sound of disgust. "I'm sorry you're so embarrassed of me." That made me straighten. "I'm not embarrassed of you." "I know you'd rather be hanging out with Princess Cynthie and her bitches-inwaiting." Sam eyed her reflection in the mirror and pushed an errant lock of hair behind her ear. "You don't have to pretend we're friends, just because I was nice to you on the first day of school." "You are so wrong, that you and right aren't even in the same universe. Where is this coming from?" "I see it at school. When Cynthie says jump, you practically pull out a trampoline." "Let's talk about this somewhere else." I touched her shoulder. "I'll take you home." She yanked her arm away. "I'm not going anywhere with you. Marco says that you don't think I'm good enough for him. Because I'm not rich or connected or beautiful like Cynthie." "Marco is a liar, Sam." I wanted to scream. "When did you have these deep

conversations with him, anyway?" "I saw him at the library after you left. He gave me a ride home and invited me to the party. Something you didn't do, by the way." She pointed an accusatory finger at me. "Noelle and Jade are here tonight. Are they family now, too?" "This is complicated. Our families have known each other for a really long time." I grasped for words. "It's like a tradition." "Marco wants me to be part of a new tradition," she countered triumphantly. "He said so." I valiantly resisted the urge to shake her. "If you knew what that meant, we wouldn't be standing here right now." "Whatever, Hex." She brushed past me and grasped the door handle. "I'm going back to the party." My reaction time was too slow and Sam pulled the door open before I could stop her. Marco stood in the opening, backed by two of his friends. I took a step back and pulled Sam behind me. "Tsk tsk," Marco chided. "You can hide better than this." He advanced into the room, followed closely by his backup. "What's going on?" Sam asked with a slight quaver in her voice. I spared her a quick glance, resisting the urge to roll my eyes. Now she was scared. "You've had your fun," I said to Marco. "Game over." "I don't think so," he replied pleasantly. "I've come to claim my prize." The powder room was small and practically shrinking by the second. The only window was too narrow for either of us to use as a means of escape. Sam gripped my arm, her nails digging deep into the skin, but her voice was impressively steady when she spoke. "Let's go back to the party." She smiled at Marco. "You can have the next dance." A cruel smile stretched his face and I shivered in recognition. It was an expression he wore whenever he was considering something particularly heinous. I'd spent several years of my childhood hiding from that look in his eyes. Screaming for help wouldn't do any good. Assuming anyone would even come if we called, the party was in full swing and our screams wouldn't penetrate the crowd. Unless Sam's hairpins or the decorative soaps on the counter were lethal, we were completely defenseless. The two men with Marco slunk behind him into the room, flanking us on either side. They were burly and scowling like overgrown gorillas. Sam's breathing came in frantic gasps. If she hyperventilated and passed out, at least it would be over quickly for her. I was out of every option but one. One last despicable option that I promised myself I would never use again. A promise I knew I was about to break. My vision blurred and I begged him one last time. "Please don't make me do this." Marco cocked his head to the side like a cat watching a mouse make one last desperate run for freedom. "Show me something wicked," he whispered. Tears rolled down my cheeks, leaving a burning trail. The sensation spread until my entire body prickled with stinging heat. I embraced the fire, fanning the flames underneath my skin until my entire being was consumed in an inferno. There was fury. Against Marco—against my whole family—for dragging me back into their labyrinthine struggles for power. Anger at myself for becoming the monster

that I swore I would never be again. Even my resentment of Sam—for being too weak and simple to help herself—added fuel to the fire. I screamed. It was primal sound, all force and raw power. An unnatural wind hurtled past me and I closed my eyes against the strength of it. Sam fell back but I was too lost to help her. I heard their shouts of surprise but the sound came from far away. Heat and hate rose up in me and I pushed them out, my emotion made physical force. I opened my eyes. Both of Marco's men had been thrown back. Scorch marks were outlined in the walls where they made impact. Sam lay on the floor with both arms covering her head, making small whimpering sounds. Marco had been pushed out into the hallway. His hands were thrown up in a defensive posture and I could see angry red blisters forming on the skin of his forearms. A crowd gathered in the hallway. Cold eyes took in the damage with detached curiosity. I wouldn't have been surprised to hear a smattering of light applause. The wall surrounding the door was black and peeling. The whole room carried a faint smell of burning. I helped Sam up off the floor and wrapped a protective arm around her. Marco stepped back with a mocking bow but his eyes watched us carefully. The crowd parted as I guided Sam down the hall. Valentine stood near the front door. Our shoulders brushed as I past him and he made no effort to move away. Our eyes met and something dark flashed in his. I felt his gaze on me as I turned away, making the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. "Little Helena has come out to play," he murmured. "My name is Hex." I pushed Sam out the door and slammed it shut behind us.

Chapter Seventeen I slowly maneuvered an oversized SUV up the driveway of Sam's house. I'd made the valet hand over the keys to the closest vehicle. Naturally, that turned out to be a hulking behemoth, clearly designed to comfortably seat an entire soccer team. The transmission made a sound of protest as I forced it into park and let the engine idle. Sam didn't try to get out. She just stared out the windshield into the darkness, still as carved stone. I shut off the car and the silence deepened. "Are you okay?" I finally asked. Sam turned to look at me, her eyes haunted. "What happened tonight, Hex?" "Are you sure you want to talk about this now?" "Tell me what happened!" She shrieked, startling me. There was no hope for it now. "Magic," I said softly. The word struck the silence like a hammer blow. Sam stared at me. The whites of her eyes seemed overly bright in the car's dark interior. "Magic," I repeated when it was clear she wasn't going to speak. She blinked.

"Like sorcery," I said, unnerved by her silence. "Paranormal manipulation of the material world. Magic." Sam pushed open her door and left the car. It took a moment to register before I jumped out after her. I caught up to her at the front door of her house where she fumbled with a set of keys. "Sam, wait." She turned on me with a snarl. "You're just vicious, you know that." She jammed a key into the lock but her hands were shaking to badly to get it to turn. "Something horrible happened to me tonight and now you're mocking me." "I swear I'm not. You have no idea what it means that I'm telling you this." "Fine." She abandoned the keys and turned on me. Her voice was cutting. "Then prove it." "Prove it?" "That's right. Do something magical." She invested the word with a healthy amount of disdain. "Okay." I swallowed hard. The hole I was digging for myself just seemed to get deeper and deeper. I glanced around. A neglected rosebush was planted next to the front door, its handful of small blossoms wilted and pale. I laid my hand gently against the smallest bud. It slowly opened, unfurling delicate petals that burst with bright color, a red that was vibrant and alive even in the meager porch light. Sam gasped and leaned closer. She inhaled deeply. "It smells amazing." The heady scent of damask floated up to sweeten the air. I regretfully pulled my hand away and the bloom folded again into a meager bud, its color fading into the darkness. "Ta-da," I said lamely. "My God." She gave me a wide-eyed stare. "Do you have any idea what this means?" She asked excitedly. "No, not really." "Magic is real." She practically shouted the words. I frantically shushed her. "Keep your voice down." "This whole time I've been rambling on about druid nature rituals. You must have thought I was so dumb." "Not dumb." I was quick to reassure her. "Naïve, maybe." "Is that why you didn't want me meeting your family?" she asked. "This is some kind of big secret." "That's one of the reasons. Look," I sighed. "I don't do bad magic." At least not anymore, a voice in my head added. "The rest of my family isn't so principled." "Something bad was supposed to happen tonight, wasn't it?" Her voice was soft. She already knew the answer to her question. "Really bad." I shuddered. There was no going back for either of us now. "You can't tell anyone about this." Her face fell. "I mean it, Sam." "What happens now?" Her voice turned frantic. "Will they come after me?" "No," I said with more conviction than I felt. "I'll take care of it." Valentine's face swam in my vision. He was like a compulsion and it was getting harder to resist. "God, this is so exciting."

I envied her sense of wonder. She was like a kid meeting the Santa Claus at the mall for the first time. "I should probably get back," I said. "What are you going to tell them?" "About you?" Sam nodded. "You got knocked out by the blast." I shrugged. "You don't remember anything." "And your family will believe you?" Sam worried at her lip with her teeth. "It'll be fine." I was tired, emotionally and physically worn out. "I'll see you at school on Monday." I waited for Sam to slip into her house and flip off the porch light before I backed the SUV carefully down the driveway. The conviction I showed Sam began to wane as I drove. My little display may have been enough to make Marco back off. That, or he would just see it as a challenge. Sam wouldn't be safe until he was gone. I arrived home just in time to miss the spring sacrifice. The smell of blood and fear assaulted my nostrils when I pushed open the door. The goat that lay dead on a white sheet in the center of the ballroom was a tragic sight, but it could have been so much worse. Marco waited for me at the top of the stairs and this time he was alone. I approached him cautiously. He leaned against the rail with his arms crossed over his chest. His posture was cavalier but his eyes were cold. "You're missing the party." I stopped several steps below him. "It's winding down." He smiled but there was little humor in it. "Ready for another go around?" My voice was filled with bravado but I wouldn't even dare pass him on the stairs. If he truly wanted to, Marco would wipe the floor with me. "You mean this?" He indicated his bandage-wrapped arms. "I do owe you one." He came down the stairs, towering menacingly over me. I held my ground. "I'm leaving town tonight," he continued conversationally. "But I'll be back." "Have a good trip." Sarcasm dripped from my voice. Goading my brother wasn't the best idea, but I couldn't seem to stop myself. "I'd forgotten how much fun it could be to come home." The menace in his voice was unmistakable. "Tell your delicious little friend that I'll see her again, soon." "Tell her yourself," I whispered. "And then I can kill you." He coughed an incredulous laugh. "You're threatening me? That's precious." "Try me," I said through clenched teeth. Marco slid past me and his laughter trailed behind him as he moved lithely down the stairs. "Goodbye, little sister." The fight drained from my body as he disappeared from view, leaving me feeling tired and drained. I got to my bedroom to find that Marise had packed up as well. Her travel bag was gone from the foot of the bed and the riot of clothing that had decorated the floor that morning was gone too. I made sure to throw the lock on the door after closing it softly behind me. Not that it would do any good. The sort of monsters hiding in my closet wouldn't be put off by a simple lock. But it did make me feel a little better. Whenever my eyes closed Valentine's face swam in my vision, his eyes glinting like

fallen stars. I tried to sleep, but his sneering smile never wavered, whether he inflicted pleasure or pain. Keeping Sam safe had been my priority tonight. I'd had to ignore everything else. But when I lay in the bed with only the darkness and the silence for company, the truth was impossible to ignore. I could still feel those powerful flames as they rushed through me, threatening to consume my soul. Power was seductive. It licked and curled inside of me, begging to be released. I'd done it once, twice, too many times to count. With a little bit of effort I could protect myself and no one in my family would stand against me. Seventh-born of the seventh-born. Invincible. Valentine saw it in me when I passed him with Sam. That look of instant recognition on his face scared me more than anything. I was one small step from the edge of a precipice. Falling. I recognized something else in his eyes too. He allowed himself just the smallest hint of satisfaction. The demonic pleasure of Hades as he dragged Persephone down to hell. I burrowed deeper into the covers, fighting a sudden chill despite the warmth in the room. I was sure of only one thing. Eventually, he would come for me. Sunday passed by in a blur. A cleaning service returned the house to rights one trash bag at a time as Leonora stood over them like a drill sergeant to ensure even the smallest vase survived unscathed. It was a startling realization as the lazy day passed that I might actually make it to school on Monday. The families were trickling slowly out of town. No one had died and Valentine was gone. At least for now. Now all I had to worry about was a weekend's worth of unfinished homework. By Monday morning, my mood bordered on marginal excitement. The families had all faded into the night like vampires fleeing the sun. Marco and Marise returned to their homes to continue their plans for eventual world domination. My parents left Sunday afternoon for a weeklong business trip to New York City. The house was quiet. Peaceful. The housekeeper left a plate of muffins out for me on the kitchen counter with a note to have a nice day at school, signed with a smiley face. She felt it too. It was like a shade had finally been lifted on a dark room to let in some much needed sunlight. Sam waited for me when I got to school. She waved and I responded by running up the steps and wrapping my arms around her. "Whoa," she said with a laugh. "Affectionate much?" "I'm just so happy to see you." We walked arm in arm down the stone path. "It's a gorgeous day today, isn't it?" Sam pretended to take my temperature with the back of her hand. "Did you up your meds when I wasn't looking?" "Seriously." I pulled back. "I just feel good today." Cynthie sat on a bench in the pavilion with Noelle and Jade hovering around her. She cast a glance at our entwined arms but said nothing, her expression sardonic. I

pulled Sam away quickly. Students gathered outside the main building, waiting for the bell, and we moved towards the crowd. Sam stopped me with a hand on my arm. "About what happened this weekend—" I stopped her with a quick movement of my hand. "We'll talk, I promise. Just not right now." "Okay," she agreed with an unhappy sigh. "It's just so unreal. Do you have any idea how long I've been waiting for something like this?" Like what, I wanted to ask. To face mortal danger at the hands of a magical psychopath. My good mood faded. There was no way to explain to her that magic was less sparkling fairy dust and more demon lovers trying to steal your soul. My emotions were in turmoil as I turned away from Sam and continued down the path. The one thing that stood out was regret. I'd made a mistake. My brother's laughing threat sounded in my ears. I couldn't protect Sam forever. "I left my history book in the locker," I said suddenly. "I need to grab it before first bell." I left before she had a chance to respond. I felt bad as I jogged down the path to the main building, but maybe it was for the best. Showing magic to Sam—even worse, teaching her how to use it—would get both of us killed. The Blooded didn't ask questions and they didn't show mercy. What good is power if everyone has it? I shook the thoughts away and tried to get back the pleasant feeling that had so completely dissipated. I could put a stop to things with Sam now, before they got out of control. All I needed to do was think of an excuse that wouldn't destroy our friendship. First bell rang in the distance. I cursed and ran, almost crushing a blonde freshman as I shoved open the double doors to the building. With a shouted apology, I sprinted down the hallway towards my locker. I careened around a corner, almost skidding into the wall, when I stopped short. Zach leaned against the bay of lockers, casting worried glances at the large clock under a wire frame that hung on the wall. He saw me as I came around the corner and grinned. "Cutting it close again?" he asked with a smile. I slid past him without replying and went to my locker. My fingers deftly spun the combination and I had the locker open, book in hand and the locker closed again in record time. "Did you have a good weekend?" Zach followed me down the hallway. I ignored him. "Hey." He grabbed my arm. "What's wrong with you?" "Tardy bell's about to ring," I said shortly and pulled away. "I have to get to class." It hurt to be so cruel to him, to watch the golden brown of his eyes fill with hurt. I wanted to turn around, leap into his arms and beg him for forgiveness. Being with Zach was the only simple thing in my life. The situation with Sam made my decision for me. There was no guarantee I could keep my heritage a secret forever. Sam was proof of that. I couldn't risk something happening to Zach. I steeled myself against the part of me that begged to go back to him. His safety was more important than my love life.

