Hex Hall (15 page)

"You take this half," I said, not meeting his eyes. Then I walked over to the shelf farthest from him, the one right under the little window.

He didn't move for a moment, and I could tel there was something he wanted to say, but in the end he just sighed and walked over to the opposite side of the room.

For about fifteen minutes we worked in total silence. Even though the Vandy had spent forever explaining the job to us, it was actualy pretty easy, if ridiculously tedious, work. We had to look at the items on the shelves and then find them on the sheets of paper and write down which shelf they were on and what slot on that shelf they were in. The only thing that made it difficult was that none of the items were labeled, so it was sometimes hard to figure out what they were. Like, on Shelf G, Slot 5, there was a scrap of red cloth that could've been "Piece of Cover, Grimoire: C. Catelan" or "Fragment of Ceremonial Robe: S. Cristakos."

Or it could have been neither of those things and something on Archer's list. It would've gone faster if we'd worked together, but I was stil pissed off about the Kleenex thing.

I squatted down and picked up a tattered leather drum. My eyes scanned the list, but I wasn't realy seeing anything. I knew I shouldn't have cried in front of him, but I couldn't believe he'd be enough of a jerk to make fun of me for it. Not like we were best buddies or anything, but that first night I felt like we'd bonded a little.

Apparently not.

"It was a joke," he said suddenly. I whirled around to find him crouched behind me.

"Whatever." I turned back to the shelf.

"What did you mean about me and Elodie?" he asked.

I roled my eyes as I stood up and walked to Shelf H. "Is it realy that hard to figure out? I mean, she got quite a big laugh at my expense the other day, so it's only appropriate that you, as her boyfriend, would also enjoy mocking me. It's so sweet when couples can share hobbies."

"Hey," he snapped. "Elodie's little stunt got me in here too, remember? I tried to help you out."

"So did not ask you to," I replied, pretending to intently study what at first appeared to be a bunch of leaves floating in a jar of amber liquid.

Then I realized they weren't leaves but tiny faerie corpses.

Suppressing the urge to fling it away from me and make some sort of "NEEEEUUUUUNGGGHH!" sound, I rifled through my pages, looking for something that read "Smal Dead Faeries."

"Wel, don't worry," Archer snapped, flipping through his own pages. "It won't happen again."

We were quiet for a moment, both of us looking at our lists.

"Have you seen anything that could be part of an altar cloth?" he asked at last.

"Check Shelf G, Slot 5," I replied.

Then out of nowhere, he said, "She's not that bad, you know. Elodie. You just have to get to know her."

"Is that what happened with the two of you?"

"What?"

I swalowed, suddenly nervous. I realy didn't want to hear Archer wax poetic about Elodie, but I was also genuinely curious.

"Jenna said that you used to be, like, a card-carrying member of the We Hate Elodie club. What gives?"

He looked away and started picking up random things without realy seeing them. "She changed," he said quietly. "After Holy died--you know about Holy?"

I nodded. "Jenna's roommate. Elodie, Chaston, and Anna filed me in."

He ran a hand through his dark hair. "Yeah. They're stil realy hung up on blaming Jenna. Anyway, Elodie and Holy had been realy close when they started here, and Holy and I had been betrothed--"

"Hold up," I said, raising a hand.
"Betrothed?"

He looked confused. "Yeah. Al witches are betrothed to an available warlock on their thirteenth birthday. A year after they come into their powers."

He frowned. "Are you okay?" he asked. I'm sure I was making a pretty strange face. At thirteen I was thinking about alowing a boy's tongue into my mouth. Getting engaged would've been pretty far beyond me.

"Fine," I mumbled. "That's just weird to think about. It's so .

. . Jane Austen."

"It's not that bad."

"Right. Arranged marriages for teenagers are a good thing."

He shook his head. "We don't get married as teenagers, just betrothed. And the witch always has the right to refuse or accept the betrothal and change her mind later. But the match is usualy a good one, based on complementary powers, personalities. Stuff like that."

"Whatever. I can't even imagine having a fiance."

"You probably have one, you know."

I stared at him. "Excuse me?"

"Your dad is a realy important guy. I'm sure he made a match for you when you were thirteen."

I didn't even want to get into that. The thought that there was some warlock out there who was planning on making me his missus one day was too much to handle. What if he was here at Hecate? What if I knew the guy? Oh God, what if it was that kid with bad breath who sat right behind me in Magical Evolution?

I made a mental note to ask my mom about al of this as soon as I decided to speak to her again.

"Okay," I said to Archer. "Just . . . go on with your story."

"I don't think anyone realized how much Holy's death got to Elodie. So we started talking over the summer, about Hecate and Holy, and one thing led to another . . ."

"And you can spare me the gory details," I said with a smile even as something painful twisted in my chest a little. So he realy liked her. I'd been harboring this secret fantasy that he was only pretending to like her so that he could publicly dump her in the most embarrassing way possible, preferably on national television.

"Look," he said, "I'l get Elodie and her friends to lay off you, okay? And seriously, try to give her another chance. I swear she has hidden depths."

Without realy thinking, I shot back, "I said spare me the gory details."

For a second I'm not sure I even realized what I'd just said.

And then it sank in and I damned my sarcastic mouth straight to hel.

Face on fire, I glanced over at Archer.

He was staring at me in shock.

And then he burst out laughing.

I started giggling too, and before long we were both sitting on the dirt floor wiping tears from our eyes. It had been a long time since I'd realy laughed with someone, or made a dirty joke, for that matter, and I couldn't believe how good it felt. For a little bit I forgot that I was apparently made of evil, and that I was being stalked by a ghost.

It was nice.

"I knew I liked you, Mercer," he said when we'd finaly stopped cackling, and I was glad I could blame my suddenly red cheeks on the laughter.

