Рейчел Хоукинс - Hex Hall

I'd have felt like I was in an episode of Masterpiece Theatre: "Archer! Let us fetch a spot of tea, old boy!"

He paused on the stairs and turned to face me. Shockingly, he wasn't smirking.

"Mercer," he replied, making me roll my eyes.

"Look, what did you mean by 'that was new'? I thought you'd seen all that before."

He came down a couple of steps. "I have," he answered when he was only two steps above me. "Three years ago, when I was fourteen. My first year here. But it was different then."

"Different how?"

He shrugged out of his blazer, rolling his shoulders as if the jacket had been heavy. "They still did the Charles Walton thing; that seems to be a favorite. And there was a werewolf getting shot, and maybe one or two faeries on fire. But there weren't as many images. And they weren't all at once like that."

He looked down at me like he was sizing me up. "No hanged witches and warlocks either. I have to say, I'm a little impressed."

I crossed my arms over my chest and scowled. I didn't like the way he was looking at me. "Impressed by what?"

"When I saw that show three years ago, I had to run into that little bathroom over there"--he pointed to a small door across the foyer--"and puke my guts out. What we saw tonight was a lot worse, and you don't even look pale. You're tougher than I thought."

I fought the urge to laugh. My face may have looked calm, but my belly still felt like a mosh pit. Briefly amused by the image of my organs wearing eyeliner and ripped jeans, I gave Archer what I hoped was a look of cool nonchalance. "I just don't believe all that."

He raised an eyebrow, which made me totally jealous. I've never been able to do that. I always just end up raising both of them and looking surprised or scared instead of sardonic.

"Don't believe all what?"

"All that about humans wanting to kill us in lots of nasty ways."

"I think history pretty well supports that hypothesis, Mercer. Hell, humans have wiped out thousands of their own kind trying to get to us."

"Yeah, but that was in the past," I argued. "Back when they also thought drilling a hole in your head, or draining your blood would cure you of a disease. Humans are a lot more enlightened now."

"That a fact?" He was smirking again. I wondered if his face hurt if he took too long a break from it.

"Look," I said. "My mom is human, okay? And she loves Prodigium.

She'd never do a thing to hurt one. She even got a--"

"Her daughter's one."

"What?"

He heaved a sigh and tossed his jacket over one shoulder, holding it with the tip of his index finger. I thought only male models in GQ did that.

"Your mom may be an awesome person, but do you honestly believe she'd feel all warm and fuzzy about witches if she weren't raising one?"

I wanted to answer yes. I really did. But he had a point. Mom may have become a monster expert for my sake, but hadn't she run from my dad the minute he'd told her what he really was?

"You're right," Archer said, his tone softening a little. "Humans aren't what they used to be. But all those images were real, Mercer. Humans are always going to be scared of us. They're always going to be envious of our powers, and suspicious of our motives."

"Not all of them," I said, but my voice sounded weak, and I was thinking of Felicia, hysterical and screaming, "It was her! She's a witch!"

Archer shrugged again. "Maybe not. But you've been living with one foot in each world, and you can't do that anymore. You're at Hecate now."

His words hit hard. It had never occurred to me that I was different, that most Prodigium grew up in households with two parents just like them.

And some of the kids here had had hardly any interactions with humans once they'd come into their powers. Despite the doubt that was crawling over my skin like bugs, I said, "Yeah, but--"

"Arch!"

Elodie was standing on the landing above us, one hand on her basically nonexistent hip. Normally when this kind of thing happens in movies, the girlfriend is glaring down at the other girl with bright green jealousy, but since Elodie was a goddess, and I was, well, not, she didn't look even the littlest bit threatened. More bored, actually.

"Be right there, El," Archer called up to her. She executed that combination eye-roll/hair-flip/hand-wave thing that only beautiful girls irritated with their boyfriends can pull off, and walked up to the third floor. I think she put a little too much swing in her hips as she went, but, hey, matter of opinion.

"'Arch'?" I asked once she was gone, attempting the raised-eyebrow thing. As usual, it didn't work, so I probably just looked startled.

"See ya, Mercer," was all he replied. But as he turned to go, I couldn't help blurting out, "Do you think they might have a reason sometimes?"

He turned back to me. "Who?"

I glanced around, but the hall was empty.

"Those people. The Alliance and those Irish girls. The Eye," I answered. "I mean, what we saw was awful, but aren't there dangerous

Prodigium too?"

For a moment we held each other's gaze. At first I thought he was pissed at me, but then I realized the look in his eyes wasn't anger. It was more like he was . . . I don't know . . . studying me or something.

I felt a weird sort of heat travel from my stomach to my cheeks. I don't know if he noticed it, but he smiled at me, a real smile this time, and I actually felt my breath hitch in my chest. It was the same feeling I'd had in the fourth grade when Suzie Strelzyck dared me to touch the bottom of the pool at the YMCA. I'd done it, but kicking back up to the surface, my chest had felt like it was caught in a trash compactor, and I was light-headed by the time I'd broken through the water.

That's how I felt now, staring up into Archer Cross's eyes.

He walked down the two steps between us until he was on the same stair as me. I still had to look up at him, but at least it didn't make my neck hurt. He leaned in close, and I caught that clean soapy smell.

"I wouldn't say that kind of thing around here if I were you, Mercer," he whispered. I could feel his breath warm against my cheek, and although I wouldn't swear to it, I think my eyes may have fluttered.

But just a little.

As I watched him lope up the stairs, I gritted my teeth and repeated a mantra in my head:

I will not have a crush on Archer Cross, I will not have a crush on

Archer Cross, I will not . . .

When I got back to my room, Jenna was sitting cross-legged on her bed, reading a book.

I heaved a sigh and leaned against the door, pushing it shut with a loud click.

"What's wrong? The Moving Picture Show get to you?" Jenna asked without looking up.

"No. I mean, yeah, of course. That stuff was messed up."

"Mm-hmm," Jenna agreed. "Anything else?"

"I have a crush on Archer Cross."

Jenna laughed. "How original of you."

I flopped down on my bed. "Why?" I moaned into my pillow. I rolled over and stared at the ceiling. "Okay, so he's cute. Big deal. Lots of guys are cute."

Clearly my whining about a boy I liked was interfering with Jenna's reading, because she uncrossed her legs and came to perch on the edge of her desk. "Archer's not cute," she amended. "Puppies are cute. Babies are cute. I'm cute. Archer Cross is smokin' hot. And I'm not even into guys."

Okay, so Jenna was not going to be much assistance in squashing the crush. "He's a jerk," I pointed out. "Remember the whole werewolf thing this morning?"

"Yeah," Jenna said drily. "Saving you from a were-wolf. What a tool."

I groaned. "You're not helping."

"Sorry."

We sat in silence for a moment, me looking at a suspicious mildew stain on the ceiling, Jenna leaning back on her elbows, drumming her feet against the desk drawers. Outside, I could hear howling. It was a full moon, so the shifters got free run of the grounds. I wondered if Taylor was out there.