I slid into my seat in History moments before the tardy bell. Zach came in behind me and I studiously avoided his gaze. Mr. Biggs didn't turn from the chalkboard where he stood, painfully writing a detailed timeline of the American Civil War. Sam raised her eyebrows but kept her mouth shut at the look on my face. I flipped open my notebook and started mechanically taking down notes. The school day dragged. I spent most of the morning doing Mission Impossible style tactics down the hallways to avoid running into Zach. During lunch, I hid in an abandoned corner of the school library where even Sam couldn't find me. By the afternoon, I was exhausted. I stood outside of the music room and debated whether to go to class or throw myself headfirst into the nearest utility closet. Zach was already there. Even over the other instruments, I could hear the soft play of notes as he tuned his guitar. Ms. Tripoli appeared at my side so suddenly that I jumped in surprise, almost dropping my books. I cast her a guilty look. "Will you be joining us, Ms. Wayward?" She asked with a soft smile. I sighed as she ushered me into the room. The sound of the door closing behind me was like a final nail in my coffin. Zach didn't look up from his sheet music as I took my usual seat next to him. The stiffening of his shoulders and the slight angling of his body away from mine was so small that I wouldn't have caught it if I wasn't paying attention. I deserved it, but it still hurt. I was dying to reassure him but an image of Sam laid out like a virgin sacrifice swam in my vision. It was better this way. I picked up my triangle and banged it hard with the metal beater. The discordant note momentarily quieted the room before conversation slowly resumed. Zach had jumped at the sound but when I glanced at him, he only bent over the music stand and made careful notes with a mechanical pencil. Ms. Tripoli moved in front the classroom. A conductor's baton was stuck into the large bun on the top of her head and strands twisted around her face. "This hour is for working on your showcase projects." Her words were punctuated with sharp movements of her hands like a maestro in front of the symphony. "I will be coming around to make sure you stay on task." Ms. Tripoli wound her way through the maze of chairs until she hovered over me. "You can read this during independent study." She held out a book to me and I glanced at the title. The New Grove Dictionary of Music and Musicians, Volume One. "Great," I said, taking it. "I love reading the dictionary." "Attitude, Ms. Wayward." Ms. Tripoli walked behind Zach and read the music over his shoulder. Her lips moved as if she could turn the notes into words. "This is coming along nicely, Mr. Yarrow." She patted him on the shoulder. "I'm looking forward to seeing it performed at the showcase." Zach's smile was bright as the sun when Ms. Tripoli moved away. He caught me looking at him and his eyes narrowed before he turned away. I drummed my fingers against the empty music stand. Every student in the room was engrossed in their individual assignments. My triangle lay abandoned on the floor and I kicked at it feebly with one foot. Ms. Tripoli cast me a steely-eyed stare from her desk. With a heavy sigh, I tipped

open the book so it sprawled across my lap. Zach's movements were exaggerated in the periphery of my vision. Each time he shifted in his seat or leaned forward to write on his sheet music, I was convinced he leaned towards me. But when I glanced surreptitiously at him, Zach sat turned away in the opposite side of his chair, as far from me as he could get. My fingers twitched against the pages of the music dictionary. I knew I'd regret the decision before my mouth opened but I couldn't stop myself. "A triangle player is called a triangulaire," I said casually. "Sounds fancy, right?" Zach turned to face me slowly and the coldness in his eyes hit me like a dart through the chest. When he spoke his voice was incredulous. "You really are a piece of work." I closed the book and turned to face him. Fighting was better than the silent treatment. "Oh, yeah?" "Are you crazy or just messing with me?" His gaze bored into mine. "Either way, I'm over it." A pang ran through my chest. "I'm sorry.". He cut me off. "Not interested." "Just hear me out," I said desperately. Zach laid down his pencil and gave me a wordless stare. "There are things about me that you don't know," I said finally. "I'm not like other girls." "Don't kid yourself," he replied with an angry laugh. "You're just like other girls, vain and selfish." "You don't know anything about me." "I thought I did." His voice was cold. There was nothing for me to say. "I used to think you were kind of amazing." He shrugged and turned away. "My mistake." My hand was on his arm before I was conscious of moving toward him. I felt his bicep tense through the thin cotton of his black t-shirt but he didn't pull away. The steady drum of his heartbeat thrummed along my fingers. I couldn't let him go, no matter what the cost. "So I'm a little crazy." I tried for a winning smile. "That's why you like me." Zach eyed me warily. "I think crazy is a bit of an understatement." The words were cutting, but his tone had softened. I slid my hand down his arm until our fingers intertwined. I squeezed his hand lightly and after a long moment he returned the gesture. "Can we start over?" I cursed my own weakness. He raised an eyebrow. "Am I going to regret it?" I pretended to think for a second. "Definitely." "How can I resist?" He smiled despite the light note of sarcasm. He let go of my hand and tapped his pencil lightly against the music stand. "I don't think I'll ever meet a girl quite like you again." My mood darkened again. I stared at Zach's open, honest face and all of the dark emotions that I tamped down swam slowly to the surface. A deep, roiling fear churned in my gut. Just like Sam, friendship with me put him at risk. The next time my family

threatened I might not be as lucky. I shook away the feelings of dread. The sun was shining and Zach liked me again. Everything else could wait. "You have no idea," I said softly. Zach opened his mouth to reply but Ms. Tripoli chose that moment to walk past our row. Her eagle-eyed gaze took in my closed book and his abandoned sheet music. We quickly pretended industry before she swooped in to threaten extra homework or detention for being off task. Even if I wasn't reading the world's most boring book, it would have been difficult to stay focused on the assignment. I could feel the slight movements of Zach's body as he breathed in and out. The heat of him burned along my skin where our bodies barely touched. When Ms. Tripoli moved away, Zach whispered out of the corner of his mouth. "You have plans for Friday night?" I imagined another furious ride on the back of his Indian and shivered in anticipation. It took an effort not to jump out of my seat with eagerness. "Free and clear. What do you have in mind?" I pitched my voice low to avoid the notice of Ms. Tripoli, who was only a few rows away. He leaned closer by an almost imperceptible degree. "The winter formal is on Friday," he whispered. "Do you want to go with me?" I sprang back like I'd been burned. "You want to do what in the who now?" My voice came out shrill enough to make Zach wince. Ms. Tripoli cast a sharp look our way and I quickly focused on the music dictionary in my lap. After a few moments, he whispered again. "Not your thing, huh?" "Not exactly." Visions of cruising the coastal highway at sunset faded into nightmares of pastel ball gowns and bad pop music. Picking up on the disappointment in my voice, Zach shrugged apologetically. "I'm taking pictures for the yearbook so I have to be there. It would be cool if you came with me." "No, thank you." I stuck out my tongue in childish protest. "Save your tedious high school rituals for the next girl." He gave me puppy dog eyes. "Don't make me go alone." I found myself agreeing that putting on a poufy dress and uncomfortable shoes, then taking pictures to chronicle how ridiculous I looked, would be a good way to spend a Friday evening. I reminded myself to never look Zach in the eyes when he was trying to convince me to do something. He was too cute to disappoint. We were the last ones out of the classroom after the bell. Zach hesitated in the doorway with a hand lightly touching my arm. With a furtive glance into the hall, he leaned forward and brushed a light kiss over my lips. The moment didn't last long enough. He gave me a cheeky smile and disappeared into the surging crowd forming in the hallway. My lips were still tingling when I met Sam by the lockers. "Last period with Zach. Somebody's in love," she crooned with a smile. "Oh, stop." I buried my reddened face in the locker. Sam balanced a stack of books carefully in her arms. "I have good news, too." I rummaged in the locker, rearranging textbooks and papers, but I'd already

forgotten what I was looking for. When I tried to remember what I needed to grab before going home, all I could see was Zach's smiling face. Sam was giving me a knowing look and I shook myself back into the present. "News is good. What news?" She paused for effect. "I have a date for the winter formal." "That's great, Sam." "If only you could convince Zach that school dances won't ruin that moody, antiestablishment thing he's got going." I felt my face heating up. Sam noticed my sudden embarrassment and pressed closer. "What?" she asked. "Zach already asked me to the dance." "Are you serious?" she shrieked. I winced and a group of sophomores gave us strange looks as they passed. "I think you punctured my eardrum." I pulled on my earlobe to kill the buzzing sound. Sam grabbed my arm, practically hopping up and down. "This is so great. Now we can go together." I didn't share in her enthusiasm. "So great," I agreed lamely. We walked slowly down the hallway. At least I walked, Sam practically skipped down the linoleum. "What are you going to wear?" Sam asked as we passed through the double doors and headed outside. I glanced down at my tattered jeans and oversized flannel shirt. "There's something wrong with this?" "Maybe you could go a little more festive." She said gently. "Come to my house after school and we'll figure something out." Sam disappeared into the parking lot with a wave and I walked alone to my car. The thought of squeezing myself into a prom dress so I could dance the night away to the musical stylings of the local top-40 DJ was almost as scary as the idea of a Wayward family reunion. At least among my family, there was always the chance of being put out of your misery before the fun really got started. I was going to face a school gym decorated to look like an under-the-sea wonderland without even the hope of a quick demise.

Chapter Eighteen I stood nervously outside the doors to the school gym. Zach and I had agreed to meet at the dance because he had to be there early. I didn't relish the idea of walking into a sea of blank faces, scanning them frantically for something familiar. It would be less like Cinderella making her grand entrance at the ball and more like Carrie with her bucket of pig's blood. Thanks to Sam, I was at least dressed well. If I had any doubts about her ability to clothe us appropriately, they were immediately squelched the minute she threw open the hallway closet at her house. Hanger after hanger of billowing dresses rioted for space in an explosion of taffeta and

satin. Every color of the rainbow was represented amid glittering sequins and shiny fabric. Sam had laughed at my shocked expression. "My sister's been on the pageant circuit since preschool." She held up a ballgown the color of grape soda. "You're looking at more than a decade's worth of victory." "Nice." I pushed the hangers aside for a better look. All of the fabrics blended together so I couldn't tell one dress from another. She pulled out a slinky black number with shiny red embroidery. "I think this one has tear away panels for a tap dance number." She held it up invitingly. "That would definitely get Zach's attention." "No thanks," I said quickly. I reached for a navy-blue full-length with a princess neckline. "What about this?" "You don't want that one." Sam made a moue of distaste. "That was the year Kim placed fourteenth in Miss Sunburst California. Bad mojo." We finally settled on a mauve gown with embroidery stitching on the hem. The dress wasn't a winner, but Kim did manage Best Smile so it was probably safe. I smoothed the fabric down over my hips. The satin felt soft against my fingertips and the soft color brought out the hint of gold in my dark skin. Taking a deep breath, I squared my shoulders and pushed open the double doors of the gymnasium. I'd heard the beat thumping through the ground all the way from the parking lot, but I wasn't prepared for the wave of sound that assaulted me the moment I stepped through the door. The music pulsed through my blood, threatening to stop my heart. The crowd was thick. I pushed my way slowly through the gyrating bodies until I found an open pocket. It was like being in the center of a sweatbox. Heat rose around me in waves, suffocating in its intensity. I'd almost given up when I caught the familiar flash of a camera lens next to the folded up bleachers. I weaved through the crowd, narrowly avoiding having the front of my dress splashed with watered-down punch. I didn't see a single familiar face. Sam's date had taken her to dinner before the dance and even Cynthie and her group were nowhere to be found. The camera went off again. Zach stood underneath the scoreboard, taking candid pictures of students grinding against each other on the dance floor. I doubted any of those shots would make it into the yearbook. He hadn't caught sight of me so I had a chance to watch him unobserved. His mother had insisted on renting him a tux, but he'd foregone the traditional dress shirt and loafers. Instead, he paired the suit with a faded Burning Man t-shirt and cherry-red high top sneakers. He looked equal parts ridiculous and adorable. The camera flashed and Zach looked up. Our eyes locked. For a long selfconscious moment he just stared at me. I was just starting to worry that my hair had turned out worse than I thought when Zach brought the camera up and snapped a picture of me. He lowered the camera and wagged his eyebrows. "You look amazing." "Thanks. You look good, too." I winced. So lame. We pressed close together to hear each other over the music. Zach shouted something, but it was impossible to hear. Frustrated, he wrapped an arm around my waist and propelled me out the side door and into an empty hallway.

Zach leaned against the lockers and played with the camera. Raising it, he snapped another picture of me. I blinked at the bright flash. "Stop that," I said, waving my hand at him. He let the camera fall to his chest where it swung loosely from a strap around his neck. "Do you think the yearbook committee would mind if I only take pictures of you?" "Maybe a little," I said with a smile. "Don't let anyone see those. It's embarrassing." "Why? You look great." He stared into my eyes, refusing to let me break eye contact. "None of the other girls in there even look half as good as you do." I forced a laugh to cover my sudden embarrassment. "Telling lies is a sin, you know." He moved closer and laid his hands low on my hips, pressing me back against the wall. "I would never lie to you." He pressed his mouth against my cheek. "You're beautiful." His lips brushed lightly across my forehead. "And amazing." Then he kissed me. My head tilted back and my hands were in his hair, fingers tangled in the silky strands. His hands wrapped around my waist and I felt small and light in his arms. It was a perfect kiss, sweet and gentle, that sent soft tingles up my spine. Zach pulled away and his lips brushed across my ear as he whispered. "And totally worth the crazy." I pushed him away. "I'm not crazy." "Of course you are." He grabbed my arms when I tried to pummel him. "Don't worry, it's cute." I wrenched my arms away and crossed them petulantly over my chest. "Name one thing I've done that's crazy." "How about I name one thing about you that isn't crazy?" He replied with a laugh, ignoring the storm brewing in my expression. "You're a little wild and weird, but I like that about you." "Why don't we go back to how beautiful you think I am?" I asked with a sigh. "You're perfect," he agreed with a grin. I let Zach pull me back into his arms and he kissed my cheek. "Do you want to go in and dance?" he asked after a while. The camera pressed hard in between us and I pushed it to the side. "Don't you have more pictures to take?" "Don't remind me." He gave the camera a look of the deepest loathing. "If one more person begs me to use their picture in the yearbook..." he trailed off, obviously unable to think of a suitable penalty. "You should start accepting bribes." "That's not a bad idea." Zach brightened. He glanced down at the display. "I only need a few more shots for a decent spread, anyway" "Do you want to meet on the dance floor in a few minutes?" I asked even though I loathed the idea of reentering the gym alone. I didn't want to be that lonely girl by the punchbowl. "Give me ten minutes," he spoke over his shoulder as he jogged away down the hallway. I sighed and pushed open the doors to the gym. If I was lucky somebody had already spiked the punch.

