Charmfall (8 page)

“And you were with that freak Barnaby,” M.K. threw in, like that was a crime.

Was Lisbeth’s story that we interrupted a make-out session on purpose? So much for gratitude.

“I didn’t interrupt anyone,” I said, “and I didn’t tell Foley. Lisbeth can do whatever she wants. We were just walking back to my room.”

“Liar,” M.K. maliciously said.

I glanced over and gave them a dubious look. “Have you looked in the mirror lately? You look like a jewelry store threw up on your uniform. Now, that’s freaky. Go to class.”

They threw out some snarky comments, but left us at our lockers. When I looked back at Scout, her eyes were wide.

“That totally just happened.”

It had happened, and I felt immediately guilty. My parents had taught me better than to be obnoxious just because someone had been obnoxious to me. But I’d
saved
Lisbeth, and I’d ended up with no firespell. Was it a coincidence? Maybe. But a thank-you would have nice.

“It totally did,” I grumbled. “And not that she’s my favorite person right now, but I think Nicu’s in luck.”

Scout frowned, and glanced back to watch Veronica walk the hallway. “Why?”

“Because she doesn’t like Creed anymore.”

“How is that news? I don’t like Creed, either.”

“I think she doesn’t like Creed because she hasn’t totally forgotten about Nicu.”

“At least he’s having a good day. Let’s see how else this day can go down the tubes.”

As it turned out, our trig teacher rescheduled our midterm exam.

To
tomorrow
.

I loved it when teachers were understanding.

6

W
e were on our way to civics—only one more class before lunch—when I got the text. I’d forgotten to turn off my phone and pulled it out of my bag assuming it was my parents, maybe with an apology about having to miss parents’ night.

It definitely wasn’t my parents.

It was Sebastian Born—the Reaper who’d given me firespell.

“WE NEED TO TALK
” was all it said.

I pulled Scout out of the flow of traffic and showed her the phone. Her expression immediately went suspicious. Sebastian had contacted me before, and she hadn’t been thrilled about it.

“Have you been talking to him?” she asked.

I rolled my eyes. “If by talking to him, you mean reading this single text message and then showing it to you as soon as I got it, then yes, I have.”

“Har har har. I know you two are buds.”

“We aren’t buds. He thinks we’ve bonded because we both have firespell.”

“Have you texted him back yet?”

“Not yet.”

She crossed her arms and frowned like she was seriously puzzling something over. “I think you should go talk to him.”

I blinked back shock. That was the last thing I expected her to say. “Excuse me?”

“I know you’ve talked to him before. He has some kind of connection with you. I’m not saying I like it,” she quickly added, “but you use what you’ve got, right?”

I wet my lips and thought about it for a moment. She was right—Sebastian clearly wanted to contact me. While I wasn’t thrilled about setting up a meeting, at least I wasn’t doing it behind anyone’s back. And maybe he had information about the blackout.

“You’re right. I should talk to him.” I started typing a response. “But I’m going over lunch, and you’re going with me.”

*  *  *

Sebastian agreed to meet us beside the Chicago River, which cut through the city’s downtown. We were allowed to walk around our neighborhood during the lunch hour, and the River was technically too far away from campus. But what was a little rule-breaking between friends?

We were supposed to meet him beside the bridge on State Street. Sure, I hadn’t been here long, and I hadn’t exactly come here by choice. But there was something about this city I liked. I liked the mix of buildings in downtown Chicago, the never-ending stream of tourists who all seemed to be in awe of the city, the Italian food, and the reflection of the city on the river at night, even if I didn’t make it outside damp and chilly tunnels very often to actually
see
that reflection. I liked listening to Jason and Michael argue about the Cubs and Sox and whether Wrigley was better than U.S. Cellular Field.

Maybe a long winter would change how I felt about the city, but it wasn’t winter yet. For now, Chicago was pretty good.

As we approached the bridge, we could see traffic was stopped. A crowd of onlookers stood at a stone railing overlooking the water. They stared expectantly over the edge.

“Did someone fall in?” I whispered.

“Oh, sweet luck!” Scout said, dragging me across the street as soon as the light changed.

“What are you doing?”

“There are certain good luck charms in Chicago,” she said. “And this is one of them.”

