Charmfall (18 page)

“Do you wonder if I’m a good guy?”

It took her a scary long time to answer. “I want to think you’re a good guy. But you have to make that decision for yourself. And maybe being a good guy isn’t the same for everyone. It’s different for members of the Community than it is for us. So maybe it’s different for some Adepts than others.”

I didn’t exactly like the sound of that. But I knew how I felt. “No one has the right to take something that doesn’t belong to them,” I said. “And that includes stealing souls or energy or whatever Reapers take. But I didn’t grow up with this stuff, Scout. It’s new to me, and the only things I know come from other people. You tell me Reapers are bad, and I believe you. But I also think there’s more going on here than we know. Something more than Reapers-bad, Adepts-good. And I think we need to figure out what that is.”

I think she had a decision to make, too. I’d disrupted her world, made her think about things she probably didn’t want to—the possibility that truths she’d known weren’t entirely truth. That was the risk I took by telling her how I felt about it. I could only hope that she was strong enough to take that leap with me.

“When I first figured out that I could bind spells,” she said, “my parents were appalled. Fortunately, the Enclave found me pretty quickly after my powers popped through. They were nice to me, and what they said made sense, you know? But I was also told Reapers were bad. Always bad. Always self-centered. I don’t want to believe that it’s more complicated than that. I don’t want to believe that the world is this gigantic gray hole and you never really know wrong from right.”

She sighed, and looked back at me. “But that’s not exactly a good way to live, and it can’t be the best way to spend the few years I’ve got this power. If you’re in this, then I am, too. I don’t want to be part of a team just because it’s a team I grew up in. I want to be part of a team because it’s the
right
team.”

“There’s a risk it won’t be, you know. There’s a risk we’ll find out things we don’t want to.”

She nodded, and that was when I knew she was all in. “Then let’s find out.”

*  *  *

I knew Jason needed time and space, but that didn’t mean I was thrilled about the fact that he’d walked away. I checked my phone every few seconds, hoping I’d find a text message saying he’d rushed to judgment and was sorry he’d left me crying in the tunnel.

But my phone was silent.

When we made sure the tunnel door was locked up tight, we headed upstairs to bed.

“Long night,” she said after I followed her into her room and locked the door against nosey brat packers.

“It really was.”

“Do you think you’ll hear from Jason?”

“Right now I really don’t know.”

And I was getting so mad at him for walking away, I wasn’t sure I cared.

“You know what we should do?”

“What’s that?” I asked, but she was rifling through her messenger bag. She pulled out a cheap spiral notebook and a pen, then pulled off the cap.

“Are you starting on your novel?”

“Har har har, Parker. And someday, yes, but not today. It’s going to be called
The Wicked Witch of the Midwest
.”

“Promise me you’re joking.”

The expression on her face said she was dead serious. Which was sad, really, because that title was awful. “It’s, what, like, your memoir or something?”

“It will be,” she said, sitting down on the bed. “But I can’t write it, of course, until people know we actually exist.”

“So they don’t assume it’s just fiction?”

“Precisely,” she said, pointing with her pen. “But that’s not the point. We’re going to do something fun, Parker. We’re going to start a list.”

“That might be the boringest idea I’ve ever heard. A list of what?”

“Just, you know,
stuff
.” As if to prove her point, Scout flipped open the book and wrote
THE LIST
in big capital letters at the top of the first page. “It will be like our scrapbook of words. You know, instead of saving ticket stubs and homecoming ribbons and crap like that, we’ll have this list of all our memories, and stuff. You know?”

I didn’t really, but I did kind of like the idea of having a memory book for the two of us. I wasn’t sure there was a lot of my high school experience I’d want to remember—and I was hardly going to forget life as an Adept—but this would just be for Scout and me. Something to look back on in our old age . . . if we made it that long.

“Okay,” I said. “Let’s try out this list thing. What do you want to put on it?”

She flicked the pen against her chin. “I feel like the first thing that goes on there should be pretty significant, you know? Something we’ll definitely remember later on.”

“Firespell? Brat pack? Reapers?”