Cynthie, Noelle and their dates stood in the center of the dance floor. They were obvious even from the door. A bubble had formed around them as everyone gave them a wide berth. Whether it was magic or just common sense, I couldn't tell. I approached them slowly, like a nature photographer facing down a pack of lions on the Serengeti. Noelle glared when she caught sight of me. Shane Pierce hung over her shoulder. His expression was dazed and he stared absently into space. "Where's the leash?" I asked her when I was within shouting distance. Noelle rolled her eyes and turned to Shane. She touched a finger to his cheek. "I'm thirsty." Before the phrase was completely out of her mouth, he lumbered off to the refreshment table. Cynthie waved her hand at her own date, Tyler Burke. Tyler followed Shane, shoving anyone out of his way not quick enough on their feet to avoid him. "Nice work," I said sarcastically. "I see you're here alone," Noelle said. "Couldn't even manage a pity date." She laughed at her own joke and turned to Cynthie for backup. Cynthie didn't laugh and her voice was cold. "She's not here alone. Are you?" Her gaze bored into mine as if she could see right through me. I shivered despite the heat roiling off the churning crowd. Nothing about her was overtly threatening, but I suddenly wanted to keep Zach as far away from her as possible. "Do you see anyone?" I asked, trying to fake a breezy tone. Her iron gaze didn't waver. "You should be careful." "Is that a threat?" My voice was soft, but I knew she could hear me over the music. "It's fun to play with humans." She glanced at the refreshment table where Tyler spooned punch carefully into plastic tumblers. He was bent halfway over the table and his brow was furrowed as if it took all his concentration to transfer the drink safely from bowl to cup. "But you don't get attached. You don't claim them." She turned back to me and her face was hard as stone. "Because as soon as you do, they just become something that can be taken away." Noelle giggled. "Where's your date, Helena?" Cold dread snaked its way up my spine. I looked from one face to the other, Noelle's gleeful hatred and Cynthie's calculating coldness stark under the disco ball's flashing lights. "What have you done?" I feared I already knew the answer. "We didn't do anything." Noelle's dark smirk stretched her face into a grim parody of itself. "We didn't have to." "Run." Cynthie said, her voice toneless. "There may still be time." I was in the hallway before my mind processed the fact that I was running. I circled the gymnasium twice, frantically searching the shadows for the familiar light of a camera flash. I paused on the front steps. My heart pounded and my breathing came in harsh gasps that shook my entire body. I tried forcing myself to calm down. That very moment Zach was probably wandering around the school, snapping pictures of people who snuck out of the gym to make out in shadowy corners. Getting so worried about him was just silly. My name floated to me on the wind and my heart leaped. The relief was short-lived when I saw Sam coming up the stairs, her date trailing closely behind her. Sam smiled when she caught sight of me. "Leaving so soon?" Sam asked with a grin as she approached.

"Have you seen Zach around?" I asked, my voice coming in desperate gasps. "No, we just got here." She gestured to her date. Bobby Treehorn was a quiet kid with large glasses and a sweet smile. "Is everything okay?" "Same as always." I cast a significant glance at Bobby. Sam caught the look and her mouth opened in a small 'oh'. She turned to him. "I'll meet you inside. I need to help Hex with something." Bobby kissed Sam hurriedly on the cheek and tripped up the stairs. He caught me looking and his face blushed scarlet before he disappeared into the school. If I wasn't so worried I would have laughed. Sam definitely had a magic all her own. She faced me, her expression turning serious. "What's really going on?" I took a deep breath. "I can't find Zach." "I'm guessing you don't think there's just a long line in the bathroom," she said grimly. "No." "What do we do?" "Pray that I'm wrong." I sighed. "I need to keep looking." "I'll come with you," she said, following me up the stairs. I shook my head. "Go back to your date. I'm probably just being paranoid." "You're not and you know it." She grabbed my arm. "Let's go." We tromped through the school grounds. Outside, it was mostly deserted but we asked every student we passed if they'd seen a guy taking pictures for the yearbook. No one had. The longer we searched, the more elaborate my fears for Zach became. When we were children, Marco had a penchant for hanging animals from trees. He would pick familiar spots, the path I used to walk home from school or an oak in the backyard, and lie in wait. I would turn a corner and see the lifeless body of a rabbit or cat swaying limply in the breeze. It was too easy to replace the image in my mind with a picture of Zach, his eyes open and staring as he hung in the wind. I increased my pace as we searched, desperate for any hint of Zach's presence. Sam picked up on my urgency. She kept casting me worried glances as we picked our way through the grass. She broke the charged silence. "What if we don't find him?" "We will." I forced myself to believe the words, even as they seemed more and more unlikely. We walked behind the science pavilion. Something glinted on the ground and my heart leaped. From the sidewalk it looked like it could be the lens of a camera. I sprinted into the grass and the heels of my shoes sank into the soft earth. I scanned the ground through the darkness. Sam followed silently behind me. There was nothing but a handful of cigarette butts, bottle caps and bits of trash. I was on my hands and knees, running my hands over the grass. Cold mud soaked into the knees of my dress. I hit the ground in frustration. There was nothing here. "What's that?" Sam's voice broke my reverie. She pointed a few feet away where something glittered in the meager light, half hidden by the grass. I reached for it. My fingers wrapped around something thick. I held it up to the light. It wasn't a camera lens or anything that belonged to Zach.

I held a necklace in my hands. The metal was smooth to the touch and the shine of a black gem unmistakable even in the dark. A familiar thrum of energy ran through my fingers. Valentine's necklace. "What is it?" Sam hovered over my shoulder. I clenched the chain tight in my hands until the silver chain dug painfully into my skin. "Zach is gone." Even to me, my voice sounded bleak. "What?" Sam looked back and forth across the lawn, confused. "Where is he?" There was no feeling, only a deep numbness that permeated my entire being. "Someone took him," I said softly. "Who?" "Valentine."

Chapter Nineteen "So Valentine is some kind of big bad guy?" "You could say that." Sam followed me to down the school steps and into the parking lot, despite all my best efforts to ditch her. "What are we going to do?" she asked, breathless from trying to keep up with my hurried pace. "We aren't doing anything," I cried, turning on her. "I'm going to figure this out and you're going back to the dance." I instantly felt bad when the expression of hurt descended on her face, but I had to stand firm. I fished in my bodice for the car key I'd stuffed there earlier in the night. I jogged down the neat row of parked cars until I found mine. I was jamming the key into the lock when Sam appeared next to me. "Do you even know where he is?" "No." I slammed the roof of the car with the palm of my hand. "But I can't just sit around here." I pulled open the car door and slid inside. "I can help you." Sam caught hold of the door so I couldn't slam it shut. "No." "Really," she insisted. Sam leaned in so our faces were almost touching. "I found something in the book you gave me." I sat up straight, hope blooming in the hollow of my chest. "What?" "A dowsing pendulum. There's a page on how to make one," Sam whispered furtively and quickly surveyed the empty lot. "If it works, it could tell us where Zach is." I leaned over to the passenger side and pushed open the door. "Get in." We flew through the city, the car pushed to its limits as I floored the gas pedal. We roared onto the quiet, tree-lined streets of Sam's neighborhood. The porch light was off when I pulled into her driveway. Sam unbuckled her seatbelt and shoved open the passenger door. "I'm going to run in and get the stuff we need," she whispered. "My parents should be asleep." I watched her tiptoe up the walk and disappear through the front door. Seconds oozed by as I waited for her to reappear, drumming my fingers impatiently against the wheel. I forced myself to calm. Valentine wouldn't kill Zach. Not yet, anyway. Dead

boyfriends didn't make very good bait. Sam reappeared with a messenger bag slung over one shoulder. She had changed into jeans and a t-shirt. I was forcibly reminded that I still wore a dirt-caked prom dress and heels. Catching my expression, she held up a plastic grocery bag. "I brought you some clothes." I smiled a thank you and crawled into the backseat to change. Sam pulled the messenger bag off her shoulder and dumped its contents onto the empty driver's seat. I yanked a t-shirt over my head and peered over the seat back to watch Sam work. "I got this from a gift shop at the Smithsonian when I was twelve." She held up a piece of rose quartz and wrapped a piece of twine tightly around it. "It's not the elemental stone the book calls for, but it'll have to do." Sam picked up a box of Morton salt that must have come straight from her mother's kitchen cabinet and used it to fill a chipped cereal bowl. The journal sat open on the dashboard and Sam read from it silently, her lips moving to form the unfamiliar words, as she dipped each side of the quartz into the salt. The pageant dress lay balled up on the floor of the backseat when I finished changing into a pair of Sam's jeans. I pushed it aside with my foot and kicked off the uncomfortable heels. If I survived the night, I'd offer to pay the dry cleaning bill. Sam had even thought to stick a pair of sneakers into the bag. They were loose without socks but I thanked the gods we were close to the same size. "What can I do?" I asked and leaned through the opening in the seats. Sam dumped the salt out of the open window and laid the quartz gently inside the bowl, careful to hold it only by the twine. The bowl went up on the dashboard. "Do you have maps?" I pointed to the glove compartment. "In there." A stack of Rand McNally road maps fell onto the seat when Sam pushed open the glove compartment. She rifled through them until she found the one for LA County and unfolded the thin paper on top of her lap. "The necklace you found is from Valentine, right?" she asked. "Yes," I said, warily. "Give it to me." I handed her my purse with the necklace inside. Every cell in my body screamed for her not to touch it but I stayed quiet. Sam laid a dishtowel over her hand before reaching inside for the necklace. I forced myself not to look away when she pulled her hand out of the bag and the towel fell open to reveal a spill of glittering gems. Sam reached for the twine and held it up so the pendulum swung in careless circles above the pendant nestled safely in the dishtowel. "Here goes nothing," she said and took a deep breath. "In the name of the spirits that live beyond the veil, we beseech thee. Lift the shroud of darkness so the shadows may be revealed." The pendulum spun faster. It swung in tighter and tighter circles as if caught in a whirlwind that neither of us could feel. Sam kept a white-knuckled grip on the piece of twine as the pendulum threatened to swing from her grasp. Pressure built inside the car. Force pressed down on me, squeezing any thought from my mind. Sam was screaming. I couldn't take the pain for another moment. The pendulum stopped.

It hung over the necklace, utterly still with the cord pulled taut. "Okay," Sam breathed. "You drive." I climbed over the seat and Sam laid the necklace, still wrapped in the dishcloth, gently into the cup-holder. Careful not to disturb the frozen pendulum, Sam slid the map underneath it. The pendulum began to swing in a long ellipse. "Go north," Sam said. Her eyes followed the movement of the quartz as it swung across the map. We sped through the streets of Los Angeles. Sam broke the silence only to mumble terse instructions. The pendulum thrummed on the end of the twine. It didn't sway as the car turned but moved only in its determined circles. The dowsing pendulum led us out of the city and onto the Santa Monica Freeway. We took the 405 southbound and I clutched the steering wheel. How far had they gone? Sam raised a ghostly arm and pointed to the exit for Marina Del Rey. We pulled off the freeway and onto a surface street near the ocean. The marina came into view ahead of us, the Pacific horizon looming large. Within view of the water, the pendulum swung to a stop. Sam let out the breath she'd been holding. I pulled into the marina parking lot and stopped the car. I turned off the lights, but left the engine idling. We sank into the darkness. "I'm going in alone." My voice broke the penetrating silence like a dropped stone. "What?" Sam sat up quickly and the map fell from her lap to curl on the floor. "You need my help." I shook my head. "Walking in there is a death sentence. No dice." "You're going." I blew breath hard out of my nose. "I don't have a choice." I grabbed her hands so hard that she jumped. "Go home, Sam. Call Bobby, apologize for ditching him and then go to bed." I stared out the window. Nothing moved in the swirling darkness but I knew Valentine was out there somewhere. "Hopefully, you hear from me tomorrow." "So, I'm not good enough for backup?" Sam crossed her arms and a stubborn expression descended on her face. "You wouldn't have even found them if it wasn't for me." "Zach is already gone." My voice broke and I took a deep breath. "I may not be able to save him. I can't risk something happening to you, too." Sam stared out the windshield and there was a long moment of silence. "You can't ask me to let you do this alone," she said finally. "You have to trust me." I pulled the keys out of the ignition and pressed them into her palm. "Please," I whispered. I climbed out of the car. Sam's last whispered words floated out as I shut the door. "Good luck." An unnatural fog descended as I walked toward the marina. I didn't know what to expect, for Valentine to jump from around a corner and yell "boo", or to see Zach's limp body twisting in the wind from the high-tension power lines. There was nothing but quiet. Doubt surfaced as I scanned the boats bobbing gently on the water. Sam was brand new to magic and I'd trusted her with Zach's life. What was I thinking? I looked back, but dense fog obscured my view. I prayed Sam followed my advice and returned home, but it was impossible to be sure. I listened for the familiar rumble of the Toyota and only

