Chaos (Kardia Chronicles) (Entangled Teen) (16 page)

The bell rang and I hit send on my column response before shoving my phone in my pocket. I had just looked up to see if Mac had come into Mr. Foster’s room yet when I noticed an unfamiliar face. Said face turned and I locked eyes with the second-best-looking guy I’d ever seen in real life.

Black, military-short hair, eyes the color of a Hershey bar, and a face that would make even Hortense Verbiglio get a little jiggly in the belly area. I cleared my throat and worked up a smile. “Hi.”

He flashed a set of perfect white chompers and held up a hand in a casual wave. “How’s it going?” Dayam. Even his voice was gorgeous, with a deep timbre that reminded me of one of the leading men in the black and white movies Gram always watched. Nice.

I almost answered him, but then realized it was a rhetorical question. He’d already looked away and was rustling through the book bag he’d tossed onto the table I was sitting at.

“You new to Crestwood or…?” Or what? Like, obviously he was new. What was the alternative?
Or did some freak tornado drop you here on your way to a hot model convention?

“Uh, yeah. I started this morning, but they didn’t have me in regular classes until now. They did some sort of orientation thing.” He stuck out a hand. “My name is Rafe.”

“I’m Maggie.” I shook his hand, but it got all awkward somehow. I went for a cool, sort of twisty pump maneuver I’d seen Libby and the girls at the track meets do. A maneuver he was clearly not familiar with. My cheeks flamed, and I pulled away. No wonder I had, like, no friends. He didn’t seem to mind, though.

“So how is Mr.—” he started to ask, glancing down at the schedule he’d pulled from his backpack “—Foster? He a fun guy or what?”

“If by a ‘fun guy’ you mean a mushroom, then yes. Definitely.”

I waited for him to catch my pun but he stared at me with his head cocked to the side like I’d just told him my name was Zork from the planet Voltrex, and I wanted to crawl under the table.

If I ever took a beat to engage my filter before I spoke, my life would be totally different. Another tense few seconds passed, but I opted not to fill the dead air with more stupid words. To my surprise, he lowered himself into the seat across from me and leaned back, giving me what felt like his undivided attention. Except when he rested his elbow on the back of the chair next to him, he flexed. Like, a lot.

And suddenly he got way less cute, and I got way less nervous.

While there was a pathetic, societally conditioned teenage girl buried deep inside of me who was silently squeeing over the fact that he was peacocking for me, my douche-o-meter went into hyperdrive.

“As for Mr. Foster, seriously though, he’s pretty nice. I wouldn’t call him fun, but he isn’t hard on us or anything.”

The man in question stood as the last of the stragglers, one of whom was Mac, slipped in before he shut the door. Mac came toward my table then looked up in my direction. His steps faltered when he saw Rafe sitting in the only free chair. Had he seriously been about to sit with me? Had we progressed to that now, after only a daylong questionable truce? I’d likely never know for sure what his intention had been because he kept walking and sat at the next free table, immediately starting a conversation with his two tablemates.

“Today we’re going to start a stained glass project, and I’d like you to work in pairs,” Mr. Foster announced, pacing in front of the blank chalkboard. “Did you guys want to select your partners or have me—”

Everyone started talking at once, and names were called, fingers were pointed, and within about four seconds, everyone was paired up. Except new guy Rafe and me. Although he’d been getting a lot of gooey glances from several of the girls in class, no one had had the balls to ask him to be her partner. Now he eyed me with raised brows.

“What do you say, Maggie? Want to be partners with me? I’ve always done well in art.” His gaze lingered on my chest a little longer than I was comfortable with, but when I looked over to see Summer and Mac with their heads together, I shrugged, shoving back the surge of annoyance.

“Sure.” I’d spent a fair amount of time with douchebags in the past, and if he was good at artsy kind of stuff, who was I to say no?

I tried my best to pay attention while the basics were being outlined and handouts were passed around, but I barely had the brain space for math and science these days, what with my life being about as drama-filled as a Real Housewives episode. The odds of me getting anywhere near a decent grade in anything art-related were about the same as my tone-deaf ass getting signed to a record label, so there was no point in me busting my neurons over it. I had enough crap to deal with, so I had to hold out hope that Romeo Rafe would be able to come through for us both.