“All good words, but so . . . common. For us, I mean. No—we need something cooler. Something better.”

“Werewolf? Sanctuary? Enclave?”

She shook her head. “Too specific.”

“You know, I’ve already named all the stuff we do on a daily basis. Pretty soon I’m just going to be listing off nouns in alphabetical order. Aardvark. Antelope. Architecture. Avalanche. Stop me when I’m close.”

She must have thought of something, because she began to furiously scribble. And when she finally showed me the page, she’d listed down all the things I mentioned. But at the top of the list, in her scrawly handwriting, were a couple of simple words that meant a lot.

Best friends.

I bit my lip to keep my eyes from welling with tears again. “Good choice, Green.”

“I know,” she quietly said. “But that’s what this is all about, right? Now,” she said, tapping the paper, “let’s do the Adepts.”

In twenty minutes, we filled three sheets of paper.

14

C
lasses were bad when you were happy, when the weather was nice, or you wanted to be outside doing anything other than studying.

But they were even worse when you were depressed. When you wanted only to sit in your room staring at your phone and waiting for a call that probably wasn’t going to come. The more you wanted that phone call, the harder you waited for it, the longer it took. The slower classes became, and the more you wanted to fall down into yourself and just make the time go faster.

But, of course, it didn’t. And Jason didn’t call. He didn’t text. He didn’t contact me at all, not even to confirm that we were definitely off for Sneak.

It was total radio silence, and it drove me
crazy
.

Scout thought it was a good sign he hadn’t called—that if he’d really wanted a permanent breakup, he would have already told me. I wasn’t sure no news was good news, but it wasn’t like there was anything I could do about it. I wasn’t going to text or call him. He’d walked out on me, not vice versa. I’d stuck with him when he told me he was facing down a curse and his family was pressuring him. I could have told him it was too much drama for me, too much risk that I’d get my heart broken later on.

But I didn’t. I stayed.

He’d walked away because I’d gotten information from Sebastian. It’s not like I didn’t get why he was irritated, but what was the difference between me texting Sebastian and Detroit planting a camera? Not much, as far as I could see.

I muscled through the day without crying even though every minute felt twice as long as usual. And by the end of the day, I was ready for a night of pajamas and movies instead of Enclave drama. But since we were in the middle of a magical crisis, there was no way that was going to happen.

I was still a member of the Sneak planning committee (however stupid that idea seemed now), so after class I walked to the gym and helped make fringed garland out of sheets of black crepe paper. Lesley was at cello practice, which left me alone in a nest of brat packers and brat pack wannabes. I could hear their sniping across the room while I cut strips of paper, but I was having enough of a pity party that I hardly cared. There was something kind of Zen about cutting one strip of paper after another. It wasn’t exactly exciting work, but I got into a rhythm that helped clear my brain of everything else.

And sometimes that’s what a girl needed—a clear brain for just a little while.

It didn’t take long for Veronica and the rest of them to take advantage of the fact that I was vastly outnumbered. Veronica and M.K. walked over, leaving Amie and Lisbeth on the other side of the room.

“What’s up, Freak?” M.K. asked.

I ignored her and made eye contact with Veronica. I wondered if she had any idea who’d left the note at her door, or arranged her meeting with Nicu. But if she suspected I was the one, she certainly didn’t look it.

“I’m here to make garland,” I said. “Not talk to you.”

“Like we’d talk to you on purpose,” M.K. said, apparently not realizing that’s exactly what she was doing. “Do you even have a date for the dance?”

Honestly, I had no idea. But I wasn’t about to tell her that. “Of course. And he’s even my age.”

M.K., who tended to date guys old enough to drink and rent cars, rolled her eyes. “Like you could even get an older guy, Parker. What kind of freak would want you?”

A werewolf, I guessed, at least before he thought I’d betrayed him.

They made another snarky comment, then picked up armfuls of the garland and gave me a dirty look before walking back to the rest of the group.

“Freak,” M.K. muttered.