silence greeted me. The air tasted sharp and salty. Buoys dinged against loose moorings and I searched the darkness for any signs of movement. "Don't hide from me, damn you." I screamed the words. "Show yourself." Did I hear a laugh or was it just the wind whistling off the sea? I shivered. Water splashing against the wood of the docks. The marina was suddenly illuminated as a full moon appeared from behind the heavy cloud cover. Figures coalesced out of the darkness at the end of the pier. Valentine stood at the end of the dock, flanked by two men I didn't recognize. There wasn't any sign of Zach. They gave no reaction as I approached, though I knew they saw me. The slow rise and fall of the ocean waves beyond only highlighted their unnatural stillness. Ignoring the intense thudding of my heart, I marched towards them. "Where is he?" Valentine's teeth glinted in the meager light as he smiled. "We thought you'd never make it." "No games, where's Zach?" Valentine seemed to want to talk, but the potential for violence was still there, simmering underneath the surface. Like a coiled viper waiting to strike. "The little human boy?" His voice made a mockery of the question. "He's alive, for now. Would you like to keep him that way?" "What do you want?" My voice was barely a whisper. "It isn't about what I want." The velvet of his voice tickled along my skin. "But about what you want—what you really want." He strode forward and circled me slowly like a desert vulture sensing easy pickings. I stood my ground, following him with my eyes. "And what is that?" "It can't possibly be this." His face was suddenly inches from mine, sharp teeth bared. "All of the gifts that I've given you. The rage. The power. And you toss it all away." His voice was a hiss. "Tell me why." "I'm not like you." I spat the words into his face. My anger momentarily overcame my fear of him. "Oh, no?" Valentine merely smiled and gestured with one hand. "Perhaps we should test your resolve." My gaze followed the languid sweep of his arm. Cynthie appeared from the shadows, still wearing her dress from the dance. A triumphant smile twisted the corners of her lips. "Am I late for the party?" Her voice struck me like acid rain. "Cynthie," I said carefully. "What are you doing here?" She laughed and the harsh sound made me flinch. "I'm taking what's mine." "Whatever he's told you—you can't listen to it. Don't let him trick you." Her smile vanished. "Arrogance really is the only Wayward trait you inherited." Anger crept into her voice and built into a white-hot fury. "Seventh-born of the seventhborn and nothing to show for it. You don't deserve the privilege or the power. I'm everything you should be." Her expression turned sultry. "Valentine knows how strong I can be." I looked from one of them to the other. Valentine stood like a proud father on his

daughter's first day of school. Cynthie's gaze was adoring as she regarded him. Sick comprehension slowly dawned. "How long have you been working together?" "How do you think I found you in the first place?" Her voice dripped with disdain. "Why?" I whispered. "Revenge." She glared at me. "He stopped me before, but I'm finally going to finish this." She advanced on me. Valentine cleared his throat and her face immediately softened. She floated closer to him and he reached out to brush his fingers lightly down her cheek. "Did you remember our guest?" he asked. Cynthie made sure I was watching as she stalked into the shadows. She dragged a bound figure into view and pushed him onto the docks at Valentine's feet. In the darkness, I could only see his back heave harshly with each breath. A rag covered his mouth and tied at the back of his head to gag him. He seemed overly small, huddled there on the ground. "Zach." I started forward. Cynthie pulled a knife and I stopped in my tracks. She waggled it slowly from side to side. "Not so fast." I watched in horror as she lowered the point of the knife so it hovered inches above Zach's neck. With aching slowness, she slid the blade underneath the cloth of the gag. Zach's eyes widened but his shouts were muffled as he yelled against the fabric. I gasped when she wrenched the knife away and the gag fluttered lightly to the ground. "What are you doing?" Zach's voice was hoarse but it wavered only slightly as he looked from Valentine to Cynthie. "Who are you?" Cynthie slid the point of the knife up the small of Zach's back, not quite hard enough to break the skin. "A nightmare." He began to struggle, pulling at the bonds that tied his arms and feet. He slammed his head forward and landed a solid blow in the bend of her elbow. Cynthie reared back and the knife flew out of her hand, landing in the shadows with a clatter. She turned on him with a snarl. Before I could react, Valentine laid his hand on the top of Zach's head and whispered, "Calm." Zach's body relaxed and he stopped struggling against the ropes. His head lolled forward and only his chest moved with each slow breath. "Zach." I rushed forward, heedless of the consequences, and sank to my knees in front of him. I cupped his face with my hands and tilted his head until our eyes met. "Zach, are you okay?" His eyes were unfocused and he stared at a point over my shoulder. A beatific smile spread across his face. "You're so pretty." I glared up at Valentine, who stood mere inches away. "What did you do to him?" "You care for this human boy?" Valentine circled us slowly. He moved like a caged tiger, slapping its tail against the prison bars. Valentine grabbed a handful of Zach's hair and wrenched his head back. Zach giggled. "This is a toy. A plaything," Valentine's voice was a snake's hiss. "Useful for a time and easily discarded." He shoved Zach away. Zach landed face first on the ground. He rolled over onto his back and stared at the sky. "Stars are pretty," he said in wonder.

"Remember what you are." Valentine stood behind me and his whisper sent tingles shooting down my spine. "Remember what you can do." "I'm not like you." I meant the words to be firm but my voice spoke in a whisper. "You were once. You could be again." His fingertips stroked down the bare skin of my upper back. "Do you remember what it feels like?" The fire in me stoked higher and higher until I could feel the burn rush through my veins, desperate to be released. I clenched my fists and forced it back down. I tucked the power away into the dark place inside of me I had to forget existed. "No," I said, stronger this time. I pulled away and faced him. "You don't have anything I want." "Oh no," he smirked. "Do you know what I want, Hex?" My heart stuttered at the sound of my name on his lips. I had forgotten the sound. I pushed the feeling away. "To take over the world?" I asked sarcastically. "Not so grand as all that." He smiled softly. "I want a small piece of this world to call my own. A haven." His words struck me the way he intended. I took a deep breath and ignored the pang of longing. "You could just take it." He shook his head slowly. "There will always be challengers. Those who wish to prove themselves against me. I can't keep them away forever. I need you." I fought against the tidal wave that threatened to engulf my will. "No." "Just imagine it." His voice was like silk, weaving a spider's web of my already tangled thoughts. "You could live in peace. No looking over your shoulder for old enemies. No desperate flights in the middle of the night. No fear. A home." "Like little house on the prairie?" Bravado was the only defense I had against him. I squared my shoulders. "What about her?" I gestured to Cynthie, who stood half-hidden in the shadows, her expression sullen. "Is she part of this fairy-tale, too?" "Like calls to like." Valentine raised his arm and she came to stand next to him. She stepped over Zach who still lay on the ground marveling at the stars. "I'm nothing like her." I said. Cynthie glared at me and my expression was just as unfriendly. "Your power shines like a signal fire." Valentine lifted my chin with the tips of his fingers. I couldn't force myself to pull away. His eyes held the weight of the universe and I was falling. "Learn to harness it, and you will be the most powerful being this world has ever known." His gaze didn't leave mine. Tears slid silently down my cheeks, their salt stinging my lips. "I don't want it." "You do." One moment, I stood on the docks and stared into the face that haunted my nightmares. Phantom hands pushed me down, forcing me into the sea of his eyes. And then I was underwater and drowning. I tried to fight, but there was no air to breathe. I choked as my lungs filled. There was no hope that I would ever see the surface again. It was useless to struggle. Pain pierced me like a thousand swords. The only way to stop it was to give in, let the current carry me away.

Chapter Twenty

I knelt on the ground. The wood of the dock pressed into my hands and I felt each grain like an individual pinprick. Every nerve ending in my body felt finely tuned—my senses alive with sensation. Everything glittered in my vision as if coated with a layer of dew. Blurry like I saw it through a length of gauze. My fingers reached up to stroke the air before my eyes, but they met no resistance. The world remained the same as it ever was. I had changed. Zach sat several feet away from me. His hands were untied and he ran his fingers back and forth over the ground at his sides, playing the dirt like an instrument. He noticed me looking and gave me a small smile, childlike in its innocence. I smiled back. I tried to stand and for one wild moment the world tilted crazily on its axis. I was flying and falling, both at the same time. Valentine regarded me silently, while Cynthie stalked back and forth behind him like a caged lioness. He made no move to help or hinder as I struggled to my feet. Our eyes met and a shock coursed through me like lightning. Somehow, the terror and uncertainty had melted away to be replaced with something I didn't recognize. There was a hole inside of me, waiting to be filled. My stumbling steps became a smooth saunter. My gaze never left his as I moved closer. A smile pulled at the corners of the lips, but there was no happiness in it. I couldn't quite remember what happiness should look like. I stopped when we were only inches apart. My fingers burned with the desire to touch him. I wanted to feel the electric current that lit my nerves on fire. The answering smile on his face meant that Valentine recognized my wanting, but he waited for me to come to him. My hand rose between us and lightly traced the contours of his face, fingers barely touching the skin. When our lips met an electric pulse sent tingling sensations racing down my spine. His face was hot as fire and my skin burned where we touched. Neither of us closed our eyes and his gaze bored into mine until I knew he saw right through me. He did something to me, changed me somehow. The knowledge was distant. I didn't care what he had done. I only wanted to be close to him. I touched my fingers to his cheek, pressing into his heat until the pain was just short of forcing me to pull away. "Will it always be like this?" My voice came breathless. "If you want it to be," he whispered in reply. Cynthie grunted behind him. I refused to look away from the darkness in his eyes. "Does she have to be here?" I asked crossly. "She serves a purpose." He wrapped an arm around my waist and turned my body so the three of us stood in a loose semi-circle. She glared at me and I glowered back. He touched her cheek and a growl eased from my pursed lips. "You both do. With this much power we will stand unchallenged for a millennia." "She'll try to hurt me." I couldn't hide the childish note that crept into my voice. "Cynthie will do as I say." He grabbed my chin and turned my head to face him. "So will you." A small voice deep inside urged me to fight. The more I tried to focus on what was wrong, the more elusive my thoughts became. It couldn't be Valentine that I wanted to resist. The way I felt in his arms was too precious to abandon.

With a silent gesture from Valentine, Cynthie disappeared into the shadows. He moved away and spoke to me over his shoulder. "Take care of your little friend," he said. Zach still stretched out on the ground, half lying and half sitting. He gave me a wideeyed grin as I approached. I stood over him and tried to remember the way that I used to feel. I knew that I had almost loved him once. I remembered wanting him with me always— hours spent thinking of his face. Now, I couldn't quite manage to bring those feelings to the surface. He was like an interesting specimen underneath a microscope, nothing more. "What should I do with him?" I asked finally. Zach just smiled wider. "Whatever you wish," Valentine answered. "Leave him, kill him—it makes no difference." "Killing him would be messy." Zach bent over the ground, rearranging tiny rocks into unintelligible patterns. He confused me. "Could I take him with me? He makes pretty music." Valentine stared at me for a long moment and finally shrugged. "Are you building a collection?" I smiled. "I like pretty things." His laugh trailed over me like a feather tickling down my senses. "So long as your new pet is potty-trained." "Don't forget about this one." Cynthie's voice rang out as she reappeared from the shadows. I looked up in time to see her push Sam to the ground at my feet. "I found her sneaking around out here." Fear widened Sam eyes as she looked frantically from one face to the other. Blood oozed from a cut in the corner of her mouth. I sighed. "I told you to leave." "Hex." My name was forced from her lips in a gasp as Cynthie's foot on her back forced Sam closer to the ground. "I'm sorry. I wanted to help." I knelt on the ground and touched her bruised lips. "You're bleeding." Her eyes widened as I brought the tip of my finger to my mouth and licked it clean. "What's happened to you?" she whispered. "Where's Zach?" Cynthie ground her heel hard into Sam's back. "It's not Zach you should be worried about." Her whimpers of pain drew my gaze back to Sam's face. She was mine. "Leave her be," I said sharply. Cynthie arched an eyebrow and slid her stiletto heel across the delicate arch of Sam's spine. Sam screamed as a thin line of blood soaked into her shirt. I stood quickly, but Cynthie backed gracefully away and spoke with a smirk in her voice. "This is boring." She slid away to stand near Valentine who watched us all, his face emotionless. Sam was crying. I raised her into a sitting position and cupped her cold hands in mine. Her skin was soft and so thin that I could feel her pulse beat against my fingers. I stroked it absentmindedly. "It's over now." "Over?" Her tear-streaked face was inches from mine. "What are you talking about? What happened to Zach?

"He's fine," I said sharply. She was asking too many questions. I didn't like it. Whispers rose in a sudden cadence. Take her. Eat her. Kill her. I looked wildly around for the source of the voice but no one new had appeared on the pier. Sam stared at me now, fear still evident in her widened eyes. Except now I couldn't tell if it was fear of Valentine, Cynthie or me. Her gaze moved to Zach, who was arranging the pebbles into concentric circles so he sat in the center of a bull's eye. "He doesn't look fine," she said softly. Blood still oozed from the wound in her back. I could smell it in the air. Sharp, metallic and full of possibility. I pushed away from Sam, standing so quickly that it made me dizzy. The sudden image of pulling the blood from her body drop from drop burned in front of my eyes. Using her life force to feed my magic. I stared at the dark waves slapping against the pier until the urge was gone. The glow faded and I was left feeling only weary and broken. "I'm leaving, Sam," I said finally. "Everything can go back to normal." "Leaving?" She struggled to her feet, tears streaking her cheeks "Pretend we never met." Valentine stared at me from over her head. Even now, the darkness in him called to me. Resisting him was like physical pain. "It's better this way." "If only it were that simple." Cynthie strode towards us. The triumph in her face was evident. She pulled a long knife seemingly out of thin air and advanced slowly, a cruel smile twisting her lips. I moved in between her and Sam. The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end as power rose between us. "What are you doing?" My voice was soft. I knew I should be angry, but the emotion was distant. "I think I might slit their throats and throw the bodies off the pier." Light played on the blade as Cynthie twisted the knife in her hands. "Unless you want something more dramatic." "You aren't going to touch them." "That isn't how it works. You broke the rules. You showed magic to a human." Sam made a small sound and Cynthie laughed. "Did you think no one would figure it out?" "No," I whispered, but the protestation sounded weak even to my ears. "They have to die. It's me or the Blooded." The two men behind Valentine suddenly stepped forward, eyes hungry. I stared from Sam's frightened face to Zach's oblivious one. Was this feeling of possession the same thing as love? Was love the same as wanting to seal him away like an exotic curio so he was saved only for me? Sam hyperventilated, breathing so hard and deep that I wondered if she would pass out. She put herself in danger to bring me here, to help me. Did I owe her something for that? "What's it going to be?" Cynthie's voice broke my reverie. Valentine made no move to interfere. We stared at each other across the wooden expanse of the pier. In that moment I made a decision. I couldn't let her hurt my friends.