"But wait," I said, leaning on one of the shelves, trying to catch my breath. "If everybody gets betrothed at thirteen, isn't she already set to marry somebody else?"

He nodded. "But I told you, it's a voluntary thing. A betrothal can always be renegotiated. I mean, I'm considered something of a catch."

"And so modest too," I replied, tossing my pen at him.

He caught it with ease.

From above us, the door gave its death scream, and we both leaped to our feet guiltily, like we'd been making out or something.

Suddenly the image of me and Archer kissing against one of the shelves flooded my brain, and I felt the blush in my cheeks spread to the rest of my body. Without meaning to, I glanced at his lips. When I raised my eyes to his, he was looking at me with an expression that was totaly inscrutable. But just like the look he'd given me on the stairs the first night, this one left me feeling breathless. I was actualy glad when the Vandy shouted, "Mercer!

Cross!"

Her harsh grating voice was the auditory equivalent of a cold shower, and the tension of the moment vanished. My lusty thoughts were pretty much gone by the time we were out of the celar.

"Same time, same place, Wednesday," the Vandy said as we practicaly sprinted for the main staircase.

Naturaly, Elodie was waiting for Archer in the second-floor lounge. She was sitting on the grubby blue couch. A nearby lamp cast a soft golden glow on her flawless skin, and picked up the ruby highlights in her hair.

I turned to Archer, but he was staring at Elodie like . . .

wel, like I was staring at him.

I didn't even bother saying good night. I just jogged up the stairs to my room.

Jenna wasn't there, and after al that celar grossness, I was in definite need of a shower. I grabbed a towel out of my trunk and a tank top and pajama bottoms out of my dresser.

Our floor was fairly deserted. Boys and girls didn't have to separate until nine, and it was just now seven, so I figured everybody was hanging out in the drawing rooms downstairs.

My mind stil on Archer (and the general suckiness of having an unrequited crush on someone dating a goddess), I made my way to the bathroom and opened the door. The room was shrouded in heavy steam, and I could barely see in front of me. As I stepped forward, warm water sloshed around my feet. I could hear the sound of running bathwater.

"Helo?" I caled.

There was no answer, so my first thought was that someone had left a faucet on as a joke. Mrs. Casnoff would
not
be amused.

Hot water isn't great for two-hundred-year-old floors.

Then the steam began to part, flowing through the open door behind me.

And I saw why the faucet was stil on.

It took a long time for my eyes to accept what they were seeing. At first I thought maybe Chaston was just asleep in the tub and that the water was tinted pink from bath salts or something.

Then I realized her eyes weren't closed, but sort of half-mast, almost like she was drunk. And the water was pink from her blood.

I
noticed the tiny puncture wounds just below her jaw, and longer, more vicious-looking slashes on both her wrists, which were dripping blood onto the floor.

Without even thinking, I rushed to her side, mumbling a healing spel. It wasn't a very good one, I knew. The most I'd ever been able to get it to do was heal a skinned knee, but I thought it was worth a try. As I watched, the smal holes on her neck seemed to pucker briefly, only to sag back open. I made a sound like a sob.

God, why was my magic so shitty?

Chaston's eyes fluttered for a moment, and she opened her mouth like she was trying to say something.

I ran for the doorway. "Mrs. Casnoff! Anyone! Help!"

Several heads appeared in doorways.

"Oh God," I heard someone whimper. "Not again."

Mrs. Casnoff appeared at the top of the stairs in a robe, her hair in a long braid down her back. As soon as she saw where I was, her face paled. And for some reason, seeing her look so scared was what broke me. My knees started shaking and I felt my throat tighten with tears. "It's . . . it's Chaston," I managed to get out. "She .

. . There's blood . . ."

Mrs. Casnoff grabbed me and looked into the bathroom.

Her hands tightened on my shoulders. She leaned down and stared into my face. "Sophia, I need you to go get Cal as quickly as you can. Do you know where his quarters are?"

My brain felt like a scrambled egg, like in those old drug commercials. "The groundskeeper?" I asked stupidly. What could Mrs. Casnoff want with him? Was he like an EMT or something?

Mrs. Casnoff nodded, her grip stil tight on my shoulders.

"Yes. Cal," she repeated. "He lives next to the pond. Get him and tel him what's happened."

I turned and ran for the stairs. As I ran, I saw Jenna coming out of our room. I thought I heard her caling my name, but by then I was already out the front door and into the night.

Even though the day had been warm, now it was cold enough to make goose bumps stand up on my arms. The only light came from the school behind me, those huge windows making even bigger rectangles of light on the lawn. Knowing the lake was to my left, I turned that way and kept running, the cool air going in and out of my lungs like knives. I could just make out a dark lumpy shape that I realy, realy hoped was Cal's house, and not, like, a storage shack or something. Even though I was trying to push the panic away, al I could see was Chaston bleeding to death on those black-and-white tiles.

As I got closer, I saw that it was definitely a house. I could hear faint music coming from inside, and there was a little bit of light in the window.

By now I was breathing so hard I wasn't sure if I'd be able to get any words out.

I only had to bang on the door for about three seconds before it was flung open, and Cal stood before me.

I'd assumed he'd be old and burly with a side order of crotchety, so I was realy shocked to find myself facing the jock guy I'd seen on the first day, the one I thought might have been someone's older brother. He couldn't have been more than nineteen, and his only concession to burliness was a flannel shirt and his vaguely annoyed expression.

"Students aren't alowed--" he started, but I cut him off.

"Mrs. Casnoff sent me to get you. It's Chaston. She's hurt."

As soon as I'd said "Mrs. Casnoff," he'd closed the door behind him. Then he was moving past me and running across the yard toward the house. Wiped out from my earlier sprint, I lagged behind.