Not that I expected him to do all the work, but if he could be the creative force and just sort of hand me stuff and point, I could be his trained little monkey and maybe we’d eke out a C. I probably should’ve warned him about my lack of skills, but after I’d been subjected to both the gun show and his weak game, guilt was in short supply.

We gathered up the stuff we needed, and soon we were cruising along like a well-oiled machine.

“How’s it going?” I’d been so lost in my thoughts, I didn’t realize that Mac was standing over me. His jaw looked tight, and he seemed to be hunched over some. Was he about to bail on me for our meet-up later?

“Are you okay?” I asked reluctantly. If he was sick, I couldn’t force it on him, but the thought of putting off our lesson made
me
feel sick. It seemed like I’d been waiting my whole life for this.

He flicked a glance at Rafe, who stood with a sly grin spreading across his lips. “I’ve got to ask Mr. Foster a question about the, ah, color wheel.” Even his tone was mocking, but Mac didn’t seem to care.

He waited until Rafe was out of earshot before he answered me. “I’m fine. What do you mean?”

“You look funny. Like someone dick-punched you or something.”

The furrow in his brow cleared, and he snort-laughed. “Do people do that in America?”

I didn’t want to smile back at him because it seemed like the more I did, the easier it got and the more I wanted to do it. He still didn’t like me; he still didn’t trust me. Pretending differently would only land me in a world of hurt.

“Do what?”

“Punch people in the dicks?”

“I know I do when it’s called for,” I said.

“Noted.” His unexpected and short-lived smile faded. “Look…I don’t like that guy.”

“Who? Rafe?” I snuck a peek over Mac’s shoulder at Rafe’s hot body as he talked to Mr. Foster. “He looks pretty fine to me.”

“Mag-gie,” he said, drawing out each syllable in a warning tone, but he stopped short when Rafe approached again. Mac shoved his hands in the front pockets of his jeans. “Anyway, I just wanted to make sure we’re still on for later.”

“Of course. As long as you’re cool with it?”

“I am.” He stood there for another few seconds, his gaze flicking between me and Rafe before giving Rafe a hard look and walking away. I had no clue what that was about, but it was none of my concern. As long as Mac was going to show up and try to help me, who was I to complain if he thought Rafe was a tool or didn’t like the cut of his jib?

Turned out, I liked him just fine, especially when he turned out to be mercifully efficient and fast on top of having a real eye for color and what shapes would look good next to one another. Rafe would point to the glass piece he wanted, I would hand it to him with some adhesive on it, and voilà. By the end of class, we’d managed to put together what looked a lot like a stained glass window. We agreed to be partners whenever we could, and I had a good feeling about my art grade for the semester.

The rest of the day flew by. For all my excitement, though, by the end of it, nerves had taken hold. I was mostly silent on the ride home with Bink, and once I’d had a snack and done some chores, I was seriously considering chickening out. Probably, if I quit school and never left the house again, the Council would forget all about me.

But you won’t forget about them
, I reminded myself. And who was I kidding? I
needed
to know. Who I was, where I came from, what Mac was. I needed to know all of it, and the next four weeks were my only chance to find the answers.

I forced myself to sound casual and called down the hallway to my mom and grandmother, who were attempting to make a quilt together by the fireplace in the living room. “Going to meet Libby at the coffee shop.”

I shut the door behind me and winced. It was almost like Mother Nature was playing a bad joke on me. If yesterday had been your standard New Hampshire ass-clenchingly cold day, today the sadistic bitch had ramped it up to snot-freezingly frigid.

I tugged my black scarf up high enough to cover the bottom half of my face and trekked down the walkway and across the street. It only took me a few minutes to make the trip to our meeting spot, but by the time I got there, I was cursing myself for skipping the long johns and turtleneck. I refused to let Mac think he was the reason for the increase in fabric, though, and even the scarf had been a last-minute addition. Talk about freezing your ass off to spite your nemesis.

When I got to the house and made my way to the back, he was already there, sitting on the dilapidated deck stairs. He looked up with a mocking half smile and a sizzle went through me.
Nerves
, I reassured myself. It was just nerves because right now he had my future in his hands.

“Nice scarf,” he said, standing as I approached. He didn’t look cold at all. In fact, even with only his tan canvas jacket and no gloves or hat, he looked downright toasty. Fucker.