"Bring them." Valentine's broke the tension like a hammer blow. I stared at him, uncomprehending. It took a long moment for the realization to sink in that he was sparing them. "I only want to kill them a little," Cynthie whined. She gripped the handle of the knife so hard that her knuckles turned white. Frustration was evident in every curved line of her body. "Now." His voice made the word final. Cynthie screamed in frustration and pushed past me. I heard her cursing, even as she disappeared into the darkness. I helped Sam to her feet and she leaned heavily on my arms, wincing with pain as she straightened her injured back. We turned together and came to face-to-face with Valentine. He stood close enough that a hard breath would bring the lines of our body together. There was no mercy in him. I knew in that moment that he had a plan for Zach and Sam. He would use them and I would let him do it. Valentine's hand slid between my shoulder blades and down to rest at the small of my back. I shivered at his touch. "Shall we," he whispered. He led us down the pier. I still supported Sam. Zach trudged slowly behind us like a dog that had been called to heel. The fog cleared enough that I could see the sailing yacht moored in front of us. The light was enough that I could read the name emblazoned on the side, Lady Nocturne. "This is new," I murmured. Valentine smirked but didn't reply. He turned to Sam and said off-handedly. "You should sleep." I stumbled as Sam's full weight fell against me. Only Valentine's steadying arm kept us both from sinking to the ground. "Thanks for the warning," I grumbled over the rumbling snores issuing from the slack head now hanging over my shoulder. Sam was heavier than she looked and I heaved her up the narrow gangplank with effort. He led us below deck to a darkened sitting room, tastefully decorated in mahogany and earth tones. I collapsed onto the plush couch with Sam. Valentine watched with a small smile as I slowly extricated myself from underneath her prone form. "Come above with me." Valentine held out his hand and my fingers instinctively twined with his. Cynthie stood on the bow, unwinding the rope that connected the yacht to the dock. Zach sat on the stairs that led to the helm with a dazed expression on his face. I wondered if the spell Valentine cast was wearing off for him too. Valentine called to Cynthie. She glared at us and picked her way gingerly across the hull of the yacht. She jumped down next to Valentine and gave him a flirting smile. "We're ready to go," she said. "Take him below." He gestured to Zach. She growled low in her throat but grabbed Zach's arm and propelled him towards the stairs. He followed her like a sleepwalker. As she moved past me, our eyes met and the look that passed between us was rife with threatening promise. Sooner or later, we would have our reckoning. Valentine led me to the helm. In the still night, the ocean seemed to stretch into eternity. I stared into the far off horizon and I expected to see guide lights from other

vessels or the glare of a lighthouse. There was only sky, water and darkness. His hands glided over the controls and the engine roared to life. He grasped the wheel lightly, fingers barely touching it. We passed rows of neatly moored boats, ranging in size from tiny pontoons to sleek yachts like this one, built for luxury. "Where are we going?" I asked. "Does it matter?" I could hear the smile in his voice. He was laughing at me. He kept one hand on the wheel while the other played along the skin at the small of my back. I shivered and pulled away. It was impossible to think when he touched me. Valentine overwhelmed my senses. I could taste his pulse on my tongue like a drumbeat. The whispers in my head spoke with his voice. Shaking, I sank into the leather co-captain's chair and pulled my knees close to my chest. I was still within arm's reach. It was as far away as I could force myself to get from him. He faced away from me. His hands stroked lightly down the wheel as he guided the boat out to sea. Unbidden, my gaze traveled down the hard lines of his back that tapered into a slim waist and long legs. He was relaxed, but muscles coiled underneath his skin, thick with the potential to move faster than any human would think possible. Silence reigned for as long as I could take it. "What are you going to do with Sam and Zach?" I asked finally. "They belong to you." I could barely make out the curved profile of his smile in the darkness. "The true question is: what are you going to do with them?" "You aren't going to hurt them?" I pressed. I needed to be clear on this. Valentine would keep his word, but words were nebulous things. "Their fate rests entirely in your lovely hands." I thrilled at the seductive quality in his voice. "And you won't let Cynthie hurt them either." "Cynthie is a problem that you will have to deal with yourself." I sat back in the chair, the dark leather was cool against my back. "Having her here does make things easier." His eyes were unreadable in the semi-darkness. "How so?" He murmured the question. "She's a constant reminder that I can't trust you." "Did you ever?" "Maybe once." I pulled my knees closer to my chest, feeling suddenly cold. "When I was young and stupid." His smile widened and sharp teeth flashed in the moonlight. "And what does your age and wisdom tell you now?" "You did something to me." My voice was hard with accusation. "You made me forget what I wanted." He moved fast. I blinked and his face was inches from mine, teeth bared in a grim paroxysm of a smile. "What is it that you want, Hex?" My name on his tongue had a sibilant hiss. I wanted to back away but there was nowhere to go. My chair pressed up against the wall and the only escape was a narrow porthole that led to nothing but open ocean. "What do you want?" I countered. Anger lent strength to my voice. "Do you want me? Or Cynthie?"

It wasn't until the words spilled from my lips that I could give a name to the emotion that burned inside of me. Jealousy. I was jealous of powerful, beautiful, perfect Cynthie. She was the daughter my family should have had. She wanted to take everything away from me—even the things that I wasn't sure I wanted. "Cynthie has her uses." The amusement in his voice was plain. "As do you." His fingertips slid down my neck and my eyes drifted closed. I wanted to pull away, but the force of him was magnetic and impossible to resist. His lips touched my cheek and moved along the curve of my jaw to my chin. His breath tickled along at the corner of my mouth. Sensation overwhelmed me. Hot and cold bursts coiled and broke along my already sensitive nerves. If I let him kiss me now, I would never be in control again. I pulled away before our lips could touch. He let me pass as I stumbled out of the chair. "I need to sleep." My voice came breathy. "Bedrooms are below at the end of the hall." He slid into my abandoned chair and gestured languidly at the controls. "We're heading south. It should take less than a day." The mental calculations were simple—somewhere in Mexico, maybe Guatemala or Honduras but that was pushing it. I didn't bother to press him for our destination. If he'd wanted me to know, then I wouldn't have to ask. I turned my back on him and padded slowly across the deck. His gaze bored into my back as I retreated and I resisted the urge to run. I slipped quickly down the stairs, ignoring the sudden claustrophobia I felt at being surrounded by an endless expanse of water. Cool wind blew across the deck and stars twinkled in the night sky. The fog cleared as we moved into open ocean. Surrounded by the walls of the ship's hull, the gentle rocking of the yacht seemed suddenly overwhelming. I stumbled through the sitting room, leaning on the walls for support. There were three identical doors at the end of the hallway. I tried the handle of the first and was surprised to find it locked. Before I could try the second door, it opened of its own accord. Cynthie stood in the opening, unwelcome written into the lines of her face. I peered over her shoulder. Nothing moved in the darkened interior of the room but I could just make out a still form lying on the bed. I tried to move past her. "What's going on?" "This is what you wanted, Hex." She pushed me hard back into the hallway. "The best of both worlds." "Why are you doing this?" I shoved her back. Anger had finally overwhelmed the last of my common sense. I was sick of the games and plays for power. "I've never done anything to you." I regretted the words the moment they slipped from my lips, thinking of Ceres. "No?" Her laugh was harsh. "Waywards take everything. The power. The privilege. The money. You think you're so much better than the rest of us. And then there's you— seventh born of the seventh born. Growing up, all I ever heard was how powerful you'd be, how amazing. And then nothing. The only power you had was an amazing ability to hide behind your mother's skirt." She spit the words at me. "You don't deserve to be a Wayward."

"Is that what this is about? You're jealous." I forced a laugh. It was almost a relief to know that Cynthie was prey to the same high-school insecurities as the rest of us. "I am twice seventh-born, Cynthie. And that means I have more power than you could even dream of." I advanced slowly and she actually backed up a step, expression wary. "You are a nobody from a nothing family. The only chance you have is to latch on to someone better than you. At least, that's what your brother tried to do. Remind me again how that worked out?" Her hand came up but I caught her wrist before the blow could land. My grip was tight enough that the bones of her wrist ground beneath the skin. "Let me go," she said through gritted teeth. She tried to pull away but my hold on her was firm. "This is the last time we are going to have this conversation." I spoke slowly, enunciating every word. "Ceres wasn't my fault. That wasn't—" My breath caught and I swallowed hard. "That wasn't something I wanted to happen. I can't change it." "Bloodprice means a life for a life. Money isn't the same." A hysterical note crept into her voice. "This is the last time you will threaten me or anyone who belongs to me. It's over." I squeezed her wrist hard until she made a small pain sound. "Do you understand?" We stared at each other for a long moment. To my surprise, she didn't try to fight and slowly lowered her arm. I released her wrist and she moved past me down the hallway, her feet moving soundlessly on the carpet. Tingles of relief shot down my spine. Cynthie couldn't beat me, not now that power throbbed through my body, thick as blood. But a fight with her would be hard-won. It was better that we come to an understanding. Cynthie spoke from the foot of the stairs, her whisper-soft voice devastating in the silence. "If you give me a chance to hurt you, I'll take it." From so far away her eyes seemed dark as midnight against the paleness of her skin. "Agreed." I went to Zach's side. His breathing came deep and even, but he was impossible to wake. The blankets were pulled up to just under his chin. I slid them down and inspected his still form. There were no cuts or marks, not even so much as a bruise. If Cynthie had done something to him, it was impossible for me to tell what. I settled the covers gently back around him. Zach seemed fragile as he sank into the folds of the bed, like Sleeping Beauty moments before the prince's kiss. I pushed away thoughts of him broken at the hands of Cynthie or Valentine, or goddess forbid my own. Valentine barely operated in the real world. Even if he knew something about nationwide manhunts and missing person's reports, such human preoccupations wouldn't concern him. I could only imagine the fallout when Zach and Sam's parents discovered they were gone. My own parents were due to return from their New York trip soon. My mother would do whatever it took to keep our family strong and I doubted my father left time in his machinations for concern over me. Dappled moonlight passed through the window as dark clouds fled across the sky.

We chased the night. Daybreak would bring its own challenges. I laid down gingerly on the empty side of the bed but Zach didn't so much as stir. It was awkward to lay next to him—we had barely kissed. I prayed that he wouldn't wake up just in time to catch me snoring. Sleep proved elusive. Shadows danced on the ceiling but the pale light of pre-dawn was just beginning to peek over the horizon. As Zach's gentle breathing lulled me to sleep, I prayed. I prayed to the gods who never answered that I would be able keep him safe.

Chapter Twenty-One I woke to sun and heat. It felt as if I'd slept for only a few moments but when my eyes opened, I squinted into bright sunlight. Water splashed cheerfully against the sides of the boat and I sat up to peer blearily out the window. A small mountain range spread out against the horizon. Sea salt stung the insides of my nose as I inhaled deeply. The smell of cooking fish and island spices that floated through the open window was simultaneously exotic and achingly familiar. The previous night rushed back to me on a wave of twisting emotions. The opposite side of the bed was empty and made-up. I frantically pulled back the thick comforter. The sheets were cold. Zach had been gone for at least an hour, maybe more. I tumbled out of the bed and cool air met my bare legs. I looked down at myself. The borrowed jeans and t-shirt were gone to be replaced by a white sundress made of the lightest cotton. It was tight to the waist where it flowed into a flirty skirt. Memory surfaced like a forgotten dream. Shadow hands slid the dress onto my unresisting body. Valentine's face swam in my vision, his twisted smile both an invitation and a threat. I shivered and forced the memory away. My feelings weren't important right now. Valentine and I would have a talk about him sneaking into my bedroom like a thief in the night. Things were different now. I would make him see that. The sneakers I'd kicked off the night before were nowhere to be found. I padded barefoot to the door and pressed my ear against the wood. The hallway was silent. I eased open the door and peered into the dark of the windowless hallway. There was no need for my furtiveness. Both of the other doors were open and the rooms beyond deserted. It wasn't until that moment I realized the impossibility of this penetrating silence— the yacht's engine was quiet and the only voices existed solely in my head. I was alone. I ran down the hallway and up the stairs, bursting onto the deck and into the sunlight. I expected to see an expanse of blue sea but my eyes met very solid land. The yacht moored to a small dock in a tiny inlet at the foot of a dirt path. The trail wound gently up the side of the mountain. With every step, my imaginings of what awaited me at the top became more dire. Valentine liked to play games. I could only imagine what he would make of two deliciously human playmates. A gated house slowly came into view as I hiked a shallow rise. Starting with a roof laid in iridescent tiles, an open villa made of pale stucco spread over several acres. Horses grazed in a small paddock on one side of the compound. The beauty of the

surroundings only served to crystallize the fear I felt at facing whatever it was that Valentine had planned. Tile felt smooth and cold beneath my bare feet when I entered the airy portico. I turned in a slow circle as the true expanse of the house spread out around me. Hallways snaked out from the center in several directions and a staircase spiraled up to the second floor. If Valentine wanted Zach and Sam to stay hidden, it would be impossible for to find them. The house was silent. Even with the pressing heat, it felt like a tomb. Still and eerily quiet. Valentine's voice washed over me like a cool bath, shocking and refreshing at once. "Normally I ask guests to remove their shoes in my home. But, I see that might not be sufficient for you." I looked down at my feet. I couldn't remember putting on brown socks. Embarrassed heat rose in my face and I could feel my cheeks redden as I realized that I wasn't wearing socks. Dirt from the trail caked both my feet in a layer so thick that it looked as if they were covered in a thick layer of fur. "I couldn't find shoes." My voice was small and embarrassed. "Indeed." His smile was knowing. "Forgive me for leaving you alone this morning. There was business requiring my attention." The thought of him standing over me in the dark, hands and eyes sliding over my unresisting body, brought an unwelcome shiver. "It's fine." I hoped he couldn't hear the quaver in my voice. "Marta," he called. "Show Helena to her room. She needs to freshen up." My gaze turned instinctively, expecting to see a dark-skinned peasant from the village below that Valentine had bewitched to serve him. I was painfully, horribly mistaken. Her eyes as they surveyed me lacked any spark of recognition. Not the slightest hint of emotion colored her expression. Under a modest cowl—bleached white like death pallor—was the dour face of Sister Mohan. I heard the heavy thud of my chair striking the floor before I even realized I had stood. My hand shook as I gripped the table's edge. "What is this?" Valentine moved smoothly up beside me. "A friend of yours, I understand." Sister Mohan stared at me impassively. Tears burned behind my eyes. I had so much wanted to believe that the Sisters were safe, that knowing me hadn't destroy them. "What have you done to her?" "Nothing." He held a hand up to his chest, as if offended at being so besmirched. "She was just a wretched creature when I came upon her, begging on the streets for scraps." "Sister Mohan!" I shouted in her face, without even a twitch as response. My voice broke. "Please." "It's no use." Valentine circled behind Sister Mohan. They watched me with the same emotionless eyes. "The woman that you knew...Sister Mohan, was it? That woman no longer exists. She was Marta before she knew you, and so she shall be again." It took all my strength to face them. I couldn't stop the trembles that raced down my body. "And Sister Maeve? She's here, too?"