“Staring at the river?” I asked, seriously confused.

“Not the river,” she said, squeezing us into an empty spot at the railing. “The bridge.”

As it turned out, the crowd wasn’t checking out what was
in
the river—they were looking at what was
out
of it. The gigantic steel bridge was rising up, its two metal arms splitting in half and lifting toward the sky so taller boats could pass through it.

“Oh, that is just frickin’ sweet,” Scout said, pulling out her phone to snap some pictures.

The boats were ready to go: A dozen sailboats were in the stretch of river on the other side of the bridge, waiting to pass beneath it. A few kayaks were sprinkled in the water beside them. And this bridge wasn’t the only one moving. As I looked down the river, I could see two more in line behind it, now slowly moving back down again—two pieces of the road coming back together so traffic could pass.

The boaters sat on the decks of their boats, bundled up against the chilly fall wind. The boats were moving away from the lake, probably into harbors for the winter.

I heard the excited chatter of people around us and glanced over.

A few yards down the railing stood a slender girl with a ponytail of sleek, dark hair, and a big black camera around her neck. She threw her head back in a laugh, and I got a full view of her companion.

It was Sebastian Born. Tall, dark, handsome, and at least moderately evil.

I quickly looked back at the river again, suddenly nervous. “He’s here,” I said. “Three o’clock.”

“Three o’clock? I thought you said noon?”

“He’s
standing
at three o’clock. Beside the girl with the ponytail and camera.”

That got Scout’s attention. Very carefully, she glanced to the side, like she was just watching the next bridge begin to rise, before looking back at the river again. “That is definitely Sebastian Born.”

I blew out a breath to calm my nerves. “All right, I’m going over there.”

“I’ll stay right here. Out of Reaper range.”

“Thoughtful of you,” I said, and then my feet were moving and I was walking toward him. It took only a second before he looked up and met my gaze.

The deep, dark blue of his eyes was almost shocking. They offered up a punch, and I felt it in my gut as sure as any fist. But I made myself keep walking, and stopped when I reached the girl.

“Hey,” he said.

“Hey.” I stuffed my hands into my pockets, suddenly self-conscious. It wasn’t exactly normal practice for Adepts and Reapers to meet in the middle of downtown Chicago on purpose and aboveground.

“Oh, uh, this is my cousin, Fayden. Fayden, Lily Parker.”

Fayden glanced over at me and smiled a little before turning her gaze back to the river. “Hiya,” she said.

“The bridge is pretty cool, huh?” he asked.

I glanced back just as a man and woman in bright orange kayaks and puffy coats paddled by. “Yeah, it’s pretty cool.”

“Fayden’s new to town,” Sebastian. “She’s a two-L at Northwestern. Law school,” he added, at my confused expression. “That means she’s in her second year. She transferred from California.”

“That’s a big change,” I said.

Fayden smiled. “Seventy degrees and sunny skies made me too perky. I figured a few winters in Chicago would help balance me out.”

“It’s Lily’s first winter, too, actually,” Sebastian said.

“Oh?” Fayden asked. “Where are you from?”

“New York state.”

“Huh,” she said. “Cool.”

Sebastian gestured toward a group of trees and a bench a few feet away from the river’s edge. I guessed that was where he wanted to talk.

“We’ll be right back, Fayden,” he said.

She nodded just a little.

“So you’re sightseeing?” I asked as we walked to the trees.

“Yeah, helping her get acquainted.”

The small talk done, I cut to the chase. “So what’s up?” I asked.

He looked
super
uncomfortable. “What do you know about magical power loss?”

My heart began beating wildly. Was he asking because he knew about us . . . or because Reapers were having problems, too? I decided to play dumb. “What do you mean?”

“Spells not working, powers gone.”

How to lie without lying? Avoid answering the question. “Why do you ask?”

Sebastian looked back at me for what felt like a long time. Maybe he was deciding how honest he could be, wondering if he could trust me. “Because our magic is gone.”

I was almost too stunned to speak. It wasn’t just Adepts? It was Reapers, too? “Our?”

“Reapers. Every Reaper in Chicago.”

“Since when?”

“Since this morning.”