I ignored that and eyed him suspiciously. “Are you some sort of were-critter?”

His dark brows collapsed into a frown. “What?”

“You know, like Jacob from
Twilight
.” I could feel my cheeks getting warm under the weight of his incredulous stare. “He was always really hot.”

Mac grinned reluctantly then. “I’m flattered that you find me attractive, Magpie, but I’m sort of seeing someone, and I’m not down t—”

I clapped my hand over my mouth and shook my head furiously, tamping down my mortification and the annoyance that came along with his reminder of Ella. “Ugh, ew, no. I meant like
hot
hot. Not…” I gestured up and down his body with a terse flip of my hand. “Hot.”

His relaxed stance and unwavering smile clued me in that he was just messing with me. Hell if that wasn’t getting old. And his total lack of offense at my protest-too-much “ew” made it even clearer that he pretty much didn’t see me as a girl he wanted to impress at all.

Ouch again.

“Whatever. Stop screwing around and answer the question. Are you?”

“Am I a werewolf?” He shook his head and sat back down, jerking his head toward the space next to him. I sat, and he turned to face me. Although I’d left a few feet between us, I could still make out the black flecks in the fathomless gray of his eyes.

“No, thank gods. I’m not a big fan of wolves in general. And anyway, werewolves aren’t real. You know that, right?”

I didn’t know that. Not for sure, but I nodded anyway, relieved that at least I didn’t have that to deal with.

He didn’t look convinced. “All that stuff, vampires, sirens, gargoyles, it’s all legends based on tales of different semis, and people have just mashed them together over the years. We aren’t monsters from the movies. We’re descendants of gods. Some of us have powers similar to mythical creatures, but we each have a direct connection to our origin deity as far as what we’re capable of. Understand?”

I nodded again, starting to feel like both an idiot and a marionette, but I was happy to just listen to him talk. He knew things. He had answers. Answers I’d been denied since I’d started to change, and I was afraid if I spoke, he’d stop talking.

“I could tell when I met your mother and grandmother that they were suppressing their powers. How long has that been going on?”

“A long time. Ten years maybe?”

He seemed to take a while to digest that but finally nodded. “They really didn’t tell you anything about what’s happening and our history, did they?”

This time I shook my head, glad for the opportunity to change it up a little, but his frown was so fierce, I wished I could take it back.

“I don’t get that at all. How are you supposed to—” He bit off a curse and jammed a hand into his wavy hair. Funny how the more he was around me, the more he seemed to do that and the less perfect his ’do was looking. That gave me a twisted sense of satisfaction. At least I wasn’t the only one in knots. It took him a second, but he seemed to settle. “Let’s start with a little demo, then we’ll come back ’round and I’ll explain some things about our kind, all right?”

“A demo?”

A challenge lit his eyes, and I shook my head. “I don’t—”

He pulled me to my feet, took my gloved hand in his bare one, and squeezed. “Let it go, full throttle.”

I laughed. “Yeah, right.” My chuckles died when I saw the dead-serious light in his eye. I jerked my arm back, but he didn’t let go.

“Look, that little trick I did a few nights ago in the car? That’s not what we’re talking about here, okay? I could leave you like a giant, drooling baby without a single happy thought left in your head in ten seconds flat and it would kill you,” I protested, trying again to pull from his grasp before panic took hold.

Mac looked wholly unimpressed. “Do it.”

Was this the death-wish thing I’d been wondering about? Did he really think he could withstand the whole enchilada? I was so caught up in psychoanalyzing him, I didn’t see it coming. He yanked my arm and slammed me against his hard body.

“Do it, Mags.” His eyes blazed. “Don’t hold back.”

Anger was pretty much my go-to emotion, and I didn’t appreciate him manhandling me, so it was no surprise when it reared up and took control of my mouth.

“You first. Unless you’re chicken.”

I regretted the words the second I uttered them, but before I could pull a take-backsies, he came at me, swooping down, eyes filled with menace. I seriously didn’t know whether he was going to kiss me or tear open my jugular, and the uncertainty sent me struggling for real now. Fury raced through me, but hot on its heels was something else. Something a little yummy and a lot terrifying, and I twisted hard to get free. He wouldn’t have it. He pinned my arms behind my back and held me tighter, closer to his big, hard body, his fingers digging into my hips.