"I'm not familiar. Marta was alone." His voice was casual, unconcerned. The Sisters would never separate willingly. Did that mean Sister Maeve was lost, or hurt, or worse? I knew I might never find out. "Why would you do this?" I sank back down in the chair, overwhelmed by the surge of warring emotions. Sister Mohan was safe, but under Valentine's control. "For you." He came to stand behind me, fingers lightly stroking my hair. "I hoped it would make you happy, seeing a familiar face." "But, why is she like this?" The sweeping movement of my hand took in her stiff posture and emotionless stare. "That isn't what I want." "Marta is here to serve. Too much freedom might go to her head." "And that's what you're going to do to me." My voice was cold, anger finally winning out over sadness and fear. "Never you." His fingers traced my cheek, a touch so light that I might have imagined it. A shift of the wind and I felt his lips pressed above my temple. When he spoke, his words quivered against my skin. "I want you just the way you are." I pulled away and stood, backing away from him. "She was going to show me to my room." My heart beat hard enough that I was sure he could hear it. Valentine smiled slightly and nodded to Sister Mohan. She turned away quickly and I had to move fast to follow her. By the time I caught up, we were halfway down the eastern hallway. I grabbed her arm. "Sister Mohan." A snarl changed her face into something unrecognizable, ugly and barely human. My hand dropped as if burned. Her expression fell back into emptiness before she continued down the hallway. Now, I knew. Whatever it was that wore her face, this wasn't Sister Mohan. Not anymore. I tried to make a mental map as we walked, but rooms passed by me in a blur. Cynthie's face appeared in an open doorway. I saw little more than her scowl before the door slammed shut. Marta stopped so suddenly that I ran into her. Thin arms, corded with muscle, came up to catch me as I stumbled. The strength in her arms was unexpected. I looked up and our eyes met—hers were bright and hard, like sunlight caught in shards of glass. "What happened to you?" I whispered. She pulled away. "This room is yours." Her accent was sharp and heavy. We had come to the end of side hallway. A single closed door was the only thing in sight. I was alone in my own end of the house. She made no move to precede me, so I squared my shoulders and pushed open the door. A large suite spread out before me over several rooms. The back wall of the sitting room was made of glass and the view was amazing. This end of the house overlooked a cliff face. Impossibly blue ocean crashed against jagged rocks hundreds of feet below. A four-poster bed made up in dark satin dominated the bedroom beyond. My school bag lay on the floor near the door. Someone must have brought it up from the yacht. Marta followed me silently as I pulled open the frosted French doors that led to the bathroom. A whirlpool tub sat in the center, already filled with delicate trails of steam rising off the water.

"Towels are in the linen closet, here." She looked pointedly at the trail of footprints that followed me through the suite. "Clothing is in the armoire." And she left me alone. The quiet overwhelmed me. I went to the bathtub and ran my fingers through the water. The ringing silence served as a perfect backdrop to my frantic thoughts. Zach and Sam were trapped here somewhere and I had no idea in what condition I would eventually find them. The urge to tear the house apart was overwhelming. If Valentine didn't want them found then they wouldn't be. Keeping him happy might keep my friends alive. I padded back into the bedroom and threw open the doors of the armoire. Fabrics in every color burst forth at the sudden increase in space. I pulled open the top drawer and it was stuffed with under-things: some pale and frothy, others daring and dark. I grabbed a handful and rifled through it. The tags were still on every piece and all of it was my size. The thought of Valentine checking the size of my underwear was too disgusting for words. I prayed he left that duty to stone-faced Marta. I chose a dress without looking at it too closely and tossed it on the bed. Glass bottles lined a high shelf in the bathroom and I chose one at random. When I removed the stopper, the rich scent of freesia and sandalwood filled the room. I poured a good amount of the oil into the water and stirred it with one hand. Heavy steam from the bath filled the air. I stripped off the white dress, streaked with sweat and grime, and let it fall to the floor. I made sure the door was securely locked before slipping into the tub. My head slid completely under the water. I opened my eyes. Light and shadow danced on the ceiling, moving in impossible patterns. I pushed my hands up and out of the water. They danced and twisted as the water moved in waves over my face. I saw them from another world. The sound of the door opening brought me out of the water. Hair fanned around my face and the soggy mess of it fell into my eyes, obscuring my vision. As I pushed it away, I prayed it was Marta offering fresh towels or turn down service for the bed. Even before my vision cleared, I knew I would see Valentine standing in the open doorway. Still, I couldn't stop the thrill of shock that coursed through me at the sight of him. I hugged the side of the tub. "That door was locked," I hissed. "Was it? I hadn't noticed." His eyes slid over me and I pressed my body harder into the porcelain. "You are late for dinner." "Should I go like this?" I regretted my insolence immediately. Valentine's eyes narrowed and the heat in the room intensified. Heavy steam began to rise more quickly from the tub. His gaze never left mine as tiny bubbles of effervescence floated to the surface of the water. Invisible flames licked at my skin. I tried to move but my body stuck to the tub as if some invisible force pressed against my back. The heat intensified until it felt like the flesh would melt from my bones. Valentine was going to boil me alive. I closed my eyes and screamed, or begged. As quickly as it began, the burning stopped. My eyes opened to meet his cruel smile. The water remained still and only slightly warm as if I only imagined the searing

heat. "Take your time." The moment he was gone, I scrambled out of the tub and collapsed in a heap on the floor. The cold tile was a welcome relief against my skin. Realization bloomed in me slowly. Valentine would eventually destroy me. In that moment, gasping for breath on the floor, I knew what I had to do. ***** Music played from somewhere deep in the house. I followed it down the twist and turns of the hallways. It had taken all of my determination to dress and leave the suite. Fear and anger warred for dominance but I forced myself to put one foot in front of the other. Remembering the light in Zach's eyes when he smiled propelled me forward. The thought of never seeing him again was something that I refused to contemplate. I turned a corner and the hallway opened up into a music room. Skylights were set into the vaulted ceiling so thick shafts of bright light cut through the room. Valentine sat at a grand piano with his back to me. His hands played slowly over the keys in a song that filled me with longing. "There's a certain magic to music, wouldn't you say?" He spoke without turning around. His fingers never ceased their fluid movement over the piano keys. It was a shock to hear my own words repeated back to me. It made me wonder if they had ever been my words to begin with. "You should hear Zach play," I said finally. "That's magic." "Ah, yes. Your little human pet." His hands came down to strike a horribly discordant note. "You can do better." "Where are they?" "You shouldn't ask." He rose smoothly and came to my side. "We have an agreement, your friends are safe." "When can I see them?" I risked his anger, but I couldn't resist the question. "When I'm sure of your priorities." He guided me further into the room with a cold hand at my waist. "The dining room is through here." Spanish influence was most obvious in the dining room. Orange tile lined the walls and the long table was set with china the color of turquoise and sea foam. There was no roof or back wall so we were greeted by the pale moon and cool evening air that blew off the ocean. We backed up to a small garden and the scent of jasmine and lily carried on the wind. "All of the flowers are night blooming." His voice and the night wove a spell that was almost impossible to resist. "Where should I sit?" I asked, my own voice clipped. "Here is fine." He pulled out a chair in a smooth motion. As I sank into it his hands brushed my shoulders and down my arms. Sensation that was both freezing cold and burning hot coursed through me. No sooner had he seated himself then Marta appeared at his shoulder. She held a bottle of red wine in her hands and tipped it up for him to read the label. "Do you drink Cabernet? It's a local vintage." He didn't wait for a response before

gesturing for her to fill my wineglass. He raised his own glass, eyes closing as he took a sip. "Coarse but strong. Much like the people here." I looked out past the garden. The city below was a blaze of light and color, shining like a beacon in the darkness. "Where are we?" I asked as if it mattered. "Ensenada." The word rolled off his tongue like the name of a lost lover. "Cinderella of the Pacific." A single bloom rose from the slim vase at the center of the table. Purple petals like angel wings, so dark they were almost black, cradled a handful of delicate blossoms. Long spidery tendrils emerged from its center and down, to brush lightly against the tablecloth. Valentine followed my gaze. "Tacca chantrieri." I looked up at him, startled. "What?" "Black bat flower. I discovered it on a recent trip to the Orient. Quite unique." He touched a dark blossom with his fingertip. "And almost sinister. It reminded me of you." I took a sip of the wine. The taste of it burst into my mouth like I crushed bitter grapes between my teeth. Alcohol burned down my senses and it was just the strength I needed. I straightened my shoulders and looked Valentine in the eye. "Are we done yet?" I asked boldly. He eyed me like I'd finally done something interesting. "I beg your pardon." "You stole me, threatened me." My breath caught at the memory. "Hurt me. Are we done pretending?" A sardonic smile spread slowly across his lips and he gestured for me to continue. "Please." "Things aren't the way they used to be." I forced myself to believe the words as I spoke them. "I don't belong to you anymore." He cocked his head to the side and his gaze was direct. "Then why are you here?" "The families want you out of the way. It's only a matter of time before they find a weakness." My heart pounded in my chest as the words hit like stones. His face remained impassive, but Valentine was nothing if not unpredictable. "You can't hold them all off forever." He held up his glass to watch the light play in the dark liquid. "What are you proposing?" "You want my power." "Yes." The word hissed through his teeth. "So take it." His eyebrows shot into his hairline. The shock on his face lasted only a moment but I thrilled to know I had managed to surprise him. Valentine recovered quickly. When he spoke his voice was even. "That is quite an offer." "A gift freely given." The dark voice in my mind screamed its objections but a new peace relaxed over me. This was the only way to end it. "And in return?" "I disappear." My voice grew hard. This was nonnegotiable. "And no one ever comes looking for me." "Who would want you?" he laughed. "Will you run away with your human?" "Maybe. You don't get to ask." Valentine leaned casually back in his chair, but I could see the satisfaction in the

ghost of his smile. "This is not a simple thing, you know." "There's a book in my bag. It has the incantation." I turned away from him to face the plate that Marta had placed in front of me. The deal had been struck. Agreement was written in the satisfied lines of his body. "It didn't seem that difficult." I cut a piece of chicken. "It is a shame. There's always been something—" He searched for a word. "— peculiar, about you. I've never quite met your like." "You've never met another girl like me? I find that hard to believe." I blinked and he was out of his chair. Our faces were inches apart and his fingertips whispered down the curve of my cheek. "You're not beautiful—not in any traditional sense." Real confusion furrowed his brow and for a moment he looked almost human. "Something burns in your eyes. Is it power, do you think?" I froze, afraid even the barest breath would entice him closer. "I suppose we'll soon see." His lips brushed my cheek as he pressed closer. Even as danger loomed, a part of me wanted to turn and meet his kiss. The smell of him intoxicated me: a mixture of night-blooming flowers and fire. "Isn't this cozy?" A snide voice broke the spell. Cynthie stumbled into the room, her face set in a scowl. She wore a red dress that should have been seductive, but only seemed sloppy. One sleeve fell off her shoulder and she tripped over the long hem. "Cynthie." Valentine rose in a smooth motion. "I told you to await me in your quarters." "It's boring." A shrill laugh escaped her. "I don't have any more toys to play with." She wove around the empty chairs at the long table, almost falling. Her hands caught at the table for balance and she finally collapsed into Valentine's vacated seat. "This is your only chance to do as I say." He kept his voice soft but the thread of steel was unmistakable. "I'm missing all the fun." She brought Valentine's wine glass to her lips, draining it. He turned to face her completely. Power built in the room like a fire being stoked slowly to life. Cynthie didn't back down. She rose from the seat to glare at him, her hands planted firmly on the tabletop. I only knew that I had to get out of the way. My chair overturned in my haste to move as far away as possible. The destructive fire of his magic met the vicious cold of her power. The combination sucked the air out of the room. Even on the sidelines, the crushing force threatened to overwhelm me. "Don't tell me what to do!" she screamed. A steak knife from the abandoned place setting was in her hand and then a flash of metal flew through the air. I gasped aloud. The knife buried itself so deeply in Valentine's chest that only the hilt showed. I couldn't fault Cynthie's accuracy. If Valentine had a heart, it would have beat around six inches of stainless steel. I almost felt sorry for her. Valentine grasped the hilt of the knife and pulled out a clean blade. Even though his back was to me I knew, from the widening of her eyes, that the bloodless wound healed as the blade was withdrawn. "That was ill-advised," he murmured. I closed my eyes as Cynthie began to scream.

When it was over, she lay gasping on the carpet, her face streaked with tears. "Forgive my rudeness, but I must excuse myself." He spoke distractedly, as if his mind were already on more important things then the broken girl lying at his feet. He brushed my cheek lightly with his fingertips as he passed and his touch burned. His smile revealed sharp teeth when I winced. "There are many preparations to make." The moment he was gone I rushed to Cynthie's side, falling to my knees beside her. "Don't touch me," she snarled when I laid my hand on her arm. I sat back on my heels. "Eventually he'll kill you, you know." "And you know so much?" she spat. "About Valentine?" My laugh was harsh. "Yeah, I do." She turned away and laid her head on the tile. "Just leave me alone." "I'm going to give him my magic." "You're an idiot." She let out a coughing laugh. "We have a deal." I said. "But when I'm gone, there won't be anything left that can stop him. He won't need you anymore." "Should I run away, like you?" She struggled to her hands and knees but glared when I moved to help her. My hands fell to my sides. "I survived my first encounter with Valentine. I thought you wanted to do the same." Leaning heavily on the wall, Cynthie rose unsteadily to her feet. "Are you asking me to ride off into the sunset with you?" "I was warning you." I turned away in disgust. "Do what you want." Her voice stopped me inches away from the door. "Why don't we just kill him?" I turned slowly. Cynthie had finally lost what was left of her mind. Our eyes met and I expected to see the insanity of her behavior reflected in her gaze. To my surprise, the manic obsession of before was replaced with cold anger. "You're not the first one to think of that," I said slowly as if speaking to a small child. "It isn't possible." "He's alive, right?" Her tone was casual as if we discussed the weather. "Anything living can die." "Valentine can't be harmed by metal, wood or fire. If you have another suggestion— I'm listening." "It has to be something he won't expect," she mused. "The moment when he opens himself up to take your power is the last time he'll ever be vulnerable again." "And if we fail, he kills us both." "Chances are good that he'll do that anyway." She was right. When he took my power, I would lose the last of my defenses. There would be nothing to force him to keep his word. If I agreed to her impossible mission, maybe she would help me. Zach and Sam were here somewhere and Cynthie might know where they had been hidden. "How do I know I can trust you?" I asked finally. "You don't." Her expression darkened. "Valentine did something to me. When I close my eyes all I see is his face. I hear his voice in my dreams." Her voice was emotionless, but her eyes flashed with anger. "I have to destroy him." "I need to make sure Zach and Sam are safe. Where are they?"