We’d lost our magic last night. They lost their magic this morning,
after
we’d lost ours. That didn’t sound like a natural phenomenon. It sounded like someone had flipped a magical switch. But was that even possible? Who could flip a switch and turn off the magic of all Adepts and Reapers in Chicago? Who else was left?

“Jeremiah thinks Adepts did it,” Sebastian added. “Canceled out our power somehow.”

“We didn’t,” I assured him. “I’m not even sure we could.”

“I’m not sure he’ll buy that.”

So many questions raced in my head. What if he was telling the truth and Reapers didn’t have powers? He was taking a risk, so didn’t I owe him the truth, as well? But what if he was lying? What if Reapers were the reason we didn’t have power, and he wanted to confirm the trick had worked? What if he was trying to ferret out our weaknesses so Reapers could attack?

And, more important:
Why was he helping me? Why was he giving me information that helped Adepts, when he didn’t even believe Adepts were on the right side of things? Was he trying to lure me in?
Win me over?

But I held them in. I also held in the truth. I didn’t tell him we didn’t have powers, either. Maybe he knew; maybe he didn’t. But if he proved trustworthy, I promised myself I’d repay the favor later.

“Convince him,” I said. “I promise you we didn’t take your magic.”

“He wants proof. He wants Scout’s
Grimoire
. He thinks she did it.”

That wasn’t even negotiable. “He’s not going to get it. Not that it would help him anyway. And if he tries it, we’ll throw everything we have back at you.”

It was just that “everything” we had wasn’t much right now, at least not magically.

Fayden called his name, pointing at something on the river. I glanced back at her. “Is she one of you?”

His eyes darkened dangerously. “She is not,” he said. “And I’d appreciate it if you’d keep her out of it. There’s no need for the rest of the Dark Elite to know she’s even here.”

I guess he didn’t trust his fellow Reapers any more than we did. But that begged a question—if I’d said I had relatives visiting, would he do me the same favor? Would he keep my family out of it?

But I wasn’t a Reaper, and I wasn’t looking for a way to hurt Sebastian or his cousin, so I nodded. “No problem.”

He looked relieved.

“Well, I need to get back to school,” I said. “Thanks for the update.”

“You, too.”

He walked back to Fayden and I walked back to Scout like nothing at all had happened. Like we hadn’t just discussed gigantic magical developments. She started grilling me immediately.

“What did he do? What did he say? Who’s the girl?”

“His cousin. The good news is, Reapers have lost their power, too.”

Her eyes got really wide. “He told you that?”

“He did.”

“Do you think he was bluffing?”

“The only reason to bluff would be to find out if we have magic, too. And I’m not about to give that away. At least, not now. Not until we’re sure whose side he’s on.”

“So Reapers don’t have magic, huh?” She turned around and propped her elbows behind her on the railing. “So what does that mean? Who’s behind it?”

“I have no clue. Unfortunately, I do also have bad news.”

“You made out with him?”

“No, jeez,
no
. Have some respect. Seriously, though. The Reapers, or so they say, don’t know who’s done this, either. But they have a theory.”

“Which is?”

No sense beating around the bush. “They think it’s you.”

The smile that spread across her face wasn’t the fear I’d expected. “They think I’m
good
.”

“They think the answers are in your
Grimoire
.”

That made her pale a little bit, which I thought was good. I’d rather have her a little bit afraid than a little bit too cocky—and not as careful as she should be.

She pushed off the railing. “I’m not giving up my
Grimoire
,” she said. “If they think that’s going to happen, they are crazy or stupid. Or both.” She looked at me. “We have to figure out this blackout thing. We
have
to.”

“I know,” I said.

Unfortunately, I bet that was going to be the hard part.

*  *  *

When compared to a meeting with a Reaper beside a bridge that had vaulted itself out of the Chicago River, classes were dull. We’d also skipped lunch for the meet, which meant we were both starving. Hunger didn’t make European history any more exciting.

It was early in the week at St. Sophia’s School for Perpetually Rich Girls, which meant the options in the cafeteria weren’t quite as nasty as they’d get. Dinner on Thursday or Friday meant you’d be served up a stew of anything that didn’t get eaten earlier in the week. The cafeteria crew called it “slurry.” I called it disgusting.