“Totally,” Veronica said, but she glanced back at me and dropped her eyes guiltily. Maybe the girl had a conscience after all, as little good as it did. Next time I had the urge to help her out, I decided to stick a pencil in my eye instead. I’d probably get less trouble out of it.

“Thanks,” I called out. “You’re welcome for the garland.”

They rolled their eyes and offered snorty laughs.

Ugh. I was not a fan of today.

*  *  *

I got a little pickup after dinner when Scout found a giant box addressed to her outside the suite door. She brought it inside, but didn’t seem the least bit interested in what was in the box. I was plenty interested, so I followed her back to her room.

“Don’t you want to open it?”

She sat down on her bed and rifled through the stuff in her messenger bag. “It’s from my parents. I already have a pretty good idea of what it is.”

“Which is?”

“Something stupid expensive.”

“Electronics? Fine linens? Heavyweight diamonds? What?”

“Do you really have to know? Like, right this second?”

“I’m not very patient.”

Scout rolled her eyes, but gave in. “Fine.”

She pulled the box onto her lap and slid a fingernail beneath the seal to open the box. When she lifted up the lid, she revealed neatly folded pinstripe tissue paper.

“Clothes?”

“Not just,” she said, unfolding one delicate sheet of paper at a time. “Clothes picked out by my mother.”

She pulled out a dress in the greenest green I’d ever seen. It was sleeveless, knee-length satin with a swingy skirt. The satin was topped by a layer of black lace in huge whorls and flowers.

“That is hideous,” she said, just as “That is amazing” escaped my lips.

Our answers were simultaneous, and we immediately looked at each other.

She held the dress out at arm’s length, nose wrinkled in disgust. “How can you like this thing? It’s so . . .
green
. And it probably cost, like, three thousand dollars. Somebody at some fancy store convinced her it was the latest thing and she picked it up. I guess the thought is nice, but the dress is awful.”

“Are you kidding? How can you possibly say that? That lace is fantastic. And I like the green.”

“Maybe so, but it’s not me. It’s not who I am.” She lowered the dress and looked at me with a sneaky glint in her eye. “But it might be you.”

“Me? Oh, no.” I shook a finger at her. “First off, I probably don’t even have a date. And even if I did, I’m not wearing a three-thousand-dollar dress. Are you crazy? What if I spilled punch on it? What if I got a rip in it?” I pointed at the ground. “What if demon zombies burst out of the ground and get their, like, putrescence on it?”

“Putrescence?”

“Doesn’t that totally sound like something a demon zombie would have? You know, like, oozing from its pores and stuff?”

“That is heinous. But you have a point.”

“I always do. That dress is yours. It’s a gift from your parents. What if they found out I’d worn it?”

“And got zombie putrescence on it?”

“Precisely. They’d probably get me kicked out of school. Not that there wouldn’t be advantages to that. But, no.
No
. As much as I appreciate it, that’s a lot of responsibility.”

Scout looked at me for a moment, and then placed the dress back in the box. “Look, I’m not going to wear it, so it’s only going to sit here. If you decide you’re willing to take on the challenge, you let me know.”

“I won’t.”

Scout sighed and packed the box away again. “People always say that, you know. That they won’t succumb to the lure of the money.” Once closed, she shoved the box under her bed.

“Money isn’t everything.”

“No,” she said, sitting up again. “It’s not.” She hopped off the bed and walked to her closet. She opened the door, and pulled out a handful of clothes on hangers that still had the tags on them. “But sometimes parents confuse money with attention.”

“They bought you all that stuff?”

She tossed a long-sleeved silk shirt onto the bed. “They forgot my thirteenth birthday.” A tweed jacket—that was totally not her style—followed it. “They didn’t come to the beginning-of-year assembly.”

Scout threw shirt after skirt after jacket onto the bed until there was a pile of brand-new clothes—brand-new
expensive
clothes—there. “When they forget something important—or when they can’t make room in their schedule of polo watching and suntanning, they buy me things.”

My eyes widened when I caught the price of one of the shirts. “I guess ‘spare no expense’ is their motto.”

“Yep.”

I picked up the stack of clothes and handed them back to her. “And the green dress?”