Her expression turned wary. "You won't like it." "Now, Cynthie." I insisted. Without another word, she turned and left the dining room. I followed her down a winding hallway until she stopped at a set of stairs I had never seen before. They descended into darkness. "Go on," I ordered when she hesitated. There was no way I was leaving her at my back. Cynthie made a sound of disgust in her throat but disappeared into the dark. I laid my hand against the stone wall for guidance and followed the sound of her footsteps as we picked our way slowly down the pitch-black stairs. Water dripped from somewhere far beneath us and the air grew unnaturally cold. The darkness pressed in like a hand wrapped around my heart, squeezing hard until it was impossible to breath. At the moment when it was too much to take and I fought not to rush back up the stairs, my foot hit solid ground instead of the air between one step and the next that I had expected. I stumbled and fell into Cynthie. She pushed me away. A shaft of moonlight from a window high in the wall fell against the jagged stone of the walls. The floor was dirt laid with wooden planks. I gently touched the wall and my fingers came away caked with grime. Rudimentary holes were dug into the rock and each one held a dusty wine bottle, at least a hundred or more. They formed a crude wine rack. "This cellar is dug into the mountain," Cynthie said softly. She slapped her hand against the jagged wall. "There's no other way out." I opened my mouth to reply, but a groan came from across the room. Pushing past Cynthie, I followed the sound and fell to my knees next to Zach. He was alive, but barely conscious. He sat propped against the wall and his head lolled forward when I gripped his shoulders. I ran my fingers over his body. There were no obvious signs of damage. Cynthie came up behind me and I turned on her with a snarl. "What did you do to him?" "It doesn't matter. He'll live." Underneath the bravado in her voice there was a thread of unease. "We have to go." I wrapped his arm around my shoulders and rose shakily to my feet. Zach was all dead weight and I struggled to stay upright. Cynthie came quickly to his other side and we half-carried and half-dragged him up the steep stairs. The compound was eerily quiet. There was no sign of any of Valentine's Blooded, not even the two with him at the marina. I half-expected to see Marta round the corner, hands curved into claws and blood in her eyes. "Don't worry. This part of the house is usually deserted." Cynthie wiped the sweat from her forehead with her free hand. "We should hurry." We made it out of the house and down the trail to the dock without incident. We laid Zach on a bed in one of the bedrooms on the yacht. I turned back to look at him from the doorway. His chest rose and fell softly in a movement almost too small to follow. The desperate voice in my head cried anxiously for me not to leave him. My rational side knew that there was nowhere in this world where Valentine wouldn't find me. I could end it all now and maybe die trying. Or I could spend the rest of my life jumping at every sound and running from every shadow.

I closed the door softly, though there was no danger of waking Zach. He slept like the dead. Cynthie waited for me in the hallway. She regarded me steadily for a long moment before finally speaking. "Ready?" She climbed up to the helm and I followed close behind her. "Do you know how to work this thing?" I asked dubiously. There were more buttons and levers than I cared to count. They all looked the same. "Gas gauge. Steering wheel." She pointed them out with a haughty raise of her eyebrow. "I'll figure the rest out when the time comes." We left the boat and began to climb the path leading back to the house. At the crest of the hill, I watched the sun as it sank past the horizon of a twilight sky. Streaks of purple and red rent the air like the claws of an angry god. I wondered again if I would live to see another sunrise. "Don't think about it." Cynthie spoke as if she could read my mind. I jumped in surprise. For a moment I'd forgotten she was there. "Do or die?" I asked, glancing back at her. She laughed without humor. "Do and die, maybe." The setting sun barely peeked from behind the distant mountains, outlining them like a halo. It was time. "Get Sam and take her to the boat. Give me two hours from sunset. If I'm not out by then, take the yacht. Don't wait for me." Cynthie regarded me in surprise. "You want me to leave without you?" "You have to get Zach and Sam home." I invested my voice with urgency. She had to understand how important this was. "They won't survive here." "What about you?" "Valentine doesn't want to hurt me. The power is what matters to him." The longer that I was out of his presence, the clearer my mind became. To Valentine I was a shell, an Easter egg filled with enticing candy. Meant to be consumed and discarded. "You think you can take him?" Cynthie's expression was the most serious that I'd ever seen it. "I'd be the first." She opened her mouth to speak—maybe empty encouragements or simple condolences—but I cut her off. "Just go. We're running out of time." I turned my back on her and stumbled down the hill, not bothering to wait for her to follow. I was on my own.

Chapter Twenty-Two A gust of warm air hit me when I pushed open the library doors. Tapered candles in sconces lined the walls. Their flickering light cast the room in seething shadow. Row after row of books with faded spines and indecipherable titles circled the room, rising to touch a ceiling so dark it seemed infinite. Valentine knelt in the center of the room, barefoot and shirtless. The delicate light played off the paleness of his skin like sunshine through a prism. If I kept him in the corners of my vision, colors danced in the air around his body. If I turned my head, they disappeared. I advanced slowly but Valentine ignored me. He bent over the delicate parquet floor,

carving twisted patterns into the inlay with a sharpened piece of bone. I watched him work. The muscles of his arm corded as he forced the bone deeper into the wood, tracing jagged grooves into the once pristine floor. The grimoire lay open next to him and I shivered at the sight of it. I could read the words on the page from where I stood: A Spell for Binding. After so many minutes that I wanted to scream, Valentine finally seemed satisfied. He stood and regarded his work with a critical eye. Then he finally noticed me. The full force of his regard was like a crushing weight that pressed me into the darkness. "You must enter the circle of your own accord." His voice twisted and turned like the lick of a candle's flame. Entering the circle was like stepping into a sauna. His magic was hot and seething. It pushed at me and tried to force me back. I shoved forward until we were so close that I could see the sheen of sweat coating his bare chest. He smiled. "It's so nice to have a willing sacrifice." I shivered despite the heat that rolled down my body in waves. "Stop stalling. Let's get this over with." "So young. So impatient." He raised the bone knife and the wicked point was inches from my cheek. This close, I was very aware that the length of bone was as long as my forearm and almost as thick. He opened the hand that wielded it and I was surprised to see that the hilt end was jagged, each toothy dip razor sharp. "Does it cut you?" I breathed the question. Valentine gripped it hard enough that blood oozed from between his fingers. "If I allow it." He opened his hand. Underneath the smear of blood lay unbroken skin. He held out the bone blade and I grasped it gently, not hard enough to cut myself, not yet. "We use this to remind us that power cuts two ways. It moves for us and against us." The bone was heavy in my hand. I wanted to put it down but instead held it with two hands, my fingers skirting the deadly edge. Valentine bent and picked up an empty wine goblet from where it stood just inside the circle. "You must drink of me as I drink of you," he intoned, softly. "You want to bleed me?" I glared at him. "That wasn't part of the deal." "Saying it—wanting it—isn't enough," he hissed. "There has to be a ritual. You must tie your desire to the physical plane." I glared at him but couldn't take the fire that burned in his eyes. I looked away. "Fine. You first." "Of course," he said with mock chivalry. He took back the bone knife and, with a quick movement, slashed a line in the bend of his wrist. He held the goblet underneath to catch the flow. Blood rushed out inhumanly fast and it seemed impossible that it would ever stop. I watched unbelieving as the wound knit and closed. After only a moment, the skin was smooth and unmarked once again. He handed back the knife with a smirk. I gripped it as lightly as I could and closed my eyes as the blade sank into the pad at the base of my palm. The pain was sharp and immediate. I dropped the bone knife and it clattered to the ground, coming to a stop just inside the circle. Valentine held the goblet while my injured hovered over it. Blood oozed reluctantly

and I squeezed with the fingers of my other hand to encourage it to flow more quickly. Our blood mingled in the glass, dark red and indistinguishable. When he was satisfied, Valentine pulled the goblet away. I pressed my injured hand into the thin linen of my dress. I felt the creeping wetness of my own blood against the skin of my thigh. He brought the goblet under his nose and inhaled deeply like a connoisseur with a fine vintage. "Now we drink." His long fingers tipped up the glass and his throat worked as he swallowed our blood. I shivered in disgust. It was over quickly and he offered me the glass. Even halfempty the blood swirled inside, thick and dark. I brought the goblet to my lips and swallowed in one long chug, trying to taste as little of it as possible. He grabbed it from me and threw it aside. I heard the crash of glass against the wall as we stared into each other's eyes. "Say it now," he commanded. "A gift freely given." The words seemed to float in front of me and hold before fading away to the ether. I waited. "Is that it?" I asked. He watched me silently. A satisfied smile played in the corner of his lips. The burning started slowly. Fire crawled through my skin and licked at my insides. Whips of flame flayed the skin from my bones. I tried to scream but my throat was raw and burnt. I fell to my knees and crawled along the floor. My hands pushed against the sides of the circle but I was trapped. I was dying and burning. There was no escape. The runes etched into the wood underneath my fingers trapped me inside a deadly furnace, blinded and deafened. The thick stench of burnt flesh assailed my nostrils. I relaxed into the excruciating pain. It would all be over soon. The spell broke and my relief was like a rush of cold water. My cheek lay against the wood of the floor, still within the confines of the circle that was now just marks on the ground. I sat up and my hands traced over my arms. The skin was smooth and healed. Candlelight cast caramel-colored shadows down the clean expanse of my body. The fire was gone as if it never existed. I got up on my hands and knees but couldn't make it any higher. I felt empty, hollowed out. My insides had been sucked dry. I touched the ground and there was no spark of awareness with the earth. The gentle current that ran through the world was gone as if it had never existed. Though my vision was intact, I was blinded. Valentine stretched above me like a contented cat. He loomed large and I shrank back. My limbs were heavy weights as I tried to move. My body seemed cumbersome and useless like too much dead weight. Is this how it felt to be truly human? "Is it done?" My voice came reed-thin. "You did wonderfully." He cast me a sardonic smile. "I haven't felt this good in years." His once-pale skin was infused with health. It was as if some of the gold and brown in my own complexion had seeped into his. His eyes were bright and dark. Where there should have been pale color, cold flames licked in the depths of his irises. He looked more beautiful—more perfect—than he ever had before.

I rose to my feet slowly and managed to stand, wobbling only slightly as I fought to stay upright. I couldn't pull my gaze from him. My power burned under his skin. He was ablaze with light like an avenging archangel. I was adrift in an endless sea, cut off from everything that I used to be. There'd been no moment to strike him down, as if any effort on my part would have succeeded. If Cynthie wanted Valentine dead, she was welcome to try for him on her own. I was fully human—worse than useless. "I'm leaving now." Regret tinged my words and I pushed the feeling aside. I thought of Zach and Sam waiting for me to take them back home. It wasn't just about me anymore. "It occurs to me, that a gift given can also be returned." He spoke idly, as if we discussed the weather or recent gossip from the village below. "That isn't an outcome that I'm willing to contemplate." Marta materialized beside him. I had been completely unaware of her presence until that moment. For all I knew, she simply melted from the wall. The cold and emotionless set of her face was in stark contrast with Valentine's dark triumph. I looked warily from one to the other. "Don't—" "Goodbye, Hex." Marta was on me before there was time to react. I might have reacted more quickly if ot wasn't the face of a friend that stared back at me. My hands came up but she knocked my arms aside as if they were matchsticks. My back hit the ground with a sickening crack. Pain was immediate and devastating. I fought her like a child against a ravaging animal. Her fingers were claws that ripped down my arms and left a burning trail as they rent the skin. I pushed at her body but it was like trying to move a mountain. Her breath on my face was dank and dark like freshly turned soil. Her eyes were fathomless. There was nothing behind them—no humanity to appeal to and no concept of anything but hunter and prey. Marta reared back and raised her arm, readying for the killing blow. My eyes closed and I prayed that my friends were safely away. Air rushed over me as Marta was pulled away. Cynthie's face was a rage-filled mask as her arms wrapped around Marta's neck from behind. I scrambled back as the two women fought. Marta was strong, but Cynthie was fast. They locked together as each tried to do as much damage to the other as possible "So much excitement." Valentine advanced on me like he had all the time in the world, achingly slow. We both knew there was nothing I could do to stop him. "It seems you've run out of champions." Cynthie's hair was torn from it's ponytail and blood oozed down the curve of Marta's face from a cut on her cheek as they circled each other. I was on my own. With every step Valentine took, I inched closer to death. He knelt beside me and brushed a piece of matted hair out of my eyes. "Be dignified in death," he whispered. "Face it with grace." I leaned as far from him as my awkward positioning would allow, my injured back screaming in protest. Something sharp sliced into the pads of my fingers and I looked frantically behind me. The bone-knife lay under my hand. It must have been kicked across the room during the struggle.

Valentine followed my gaze and smirked. "It's no use fighting. Welcome the peace of oblivion." His voice lulled me like the gentle bob of ocean waves. I couldn't imagine what it would feel like to be at peace. It hurt so much to fight. "Do something, Hex!" Cynthie screamed, before Marta silenced her with a sharp blow to the head. Valentine leaned closer and I pushed against him. It was like trying to roll a boulder. What little strength I had left was barely enough to keep me upright. I was no match for him. His breath whispered against my cheek, so close that I could feel his smile against my skin. "It only hurts for a moment." I gripped the sharpened bone hard enough that it dug painfully into the skin of my fingers. I wouldn't give in to him. "Would it help if I allowed you a small revenge?" Valentine leaned back and spread his arms wide, his expression disdained any attempt I might make to hurt him. "Take the first blow. A gift freely given." Anger surged in me at the mockery in his voice. It wasn't enough just to kill me. He had to draw out the moment, revel as I faced my own helplessness. I couldn't sink willingly into darkness. I wouldn't die without a fight. I reared up with all the strength I had left, the broken parts of my body screamed in protest as they were pulled even farther out of place. I slashed at his face, wanting to spoil the perfection of him if only for a moment. Weakness marred my aim. His arm came up as a shield and his body moved forward in response. In a movement to perfect to choreograph the blade sank deep into his chest and would have gone deeper if my clenched fist weren't wrapped so tightly around the hilt. Valentine regarded me in surprise but recovered quickly and pressed forward. "My turn," he murmured. I closed my eyes and flinched away from a blow that never came. My eyes opened to see Valentine regarding his own body, eyes wide and uncomprehending. An ever-widening circle of dark red formed around the bone still protruding from his chest. Gripping the blade with both hands, he ripped it free and stared at is if it were something he'd never seen before. Blood spread quickly, soaking the fabric of his shirt. The bone-knife clattered to the floor and Valentine collapsed slowly after it. He gripped my arm and whispered. A gift freely given. Cynthie was at my side and pulling me upright. We backed away but neither of us could tear our gaze away. It was like watching paper burn. Valentine folded slowly into himself, his own weight seemingly too much for him to bear. The edges of him darkened and curled. We watched as his form coiled in on itself, slowly fading away to nothing. The crude outline of a man was singed onto the wooden floor. There was no body— no hint that Valentine had ever existed save for the faint scent of sulfur and spice. "What was he?" "I don't know." I might not ever know. Whatever Valentine may have been, he was nothing now. That would have to be enough.

