Хлоя Нейл - Firespell

“What’s a lavaliere?”

“I don’t know. I think it’s a fraternity thing?”

“Well, whatever it is, there wasn’t one. We just talked about the meeting. About the attitude he copped. He apologized.”

Scout lifted appreciative brows. “Shepherd apologized? Jeez, Parker. You must have worked faster than I thought. He’s as stubborn as they come.”

“He said he was worried about me. About the possibility that I’d get wrapped up in a Reapers versus Adepts cage match and wouldn’t have a way to defend myself, especially if you weren’t there to work your mojo.”

“And what spectacular mojo it is, too,” she muttered. She opened her mouth as if to speak, then closed it again. “Listen,” she finally said. “I don’t want to warn you off some kind of budding romance, but you should be careful around Jason. I’m not sure I’d recommend getting involved with him.”

“I’m not getting involved with him,” I protested. “Wait, why can’t I get involved with him?”

“He’s just—I don’t know. He’s different.”

“Yeah, being a werewolf does make him kinda unique.”

She raised her eyebrows, surprise in her expression. “You know.”

“I do now.”

“How did you find out?”

“I heard him growl after I got hit with the firespell. I confirmed it yesterday.”

“He admitted he was a wolf? To you?”

“He let me see his eyes do that flashy, color-changey thing. He did the same thing again when we talked in the hospital.”

“After you made us leave?”

I bobbed my head. Scout made a low whistle. “In one week, you’ve gone from new kid in school to being wooed by a werewolf. You move fast, Parker.”

“I doubt he’s wooing me, and I didn’t do anything but be my usually charming self.”

“I’m sure you were plenty charming, but I just want you to be careful.”

“Is that a little were-ism I’m hearing?”

“It’s a little reminder that he’s not like the rest of us. He’s a whole different brand of Adept. And you don’t have to buy my opinion. I’m just telling you what I think. On the other hand, in our short but explosive friendship, have I ever steered you wrong?”

“Did you want me to start with the getting hit by firespell or becoming an enemy to soul-sucking teenagers?”

“Did you mean the Reapers or the brat pack?”

I grinned appreciatively. “Ooh, well played.”

“I have my moments. Besides, who’d you borrow those kick-ass flats from?”

I glanced down at the screaming yellow and navy patent leather ballet flats she’d let me borrow on our hurried way out the door this morning.

“Fine,” I finally said. “Fashion trumps evil and prissy teenagers. You win.”

Scout grinned at me. “I always win. Let’s chow.”

We noshed, said our hellos to Collette and Lesley, and when dinner was done, returned to the suite for our hour-long break before study hall. The brat pack had made camp in the living room,

blond hair and expensive accessories flung about as we entered.

Veronica sat cross-legged on the couch, an open folder in her lap and M.K. and Amie at her feet like adoring handmaids.

“It also says,” Veronica said, gazing at the folder, “that her parents dumped her here so they could head off to Munich.” She lifted her head, a lock of blond hair falling across her shoulders,

and gave me a pointed look.

Was that my folder she was reading? Had M.K. taken it from Foley’s office while she was on hall-monitoring duty?

“Interesting, isn’t it, that her parents left her? That they didn’t take her with them? I mean, it’s not like there aren’t English-speaking private schools in Germany. She’s not evenfrom Chicago.”

“How did you get that?” I bit out. All eyes turned to me. “How did you get my file?”

Veronica closed the navy blue folder, the St. Sophia’s crest across the front, then held it up between two fingers. “What, this? We got it from Foley’s office, of course. We have our ways.”

I took a step forward, anger dimming my vision at the edges. “You have no right to go through my file. Who do you think you are?”

Outside, thunder rolled across the city, the steel gray sky finally preparing to give way. Inside,

the room lights flickered.

“You need to back off,” Scout said.

Veronica arched an eyebrow and uncrossed her legs. M.K. and Veronica shifted to give her room. She stood up, folder in her hand, and walked toward us, a haughty look aimed at Scout.

“You think you’re queen of the school just because you’ve been here since you were twelve?

Being abandoned by your parents isn’t exactly a coup, Green.”

Scout, amazingly, stayed calm after that outburst, an expression of boredom on her face. “Is that supposed to hurt me, Veronica? ’Cause, if I recall, you’ve been here as long as I have.”

“Irrelevant,” Veronica declared. “We’re talking about you”—she shifted her gaze to me—“and your new friend. You both need to remember who’s in charge here.”

Scout made a sarcastic sound. “And you think that’s you?”

Veronica flipped up the folder. “The ones with information, with access, always win. You should write that down in one of your little books.”

M.K. snickered. Amie had the decency to blush, but her eyes were on the ground, apparently not brave enough to intercede.

“Give it back,” I said, hand extended, fingers shaking with fury.

“What, this?” she asked, batting her eyelashes, waving the folder in her hand.

“That,” Scout confirmed, reaching out her own hand, and taking a menacing step forward. When she spoke again, her voice was low and threatening. “Keep in mind, Lively, that in all the years you’ve been here, some interesting little facts have crossed my path, too. I assume you’d like to keep those facts between us, and not have them sprinkled around the sophomore and senior classes?”

There was silence as they faced off, the weirdo and the homecoming queen, a battle for rumor mill supremacy.

“Whatever,” Veronica finally said, handing over the folder between the tips of her fingers, lips pursed as if the paper were dirty or infected. “Have it. It’s not like I care. We’ve gotten everything we need.”

Scout pulled the file from Veronica’s manicured hands. “I’m glad we’ve concluded our business. And in the future, you might be a little more careful about where you get your information from and whom you share it with, capiche? Because sharing that information with the wrong people could be . . . costly.”

Thunder rolled and rippled again, this burst louder than the last. The storm was moving closer.

“Whatever,” Veronica said, rolling her eyes. She turned and, like a spinning dervish of plaid,

took her seat on the couch again, attendants at her feet, the queen returned to her throne.

“Come on,” Scout said, taking my wrist in her free hand and moving me toward her bedroom. It took a moment to make my feet move, to drag my gaze away from the incredibly smug smile on Veronica’s face.

“Lily,” Scout said, and I glanced over at her.

“Come on,” she repeated, tugging my wrist. “Let’s go.”

We moved into her room, where she shut the door behind us. Folder in hand, she pointed at the bed. “Sit down.”

“I’m fine—”

“Sitdown .”

I sat.

Thunder rolled again, lightning flashing through the room almost instantaneously. The rain started, a sudden downpour that echoed through the room like radio static.

The folder beneath her crossed arms, she walked to one end of the room, eyes on the floor, and then walked back again. “We’re going to have to put it back.” She lifted her head. “This came from Foley’s office. We needed to get it out of their hands, which we did—yay, us—but now we’re going to have to put it back. And that’s going to be tricky.”