"Are you okay?" Cynthie asked, breathlessly. I was more than okay. Electricity hummed through my veins like lifeblood. I looked down at my hands. The skin was smooth and unmarred. There was no pain. My body was energized and primed to spring into motion. I could jump a thirty-foot fence or run a thousand miles. I had my magic back. Marta lay face-up on the floor. Her neck twisted at an odd angle and her eyes were glassy and dull, staring up into nothing. I stepped away from Cynthie and bent over Marta's still body. Sister Mohan was still inside their somewhere, lost to a place where I couldn't follow. I closed her eyes with a gentle sweep of one hand and said a quick prayer for safe passage. My gaze met Cynthie's as I knelt on the floor. She was tense, muscles coiled with angry energy. "You were supposed to leave." Her shrug was more of a twitch. "I guess that's one more favor you owe me." The air between us was charged, tense. Cynthie was unpredictable. I had no idea what to expect from her next. "Let's get out here," she said on a harshly exhaled breath. She walked off without waiting for me to follow her. I picked the grimoire up off the floor and felt that familiar charge as I held it. It was tempting to leave it here among the wreckage, but I couldn't bring myself to do it. I clenched it tight and hurried after Cynthie. We walked through the abandoned hallways of the villa until we made it outside. The heat of the night wrapped around me like a warm blanket. There was nothing left to fear from the dark. ***** The glow of victory faded as we picked our way slowly up the hill, to be replaced by fatigue and aftershocks of emotion. I saw the face of my own death. It would be burned in my memory forever. Cynthie stopped so suddenly that I bumped into her back. "More trouble," she murmured. I followed her gaze to the figures materializing out of the darkness of the trees. Darius was at the head of the pack and a handful of Blooded followed behind him. They closed ranks as we approached, caution written into their movements and the furtive glances cast into the darkness. The Blooded considered me a threat. The thought was almost enough to cheer me up. "Is it done?" Darius spoke softly as if he worried Valentine would leap from the trees in a vengeful rage. "Valentine's dead, if that's what you mean," Cynthie replied with insouciant sweetness. Incredulous murmurs rose from the Blooded men behind him and Darius cut them off with a harsh sound. He turned back, and for first time ever respect tinged his expression as he regarded me. "How did you do it?" "He let me in." I suppressed a shudder at the memory of his face, moments before he would have cut me down. "I guess that's all it took."

"I told you this would work," Darius crowed triumphantly as he turned to the men behind him. "No more rules. No more restraint. I rule the Blooded now." I shivered despite the heat. Had I unleashed something more terrible than what had been destroyed? "Not quite," Cynthie interrupted pleasantly. Her effervescent humor was scarier than an open threat. Nothing she said next would be good. "It's Hex's kill. If anyone should lead the Blooded, it's her." Darius and I both turned on her at the same time. "I don't think so—" "Don't be ridiculous—" "Isn't that how it goes? To the victor go the spoils." Her voice was cutting but a small smile played at the corner of her lips. "You weren't strong enough to destroy Valentine on your own, Darius. You don't deserve to take his place." "She wouldn't survive a week," Darius scoffed. "Oh, I don't know. I think little Helena still has a few tricks up her sleeve," Cynthie mused. She cast me a sardonic glance. "Isn't that right, Hex?" Cynthie knew. Maybe she could feel it or it might have been just a guess. Either way, she saw more than she'd let on in the library. In the moment that Valentine died, my magic returned to me in a jubilant rush. But it hadn't just been my power. When I gave myself to Valentine, he took a small piece of my humanity away, just enough to weaken his immortality. He had offered himself to me in kind, never expecting the result. My magic returned and a part of his came with it. Darius glared at me from across the clearing. The men behind him stood uneasy, unsure which side was the safest—his or mine. As the hatred burned in his eyes, I realized the truth. Just like Valentine, the families would never let me go. As long as I was free, I remained a threat. The people I loved would never be safe. To protect them, I had to become the thing I hated most. "The kill was mine." I spoke softly. "The reward is mine." "Bitch. You won't take this from me." His power built in the air, bright and charged like a lightning storm. "You want to wrestle for it?" I laughed. I imagined him burning, flames licking at his skin. A blaze that circled his body so there was no escape. Darius screamed. The inferno would melt the skin from his bones and char the remains. Nothing would remain but the smoking husk of what he used to be. It wasn't my fire. It was Valentine's. I turned away and Darius fell to the ground, shivering and gasping for breath. I wasn't like Valentine. I understood mercy. I approached him and knelt so I our eyes were level. His back spasmed as his breath came in harsh gasps. "If I ever see you again," I whispered. "I'll kill you." "One day you'll slip up," he spit. "And I'll be there." "Don't keep me waiting." I replied sweetly. I turned to the Blooded who eyed me warily. "It's over." The three men exchanged glances. The one in front gave a small nod and they faded into the tree line, disappearing from the direction they came.

I looked around the clearing and realized that Cynthie was gone. I raced to the top of the hill and saw with relief that the yacht was still moored to the dock, rocking peacefully on the calm waves. Cynthie was at the tiller when I climbed on board. She held a compass upside down in her hands and shook it like a magic-8 ball. I shrugged and left her to it. At this point, I didn't care if we ended up in New Zealand as long as I could put this place behind me. I climbed down the stairs to go below and ran straight into Sam as she came out of one of the bedrooms. Our heads knocked together with a hard crack. She stumbled back and rubbed her forehead. "Jeez Hex, you're head is like a rock." "Sam!" I wrapped my arms around her and squeezed her hard. I pulled back just far enough to check for any obvious injury. "Are you okay?" "I'm fine." She pushed me gently away with a laugh. "You're the one who ran off to chase after the evil demon guy." She looked around and her brow knitted in confusion. "Wait, are we on a boat? I don't—how did we get here?" I stared in shock before realization hit. I distinctly remembered seeing a glamour for altering memory in the grimoire. Trust Cynthie to be preemptive. "It's okay," I said soothingly. "I promise I'll explain everything later." "Woah." She stumbled and would have fallen without the arm I wrapped around her for support. "I feel strange." "You should sleep," I suggested. "You must be exhausted." "Yeah, I should lay down." She pushed open the bedroom the door and used the wall for support to walk into the room. Sam looked over her shoulder at me and smiled. "Thanks, Hex." I smiled back and fought the inexplicable tears that threatened to well up and spill down my cheeks. "Sleep well." I closed the door softly behind her and took a steadying breath. Zach was still asleep when I entered the last bedroom. I sat next to him on the bed and laid the back of my hand against his cheek. I noticed with relief that his skin was warm and his breathing came deep and even. I bent to lay a kiss on his still lips. "He won't remember it." Cynthie spoke from the open doorway. "I thought that might be better." "You're right," I said, without looking at her. There were a hundred things that lay unspoken between us. I had no idea how to put any of it into words. We might not be mortal enemies but that didn't mean we were on the same side. Not really. I held out the grimoire to her, ignoring the pang of regret as she slid it from my fingers. "I knew you took it," she said, but her voice was more amused than accusing. She traced her fingers over the leather cover. "If I didn't have that spell for Valentine, we'd both be dead." She shrugged. "I guess that means I can forgive you." "Thank you for coming back to me. I'd be dead otherwise." My voice was shaky. I could still see Valentine's face as he loomed over me. Cynthie brushed me off. "I figure if anyone gets the pleasure of killing you, it should be me." She frowned down at her nails. Her manicure was trashed beyond repair. "At least you keep things interesting." "Does this mean we're friends now, or something?"

"No chance in hell." "Just checking," I said with a laugh. I forced myself to stand and walk away from Zach's still form. He needed to sleep. There would be time enough tomorrow for more. "Everything should be back to normal," Cynthie said as we walked down the hall. I shook my head, admitting it even to myself as I spoke. "Things won't ever be the same." Through the porthole window, the expanse of ocean spread out before us. I didn't have peace or safety, but I was alive. I was starting to think that was as good as it was ever going to get.

Epilogue The authorities chalked our disappearance up to an excessive after-party. Everyone assumed we holed up in a hotel room on the strip for the weekend to drink beer and do drugs. Sam's parents may have grounded her for pretty much the rest of her life, but at school she was a living legend. Apparently missing persons reports had been filed and most of the students at the dance were interviewed for any leads. A new badass reputation sent Sam's social capital through the roof. Every guy in our class was clamoring for a chance to be with the coolest girl in school. She'd have dates lined up for at least a year, if her parents ever allowed her to leave the house again. My own parents seemed relatively unfazed. My father eyed me a bit more warily when our paths crossed. If having his plans derailed bothered him, he hadn't let on. Not yet. My mother touched me whenever she could, stroking my hair or holding my hands. It took a lot for a Wayward to change their ways. Zach was avoiding me. He went so far as to have his schedule rearranged so we didn't take any classes together. He even took a different lunch period. Band class was almost unbearable. Ms. Tripoli blamed me personally for him changing electives, assuming the 10-page essay she assigned me on the history of the triangle was any indication. When we made it back to Los Angeles, Cynthie and I left him sleeping in his car, still parked in the school lot. The memory spell she'd cast either didn't work or Cynthie lied about performing it. If Zach caught sight of me in the halls, he immediately turned on his heel, eyes full of fear and mistrust. It hurt to be without him, but I had other problems to deal with. I dreamed of Valentine. When it was quiet, his voice whispered through my mind as if he stood over my shoulder. I would see him out of the corner of my eye. When I turned to look, I was alone. Maybe the memories needed time to fade. Maybe I was going crazy. I could only wait and pray. The Blooded were mine to control, at least for now. No challengers had stepped forward—Darius took my threat seriously and disappeared—but it was only a matter of time. Valentine's power still burned within me, wild and uncontrollable, enough to protect me from all comers. But, if I released the monster inside of me, there was no guarantee I could gain control of it again.

The second of week of March, on a Thursday night, we crowded into the school's auditorium for the Senior Showcase. I'd originally had no intention of attending but Sam's dance team was performing a number in the third act. School events were the only thing she was allowed to participate in unchaperoned, so I had no choice but to be there. I gritted my teeth through the first act. The juggler wasn't bad, but the yodeling twins were almost too much to sit through. The curtain came down on a ten-minute recitation of the Minute Waltz and I rose quickly from my seat. Sam was backstage. She wouldn't notice if I left for a few minutes to get some air. The curtain came up and Zach took center stage. I sank back into my chair and my heart hammered painfully in my chest. In the darkened auditorium with the spotlight blinding him, there was no way Zach could see individual faces in the audience. I could only imagine that we were alone, that he could still stomach the sight of me. He sat on a stool in the center of the stage and his guitar rested on one thigh. He strummed a single chord and the sound was strong and sweet and heartbreaking. He played the guitar like a long-lost lover. Then he began to sing. Pretty girl with the sad eyes Magic girl with a cold smile You don't realize That I see through your lies You don't realize I know when you cry Because I realize That it's all a disguise. The audience held a rapt silence. I was the only one not staring transfixed at the stage, mesmerized into stillness. An uncomfortable feeling grew inside me. Lovely girl with the broken heart You've got me And you don't even know it You've got me And I can't even show it. I felt ripped open and exposed. Every hurt and slight was laid bare for the world to see. Zach rose to a standing ovation while I seethed inside. When the curtain closed, I leapt out of my seat and hurtled down the side aisle. I wrenched open the door that led backstage and looked frantically through the crowd of students gathered in the narrow space. I didn't see Zach.

Two girls in matching leotards sat on the floor close to the wing of the stage. "Did you see where Zach went?" "Who?" The girl on the right asked, rolling her eyes. "Zach—the guy who was just on stage." "The goth kid," the dancer on the left said to her partner. She pointed to a side door that led to the parking lot. "I think he went through there." I pushed open the door and ran to the parking lot. It was deserted. I jogged around the side building. I saw Zach in the carpool loop, tucking his guitar case into the back of an old Civic hatchback. I approached him slowly. I had no idea what to say to him. A hundred possibilities ran through my mind but when he raised his head and a faint spark of recognition lit his eyes, my mind blanked. I said the first thing I could think of. "Where's the Indian?" I winced as the words passed my lips. I was pathetic. "Guitar won't fit on it." He slammed the hatch closed. "This is my mom's car." There was a long silence. "How are you?" I asked finally. "I've been better," he said with a shrug. "You?" "The same, I guess." Zach nodded slowly and gave a short laugh. "You got a lot of nerve, you know that?" "What does that mean?" "There's three days of my life that I can't remember. My parents called the cops while I was gone. I can't answer any of their questions." "Do you want to know what happened?" I wanted to cry. "Not really." He kicked at the ground with the toe of his boot. "Something tells me I don't remember for a reason. My mom thinks it was drugs." "I'm sorry, Zach—" "There's something wrong with you, you know that? Something weird. Something crazy." I looked away, my lower lip trembling. I'd chased after him. I asked for this. "And I can't stop thinking about you." My incredulous gaze swung back to his. "These last few weeks without you have been the worst of my life." He laughed harshly, at me or at himself. "You're all I think about. I wrote a song about you and sang it in front of the entire school, for Christ's sake." I sniffed loudly. "What are you saying?" "I'm saying I love you and I can't live without you. All that mushy, greeting card stuff." "I love you, too." I spoke the words so softly they may have only been a thought. "If this is what you want—" His voice grew serious. "—if I'm what you want. You can't hide from me anymore. No more lies." "No more lies," I agreed solemnly. He grasped my hands and pulled me closer. His head bent towards mine and a mere inch kept our lips from meeting. The words tumbled from my mouth before I could stop them. "I'm a witch."

He pulled back. "What?" "That's what's weird about me." I forced the confession out. "That's what's different. I'm a witch. My whole family is, actually. We cast spells. We're witches." He eyed me steadily. "Is this a joke?" "You said no more lies." I wanted so desperately not to lose him, but keeping secrets was what pushed him away in the first place. "That's what I've been hiding from you. I'm a witch." "I got it. Okay." He breathed in slowly. "Can you prove it?" "I can and I will." I bit my lower lip. "But I really think you should kiss me first." Zach leaned forward and pressed his warm lips against mine. He tasted like spearmint gum and sunshine. In that moment, nothing else—not Valentine, not my family, not even the future—mattered to me at all.

The End

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